i ae ies heUniversity of Virginia PS2612 .A1 1927 ALD Tales of Edgar Allan Poe; edit Hil HNO UX OOO iee t=t- ted-s-e fo : ee 7" f 7 F in - . ve : é « w “ 3 } a 4 a Y . J , 4 \ i \ ; i Sea oS <-> he ee~soe sy a Eee ad pe ee eed Ct ek Sy Ml a D Be. id S ; o ‘ OD el eed ae oe he el oe er avtpe@egivrerseFe oe an oe os De se 4ed wrSeBssstew cco3= § y fy 7 ee a oe 2 es sevice ime set estee ee ee is ° " ‘ Pf { S U | ' ae te &~ St eeoe et ie a ee ori m—g= = ee oe ook aed > iG r be 4 _ 4 o a 7 ' ' \ ( " 0 i Hi ' : s a a ‘' h \ ‘ : C h C rs ‘ s na ——TALES OF EDGAR ALLAN POE EDITED BY JAMES SOUTHALL WILSON Edgar Allan Poe Professor of English University of Virginia CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON ATLANT: SAN FRANCISCO DALLASa’ eS SS P at tet eae eee eS a Copyricat, 1927, By CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS PS ee ee ee Printed in the United States of America ee eee All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons B Virgiriane : : ‘ , if ~ Hi ¢ ‘ ] Ly 4 i a a. oe a My LY 2 i il « 4 K Fs vi 7 S a i) ' | f \ ’ “ b re 's « ! ri i \ i] oy f , f I ri oo ‘ & ‘ ” Hi re righ Spt hn dehadebigegr: eee ers ey esINTRODUCTION I Ir 1s difficult to arrive at the truth about the circum- stances of the life of Edgar Allan Poe because on the one hand his personality and strange genius awaken antagonism, conscious and unconscious, in those who write about him and on the other his apologists have sup- pressed part of the truth or glossed over the man’s all too obvious failings. A tangle of literary gossip, a fog of sentimentalism and prejudices, shut us out from approach to the man himself. It is more difficult to eseape the unsubstantiated traditions than it is to find the definitely established facts. Poe (who did not always tell the simple truth about himself) correctly gave the date of his birth to the official who entered his name on the matriculation book of the University of Virginia as January 19, 1809. His parents had been acting in Boston and there he was born. His mother, the daughter of an English actress, was Elizabeth Arnold and had married the young Balti- morean, David Poe, after the death of her first hus- band, C. D. Hopkins, who had been a member of the company with which the Poes acted. David Poe, son of David Poe of Maryland, came of Irish stock. He had disappointed his family by leaving a law office for the stage. He died either just before or just after his wife, but the date or place is not actually known. Poe's mother, Elizabeth Arnold Poe, died after a pathetic struggle with disease, amid circumstances of tragic poverty on December 8, 1811, in Richmond, Virginia. Of the three children left, William Henry Leonard Vv Oe a eeeoceiedetiahdah ditt oot aint edat ae ee ee ee et Ce ee ee ee ee ee ee et eee vi INTRODUCTION (born 1807, died 1831) had already been taken by his grandparents in Baltimore. Rosalie (born 1810, died 1874) was adopted by the Mackensie family of Rich- mond, and Edgar, nearly three, was taken by John Allan and his wife and apparently called at first merely Edgar Allan, but later Edgar Allan Poe. Mr. John Allan was a Scotchman, a member of the firm of Ellis and Allan, tobacco merchants. The family was at this time inconspicuous socially and in moderate but comfortable circumstances. The Allans did not execute legal papers of adoption but the young boy was treated in all respects at the beginning as a son and heir. In 1815 Mr. Allan went to England to establish a branch office of his firm there and young Edgar went with the family. Until their return in 1820, the boy attended school in England; for three years at Stoke Newington under Reverend John Bransby. He is represented as a quick and attractive boy, somewhat too freely supplied with pocket money. In Richmond young Poe attended select private schools, belonged to a nie tary company, and won a reputation among the boys for his endurance as a swimmer On February 14, 1826, Ragur A. Poe registered as a student at the University of Virginia. The institution was only a few weeks past the beginning of the second session and its founder, Thomas Jefferson, was still alive and upon his hill at Monticello. Two letters to Mr. Allan from Poe while he was at the University of Virginia give animated pictures of the undisciplined life of the students in those early days. Poe represented himself in later statements as not hav- ing studied much at first but as later redeeming himself Bs hard work which resulted in his passing in the schools of Ancient and Modern Languages with excellent stand- ing at the end of the session in December. At that timeINTRODUCTION Vii the session ran without vacation from the first of Feb- ruary until Christmas season. Mr. Allan had inherited a large fortune a year or so before Poe matriculated at the University of Virginia but he perhaps thought it safer not to send the young boy to college with too free a supply of money; for some reason, too, he and his young ward seem to have grown unsympathetic. At any rate, early in Poe's stay at Charlottesville he began to accumulate debts, some of which were incurred at ecards. Years later, Poe explained his conduct in a letter to Mr. Allan by claiming that he had not been given enough money to pay his expenses on entering the University and that when Mr. Allan refused to send him more, he borrowed money at a high interest rate to meet necessary charges, and later tried to win money at gambling to pay off the loans. Being a novice, he naturally got more deeply into debt. So it was that when, after Poe had returned home in December having passed his examinations creditably, bills began to come in to Mr. Allan, the thrifty Scotch merchant became out- raged and refused to let him go back for his second ses- sion of study. A quarrel ensued and Poe was driven from his home without money OF anything to wear beyond what he had upon his back. After he had writ- ten two letters from an inn in Richmond begging for his trunk and a little money, Mr. Allan appears to have relented to that extent, and Poe took passage on a steamer to Boston. ‘There on May 26, 1827, he enlisted as a private under the name of Edgar A. Perry in the United States Army. Meantime he had placed a little manuscript book of poems in the hands of a young Calvin F. S. Thomas, and during the printer in Boston, “Tamerlane and Other Poems. summer it appeared as By a Bostonian.” After two years of service, and promotion to the rank eee ee ee! A _ ~~ o¢ © -_ ryLome ha tear ht EPeTS ee ee ee ete tie Ka ‘Sieg ke ok ate te aoe Sele ell Ce ee el ee ee ee SS ee ee ee ee et es 5 Se ee eee he ee ee ees eT viil INTRODUCTION of sergeant-major, young Edgar wrote to Mr. Allan, telling him where he was and asking aid to secure release from the Army. He was stationed then, Decem- ber 1, 1828, at Fort Moultrie, South Carolina, but it was not until he had been transferred to Fortress Monroe, Old Point, that Mr. Allan agreed to secure a substitute for him. He was discharged from the army April 15, 1829. Meantime Mrs. Allan had died February 28, and when Poe was permitted to go to Richmond before his discharge, he reached there after his foster mother’s death. Poe’s plan was to secure a cadetship at West Point. He went on to Baltimore where he lived on small sums sent him by Mr. Allan while he sought appointment. In Baltimore he published a second volume of poems in 1829, “Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems.” The next year he entered West Point. At the Academy he began studiously and successfully but when he realized that Mr. Allan had no further intention of aiding him financi: ally after his second mar- riage to a Miss Patterson in 1830 he urged his foster father to allow him to resign. When Mr. Allan made no reply, he used the only method by which he could get a release; he neglected deliber: ately his duties and was Mommibatialed and dismissed March 6, 1831. Soon after leaving West Point the third of Poe’s books appeared with the title ““Poems. By Edgar A. Poe. Second Edition,’ published in New York by Elam Bliss. Little authentic information exists of Poe during the next three years. He seems to have been living in poverty in Baltimore. He sought to reopen relations with Mr. Allan, writing to him at least four times in 1831 and once on April 12th, 1833. Mr. Allan died in the following March without having yielded to Poe’s appeals for help. Meantime Poe. whatever else he may have been doing, was experimenting with a group ofINTRODUCTION ix satirical stories in preparation for which he evidently read the popular magazines voraciously. Five of these stories appeared in the Philadelphia Saturday Courier from January 14 to December 1, 1832. They were ‘““Metzengerstein,’ “A Tale of Jerusalem,’ “Loss of Breath,” “Due de L’Omelette,”’ and “Bon-Bon.’ Dur- ing this period he was working on his play “Politian.”’ In 1833 he gained his first real public notice when he won a fifty dollar prize with his “M.S. Found in a Bottle” in a contest held by the Baltimore Saturday Visiter. John Pendleton Kennedy, a popular novelist and public man, was one of the judges in the contest, and, attracted by the six stories that Poe had sub- mitted, he sought him out and befriended him. On Kennedy’s recommendation Poe began contributing to the new Southern Literary Messenger and during the summer T. W. White, the owner, invited him to come on and assist him. With the December number, Poe became the editor of the Messenger, and occupied that position until January, 1837. A few months after he secured the position with Mr. White he had married on May 16, 1836, his first cousin, Virginia Clemm, who had come on to Richmond with her mother, Poe’s aunt, Mrs. Maria Clemm. In a few months Poe’s vigorous and sensationally vivid book reviews had drawn national attention to the Southern Literary Messenger and greatly increased its circulation. In it too he had published some poems and most of the sixteen tales that, as satires of con- temporary styles of writing, had made up his manuscript volume, “The Tales of the Folio Club,’ which several publishers declined to bring out, fearing that the satire would not be understood. The collection never appeared under the title nor in the grouping that made clear their original design. In addition to these stories, there Se ey oe ee ee eee ~ = + aa See ere pee ee ee ss ee ee re ee er eee Dee ee ee ee eee re eer. re‘ ee ee ee ees Cd eRe ee nee ee ee eS eee ee ee ee ee x INTRODUCTION appeared in the Messenger several that he had more recently written. Poe’s habits, and Mr. White’s desire to save an editor's salary, combined with his wish to be unhampered in printing what he pleased, led to Poe’s release from the Messenger, his last number being that of January, 1837. In the next two years Poe published little except his long narrative “Arthur Gordon Pym,’ part of which appeared in the last number that he edited of the Mes- senger. Harper published it as a book in July, 1838. Part of these years he was in New York and part in Philadelphia, but little is known of his habits or occupa- tion. Sometime after the middle of 1838 he removed definitely to Philadelphia, where he remained for six years. From July, 1839, to June, 1840, he was one of the editors of Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine. In 1839 he published the much discussed little school text, “The Conchologist’s First Book,’ and in 1840, his “Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque” in two volumes with Lea and Blanchard, then well-known Philadelphia publish- ers. Towards the end of his first twelve months of associate editorship on the Gentleman’s Magazine, he resigned in hope of starting a magazine of his own. This project was to be the figment of his dreams, first with the title “The Penn Magazine’ and later “The Stylus,” until the end of his life. When George Graham bought the Gentleman’s Maga- gine and combined it with The Casket under the new title of Graham’s Magazine, he secured the services of Poe, who was the editor of the very successful publica- tion from April, 1841, to the May number, 1842. During the two years that followed, Poe contributed many free- lance articles to magazines, lectured in Baltimore and Philadelphia, sought unsuccessfully a political appoint- ment under the Tyler administration, and won a prizeINTRODUCTION Xl offered by The Dollar Newspaper with his story, “The Gold Bug.” In April, 1844, with scarcely more than enough money to pay their fare, his little family of three removed to New York; and Poe secured a position under N. P. Willis on the New York Evening Murror. The publication of “The Raven” in January, 1845, made its author for the time a celebrity. He resigned in February from the Mirror and in March joined C. F. Briggs in an effort as joint-editors to establish upon a successful basis the Broadway Journal, a tottering New York weekly. During the following summer a new collection of his tales was published in New York and London and in the fall, ‘The Raven and Other Poems.”’ In one edition the tales and poems are bound as a single volume. In the fall. Briggs having withdrawn, Poe sought to continue the Broadway Journal alone, re- publishing in it almost everything of original composi- tion that he had formerly printed in other periodicals. But with the January 3, 1846, number the Broadway Journal suspended publication. Financial malnutrition is a sufficient explanation of its decline. 1846 was a sad year for the Poes. About 1841-2 Virginia Poe had ruptured a blood vessel while singing and ever since had been in wretched health. Poe him- self was ill and as the result of newspaper controversy with Thomas Dunn English certain scandalous charges were made which led Poe to enter suit. He won the court verdict against the Mirror, which had allowed the article to be reprinted in its pages, but the verdict was not given until February 17, 1847; and on January 30 his wife had died. In 1846 Poe had leased the cottage at Fordham and there he lived the last three years of his life. During the two years that Poe lived after his young ee ee ee eee ae ee ne re er eee eee=~. —2 eas Sa eee a8 bebe oes pepeee rictyiete ree ee eee eee ee ee ee See ee ee ee hee eee ee xii INTRODUCTION wife’s death, with the exception of three or four of his most widely known poems, “Annabel Lee,” “Ulalume,” “For Annie,’ and “Eldorado,” he wrote little. He yielded with perhaps greater frequency than at any period of his life to the weakness for drink which had beset him at intervals since his early manhood. He was unfortunate in being easily influenced by alcohol and when he drank at all he became like another person and his excesses were followed by physical prostration. Generally speaking these sprees were separated by long periods but they won for him a reputation for dissipa- tion, and increased the distresses of his household poverty. In the year 1848 the lonely man began a somewhat imaginative courtship of the poctess, Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman. He wrote her impassioned love-letters and at one time was engaged to her. During these latter years he had begun again to lecture on literary topics with considerable success. He appeared in Providence, Mrs. Whitman’s home, in Norfolk, Virginia, Richmond, and at Lowell, Massachusetts. In the latter place he met Mrs. Charles Richmond, the cultured wife of a Lowell manufacturer. Poe realized, almost at sight, that he was desperately in love with her. Mrs. Richmond, the “Annie” of his poems and letters, true to her loyalty to her husband, persuaded Poe to return to Providence to receive Mrs. Whitman’s answer to his proposal. Poe, driven by desperation of feeling, bought two ounces of Jaudanum in Boston and, after writing a letter to Mrs. Richmond, attempted to take his life. The ounce of drug was thrown off by his stomach and, if we may believe his own written words, he went to Providence in an almost irresponsible condition. Mrs. Whitman’s account of the following interview and Mrs. Clemm’s of his appearance when he returned home bear out hisINTRODUCTION xili own evidence. When he at last presented himself to Mrs. Whitman in this deplorable state she was indefinite in her answer to his repeated proposal of marriage. Later she engaged herself to him on condition that he abstain entirely from drinking. The marriage plans went forward but so did the letters of appeal to Mrs. Richmond to bid him withdraw before another bar was put between them. Two circumstances affecting the agreement occurred just before the time fixed for the marriage: Mrs. Whitman’s mother secured the signatures of Mrs. Whitman and Poe to a paper making over all the daughter’s fortune to the mother, and Mrs. Whitman was told by friends that Poe was known to have been drinking. The marriage did not take place, and Poe returned without a bride to the cottage at Fordham. In the last year of his life Poe met again, in Rich- mond, Mrs. Sarah Elmira Shelton, whom he had visited in his early youth as Miss Royster. He made his addresses to her and expected to marry her when he left Richmond for the last time on September 27, 1849. Mrs. Shelton, however, denied in later years that they were formally engaged. The circumstances that led to Poe's death will prob- ably always remain unknown. Theories of his being drugged by election corruptionists appear unfounded. A committee from the temperance organization in Rich- mond convinced itself that he had not broken his lately taken pledge. The lesion of the brain that two doctors who knew him in his later years have mentioned may have resulted in unconsciousness; he probably lost con- sciousness through drinking; or he may again (for his last letter to Mrs. Clemm is evidence that he still loved Mrs. Richmond) have repeated his attempt at suicide. All that we can say positively is that he was found in a desperate condition and taken to a hospital in Balti- gipaed> 695 =3SSsES5 24598.— > ee ee ee pe oe ee 73-8 a foretrre te ee ee le ee Ee a ed «+ Dede peeeniwenetere: ee ee ee ee a St recs rsstetes= Tos eS a Xiv INTRODUCTION more. He never regained consciousness but he died there on Sunday, October 7, 1849. He was buried the next day in the yard of the Westminster Presbyterian Church in Baltimore. Many myths have grown up around the name of Poe. His boyhood tragic experiments with cards at Char- lottesville have led to the mistaken belief that he was a gambler. It has, without truth, been said that he was expelled from the University of Virginia. His desperate recourse to laudanum has led to sweeping conclusions of obsession by the opium habit: and a man who was debilitated by the least amount of drinking is often portrayed as owing to stimulation the wild creations of his imagination. Poe’s nature was a peculiar one. Through the sad conditions of his life, thrown much upon himself, he was often a gloomy and lonesome figure, but he loved congenial company and in his genial meet- ing with rare acquaintances he sometimes gave way to the weakest point of a naturally strong will: and when once intoxicated, he became a crazy man. The strength of his character is best seen in the unswerving fidelity with which through neglect and poverty he prosecuted the high ideals of his literary life. It took a brave and a strong man to follow a career of pure art in the America of the first half of the nineteenth century. His weakness is sufficiently evident in even so brief a recital of his life as this. His sad and painful life has its best justification and his name and fame their surest monu- ment in the poems, the critical papers and the tales that were the fruit of his strange and individual genius.INTRODUCTION II There is an essential unity about the work of Edgar Allan Poe as a man of letters;—almost the first impor- tant professional author in America. Yet there is a separate individuality, too, to his authorship in each of several fields. Poe the critic, Poe the poet, Poe the mystic theorist, are so many distinct equations in litera- ture. It is with Poe and his most peculiarly character- istic contribution to prose literature—the short tale— that this book has to do. Even the longer tale, “Arthur Gordon Pym,” and the tale-like magazine “piece” —in the form of phantasy like “Mellonta Tauta’’—are by the definition excluded that the short tales only may for once be brought together separately in one volume. So much has been claimed for Poe as a writer of short stories that there is a disposition, in reaction, to under- rate his actual historic importance in the development of the form. Whether Poe was the originator, or even the first to define the short story as a special type, is open to discussion. A definition or a taste often deter- mines a critic’s view. Certainly he brought into being a new method and a new kind of story. And his own tales, and the stories of those who like Fitz-James O’Brien had learned from him, had more immediate influence upon his own and the following generation than his critical writings. From the ‘eighties on, after Pro- fessor Brander Matthews had popularized his “philos- ophy of the short-story,’ Poe’s indirect influence, for good or ill, became great in conventionalizing a type of short fiction; another illustration of Huxley’s epigram, “the Nemesis of all reformers is finality.” Poe himself, like Stevenson, learned his art by play- ing “‘the sedulous ape. Of those dark years of obscure poverty in Baltimore before 1835 little is authoritatively Per yest ee ee) 7s)A 7 ede tet Set te ee ee ae Ce ee ne ee ot ee ee ee Sa i a ee ee ee aia eT ee. XVi INTRODUCTION known. Part of the time he spent on his unsuccessful play, “Politian.” His time must have been well occupied, too, with preparation for magazine writing; he evidently was reading widely and voraciously. But his most important activity was the writing of “The Tales of the Folio Club.” The latter were his prentice work and he won his first public notice through them. Five, at least, were obscurely published in 1832 in the Philadelphia Saturday Courier and one, “MS. Found in a Bottle,” won the Baltimore Saturday Visiter contest and drew. to Poe the helpful aid of John Pendleton Kennedy. The remarkable fact is that the aim of these stories has been ignored. Poe wrote them as satirical burlesques of the familiar styles and themes of his day; but his biogra- phers have with unconscious humor pardoned to his youth the similarity to other writers. Even so able a critic as George Edward Woodberry misses the intent of burlesque mimicry when he points out Poe’s indebted- ness to Vivian Grey. There were sixteen of the “Tales of the Folio Club.” Fifteen of thera—I make the con- jecture in the doubtful cases on fairly convincing grounds—were as follows: ““M.S. Found in a Bottle,” “Lionizing,” “The Assignation,” ‘Bon-Bon,”’ ‘Loss of Breath,” “Silence,” “Shadow,” “King Pest,” ‘‘Metzen- gerstein, “Duc de L’Omelette,” ‘Four Beasts in’ One,” “A Tale of Jerusalem,” ‘“Mystification,’ “Never Bet the Devil your Head” and ‘Why the Little Frenchman Wears His Hand in a Sling.” The sixteenth may have been “Berenice.” In the introduction to the series which was not published in Poe’s life-time, he gave the key to the spirit of satire and banter in which the stories were written: each was to be told by a member of the Folio Club which was ‘‘a mere Junto of Dunderheadism” from which the narrator represents himself as having withdrawn ' with purposes of exposure after his firstINTRODUCTION XVil meeting. If we suppose “Berenice” to be the one story read by ‘himself’ at the meeting, we understand why it is so greatly superior in execution to the others, each of which even in the earliest form that we possess still retained marks of its peculiar origin. When Poe was unable to get a publisher to take the volume, he pub- lished at intervals the stories separately; at first retain- ing subtitles to hint their spirit, as “A Parable’; “in the Manner of the Psychological Autobiographists”’; “A Tale A la Blackwoods’’; “In Imitation of the German.” Later. realizing that the satire was missed even by men of letters like Kennedy, he gave a new satire to them to his public upon their face value. by presenting them of the lip with which he I can imagine a cynical twist heard astute critics read a profound allegory into the musical jargon of, let us say, “Silence” :—after which he abandoned the phrase ‘741 the Manner of the Psychological Autobiographists. - The satirical bur- lesques had taught him to study and to use many styles. He saw the possibilities of method and he became im- mensely preoccupied in the study of the mechanism of the tale. He applied his keenly analytical mind to inventing new devices, even new types for the story; so that the germs of almost every technique since used,— even to O. Henry's unexpected “twist’—may be found experimentally used by Edgar Poe. He had found in Augustus William Schlegel and Coleridge a philosophy of composition ready to his mind. Starting with ot impression, he found unity of form Schlegel’s unity artistic end: the real unity and tone only a means to an was to be an achieved psychological effect upon the reader. An interesting turn of literary development is first experimenting with his own seen when we find Poe imitative “Metzengerstein’ method in the consciously and “The Visionary ; and if “Berenice” was the one ees oe Tee ere a ee ee ee- 7 - — od a ~4 _- Ss a le Date Poth Sat ke ee et oe ee El ee eee eee ee a eee a ee Se ee ee ee a ee ee ee XVili INTRODUCTION story which the relator of the “Tales of the Folio Club” told in his own person, then it may be taken as fairly representative of Poe’s own earliest original method unqualified by the satirically imitative purpose. Poe’s tales may be more easily grouped by the struc- tural method than through classification by subject mat- ter. There are four main principles of construction used by him, but many variations of each. There are (1) the tales of the single converging impressionistic effect: (2) the double structure of the unraveled mystery: (3) the surprise effect of the unexpected out- come: and (4) the single effect of tone or setting merely. In the first type Poe uses a single tone and setting, an uncomplicated series of incidents and in the finest as “Ligeia” or “William Wilson,” a single theme-idea, and with masterly skill and economy of art achieves one compelling culminating effect. In the second type the method depends more upon complicating incidents; it is less scenic and more dramatic. The converging prin- ciple is present but the story falls into two sections: a first effect is achieved through the objective interest of the solving of the mystery; the second effect is achieved by the solving of the solution itself and the climax is pseudo-intellectual in that it lies in admiration for the skill of the solver. Poe used this method in his genuine detective story of the type of “The Purloined Letter” and he used it also in his own burlesque of the mystery story, “Thou Art the Man.” It was through the many experiments that he made with hjs tales of burlesque and humor that Poe probably worked out the detective type of the mystery story; for in many ways the organization of the story of contrast is represented in the detective story. But what is given here as the third type of Poe’s tales admitted of far greater variety than the mystery story, a variety represented by theINTRODUCTION X1X pseudo-scientific story, like “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar”; the bantering satire, like “The Devil in the Belfry’ ; the grotesque extravaganza, like “The Man that Was Used Up’; or the mere “‘sell,” like ““The Premature Burial’ with its surprise ending bursting in the face like a bubble. In all these varieties there is an element of contrast and of the une xpected. Most even of the pseudo-scientific tales mingle a Defoe-like sim- plicity of homely detail with curious and_ startling incidents of the romantic ahd impossible. Even his long tale “Arthur Gordon Pym’ comes to its unexpected conclusion with the gigantic figure against the white background, and the one apparent exception among the tales of commonplace, realistic incident, the unclaimed “Journal of Julius Rodman, is known only in an in- complete form and for all we know may have been designed to end as startlingly as do all the others. There remain the tales of the fantastic tone-effect like “Bleonora” and “The Island of the Fay,’ and the pieces of single-setting effect, like “The Domain of Arnheim” and “Lhe Elk.’ ‘The tales of the former variety differ little except in degree from the first group of impression- istic effect: they have single tone and idea but lack the cumulative scenic ‘incidents. ‘The latter scenic pieces are not tales at all; nor are the colloquies like “The Power of Words” or “The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion.” ‘They are magazine articles; phantasy essays, if you will. cast into an unusual form. Poe felt that there were great opportunities for originality in the magazine piece of his day and commented upon it. The “Tittle Annie’s Ramble” and “Rill from the Town Pump” of Hawthorne, and “The Country Church” and “Christmas Day” of Irving's Sketch Book are examples of the best of the kind. Hawthorne included such trifles in his T'wice Told Tales as palatable padding for ee ee ee ee ee #6 ¢@ &- sdyis beeee ee te ee ee “ . * ~ " - “ ™ — a a Re ee ee Ee el ere le oe et ee a ee eee eh ee a me s XX INTRODUCTION the taste of his day, and Poe’s efforts at novelty in this field have been retained usually among his tales, too; but they do not belong there. ‘‘Diddling Considered as One of the Fine Arts” or “Some Words with a Mummy” borrows the raconteur’s manner but makes no pretense to his technique. Even “The Sphinx” is merely cast into the technical form of the tale: in reality it is an essay by example upon the relativity of the human sense of sight. Poe prided himself upon his variety as a writer of short fiction, and yet that is the very quality most often denied him. The difference in the attitudes is due to a difference in point of view. It is true that in terms of character, of human and personal values, he presented little variety; his range was limited. But he thought rather of the variety of method and device and intellectual content; and in those respects few writers have equalled him in the diversity of manner, the fertil- ity of invention, or the keen precision of effects. The tales in this edition have been arranged under the five easily perceived divisions of (1) tales of impres- sionistic effect, (2) tales of realistic detail and romantic incident, (3) tales of ratiocination, (4) tales of bur- lesque and humor, and (5) tales of phantasy, a term adopted here for its inclusiveness. It will be easy to see how this grouping approximates to a degree the classification by structural principle already discussed. In the light of this discussion it will be easy, too, to see the justice of Poe’s claims to variety as a writer of prose. Within the divisions the tales are arranged in order of publication that the development of Poe as an artist and a craftsman can be studied. He reached his zenith by the age of thirty in “Ligeia” and “William Wilson,” maintained his power in the tales of analysis from “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” to “The Pur- loined Letter” of 1845, then gradually dwindled to theINTRODUCTION XX1 horrors of “Hop-Frog,” published in the last year of his life. The skill of the craftsman, the precision of the word-master, the variety of the man who believed that a writer should have a special style for every special purpose, the keenness of the logic, the range of intel- lectual interest, the gloomy splendor of the imagination of Edgar A. Poe, can be realized in no other manner 80 * well as by reading comparatively all his short tales. of Poe, his power to rouse our terror, to The magic fill our mind with strange emotions, are the result of his conscious art. He knew the mind of man best in that he knew how to bring it under his spell. JaMEs SOUTHALL WILSON A CLASSIFICATION OF POE’S TALES Tales of I mpression istic Effect METZENGERSTEIN Philadelphia Saturday Courier, 14 January, 1832 Tre ASSIGNATION Godey’s Lady's Book, January, 1834 BERENICE Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1835 MoRELLA Southern Literary Messenger, April, 1835 LIGEIA American Museum, September, 1838 Tue FALL or THE House OF UsHER Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine, September, 1839 WiLi1AM WILSON The Gift, 1840 Tae MAN OF THE CROWD Graham’s Magazine, December, 1840 Tue MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH Graham’s Magazine, May, 1842 Tue OvaL PorTRAIT Graham’s Magazine, May, 1842 Tare Pir AND THE PENDULUM The Gift, 1843 Tarn Tevu-TraLte HEART The Pioneer, January, 1843 Tue Buack CAT United States Saturday Post, 19 August, 1843 ee ee, - - sHse ee a! SESS FerOty Seder ystsee ee = " ? ~ " ~ 1 Se eh ea ee ie ae ee ee ee See ee ee ee . : | oe ee 8 ~ ST Se ee ee ee ee eee Te nA CLASSIFICATION OF POE’S TALES A TALE oF THE RaGcep Mountains Godey’s Lady’s Book, April, 1844 THE Ositone Box Godey’s Lady’s Book, September, 1844 Tue Cask or AMONTILLADO Godey’s Lady’s Book, November, 1846 Hop-F Roc Flag of Our Union, 17 March, 1849 Tales of Realistic Detail and Romantic Incident MS. Founp In Aa BortLe Baltimore Saturday Visiter, 19 October, 1833 THe UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE OF ONE HANs PFAALL Southern Literary Messenger, June, 1835 A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM Graham’s Magazine, May, 1841 Tue Battoon Hoax New York Sun, 13 April, 1844 THE PREMATURE BurIAL The Dollar Newspaper, 31 July, 1844 MesMerIc REVELATION Columbian Magazine, August, 1844 Tue Imp oF THE PERVERSE Graham’s Magazine, July, 1845 THE Facts in THE Case or M. VALDEMAR American Whig Review, December, 1845 THE SpHINx Arthur’s Ladies’ Magazine, January, 1846 Van KEMPELEN AND His Discovery Flag of Our Union, 14 April, 1849 Tales of Ratiocination Tue Murpers tn tHe Rue Morcur Graham’s Magazine, April, 1841 Tue Mystery or Maris Rocfr Snowden’s Ladies’ Companion, November and December, 1842, February, 1843 Tue Goup-Buc The Dollar Newspaper, 21 and 28 June, 1843 THe PurLowep Lerrer The Gift, 1845 Tales of Burlesque and Humor Duc Dr L’Ometerre Philadelphia Saturday Courier, 3 March, 1832 A Tae or JERUSALEM Philadelphia Saturday Courier, 9 June, 1832 Loss or BreatH Philadelphia Saturday Courier, 10 November, 1832~ A CLASSIFICATION OF POE’S TALES Bon-Bon Philadelphia Saturday Courier, 1 December, 1832 LIONIZING Southern Literary Messenger, May, 1835 Kina PEstT Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835 Four BEASTS IN ONE Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1836 MyYSsTIFICATION American Monthly Magazine, June, 1837 How to Write A BLackwoopD ARTICLE A PREDICAMENT American Museum, November, 1838 Tue Devin IN THE BELFRY Philadelphia Saturday Chronicle and American Mirror of the Times, 18 May, 1839 THe Man Tuat Was Usep Up Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine, August, 1839 Way THE Litrte FrencuMan Wore His HAND IN A SLING (1840 Edition of the Tales] Tue Bustvess MAN Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine, February, 1540 Never Bet THE Devi Your HEAD Graham’s Magazine, September, 184] THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK Saturday Evening Post, 27 November, 1841 Tue SPECTACLES The Dollar Newspaper, 27 March, 1844 Tur ANGEL OF THE ODD Columbian Magazine, October, 1844 THou ART THE MAN Godey’s Lady's Book, November, 1844 Tae Literary Lire oF Tutncum-Bop, Esa. Southern Literarv Messenger, December, 1844 Tue 1002 TALE OF SCHEHERAZADE Godey’s Lady's Book, February, 1845 Tur System or Dr. TARR AND PRoF. FETHER Graham’s Magazine, November, 1845 Phantasy Pieces SHapow—A PARABLE Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835 SrLENCE—A FABLE Baltimore Book, 1838 Tur ISLAND OF THE Fay Graham’s Magazine, June, 1841 ELEONORA The Gift, 1842 Ne >e PP eee eee eo Pere ty ett ee ek) “eee ot Pe tee ee Peed pe ee weeere eee eu yeeee ee ee " a oJ i Ys “ y cf ' a O . - - “ i See hoe eee ee bolia-sv- es Dede Pest ares. re rs teers cert gs ek esses re Ce ee et ee re Coe at . Life and Letters of Edgar Allan Poe. By James A. . The Cambridge History of American Literature. A SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF POE . The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. (Virginia Edition.) Edited by James A. Harrison. 17 vols. 1902. New York: T. Y. Crowell and Company. . The Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Edited by E. C. Stedman and George Edward Woodberry. 10 vols. 1914. Charles Scrib- ner’s Sons. . The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Edited by Killis Campbell. 1917. Boston: Ginn and Company. . The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Edited by J. H. Whitty. 1917. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Harrison. 2 vols. 1902. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. . The Life of Edgar Allan Poe. By George E. Woodberry. 2 vols. ~ 1909. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Vol. 2: pp. 55- 69. 1918. - Poets of America. By Edmund Clarence Stedman. 1898. Pp. 225-272. Boston: Houghton Miffiin Company. . Edgar Allan Poe Letters Till Now Unpublished in the Valentine Museum, Richmond, Virginia. Edited by Mary Newton Stanard. 1925. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company.CONTENTS INTRODUCTION... .JAMES SOUTHALL WILSON..... Vv Werzenpersteln.....--.0.6.0++++5 eee ee ie wesipriatlON. ....- 5-0. cee ets 12 Pc ee i os 26 EIT gk a we We 37 MS yee te ees ee 43 ™The Fall of, the House of f Usher... . :. 5: see 62 William W eant 2. aa. 85) / The Man of Pahe C TOW... oc ik cic cae tt ee 111 “~The Masque of the Red Death. je bee « hee ee 12% The Oval Portrait a eS ele ke eee a ke he Pit and the Pendulum..........-.--«=-case 1358 eho bell-itale Heart. ..:..05+00- vce «ssn 153 ~The Black Cat. .y ep noee pte 160 we A Tale of the Baboed Mouritaaniee eS, ee 172 ¢ =- The Oblong Box.. eS ack 6 ee 1854 «The Cask of Amontillado....... is re 199 Hop-Frog... .. jie eee 3 ak og ee MS. Found in a Bottle.. 7 _< ee The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall.. 232 - _A Descent into:the Maelstrom......... + The Premature Burial Seu sw cet ue ee “She Murders in the Rue Morgue. we oe ee CBE) * ™The Mystery of Mar SROCE Te a. Ga). se S77 Pee CTO IE. cv ve ee ee ee 436 “fhe Purloined ‘Lett WT) SE er 4814 Sednwe—A Parable. i... ese e een ce = ne ee 504 Silene A BaADIC. ... 2-66 ¢ ese 6 os oe 507 Whe Island of the Fay...-.---8-<++-+::*s=45488 511h PMPERTINGH. 6. = cco c's pe ee te ees «eo AgRS er eee ee en te See ( : n ‘ “ J a t 4 | i S ry ‘ ry ‘ he ow we ee oe 8 ee telee : — TALES OF EDGAR ALLAN POE . wee eee) ft . i ‘ 4 re ' . ‘ ‘ Co - C Lt a eee ee ee ee eeee ee ee ee ee opeens racd—4=4-7=btdes +559 ne res 6 ‘ A Y a 1 J , i | ; J fi ee |METZENGERSTEIN Pestis eram vivus—moriens tua mors ero. Martin Luther. Horror and fatality have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why then give a date to the story I have to tell? Let it suffice to say, that at the period of which I speak, there existed in the interior of Hungary, a settled although hidden belief in the doctrines of the Metem- psychosis. Of the doctrines themselvyes—that is, of their falsity or of their probability—I say nothing. I assert, however, that much of our incredulity (as La Bruyére says of all our unhappiness) “vient de ne pouvoir étre seuls.”” 1 But there were some points in the Hungarian super- stition which were fast verging to absurdity. They, the Hungarians, differed very essentially from their Eastern authorities. For example—‘The soul,” said the former—lI give the words of an acute and intelligent Parisian—“‘ne demeure qu’une seule fois dans un corps sensible: Au reste—un cheval, un chien, un homme meme, n’est que la ressemblance peu tangible de ces animauz.”” The families of Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had been at variance for centuries. Never before were two houses so illustrious, mutually embittered by hostility so deadly. The origin of this enmity seems to be found in 1 Mercier, in “Tan deux mule quatre cent quarante,”’ seriously maintains the doctrines of the Metempsychosis, and I. D’Israeli says that “no system is so simple and so little repugnant to the understanding.” Colonel Ethan Allen, the ‘Green Mountain Boy,” is also said to have been a serious metempsychosist. 1 - he Per ssyincési: i lh oe ee ee er es ee Ps ee ee ee oe ee ee eee a eee reeee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee Be ay 2 2 EDGAR ALLAN POE the words of an ancient prophecy—‘‘A lofty name shall have a fearful fail when, as the rider over his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph over the im- mortality of Berlifitzing.” To be sure the words themselves had little or no meaning. But more trivial causes have given rise—and that no long while ago—to consequences equally event- ful. Besides, the estates, which were contiguous, had long exercised a rival influence in the affairs of a busy government. Moreover, near neighbours are seldom friends; and the inhabitants of the Castle Berlifitzing might look from their lofty buttresses into the very windows of the Palace Metzengerstein. Least of all had the more than feudal magnificence thus discovered a tendency to allay the irritable feelings of the less an- cient and less wealthy Berlifitzings. What wonder, then, that the words, however silly, of that prediction, should have succeeded in setting and keeping at variance two families already predisposed to quarrel by every in- stigation of hereditary jealousy? The prophecy seemed to imply, if it implied anything, a final triumph on the zart of the already more powerful house; and was of course remembered with the more bitter animosity by the weaker and less influential. Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily de- scended, wey, at the epoch of this narrative, an infirm and doting old man, remarkable for nothing but an inordinate a,d inveterate personal antipathy to the family of his rival, and so passionate a love of horses, and of hunting, that neither bodily infirmity, great age, nor mental incapacity, prevented his daily participation in the dangers of the chase. Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet of age. His father, the Minister G ) died young. His mother, the Lady Mary, followed himMETZENGERSTEIN 3 quickly. Frederick was at that time in his eighteenth year. In a city eighteen years are no long period: but in a wilderness—in so magnificent a wilderness as that old principality, the pendulum vibrates with a deeper meaning. From some peculiar circumstances attending the administration of his father, the young Baron at the decease of the former, entered immediately upon his vast possessions. Such estates were seldom held before hy a nobleman of Hungary. His castles were without number. The chief in point of splendour and extent was the “Palace Metzengerstein.” The boundary line of his dominions was never clearly defined, but his principal park embraced a circuit of fifty miles. Upon the succession of a proprietor so young, with a character so well known, to a fortune so unparalleled, little speculation was afloat in regard to his probable course of conduct. And indeed for the space of three days, the behaviour of the heir out-Heroded Herod, and fairly surpassed the expectations of his most enthusias- tic admirers. Shameful debaucheries—flagrant treach- eries—unheard-of atrocities—gave his trembling vassals quickly to understand that no servile submission on their part—no punctilios of conscience on his own— were thenceforward to prove any security against the remorseless fangs of a petty Caligula. On the night of the fourth day, the stables of the Castle Berlifitzing were discovered to be on fire; and the unanimous opinion of the neighbourhood added the crime of the incendiary to the already hideous list of the Baron's misdemeanours and enormities. But during the tumult occasioned by this occurrence, the young nobleman himself sat, apparently buried in meditation. in a vast and desolate upper apartment of the family palace of Metzengerstein. The rich although Pi Sep es Sy Pete ae bee & eas ae) ee ee ee ee ee Tree ee) eee ee eeee ee ee en ree et es weeePeretrererert-g-c-t: I dl a tee eed 4 EDGAR ALLAN POE faded tapestry hangings which swung gloomily upon the walls, represented the shadowy and majestic forms of a thousand illustrious ancestors. Here, rich-ermined priests and pontifical dignitaries, familiarly seated with the autocrat and the sovereign, put a veto on the wishes of a temporal king, or restrained with the fiat of papal supremacy the rebellious sceptre of the Arch-enemy. There, the dark tall statures of the Princes Metzenger- stein—their muscular war-coursers plunging over the earcases of fallen foes—startled the steadiest nerves with their vigorous expression; and here again, the voluptuous and swan-like figures of the dames of days gone by, floated away in the mazes of an unreal dance to the strains of imaginary melody. But as the Baron listened or affected to listen to the gradually increasing uproar in the stables of Berlifitzing —or perhaps pondered upon some more novel, some more decided act of audacity—his eyes were turned un- wittingly to the figure of an enormous and unnaturally coloured horse, represented in the tapestry as belonging to a Saracen ancestor of the family of his rival. The horse itself, in the foreground of the design, stood motionless and statue-like—while farther back, its dis- comfited rider perished by the dagger of a Metzenger- stein. On Frederick’s lip arose a fiendish expression as he became aware of the direction which his glance had, without his consciousness, assumed. Yet he did not remove it. On the contrary, he could by no means account for the overwhelming anxiety which appeared falling like a pall upon his senses. It was with difficulty that he reconciled his dreamy and incoherent feelings with the certainty of being awake. The longer he gazed the more absorbing became the spell—the more impos- sible did it appear that he could ever withdraw hisMETZENGERSTEIN 5 glance from the fascination of that tapestry. But the tumult without becoming suddenly more violent, with a compulsory exertion he diverted his attention to the glare of ruddy light thrown full by the flaming stables upon the windows of the apartment. The action, however, was but momentary; his gaze returned mechanically to the wall. To his extreme horror and astonishment the head of the gigantic steed had in the meantime altered its position. The neck of the animal, before arched, as if in compassion, over the prostrate body of its lord, was now extended at full length in the direction of the Baron. The eyes, before invisible, now wore an energetic and human expression, while they gleamed with a fiery and unusual red; and the distended lips of the apparently enraged horse left in full view his sepulchral and disgusting teeth. Stupefied with terror, the young nobleman tottered to the door. As he threw it open, a flash of red light, streaming far into the chamber, flung his shadow with a clear outline against the quivering tapestry; and he shuddered to perceive that shadow—as he staggered awhile upon the threshold—assuming the exact position, and precisely filling up the contour of the relentless and triumphant murderer of the Saracen Berlifitzing. To lighten the depression of his spirits the Baron hurried into the open air. At the principal gate of the palace he encountered three equerries. With much difficulty, and at the imminent peril of their lives, they were restraining the convulsive plunges of a gigantic and fiery-coloured horse. “Whose horse? Where did you get him?” demanded the youth in a querulous and husky tone, as he became instantly aware that the mysterious steed in the tapes- tried chamber was the very counterpart of the furious animal before his eyes.ee ee ee eee Pe ee ee ee ee ee ‘= ee ee ee ee EDGAR ALLAN POE “He is your own property, sire,’ replied one of the equerries; ‘“‘at least, he is claimed by no other owner. We caught him flying, all smoking and foaming with rage, from the burning stables of the Castle Berlifitzing. Supposing him to have belonged to the old Count’s stud of foreign horses, we led him back as an estray. But the grooms there disclaim any title to the creature, which is strange, since he bears evident marks of having made a narrow escape from the flames.” “The letters W. V. B. are also branded very distinctly >? on his forehead,” interrupted a second equerry; “I sup- posed them of course to be the initials of Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing—but all at the castle are positive in denying any knowledge of the horse.” “Extremely singular!” said the young Baron with a musing air, and apparently unconscious of the meaning of his words. “He is, as you say, a remarkable horse— a prodigious horse! although, as you very justly observe, of a suspicious and untractable character. Let him be mine, however,” he added, after a pause; “perhaps a rider like Frederick of Metzengerstein may tame even the devil from the stables of Berlifitzing.”’ “You are mistaken, my lord; the horse, as I think we mentioned, is not from the stables of the Count. If such had been the case, we know our duty better than to bring him into the presence of a noble of your family.” “True!” observed the Baron, drily; and at that instant a page of the bed-chamber came from the palace with a heightened colour and a precipitate step. He whispered into his master’s ear an account of the sudden disappearance of a small portion of the tapestry in an apartment which he designated, entering at the same time into particulars of a minute and circumstantial character; but from the low tone of voice in which theseMETZENGERSTEIN 7 latter were communicated, nothing escaped to gratify the excited curiosity of the equerries. The young Frederick during the conference seemed agitated by a variety of emotions. He soon, however, recovered his composure, and an expression of deter- mined malignancy settled upon his countenance as he gave peremptory orders that the apartment in question should be immediately locked up, and the key placed in his own possession. “Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old hunter Berlifitzing?’’ said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the departure of the page, the huge steed which that nobleman had adopted as his own plunged and curvetted with redoubled fury down the long avenue which extended from the palace to the stables of Metzengerstein. “No!” said the Baron, turning abruptly towards the speaker; “dead! say you? “It is indeed true, my lord; and, to the noble of your name, will be, I imagine, no unwelcome intelligence.” A rapid smile shot over the countenance of the listener. “How died he?” “In his rash exertions to rescue a favourite portion of his hunting stud, he has himself perished miserably in the flames.” “T_»n—d—e—e—d—!” ejaculated the Baron, as if slowly and deliberately impressed with the truth of some exciting idea. “Indeed!” repeated the vassal. “Shocking!” said the youth calmly, and turned quietly into the palace. From this date a marked alteration took place in the outward demeanour of the dissolute young Baron Frederick Von Metzengerstein. Indeed, his behaviour disappointed every expectation, and proved little in Pate Pe eee— ow ee Ps > — i eek Bo a ea eee oe eee ee ae ee ee es Oe ee a ee ee ee ee ee Fe Se ee ee ee ieee 8 EDGAR ALLAN POE accordance with the view of many a mancuvring mamma; while his habits and manners, still less than formerly, offered anything congenial with those of the neighbouring aristocracy. He was never to be seen beyond the limits of his own domain, and in this wide and social world was utterly companionless—unless indeed that unnatural, impetuous, and _fiery-coloured horse, which he henceforth continually bestrode, had any mysterious right to the title of his friend. Numerous invitations on the part of the neighbourhood for a long time, however, periodically came in. ‘Will the Baron honour our festivals with his presence?” “Will the Baron join us in a hunting of the boar?”— “Metzengerstein will >? “Metzengerstein does not hunt; not attend,’ were the haughty and laconic answers. These repeated insults were not to be endured by an imperious nobility. Such invitations became less cor- dial, less frequent; in time they ceased altogether. The widow of the unfortunate Count Berlifitzing was even heard to express a hope “that the Baron might be at home when he did not wish to be at home, since he dis- dained the company of his equals; and ride when he did not wish to ride, since he preferred the society of a horse.”’ This to be sure was a very silly explosion of hereditary pique, and merely proved how singularly un- meaning our sayings are apt to become when we desire to be unusually energetic. The charitable, nevertheless, attributed the alteration in the conduct of the young nobleman to the natural sorrow of a son for the untimely loss of his parents; for- getting, however, his atrocious and reckless behaviour during the short period immediately succeeding that bereavement. Some there were, indeed, who suggested a too haughty idea of self-consequence and dignity. Others again (among whom may be mentioned the familyMETZENGERSTEIN 9 physician) did not hesitate in speaking of morbid melan- choly and hereditary ill-health, while dark hints of a more equivocal nature were current among the multitude. Indeed, the Baron's perverse attachment to his lately- acquired charger—an attachment which seemed to attain new strength from every fresh example of the animal’s ferocious and demon-like propensities—at length be- came, in the eyes of all reasonable men, a hideous and unnatural fervour. In the glare of noon—at the dead hour of night—in sickness or in health—in calm or in tempest—the young Metzengerstein seemed riveted to the saddle of that colossal horse, whose intractable au- dacities so well accorded with his own spirit. There were circumstances, moreover, which, coupled with late events, gave an unearthly and portentous character to the mania of the rider, and to the capabili- ties of the steed. The space passed over in a single leap had been accurately measured, and was found to ng difference, the wildest expecta- tions of the most imaginative. The Baron, besides, had no particular name for the animal, although all the rest collection were distinguished by characteristic His stable, too, was appointed at a dis- and with regard to grooming and none but the owner in person exceed, by an astoundi in his appellations. tance from the rest; other necessary offices, had ventured to officiate, or even to enter the enclosure of that horse's particular stall. It was also to be ob- served, that although the three grooms, who had caught the steed as he fled from the conflagration at Berlifitz- ing, had succeeded in arresting his course by means of a chain-bridle and noose—yet no one of the three could with any certainty affirm that he had, during that dan- or at any period thereafter, actually body of the beast. Instances nour of a noble and gerous struggle, placed his hand upon the of peculiar intelligence in the demea rest. ret. 2 = ~ a es ee Se Ok ee me ek eh a Le | oe Ba a a ee ee eee ee _ a 9sececredesseéeeesn - 10 EDGAR ALLAN POE high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting unreasonable attention, but there were certain circumstances which intruded themselves perforce upon the most sceptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there were times when the animal caused the gaping crowd who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep and impressive meaning of his terrible stamp—times when the young Metzengerstein turned pale and shrunk away from the rapid and searching expression of his earnest and human-looking eye. Among all the retinue of the Baron, however, none were found to doubt the ardour of that extraordinary affection which existed on the part of the young noble- man for the fiery qualities of his horse; at least, none but an insignificant and misshapen little page, whose deformities were in everybody’s way, and whose opin- ions were of the least possible importance. He (if his ideas are worth mentioning at all) had the effrontery to assert that his master never vaulted into the saddle without an unaccountable and almost imperceptible shudder; and that upon his return from every long- continued and habitual ride, an expression of triumphant malignity distorted every muscle in his countenance. One tempestuous night Metzengerstein, awaking from heavy slumber, descended like a maniac from his cham- ber, and mounting in hot haste, bounded away into the mazes of the forest. An occurrence so common attracted no particular attention, but his return was looked for with intense anxiety on the part of his domestics, when, after some hours’ absence, the stupendous and magnifi- cent battlements of the Palace Metzengerstein were dis- covered crackling and rocking to their very foundation under the influence of a dense and livid mass of ungoy- ernable fire. As the flames, when first seen, had already made soMETZENGERSTEIN 11 terrible a progress that all efforts to save any portion of the building were evidently futile, the astonished neighbourhood stood idly round in silent, if not apathetic wonder. But a new and fearful object soon riveted the attention of the multitude, and proved how much more sntense is the excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony than that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of inanimate matter. Up the long avenue of aged oaks which led from the forest to the main entrance of the Palace Metzenger- stein, a steed, bearing an unbonneted and disordered rider, was seen leaping with an impetuosity which out- stripped the very Demon of the Tempest. The career of the horseman was indisputably, on his own part, uncontrollable. The agony of his counte- nance, the convulsive struggle of his frame, gave evi- dence of superhuman exertion; but no sound, save 4 solitary shriek, escaped from his lacerated lips, which were bitten through and through in the intensity of terror. One instant, and the clattering of hoofs re- sounded sharply and shrilly above the roaring of the flames and the shrieking of the winds—another, and, clearing at a single plunge the gateway and the moat, the steed bounded far up the tottering staircases of the palace, and, with its rider, disappeared amid the whirl- wind of chaotic fire. The fury of the tempest immediately died away, and a dead calm suddenly succeeded. A white flame still enveloped the building like a shroud, and, streaming far away into the quiet atmosphere, shot forth a glare of preternatural light; while a cloud of smoke settled heavily over the battlements in the distinct colossal figure of—a horse. Te rere waa’ st) ee eeek eae tek ee dd OF ek EY SEPA ]casac? ier 2) — - S o Silas ell Tete ile eal at Ok ee et oe ee ee eed ee heed to tea ee eke et et a od, ee ea en ees et ed, ee . ee dee ee a fs THE ASSIGNATION Stay for me there! I will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale. Exequy on the death of his wife, by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester. Ixu-rateD and mysterious man!—bewildered in the brilliancy of thine own imagination, and fallen in the flames of thine own youth! Again in fancy I behold thee! Once more thy form hath risen before me!—not —oh not as thou art—in the cold valley and shadow —but as thou shouldst be—squandering away a life of magnificent meditation in that city of dim visions, thine own Venice—which is a star-beloved Elysium of the sea, and the wide windows of whose Palladian palaces look down with a deep and bitter me aning upon the secrets of her silent waters. Yes! I re peat it—as thou shouldst be. There are surely other worlds than this—other thoughts than the thoughts of the multitude—other speculations than the speculations of the sophist. Who then shall call thy conduct into question? who blame thee for thy visionary hours, or denounce those occupations as a wasting away of life, yeh were but the ov erflowings of thine ev erlasting energies It was at Venice, ponertr the covered archway there called the Ponte dei Sospiri, that I met for the third or fourth time the person of whom I speak. It is with a confused recollection that I bring to mind the circum- stances of that meeting. Yet I remember—ah! how should I forget?—the deep midnight, the Bridge of Sighs, the beauty of woman, and the Genius of Romance, that stalked up and down the narrow canal. It was a night of unusual gloom. The great clock of the Piazza had sounded the fifth hour of the Italian 12THE ASSIGNATION 13 evening. The square of the Campanile lay silent and deserted, and the lights in the old Ducal Palace were dying fast away. I was returning home from the Piazetta by way of the Grand Canal. But as my gon- dola arrived opposite the mouth of the canal San Marco, a female voice from its recesses broke suddenly upon the night in one wild, hysterical, and long-continued shriek. Startled at the sound, I sprang upon my feet; whilst the gondolier, letting slip his single oar, lost it in the pitchy darkness beyond a chance of recovery, and we were consequently left to the guidance of the cur- rent which here sets from the greater into the smaller channel. Like some huge and sable-feathered condor, we were slowly drifting down towards the Bridge of Sighs, when a thousand flambeaux flashing from the windows. and down the staircases of the Ducal Palace, turned all at once that deep gloom into a livid and preternatural day. A child, slipping from the arms of its own mother, had fallen from an upper window of the lofty structure into the deep and dim canal. The quiet waters had closed placidly over their victim, and, although my own gondola was the only one in sight, many a stout swim- mer, already in the stream, was seeking in vain upon the surface the treasure which was to be found, alas! only within the abyss. Upon the broad black marble flagstones at the entrance of the palace, and a few steps above the water. stood a figure which none who then saw can have ever since forgotten. It was the Marchesa Aphrodite—the adoration of all Venice—the gayest of the gay—the most lovely where all were beautiful—but still ee young wife of the old and intriguing Mentoni, and the mother of that fair child, her first and only one, who now, deep beneath the murky water, was thinking in bitterness of heart upon her sweet caresses, and ae ee oe eS ee ee ie a Pe ee ee ere ee ee ee ee ee ee ee Tr. oer. eee eeoe es OO ee ee ee ea ee ee ee es a ee ee ee ee aoe e ee. ao ae 14 EDGAR ALLAN POE exhausting its little life in struggles to call upon her name. She stood alone. Her small, bare, and silvery feet gleamed in the black mirror of marble beneath her. Her hair, not as yet more than half loosened for the night from its ball-room array, clustered amid a shower of diamonds round and round her classical head, in curls like those of the young hyacinth. A snowy-white and gauze-like drapery seemed to be nearly the sole covering to her delicate form; but the mid-summer and midnight air was hot, sullen, and still, and no motion in the statute- like form itself stirred even the folds of that raiment of very vapour which hung around it as the heavy marble hangs around the Niobe. Yet—strange to say! —her large lustrous eyes were not turned downwards upon that grave wherein her brightest hope lay buried —but riveted in a widely different direction! The prison of the Old Republic is, I think, the stateliest building in all Venice; but how could that lady gaze so’ fixedly upon it, when beneath her lay stifling her only child? Yon dark gloomy niche, too, yawns right opposite her chamber window—what then could there be in its shadows, in its architecture, in its ivy-wreathed and solemn cornices—that the Marchesa di Mentoni had not wondered at a thousand times before? Nonsense !—Who does not remember, that at such a time as this, the eyes like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of its sorrow, and sees in innumerable far-off places, the woe which is close at hand? Many steps above the Marchesa, and within the arch of the water-gate, stood, in full dress, the Satyr-like figure of Mentoni himself. He was occasionally occupied in thrumming a guitar, and seemed ennuyé to the very death, as at intervals he gave directions for the recovery of his child. Stupefied and aghast, I had myself noTHE ASSIGNATION 15 power to move from the upright position I had assumed upon first hearing the shriek, and must have presented to the eyes of the agitated group a spectral and ominous appearance, as with pale countenance and rigid limbs I floated down among them in that funereal gondola. All efforts proved in vain. Many of the most energetic +n the search were relaxing their exertions, and yielding to a gloomy sorrow. There seemed but little hope for the child; (how much less than for the mother!) but now, from the interior of that dark niche which has been already mentioned as forming a part of the Old Repub- lican prison, and as fronting the lattice of the Marchesa, a figure muffled in a cloak stepped out within reach of the light, and pausing a moment upon the verge of the giddy descent, plunged headlong into the canal. As in an instant afterwards he stood with the still living and breathing child within his grasp upon the marble flag- stones by the side of the Marchesa, his cloak heavy with the drenching water became unfastened, and, falling in folds about his feet, discovered to the wonder-stricken person of a very young man, with spectators the graceful the greater part of Europe was the sound of whose name then ringing. No word spoke the deliverer. But the Marchesa! She will now receive her child—she will press it to her ing to its little form, and smother it Alas! another’s arms have taken it taken it away, heart—she will cl with her caresses. from the stranger—another’s arms have ‘t afar off, unnoticed, into the palace! And Her lip—her beautiful lip trembles: s—those eyes which, like 1 almost liquid.” Yes! and borne the Marchesa! tears are gathering in her eye Pliny’s acanthus, are “soft ant tears are gathering in those eyes—and see! the entire woman thrills throughout the soul, and the statue has started into life! The pallor of the marble countenance, ee es oo Trr ~ aetna dtt doatt akaea ieee aes Re ee ee ee ee ee ee et ee 16 EDGAR ALLAN POE the swelling of the marble bosom, the very purity of the marble feet, we behold suddenly flushed over with a tide of ungovernable crimson; and a slight shudder quivers about her delicate frame, as a gentle air at Napoli about the rich silver lilies in the grass. Why should that lady blush? To this demand there is no answer—except that having left, in the eager haste and terror of a mother’s heart, the privacy of her own boudoir, she has neglected to enthral her tiny feet in their slippers, and utterly forgotten to throw over her Venetian shoulders that drapery which is their due. What other possible reason could there have been for her so blushing ?—for the glance of those wild appealing eyes? for the unusual tumult of that throbbing bosom? for the convulsive pressure of that hand?—that hand which fell, as Mentoni turned into the palace, accident- ally, upon the hand of the stranger. What reason could there have been for the low—the singularly low tone of those unmeaning words which the lady uttered hurriedly in bidding him adieu? “Thou hast conquered,” she said, or the murmurs of the water deceived me; “thou hast conquered—one hour after sunrise—we shall meet—so let it be!’ * * + * * * The tumult had subsided, the lights had died away within the palace, and the stranger whom I now recog- nized stood alone upon the flags. He shook with in- conceivable agitation, and his eye glanced around in search of a gondola. I could not do less than offer him the service of my own; and he accepted the civility. Having obtained an oar at the water-gate, we proceeded together to his residence, while he rapidly recovered his self-possession, and spoke of our former slight acquaint- ance in terms of great apparent cordiality. There are some subjects upon which I take pleasureTHE ASSIGNATION 17 in being minute. The person of the stranger—let me call him by this title, who to all the world was still a the person of the stranger is one of these ight he might have been below rather stranger subjects. In he than above the medium size: although there were moments of intense passion when his frame actually and belied the assertion. The light, almost of his figure, promised more of that evinced at the Bridge of Sighs, expanded slender symmetry ready activity which he than of that Herculean strength which he has been known to wield without an effort, upon occasions of more dangerous emergency. With the mouth and chin of a deity—singular, wild, full, liquic 1 from pure hazel to intense and brilliant jet—and of curling black hair, from which a fore- | breadth gleamed forth at intervals all features than which I have seen 1 eyes, whose shadows variec a profusion head of unusua light and ivory- -his were none more classically regular, except, perhaps, the Emperor Commodus. Yet his coun- tenance was, nevertheless, one of those which all men period of their lives, and have never afterwards seen again. It had no peculiar—it had no settled predominant expression to be fastened upon the memory; a countenance seen and instantly forgotten— but forgotten with a vague and never-ceasing desire of recalling it to the mind. Not that the spirit of each rapid to throw its own distinct marble ones of the have seen at some passion failed, at any time, image upon the mirror of that face—but that the mirror, mirror-like, retained no vestige of the passion when the passion had departed. Upon leaving him on the night of our adventure, he solicited me, in what I thought an urgent manner, to eall upon him very early after sunrise I found myself accordi one of those huge structures of gloomy, the next morning. Shortly ngly at his Palazzo, yet fantastic em esedacbek- i ito id ST ESI S4 selstiiqet: _ er ee serene sd os oee a- et ok ee ees Ce ee ee, et eet ee ee ee ee ee eee 18 EDGAR ALLAN POE pomp, which tower above the waters of the Grand Canal in the vicinity of the Rialto. I was shown up a broad winding staircase of mosaics into an apartment whose unparalleled splendour burst through the opening door with an actual glare, making me blind and dizzy with luxuriousness. I knew my acquaintance to be wealthy. Report had spoken of his possessions in terms which I had even ventured to call terms of ridiculous exaggeration. But as I gazed about me, I could not bring myself to believe that the wealth of any subject in Europe could have supplied the princely magnificence which burned and blazed around. Although, as I say, the sun had arisen, yet the room was still brilliantly lighted up. I judge from this cir- cumstance, as well as from an air of exhaustion in the countenance of my friend, that he had not retired to bed during the whole of the preceding night. In the archi- tecture and embellishments of the chamber, the evident design had been to dazzle and astound. Little attention had been paid to the decora of what is technically called keeping, or to the proprieties of nationality. The eye wandered from object to object, and rested upon none— neither the grotesques of the Greek painters, nor the sculptures of the best Italian days, nor the huge cary- ings of untutored Egypt. Rich draperies in every part of the room trembled to the vibration of low, melancholy music, whose origin was not to be discovered. The senses were oppressed by mingled and conflicting per- fumes, reeking up from strange convolute censers, to- gether with multitudinous flaring and flickering tongues of emerald and violet fire. The rays of the newly risen sun poured in upon the whole, through windows, formed each of a single pane of crimson-tinted glass. Glancing to and fro, in a thousand reflections, from curtains whichTHE ASSIGNATION 19 rolled from their cornices like cataracts of molten silver, the beams of natural glory mingled at length fitfully with the artificial light, and lay weltering in subdued masses upon a carpet of rich, liquid-looking cloth of Chili gold. “1a! ha! ha!—ha! ha! ha!’’—laughed the proprietor, motioning me to a seat as I entered the room, and throwing himself back at full-length upon an ottoman. “T see,” said he, perceiving that | could not immediately reconcile myself to the bienséance of so singular a wel- come—‘I see you are astonished at my apartment—at my statues—my pictures—my originality of conception in architecture and upholstery! absolutely drunk, eh, with my magnificence? But pardon me, by dear sir, (here his tone of voice dropped to the very spirit of cordiality), pardon me for my uncharitable laughter. You appeared so utterly astonished. Besides, some things are so completely ludicrous that a man must laugh or die. To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths! Sir Thomas More—a very fine man was Sir Thomas More—Sir Thomas More died laughing, you remember. Also in the Absurdities of Ravisius Textor there is a long list of characters who came to the same magnificent end. Do you know, how- ever,” continued he, musingly, “that at Sparta (which +s now Paleochori), at Sparta, I say, to the west of the citadel, among a chaos of scarcely visible ruins, is a kind of socle upon which are still legible the letters AAZM. They are undoubtedly part of TEAAZMA. Now, at Sparta were a thousand temples and shrines to a thou- sand different divinities. How exceedingly strange that the altar of Laughter should have survived all the others! But in the present instance,” he resumed, with a singlar alteration of voice and manner, “I have no right to be merry at your expense. You might well have— a - » Sereiteeceresigtets -rrerrlcis ptenbudtoerenesen enh ract een banees ee ee eS ee ee he oe ee ee rt eae oe EP ees S =e ert acs 7 20 EDGAR ALLAN POE been amazed. Europe cannot produce anything so fine as this my little regal cabinet. My other apartments are by no means of the same order—mere ultras of fashionable insipidity. This is better than fashion— is it not? Yet this has but to be seen to become the rage—that is with those who could afford it at the cost of their entire patrimony. I have guarded, however, against any such profanation. With one exception you are the only human being, besides myself and my valet, who has been admitted within the mysteries of these imperial precincts since they have been bedizened as you see!” I bowed in acknowledgment—for the overpowering sense of splendour, and perfume, and music, together with the unexpected eccentricity of his address and man- ner, prevented me from expressing in words my appre- ciation of what I might have construed into a compli- ment. “Here,” he resumed, arising and leaning on my arm as he sauntered around the apartment, “here are paint- ings from the Greeks to Cimabue, and from Cimabue to the present hour. Many are chosen, as you see, with little deference to the opinions of Virtu. They are all, however, fitting tapestry for a chamber such as this. Here, too, are some chefs-d’ceuvre of the unknown great; and here unfinished designs by men celebrated in their day, whose very names the perspicacity of the academies has left to silence and to me. What think you, said he, turning abruptly as he spoke—‘what think you of this Madonna della Pieta?” “It is Guido’s own!” I said, with all the enthusiasm of my nature, for I had been poring intently over its surpassing loveliness. ‘It is Guido’s own!—how could you have obtained it?—she is undoubtedly in painting what the Venus is in sculpture.”THE ASSIGNATION 21 “Ha!” said he thoughtfully, “the Venus—the beauti- ful Venus?—the Venus of the Medici?—she of the diminutive head and the gilded hair? Part of the left arm (here his voice dropped so as to be heard with difficulty) and all the right are restorations; and in the coquetry of that right arm lies, I think, the quintessence of all affectation. Give me the Canova! The Apollo, too !—is a copy—there can be no doubt of it—blind fool that I am who cannot behold the boasted inspiration of _ the Apollo! I cannot help—pity me!—I cannot help preferring the Antinoiis. Was it not Socrates who said that the statuary found his stature in the block of marble? Then Michael Angelo was by no means original in his couplet— ‘Non ha !’ottimo artista aleun concetto Che un marmo solo in se non circonscriva. It has been or should be remarked that in the manner of the true gentleman we are always aware of a differ- ence from the bearing of the vulgar, without being at once precisely able to determine in what such difference consists. Allowing the remark to have applied in its full force to the outward demeanour of my acquaintance, I felt it on that eventful morning still more fully appli- cable to his moral temperament and character. Nor can I better define that peculiarity of spirit which seemed to place him so essentially apart from all other human beings, than by calling it a habit of intense and continual thought pervading even his most trivial ac- tions—intruding upon his moments of dalliance, and interweaving itself with his very flashes of merriment— like adders which writhe from out the eyes of the grin- ning masks in the cornices around the temples of Per- sepolis. I could not help, however, repeatedly observing eee oe re eee. Cot he :-7. _~ SSG eles i-dma SS Sa venestwesPerrgeerececi-g=+ 4 - P _ - ee eee Stree seks Dis eS gh tintin 22 EDGAR ALLAN POE through the mingled tone of levity and solemnity with which he rapidly descanted upon matters of little impor- tance, a certain air of trepidation—a degree of nervous unction in action and in speech—an unquiet excitability of manner which appeared to me at all times unaccount- able, and upon some occasions even filled me with alarm. Frequently, too, pausing in the middle of a sentence whose commencement he had apparently forgotten, he seemed to be listening in the deepest attention as if either in momentary expectation of a visitor, or to sounds which must have had existence in his imagination alone. It was during one of these reveries or pauses of ap- parent abstraction, that, in turning over a page of the poet and scholar Politian’s beautiful tragedy, ‘The Orfeo” (the first native Italian tragedy), which lay near me upon an ottoman, I discovered a passage underlined in pencil. It was a passage towards the end of the third act—a passage of the most heart-stirring excitement— a passage which, although tainted with impurity, no man shall read without a thrill of novel emotion—no woman without a sigh. The whole page was blotted with fresh tears; and upon the opposite interleaf were the following English lines, written in a hand so very different from the peculiar characters of my acquaintance, that I had some difficulty in recognising it as his own:— Thou wast that all to me, love, For which my soul did pine— A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers; And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries ‘Onward!”—but o’er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies, Mute, motionless, aghast!THE ASSIGNATION For alas! alas! with me The light of life is o’er. ‘No more—no more—no more,” (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore), Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar! Now all my hours are trances; And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams, In what ethereal dances, By what Italian streams! Alas! for that accursed time They bore thee o’er the billow, From Love to titled age and crime, And an unholy pillow!— From me, and from our misty clime Where weeps the silver willow! That these lines were written in English—a language with which I had not believed their author acquainted —afforded me little matter for surprise. I was too well aware of the extent of his acquirements, and of the singular pleasure he took in concealing them from ob- servation, to be astonished at any similar discovery; but the place of date I must confess occasioned me no little amazement. It had originally been written London, and afterwards carefully overscored—not, however, so effectually as to conceal the word from a scrutinizing eye. I say this occasioned me no little amazement; for I well remember that, in a former conversation with my friend, I particularly inquired if he had at any time met in London the Marchesa di Mentoni (who for some years previous to her marriage had resided in that city), when his answer, if I mistake not, gave me to understand that he had never visited the metropolis of Great Bri- tain. I might as well here mention that I have more than once heard (without, of course, giving credit to a ee ee ee ee a ed ae > . L. ae ee ee 2 et ee ee ee ae es Pee ae eee eeee eet ae >*s ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee a od ae Ot EF ey Sere ee ee eat} 24 EDGAR ALLAN POE report involving so many improbabilities) that the per- son of whom I speak, was not only by birth, but in education, an Hnglishman. * * * * * * “There is one painting,” said he, without being aware of my notice of the tragedy—“there is still one painting which you have not seen.” And throwing aside a dra- pery, he discovered a full-length portrait of the Mar- chesa Aphrodite. Human art could have done no more in the delinea- tion of her superhuman beauty. The same ethereal figure which stood before me the preceding night upon the steps of the Ducal Palace, stood before me once again. But in the expression of the countenance, which was beaming all over with smiles, there still lurked (in- comprehensible anomaly!) that fitful stain of melan- choly which will ever be found inseparable from the perfection of the beautiful. Her right arm lay folded over her bosom. With her left she pointed downward to a curiously fashioned vase. One small, fairy foot, alone visible, barely touched the earth; and, scarcely discernible in the brilliant atmosphere which seemed to encircle and enshrine her loveliness, floated a pair of the most delicately imagined wings. My glance fell from the painting to the figure of my friend, and the vigorous words of Chapman’s Bussy D’Ambois quivered instinctively upon my lips: “He is up There like a Roman statue! He will stand Till Death hath made him marble!” “Come!” he said at length, turning towards a table of richly enamelled and massive silver, upon which were a few goblets fantastically stained, together with two large Etruscan vases, fashioned in the same extraordinary model as that in the foreground of the portrait, andTHE ASSIGNATION 25 filled with what I supposed to be Johannisberger. “Come!” he said abruptly, “let us drink! It is early— but let us drink. It is indeed early,” he continued, musingly, as a cherub with a heavy golden hammer made the apartment ring with the first hour after sun- rise: “it is indeed early—but what matters it? let us drink! Let us pour out an offering to yon solemn sun which these gaudy lamps and censers are so eager to subdue!’ And, having made me pledge him in a bumper, he swallowed in rapid succession several goblets of the wine. “To dream,’ he continued, resuming the tone of his desultory conversation, as he held up to the rich light of a censer one of the magnificent vases—‘‘to dream has been the business of my life. I have therefore framed for myself, as you see, a bower of dreams. In the heart of Venice could I have erected a better? You behold around you, it is true, a medley of architectural embel- lishments. The chastity of Ionia is offended by ante- diluvian devices, and the sphinxes of Egypt are out- stretched upon carpets of gold. Yet the effect is in- congruous to the timid alone. Proprieties of place, and especially of time, are the bugbears which terrify man- kind from the contemplation of the magnificent. Once I was myself a decorist; but that sublimation of folly has palled upon my soul. All this is now the fitter for my purpose. Like these arabesque censers, my spirit is writhing in fire, and the delirium of this scene is fash- ioning me for the wilder visions of that land of real dreams whither I am now rapidly departing.” He here paused abruptly, bent his head to his bosom, and seemed to listen to a sound which I could not hear. At length, erecting his frame, he looked upwards, and ejaculated the lines of the Bishop of Chichester: SS ee ae ee ee ee es os ipl gdb 26 Sssesessié aa) Pe eS fee ee ee ere eo eda . re PR 7 ee ee er ee ee ee ee ee ee EDGAR ALLAN POE “Stay for me there! JI will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale.” In the next instant, confessing the power of the wine, he threw himself at full length upon an ottoman. A quick step was now heard upon the staircase, and a loud knock at the door rapidly succeeded. I was hastening to anticipate a second disturbance, when a page of Mentoni’s household burst into the room, and faltered out, in a voice choking with emotion, the in- coherent words, “My mistress!—my mistress !—poi- soned !—poisoned! Oh, beautiful—ch, beautiful Aphro- dite!” Bewildered, I flew to the ottoman, and endeavoured to arouse the sleeper to a sense of the startling intelligence. But his limbs were rigid—his lips were livid—his lately beaming eyes were riveted in death. I staggered back towards the table my hand fell upon a cracked and blackened goblet—and a consciousness of the entire and terrible truth flashed suddenly over my soul. BERENICE Dicebant mihi sodales, si sepulchrum amicae visitarem, curas meas aliquantulum fore levatas.—Ebn Zaiat. Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multi- form. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that arch, as distinct too, yet as intimately blended. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How is it that from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? from the cove- nant of peace a simile of sorrow? But as in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.BERENICE 27 My baptismal name is Egeus, that of my family I will not mention. Yet there are no towers in the land more time-honoured than my gloomy, grey, hereditary halls. Our line has been called a race of visionaries; and in many striking particulars—in the character of the family mansion, in the frescoes of the chief saloon, in the tapestries of the dormitories, in the chiselling of some buttresses in the armoury, but more especially in the gallery of antique paintings, in the fashion of the library chamber, and lastly, in the very peculiar nature of the library’s contents—there is more than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief. The recollections of my earliest years are connected with that chamber and with its volumes, of which latter I will say no more. Here died my mother. Herein was I born. But it is mere idleness to say that I had not lived before, that the soul has no previous existence. You deny it? let us not argue the matter. Convinced myself, I seek not to convince. There is, however, a remembrance of aerial forms, of spiritual and meaning eyes, of sounds, musical yet sad: a remembrance which will not be excluded, a memory like a shadow, vague, variable, indefinite, unsteady, and like a shadow, too, in the impossibility of my getting rid of it while the sunlight of my reason shall exist. In that chamber was I born. Thus awaking from the long night of what seemed, but was not nonentity, at once into the very regions of fairyland, into a palace of imagination, into the wild dominions of monastic thought and erudition, it is not singular that I gazed around me with a startled and ardent eye, that I loitered away my boyhood in books, and dissipated my youth in reverie ; but it is singular, that, as years rolled away and the noon of manhood found me still in the mansion of my fathers, it is wonderful what stagnation there fell upon Serer era tt ete re eer eee = s eee ee | “Fe. 1)p ‘ Se ee ee een - . 7 om segs cart es eS eS ow ee ee ee te ee 4 a ee ee ee ee - Pe oot as 28 EDGAR ALLAN POE the springs of my life, wonderful how total an inversion took place in the character of my commonest thought. The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in turn, not the material of my every- day existence, but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself. * * * * * * Berenice and I were cousins, and we grew up together in my paternal halls. Yet differently we grew—I, ill of health and buried in gloom, she, agile, graceful, and overflowing with energy; hers the ramble on the hill- side, mine the studies of the cloister; I, living within my own heart, and addicted, body and soul, to the most intense and painful meditation, she, roaming carelessly through life with no thought of the shadows in her path, or the silent flight of the raven-winged hours. Berenice! I call upon her name, Berenice! and from the grey ruins of memory a thousand tumultuous recollections are startled at the sound! Ah, vividly is her image before me now, as in the early days of her light-heartedness and joy! O, gorgeous yet fantastic beauty! O, sylph amid the shrubberies of Arnheim! O, Naiad among its fountains !—And then—the n all is mystery and terror, and a tale which should not be told. Disease, a fatal disease, fell like the simoom upon her frame; and even while I gazed upon her, the spirit of change swept over her, pervading her mind, her habits, and her character, and in a manner the most subtle and terrible, disturbing even the identity of her person! Alas! the destroyer came and went! and the victim—where was she? her not—or knew her no longer as Berenice! Among the numerous train of maladies superinduced by that fatal and primary one which effected a revolu- I knewBERENICE 29 tion of so horrible a kind in the moral and physical being of my cousin, may be mentioned as the most dis- tressing and obstinate in its nature, a species of epilepsy not unfrequently terminating in trance itselfi—trance very nearly resembling positive dissolution, and from which her manner of recovery was, in most instances, startlingly abrupt. In the meantime, my own disease— for I have been told that I should call it by no other appellation—my own disease, then, grew rapidly upon me, and assumed finally a monomaniac character of a novel and extraordinary form—hourly and momently gaining vigour—and at length obtaining over me the most incomprehensible ascendency. This monomania, if I must so term it, consisted in a morbid irritability of those properties of the mind in metaphysical science termed the attentive. It is more than probable that I am not understood; but I fear, indeed, that it is in no manner possible to convey to the mind of the merely general reader an adequate idea of that nervous intensity of interest with which, in my case, the powers of medita- tion (not to speak technically) busied and buried them- selves, in the contemplation of even the most ordinary objects of the universe. To muse for long unwearied hours, with my attention riveted to some frivolous device on the margin or in the typography of a book; to become absorbed, for the better part of a summer’s day, in a quaint shadow falling aslant upon the tapestry or upon the floor; to lose my- self, for an entire night, in watching the steady flame of a lamp, or the embers of a fire; to dream away whole days over the perfume of a flower; to repeat monoto- nously some common word, until the sound, by dint of frequent repetition, ceased to convey any idea whatever to the mind; to lose all sense of motion or physical ex- istence, by means of absolute bodily quiescence long and ae ee tse Cs ns ~emeeAs. _ . ~ ited eet ate ale ete oe eee ee ee ee ee eee ee et s¢otrecT: 30 EDGAR ALLAN POE obstinately persevered in: such were a few of the most common and least pernicious vagaries induced by a condition of the mental faculties, not, indeed, altogether unparalleled, but certainly bidding defiance to anything like analysis or explanation. Yet let me not be misapprehended. The undue, earnest, and morbid attention thus excited by objects in their own nature frivolous, must not be confounded in character with that ruminating propensity common to all mankind, and more especially indulged in by per- sons of ardent imagination. It was not even, as might be at first supposed, an extreme condition, or exaggera- tion of such propensity, but primarily and essentially distinct and different. In the one instance, the dreamer or enthusiast, being interested by an object usually not frivolous, imperceptibly loses sight of this object in a wilderness of deductions and suggestions issuing there- from, until at the conclusion of a day-dream often re- plete with luaury, he finds the ¢«ncitamentum, or first cause of his musings, entirely vanished and forgotten. In my case, the primary object was invariably frivolous, although assuming, through the medium of my distem- pered vision, a refracted and unreal importance. Few deductions, if any, were made; and those few pertina- ciously returning in upon the original object as a centre. The meditations were never pleasurable; and, at the termination of the reverie, the first cause, so far from being out of sight, had attained that supernaturally ex- aggerated interest which was the prevailing feature of the disease. In a word, the powers of mind more par- ticularly exercised were, with me, as I have said before, the attentive, and are with the day-dreamer, the specu- lative. My books, at this epoch, if they did not actually serve to irritate the disorder, partook, it will be perceived,BERENICE 31 largely, in their imaginative and inconsequential nature, of the characteristic qualities of the disorder itself. I well remember, among others, the treatise of the noble Italian, Celius Secundus Curio, “De Amplitudine Beati Regni Dei; St. Austin’s great work, “The City of God:” and Tertullian’s “De Carne Christi,’ in which the paradoxical sentence, “Mortuus est Dei filius; credibile est quia ineptum est; et sepultus resurreait; certum est quia impossibile est,” occupied my undivided time, for many weeks of laborious and fruitless investi- gation. Thus it will appear that, shaken from its balance only by trivial things, my reason bore resemblance to that ocean-crag spoken of by Ptolemy Hephestion, which steadily resisting the attacks of human violence, and the fiercer fury of the waters and the winds, trembled only to the touch of the flower called Asphodel. And al- though, to a careless thinker it might appear a matter beyond doubt, that the alteration produced by her un- happy malady, in the moral condition of Berenice, would afford me many objects for the exercise of that intense and abnormal meditation whose nature I have been at some trouble in explaining, yet such was not in any de- gree the case. In the lucid intervals of my infirmity, her calamity, indeed, gave me pain, and, taking deeply to heart that total wreck of her fair and gentle life, I did not fail to ponder frequently and bitterly upon the wonder-working means by which so strange a revolu- tion had been so suddenly brought to pass. But these reflections partook not of the idiosyncrasy of my disease, and were such as would have occurred under similar circumstances to the ordinary mass of mankind. True to its own character, my disorder revelled in the less important but more startling changes wrought in the- Q . A - > ee ee ee a — > ll a 4 _ ee ee A ee ee ee eee Sd et ee ee ee ee et 32 EDGAR ALLAN POE a physical frame of Berenice—in the singular and most appalling distortion of her personal identity. During the brightest days of her unparalleled beauty, most surely I had never loved her. In the strange anomaly of my existence, feelings with me had never been of the heart, and my passions always were ot the mind. Through the grey of the early morning—among the trellised shadows of the forest at noon-day—and in the silence of my library at night—she had flitted by not as the living and my eyes, and I had seen her breathing Berenice, but as the Berenice of a dream; not as a being of the earth, earthy, but as the abstraction of such a being; not as a thing to admire, but to analyse; not as an object of love, but as the theme of the most abstruse although desultory speculation. And now— now I shuddered in her presence, and grew pale at her approach; yet, bitterly lamenting her fallen and desolate condition, I called to mind that she had loved me long, and, in an evil moment, I spoke to her of marriage. And at length the period of our nuptials was ap- proaching, when, upon an afternoon in the winter of the year—one of these unseasonably warm, calm, and misty days which are the nurse of the beautiful Hal- cyon,!—I sat (and sat, as I thought, alone) in the inner apartment of the library. But, uplifting my eyes, I saw that Berenice stood before me. Was it my own excited imagination—or the misty influence of the atmosphere—or the uncertain twilight of the chamber—or the grey draperies which fell around her figure—that caused in it so vacillating and indistinct an outline? I could not tell. She spoke no word; and I—not for worlds could I have uttered a syllable. An 1 For as Jove, during the winter season, gives twice seven days of warmth, men have called this clement and temperate time the nurse of the beautiful Haleyon.—Simonides.BERENICE 33 icy chill ran through my frame; a sense of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming curiosity pervaded my soul; and, sinking back upon the chair, I remained for some time breathless and motionless, with my eyes riveted upon her person. Alas! its emaciation was ex- cessive, and not one vestige of the former being lurked in any single line of the contour. My burning glances at length fell upon the face. The forehead was high, and very pale, and singularly placid; and the once jetty hair fell partially over it, and overshadowed the hollow temples with innumerable ring- lets, now of a vivid yellow, and jarring discordantly, in their fantastic character with the reigning melancholy of the countenance. The eyes were lifeless, and lustre- less, and seemingly pupilless, and I shrank involuntarily from their glassy stare to the contemplation of the thin and shrunken lips. They parted; and in a smile of peculiar meaning, the teeth of the changed Berenice dis- closed themselves slowly to my view. Would to God that I had never beheld them, or that, having done so, I had died! * * * + * x The shutting of a door disturbed me, and, looking up, I found that my cousin had departed from the chamber. But from the disordered chamber of my brain had not, alas! departed, and would not be driven away, the white and ghastly spectrum of the teeth. Not a speck on their surface—not a shade on their enamel—not an indenture in their edges—but what that brief period of her smile had sufficed to brand it upon my memory. I saw them now even more unequivocally than I beheld them then. The teeth !—the teeth !—they were here, and there, and everywhere, and visibly and palpably before me; long, Peet rete a) “enerrs — S - oo i 2 ee eee ee ee a ? Z 374 - ee NS ee a ee ee eee ee 34 EDGAR ALLAN POE narrow, and excessively white, with the pale lips writh- ing about them, as in the very moment of their first ter- rible development. Then came the full fury of my monomania, and I struggled in vain against its strange and irresistible influence. In the multiplied objects of the external world I had no thoughts but for the teeth. For these I longed with a frenzied desire. All other matters and all different interests became absorbed in their single contemplation. They—they alone were present to the mental eye, and they, in their sole indi- viduality, became the essence of my mental life. I held them in every light. I turned them in every attitude. I surveyed their characteristics. I dwelt upon their pe- culiarities. I pondered upon their conformation. I mused upon the alteration in their nature. I shuddered as I assigned to them, in imagination, a sensitive and sentient power, and, even when unassisted by the lips, a capability of moral expression. Of Mademoiselle Sallé it has been well said, “Que tous ses pas étaient des sentiments,” and of Berenice I more seriously believed que toutes ses dents étaient des idées. Des idées !—ah, here was the idiotic thought that destroyed me! Des idées—ah, therefore it was that I coveted them so madly! JI felt that their possession could alone ever restore me to peace, in giving me back to reason. And the evening closed in upon me thus—and then the darkness came, and tarried, and went—and the day again dawned—and the mists of a second night were now gathering around—and still I sat motionless in that solitary room—and still I sat buried in meditation— and still the phantasma of the teeth maintained its terri- ble ascendency, as, with the most vivid and hideous distinctness, it floated about amid the changing lights and shadows of the chamber. At length there broke inBERENICE 35 upon my dreams a cry as of horror and dismay; and thereunto, after a pause, succeeded the sound of troubled voices, intermingled with many low moanings of sorrow or of pain. I arose from my seat, and throwing open one of the doors of the library, saw standing out in the ante-chamber a servant maiden, all in tears, who told me that Berenice was no more! She had been seized with epilepsy in the early morning, and now, at the closing in of the night, the grave was ready for its ten- ant, and all the preparations for the burial were com- pleted. * * * * * * I found myself sitting in the library, and again sitting there alone. It seemed that I had newly awakened from a confused and exciting dream. I knew that it was now midnight, and I was well aware that since the setting of the sun Berenice had been interred. But of that dreary period which intervened I had no positive, at least no definite comprehension. Yet its memory was replete with horror—horror more horrible from being vague, and terror more terrible from ambiguity. It was a fear- ful page in the record of my existence, written all over with dim, and hideous, and unintelligible recollections. I strived to decipher them, but in vain; while ever and anon, like the spirit of a departed sound, the shrill and piercing shriek of a female voice seemed to be ringing in my ears. I had done a deed—what was it? I asked myself the question aloud, and the whispering echoes of the chamber answered me—‘What was it?” On the table beside me burned a lamp, and near it ‘lay a little box. It was of no remarkable character, and I had seen it frequently before, for it was the property of the family physician; but how came it there upon ae eeea a ee ee See ee ee ee ee ee eet a Pe ee ee ee es 36 EDGAR ALLAN POE my table, and why did I shudder in regarding it? These things were in no manner to be accounted for, and my eyes at length dropped to the open pages of a book, and to a sentence underscored therein. The words were the singular but simple ones of the poet Ebn Zaiat:—*“Dice- bant mihi sodales, si sepulchrum amicae visitarem, curas meas aliquantulum fore levatas.” Why, then, as I pe- rused them, did the hairs of my head erect themselves on end, and the blood of my body become congealed within my veins? There came a light tap at the library door—and, pale as the tenant of a tomb, a menial entered upon tiptoe. His looks were wild with terror, and he spoke to me in a voice tremulous, husky, and very low. What said he? —some broken sentences I heard. He told of a wild ery disturbing the silence of the night—of the gathering together of the household—of a search in the direction of the sound; and then his tones grew thrillingly dis- tinct as he whispered me of a violated grave—of a dis- figured body enshrouded, yet still breathing—still palpi- tating—still alive! He pointed to my garments;—they were muddy and clotted with gore. I spoke not, and he took me gently by the hand;—it was indented with the impress of human nails. He directed my attention to some object against the wall. I looked at it for some minutes :—it was a spade. With a shriek I bounded to the table, and grasped the box that lay upon it., But I could not force it open; and, in my tremor, it slipped from my hands, and fell heavily, and burst into pieces; and from it, with a rattling sound, there rolled out some instruments of dental surgery, intermingled with thirty-two small, white, and ivory-looking substances that were scattered to and fro about the floor.MORELLA Avro xa?’ avré uc? avtrov, uovoedéc atei by, Itself, by itself solely, on everlastingly, and single. Plato—Sympos. Wiru a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul, from our first meet- ing, burned with fires it had never before known; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us to- gether at the altar! and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She, however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream. Morella’s erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were of no common order—her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and, in many matters, became her pupil. I soon, however, found that, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, she placed before me a number of those mystical writings which are usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her favourite and constant study—and that in process of time they became my own, should be at- tributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example. In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. 37 pe ee ee ee FS pel are. Te eT a eo eee ees:es a Pere~twcePer spe erecertag=cst: ee ee es 38 EDGAR ALLAN POE Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And then— then, when poring over forbidden pages, I felt a for- would Morella place bidden spirit enkindling within me her cold hand upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in upon my memory. And then, hour after hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the music of her voice, until at length its melody was tainted with terror, and there fell a shadow upon my soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon became Ge-Henna. It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fichte; the modified Ila\iyyevecia of Pythagoreans; and, above all, the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling, were generally the points of discussion pre- senting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That identity which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the sameness of a rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which we call our- selves, thereby distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our personal identity. But the principium individuationis, the notion of that identityMORELLA 39 which at death is or is not lost forever, was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense interest, not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them. But. indeed, the time had now arrived when the mys- tery of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly, and, smiling, called it fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause, to me unknown, for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale fore- head became prominent; and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in the next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss. Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella’s decease? I did: but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days, for many weeks and irksome months, until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and IJ grew furious through delay, and, with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days and the hours and the bitter moments, which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined, like shadows in the dying of the day. But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all the earth. and a warm glow upon the PaO eS eee eee eee eee ee TSeter eet ee pees pies ee ee ee ee OO eed ee ee oe ee 40 EDGAR ALLAN POE waters, and, amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. “It is a day of days,” she said, as I approached; “a day of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of earth and life—ah, more fair for the daugh- ters of heaven and death!”’ I kissed her forehead, and she continued: “I am dying, yet shall I live.” “Morella!” “The days have never been when thou couldst love me—but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore.” “Morella!”’ “I repeat that Iam dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection—ah, how little!—which thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live thy child and mine, Morella’s. But thy days shall be days of sorrow—that sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most endur- ing of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over; and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Pestum twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on earth, as do the Moslemin at Mecca.” “Morella!” I cried, ‘‘Morella! how knowest thou this?’ but she turned away her face upon the pillow and a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more. Yet, as she had foretold, her child, to which in dying she had given birth, and which breathed not until the mother breathed no more, her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed, and IMORELLA 41 loved her with a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth. But, ere long the heaven of this pure affection became darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief, swept over it in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange, indeed, was her rapid in- crease in bodily size, but terrible, oh! terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the development of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I daily discovered in the con- ceptions of the child the adult powers and faculties of the woman? when the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy? and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye? When, I say, all this became evident to my appalled senses—when I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled to receive it—is it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the en- tombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a being whom destiny comp‘ lled me to adore, and in the rigorous seclusion of my home, watched with an agonising anxiety over all which concerned the beloved. And as years rolled away, and | gazed day after day upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and pored over her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy and the dead. And hourly grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more perplexing, and more hideously ter- rible in their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother’s I could bear; but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity—that her eyes were like Morella’s Iee en ee ee Cea an tied a ee ee et ee eee ee 42 EDGAR ALLAN POE could endure; but then they, too, often looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella’s own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above all— oh, above all, in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror, for a worm that would not die. Thus passed away two lustra of her life, and as yet my daughter remained nameless upon the earth. “My child,” and “my love,’ were the designations usually prompted by a father’s affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morella’s name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter; it was impossible to speak. Indeed, during the brief period of her exist- ence, the latter had received no impressions from the outward world, save such as might have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its un- nerved and agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my own and foreign lands, came thronging to my lips, with many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and the good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which in its very recollection was wont to make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the re- cesses of my soul, when amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night, I whispered within the ears ofLIGEIA 43 the holy man the syllables—Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven, and falling prostrate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded—"I am here !” Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead rolled hissingly into my brain. Years—years may pass away, but the memory of that epoch never! Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine—but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only— Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore—Morella. But she died; and with my own hands I bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh as I found no traces of the first, in the charnel where I laid the second—Morella. LIGEIA And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigour? 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 —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 CS rede be Sad te Pet esas cis. ; it —§ pal oe Sig 4s teiitee eee OO eh kt ei ae ot—.-< a Gre recess 44 EDGAR ALLAN POE character of my beloved, her rare learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the thrilling and enthral- ling 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 ete adapted to deaden impressions of the outward world, is by that sweet word alone, by Ligeia, that I are 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 be- came the partner of my studies, and finally the wife of my bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of my Ligeia? or was it a test of my strength of affection, that I should institute no inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own,—a wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most passionate devotion? I but indistinctly recall the fact itself,—what wonder that I have utterly forgotten the circumstances which origi- nated or attended it? And indeed if ever that spirit which is entitled Romance, if ever she, the wan and the misty-winged Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over marri: ages 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 r, and in her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease of her demeanour, or the incom- prehensible lightness and elasticity of her footfall. SheLIGEIA 45 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 labours 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 pro- portion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity, although I per- ceived 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 ex- amined the contour of the lofty and pale forehead—it was faultless: how cold indeed that word when applied to a majesty so divine! the skin rivalling the purest ivory, the commanding extent and repose, the gentle prominence of the regions above the temples; and then the raven-black, the glossy, the luxuriant and naturally- curling tresses, setting forth the full force of the Homeric epithet, “hyacinthine !”" I looked at the deli- cate outlines of the nose, and nowhere but in the graceful medallions of the Hebrews had I beheld a similar per- fection. ‘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 magnifi- cent turn of the short upper lip, the soft, voluptuousee eee ee ee ee aprmentareetepipewcerericy: ee od ee oy eee 46 EDGAR ALLAN POE slumber of the under, the dimples which sported, and the colour which spoke, the teeth glancing back, with a bril- liancy 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 scrutinised the forma- tion 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 colour, or 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 intrench our ignorance of so much of the spiritual. The expression of the eyes of Ligeia! Hew for long hours have I pondered upon it! How have I through the whole of a midsummer night struggled to fathom it!LIGEIA 47 What was it—that something more profound than the well of Democritus—which lay far within the pupils of my heloved? What was it? I was possessed with a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, those shin- ing, 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 of the science of mind more thrillingly excit- I believe, noticed in the schools anomalies ing than the fact—never, that in our endeavours to recall to memory something often find ourselves upon the very without being able in the end to remember. And thus how frequently, in my intense have I felt approaching the long forgotten, wé verge of remembrance, scrutiny of Ligeia’s eyes, full knowledge of their expression- felt it approaching —yet not quite be mine—and so at leneth entirely de- part! And (strange, or strangest mystery of all!) I found in the commonest objects of the universe a circle of analogies to that « xpression. I sequently to the period when Ligeia’s beauty passed into line as in a shrine, I derived, from mean to say that, sub- my spirit, there dwe! many existences ‘n the material world, a sentiment such as I felt always around, within me, by her large and luminous orbs. Yet not the more could I define that sentiment, or analyse, or even steadily view it. I recog- nised it, let me repeat, sometimes in the rapidly-growing vine, in the contemplation of a moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of running water. I have felt it in the ocean, in the falling of a meteor. I have felt vy aged people. And there it in the glances of unusuallh heaven (one especially, a star of and changeable, to be found elescopic scrutiny ot survey of a are one or two stars in the sixth magnitude, double near the large star in Lyra) inat which I have been made aware of the feeling. I have been filled with it by certain sounds from stringed in- ee ee eh apeeer(s etree eeeager astoeePere peers ceri ee ee eee ee ee eee 48 EDGAR ALLAN POE struments, and not unfrequently by passages from books. Among innumerable other instances, I well remember something in a volume of Joseph Glanyvill, which (per- haps merely from its quaintness—who shall Say?) never failed to inspire me with the sentiment: ‘And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mys- teries of the will, with its vigour? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intent- ness. 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 en- abled me to trace, indeed, some remote connection be- tween 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 tu- multuous vultures of stern passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the miraculous expan- sion of those eyes which at once so delighted and ap- palled 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 tongues was she deeply proficient, and as far as my own acquaintance extended in regard to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her at fault. Indeed, upon any theme of the most admired,LIGEIA 49 because simply the most abstruse of the boasted erudi- tion of the academy, have I ever found Ligeia at fault? How singularly, how thrillingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has forced itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said her knowledge was such as I have never known in woman, but where breathes the man who has traversed, and 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 supremacy to resign myself, with a child-like confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic world of meta- physical investigation at which I was most busily occu- pied 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 feel, as she bent over me in studies but little sought—but less known —that delicious vista by slow degrees expanding before me. down whose long, gorgeous, and all untrodden path, I might at length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too divinely precious not to be forbidden! How poignant, then, must have been the grief with which, after some years, I beheld my well-grounded ex- pectations take wings to themselves and fly away! With- out Ligeia I was but as a child groping benighted. Her presence, her readings alone, rendered vividly luminous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in which we were immersed. Wanting the radiant lustre of her eyes, letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than Saturnian lead. And now those eyes shone less and less frequently upon the pages over which I pored. Ligeia grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with a too—too glorious effulgence; the pale fingers became of the transparent waxen hue of the grave; and the blue veins upon the SS eee ae ee Se eee | Te Te) oreCaperetwieerer seers cesta tot: Oe ee od Ce Rd eet es 50 EDGAR ALLAN POE lofty forehead swelled and sank impetuously with the tides of the most gentle emotion. I saw that she must die—and I struggled desperately in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles of the passionate wife were, to my astonishment, even more energetic than my own. There had been much in her stern nature to impress me with the belief that, to her, death would have come with- out its terrors, but not so. Words are impotent to convey any just idea of the fierceness of resistance with which she wrestled with the Shadow. I groaned in anguish at the pitiable spectacle. I would have soothed, I would have reasoned; but in the intensity of her wild desire for life—for life the uttermost of folly. Yet not until the last instance, amid the most convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit, but for life—solace and reason were alike was shaken the external placidity of her demeanour. 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 assump- tions 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 confes- sions?—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 abandon- ment to love, alas! all unmerited, all unworthily be-LIGEIA 51 stowed, I at length recognised the principle of her long- ing, 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—but for life—that I have no power to portray—no utterance capable of expressing. At high noon of the night in which she departed, beckoning me peremptorily to her side, she bade me repeat certain verses composed by herself not many days before. I obeyed her. They were these :— Lo! ’tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Woe! That motley drama!—oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased forever more, 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 the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. ee tees eT “emerDea penentonecePer: peers cect EDGAR ALLAN POE Out—out are the lights—out all! And over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm— And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, “‘“Man,” And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. “O God!” half-shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her feet and extending her arms aloft with a spasmodic move- ment, 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 vigour? 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 passage in Glanvill:—“Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.” She died ;—and I, crushed into the very dust with sor- row, 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 purchased, and put in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the wildest and least frequented portions of fair Eng- land. The gloomy and dreary grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of the domain, the many melan-LIGEIA 53 choly and time-honoured memories connected with both, had much in unison with the feelings of utter abandon- ment which had driven me into that remote and unsocial region of the country. Yet, although the external abbey, with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sor- rows, to a display of more than regal magnificence within. For such follies, even in childhood, I had im- bibed a taste, and now they came back to me as if in the dotage of grief. Alas, I feel how much even of incipient madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the carpets of tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in the trammels of opium, and my labours and my orders had taken a colouring from my dreams. But these absurdities I must not pause to detail. Let me speak only of that one chamber, ever accurs¢ d, whither in a moment of mental alienation I led from the altar as my bride—as the successor of the unforgotten Ligeia— the fair-haired and blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine. There is no individual portion of the architecture and decoration of that bridal chamber which is not now visibly before me. Where were the souls of the haughty family of the bride. when, through thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an apartment so be- decked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved? I have said that I minutely remember the details of the cham- ber, yet I am sadly forgetful on topics of deep moment, and here there was no system, no keeping, in the fan- tastic display, to take hold upon the memory. The room lay in a high turret of the castellated abbey, was pen- tagonal in shape, and of capacious size. Occupying the Se eee err eres Se - -_ = e625 ee ee ee eee ee ae om) iL Pere eee sa2 wemeeee ete See ee ed 54 EDGAR-ALLAN POE whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole win- dow, 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 ex- cessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately fretted with the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semi-Gothic, semi-Druidical device. From out the most central recess of this melancholy vaulting, depended by a single chain of gold with long links, a huge censer of the same metal, Saracenic in pattern, and with many perforations so con- trived that there writhed in and out, as if endued with a serpent vitality, a continual succession of parti-- coloured 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 unpro- portionately so, were hung from summit to foot in vast folds with a heavy and massive-looking tapestry—tapes- try of a material which was found alike as a carpet on the floor, as a covering for the ottomaus 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 figuresLIGEIA 55 about a foot in diameter, and wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the most jetty black. But these figures par- took 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 antiquity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one entering the room they bore the ap- pearance of simple monstrosities, but upon a farther advance this appearance gradually departed, and, step by step, as the visitor 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 phantasmagoric effect was vastly heightened by the artificial introduction of a strong continual current of wind behind the draperies, giving a hideous and uneasy animation to the whole. In halls such as these, in a bridal chamber such as this, I passed with the Lady of Tremaine the unhallowed hours of the first month of our marriage—passed them with but little disquietude. That my wife dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper, that she shunned me, and loved me but little, I could not help perceiving, but it gave me rather pleasure than otherwise. I loathed her with a hatred belonging more to demon than to man. My memory flew back (oh, with what intensity of re- gret!) 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. Inthe 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, asSee ee ee ee ee 56 EDGAR ALLAN POE if, through the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardour of my longing for the departed, I could restore her to the pathway she had abandoned ah, could it be for ever? upon the earth. About the commencement of the second month of the marriage, the Lady Rowena was attacked with sudden illness, from which her recovery was slow. ‘The fever which consumed her rendered her nights uneasy; and in her perturbed state of half-slumber she spoke of sounds and of motions in and about the chamber of the turret, which I concluded had no origin save in the distemper of her fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric influences of the chamber itself. She became at length convales- cent—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 in- crease in the nervous irritation of her temperament, and in her excitability 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 tapestries, to which she had formerly alluded. One night, near the closing in of September, she pressed this distressing subject with more than usual emphasis upon my attention. She had just awakened from an unquiet slumber, and I had been watching, with feelings half of anxiety, half of vague terror, the work- ings of her emaciated countenance. I sat by the side ofLIGEIA 57 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 remembered where was deposited a decanter of light wine which had been ordered by her physicians, and hastened across the chamber to procure it. But, as I stepped beneath the light of the censer, two circum- stances of a startling nature attracted my attention. [I 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, in- definite 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 little, nor spoke of them to Rowena. Having found the wine, I recrossed the cham- ber, and poured out a gobletful, which I held to the lips of the fainting lady. She had now partially re- covered, however, 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 footfall 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 haveee See ee oe ae | ee ee ee 58 EDGAR ALLAN POE dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby coloured fluid. If this I saw—not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly, and I forebore to speak to her of a circumstance which must, after all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid imagination, ren- dered morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the opium, and by the hour. Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception that, immediately subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a rapid change for the worse took place in the disorder of my wife; so that, on the third subsequent night, the hands of her menials prepared her for the tomb, and on the fourth I sat alone, with her shrouded body, in that fantastic chamber which had received her as my bride. Wild visions, opium-engendered, flitted, shadow-like, be- fore me. I gazed with unquiet eye upon the sarcophagi in the angles of the room, upon the varying figures of the drapery, and upon the writhing of the parti-coloured 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, how- ever, no longer; and breathing with greater freedom, I turned my glances to the pallid and rigid figure upon the bed. Then rushed upon me a thousand memories of Ligeia, and then came back upon my heart, with the turbulent violence of a flood, the whole of that unutter- able woe with which I had regarded her thus en- shrouded. The night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts of the one only and supremely beloved, I remained gazing upon the body of Rowena. It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or later, for I had taken no note of time, when a sob, low,LIGEIA 59 gentle, but very distinct, startled me from my reverie. 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 per- severingly 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 colour 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 been precipitate in our preparations— that Rowena still lived. It was necessary that some immediate exertion be made; yet the turret was alto- gether 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 and this I could not venture room for many minutes to do. I therefore struggled alone in my endeavours to call back the spirit still hovering. In a short period it was certain, however, that a relapse had taken place; the colour disappeared from both eyelid and cheek, leay- ing 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 stiffness immediately supervened. I fell ees teot o eee eeee ee ee eee ee ee we — eee {72s Ee ee ee 60 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 lips. In a minute afterwards they relaxed, disclosing a bright line of the pearly teeth. Amazement now strug- gled 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 ardour I betook myself to the task of restora- tion. I chafed and bathed the temples and the hands, and used every exertion which experience, and no little medical reading, could suggest. But in vain. Suddenly, the colour fled, the pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the expression of the dead, and, in an instant afterwards, 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 sank 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 un- speakable horrors of that night? Why shall I pause to relate how, time after time, until near the period of theLIGEIA 61 grey dawn, this hideous drama of revivification was re- peated; how each terrific relapse was only into a sterner and apparently more irredeemable death; how each agony wore the aspect of a struggle with some invisible foe; and how each struggle was succeeded by I know not what of wild change in the personal appearance of the corpse? Let me hurry to a conclusion. The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who had been dead, once again stirred—and now more vigorously than hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its utter hopeless- ness 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. energy into The hues of life flushed up with unwonted | the countenance—the limbs relaxed—and, save that the eyelids were yet pressed heavily together, and that the bandages and draperies of the grave still imparted their charnel character to the figure, I might have dreamed that towena utterly, the fetters of death. even then, altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no had But indeed shaken off, if this idea was not, 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 unutter- able fancies connected with the air, the stature, the de- meanour of the figure, rushing hurriedly through my brain, had paralysed—had chilled me into stone. I stirred not—but gazed upon the apparition. a mad disorder in my thoughts—a tumult unappeasable. There was espe te To)62 EDGAR ALLAN POE Could it, indeed, be the living Rowena who confronted me? Could it indeed be Rowena at all—the fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? 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 living Lady of Tremaine. And the chin, with its dimples, as in health, might it not be hers?—but had she then grown taller since 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 midnight! And now slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before me. ‘Here then, at least,’ I shrieked aloud, ‘‘can I neyer—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 Lapy Liceta.”’ THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER Son cceur est un luth suspendu; Sitét qu’on le touche il résonne. De Béranger. Durine the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppres- sively 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 evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was—but, with the first glimpse of theTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE: OF USHER 68 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, senti- ment, 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 every-day 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 of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations 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 im- pression; 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 greyee ee, eee baw oa pee 64 EDGAR ALLAN POE sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows. Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now pro- posed 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, however, 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 cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation of his mal- ady. 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 hesita- tion, and I accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very singular summons. Although, as boys, we had been even intimate asso- ciates, yet I really knew little 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 tempera- ment, displaying itself through long ages in many works of exalted art, and manifested of late in repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtrusive charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily-recognisable beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable fact that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honoured 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 triflingTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 65 and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this def- ciency, 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 speculating 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 family mansion. I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat child- ish experiment—that of looking down within the tarn— had been to deepen the first singular impression. There ean be no doubt that the consciousness of the rapid in- crease of my superstition—for why should I not so term it -—served mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis; and it might have been for this reason only that, when I again uplifted 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 decayed trees, and the grey wall, and the silent tarn—a pestilent and mystic vapour, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden- hued. oa espe ee: ee ee ee oes 7 fn Grorees a rd66 EDGAR ALLAN POE Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream. I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the Its principal feature seemed to be that of an building. The discoloration of ages had been excessive antiquity. great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet ee ee ee all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen, and there ap- peared to be a wild inconsistency between its still per- fect adaptation of parts and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that re- minded me of the spacious totality of old woodwork which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault ee ee eee with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinising observer might have discovered a barely ae ee Se ee ee 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 ceilings, 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 a ee eeTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 67 familiar was all this—I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases I met the physi- cian 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 yalet 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 inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised 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 instruments 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 ennuyé 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, a man had never before so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identityee ee Oe ee at pee ee en ee 68 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 com- plexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve: a nose of a delicate 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 exaggera- tion 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 reminis- cences 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—thatTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 69 abrupt, weighty, unhurried, and hollow-sounding enunci- ation—that leaden, self-balanced and perfectly modu- lated guttural utterance which may be observed in the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater of opium, dur- ing the periods of his most intense excitement. It was thus that he spoke of the obj« ct of my visit, of his earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he ex- pected me to afford him. He entered at some length into what he conceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired to 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 perhaps the terms and the general manner of the narration had their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acute- ness of the senses; the most insipid food was alone en- durable; he could wear only garments of certain texture; the odours 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,” he said, “I must perish in this deplorable 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—l 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. =e rer rt te et ee ee ee es Sigs rAvegse Po eeee ee ee oe ee eo +2 Pee 70 EDGAR ALLAN POE é I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. He was enchained by certain super- stitious 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 sup- posititious force was conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be restated—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 grey 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 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 approaching dissolution—of a tenderly beloved sister—his sole companion 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 part of the apartment, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared. [| 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 coun- but he had buried his face in his tenance of the brother hands, and I could only perceive that a far more thanTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 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 tran- sient 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 succumbed (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible agita- tion) 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 endeavours to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We painted and read together, or I listened, as if in a dream, to 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, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility of all attempts at cheering a mind from which darkness, 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 distempered ideality threw a sulphurous lustre over all. His long improvisedore eee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee fae 72 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 endeavour to educe more than a small portion which should lie within the compass of merely written words. By the utter simplicity, by the naked- ness 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 sur- rounding me—there arose out of the pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yet in the contemplation of the cer- tainly glowing yet too concrete reveries of Fuseli. One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partaking not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowed forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture presented the interior of an immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption or device. Certain ac- cessory 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 splendour. I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory nerve which rendered all music intolerable toTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 7% the sufferer, with the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. It was perhaps the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon the guitar which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic character of his performances. But the fervid facility of his im- promptus 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 accom- panied himself with rhymed-verbal improvisations ), the result of that intense mental collectedness and concen- tration to which I have previously alluded as observable only in particular moments of the highest artificial ex- citement. 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 perceived, 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 palac = Radiant palace reared its head. In the monarch Thought’s dominion— It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair. 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 odour went away. eee er ee eee ee ee oe + « ~ 4 i (Pere ~ reas ws it aomeewecePerraeere cert ae ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ——- pombe ony EDGAR ALLAN POE IIl Wanderers in that happy valley Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically To a lute’s well-tunéd law, Round 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. 7 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 rapid ghastly river, Through the pale door, A hideous throng rush out for ever, And laugh—but smile no more. I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad led us into a train of thought wherein there be- came manifest an opinion of Usher’s, which I mention not so much on account of its novelty (for other men + ‘Watson, Dr. Percival, Spallanzani, and especially the Bishop of Llandaff.—See ‘‘Chemical Essays,”’ vol. v.THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 75 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 inorganisation. I lack words to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of his persuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) with the grey stones of the home of his forefathers. The conditions of the sentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of these stones—in the order of their ar- rangement, as well as in that of the many fungi which overspread them, and of the decayed trees which stood around—above all, in the long undisturbed endurance of this arrangement, 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 D’Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance of Tieck; and the City of theaes Se ee ee AP RrastasecePersteecse cert <4 bes ee ee ee ee et eee ae 76 EDGAR ALLAN POE Sun of Campanella. One favourite volume was a small octavo edition of the Directorium Inquisitorium, by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomponius Mela about the old African Satyrs and Qgipans, over which Usher would sit dream- ing for hours. His chief delight, however, was found in the perusal of an exceedingly rare and curious book in quarto Gothic—the manual of a forgotten church—the Vigiliae Mortuorum secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Magun- tinae. I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and of its probable influence upon the hypochon- driac, when, one evening, having informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline was no more, he stated his inten- tion 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 man, 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 stair- case on the day of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose what I regarded as at best but a harm- less, and by no means an unnatural, precaution. At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangements 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 forTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 77 investigation) was small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for light, lying at great depth im- mediately beneath that portion of the building in which was my own Sleeping apartment. It had been used ap- parently 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 immense 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 unscrewed 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 sympathies 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 lid, 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 observable change came over the features of the mentalee eee tee a ee ee et ee ee 7: tog 78 EDGAR ALLAN POE disorder of my friend. His ordinary manner had van- ished. His ordinary occupations were neglected or for- gotten. 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 more, and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually characterised his utterance. There were times indeed when I thought his unceasingly agi- tated mind was labouring with some oppressive secret, to divulge which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times again I was obliged 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 profoundest 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 superstitions. 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 feelings. Sleep came not near my couch—while the hours waned and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nervousness which had do- minion over me. I endeavoured to believe that much if not all of what I felt was due to the bewildering in- fluence 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 decora- tions of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame, and at length there sat upon my very heart an incubus ofTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 79 utterly causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle I uplifted myself upon the pillows, and peering earnestly within the intense darkness of the chamber, hearkened—I know not why, except that an instinctive spirit prompted me—to certain low and in- definite sounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. Over- powered by an intense sentiment of horror, unaccount- able yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste (for I felt that I should sleep no more during the night), and endeavoured to arouse myself from the pitiable condition 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 light step on an adjoining staircase arrested my atten~ tion. I presently recognised 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 demeanour. His air appalled me—but anything was preferable to the soli- tude 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— “vou 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 frequentOe eee S Tet y mee ee ee ee ee ee ee 80 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 pre- vent 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 light- ning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated vapour, as well as all terrestrial objects im- mediately around us, were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly visible gaseous ex- halation which hung about and enshrouded the mansion. “You must not—you shall not behold this!” said I, shudderingly, to Usher, as I led him with a gentle violence from the window to a seat. “These appear- ances which bewilder you are merely electrical phe- nomena 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 favourite romances. I will read, and you shall listen; and so we will pass away this terrible night together.” The antique volume which I had taken up was the “Mad Trist” of Sir Launcélot Canning, but I had called it a favourite of Usher’s more in sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, there is little in its uncouth and unimagi- native prolixity which could have had interest for the lofty and spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, how- ever, 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. CouldTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 81 I have judged, indeed, by the wild overstrained air of vivacity with which he hearkened, or apparently heark- ened. to the words of the tale, I might well have con- gratulated 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 peaceable 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 shoulders, and fearing the rising of the tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and, with blows, the door for his “ made quickly room in the plankings of gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewith sturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that the noise of the dry and hollow-sounding wood alarumed and reverberated throughout the forest.” 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) that from some very remote portion of the mansion 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 rattling of the sashes of the casements, and the ordinary commingled noises of the still increasing storm, the sound in itself had nothingee ee mee —_ ee ee ee ha a a 82 EDGAR ALLAN POE surely which should have interested or disturbed me. I continued the story: “But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, was soon enraged and amazed to per- ceive no signal of the maliceful hermit; but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly and prodigious demeanour, 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 what- ever 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 described by the romancer. a - 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 predominate, I still retained suffi- cient presence of mind to avoid exciting by any observa- tion the sensitive nervousness of my companion. I was by no means certain that he had noticed the sounds inTHE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 83 question, although, assuredly, a strange alteration had during the last few minutes taken place in his de- meanour. 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 features, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were murmuring 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 carcase from out of the way before him, and approached valorously 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. Completely 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 Pe Se eteee ee ee eee 1-32 Pee eee ee hae 84 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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. “Not hear 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—I 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 clangour of the shield l—-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. O 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 syl- lables, 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 rushing gust—but then without those doors there did 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.WILLIAM WILSON 85 For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon the threshold—then, with a low moaning ery, 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 crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path a wild light, 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 rush- ing asunder—there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters—and the deep and dark tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the ‘‘House of Usher.” WILLIAM WILSON What say of it? what says CONSCIENCE grim, That spectre in my path? W. Chamberlayne’s Pharonnida. Let me call myself for the present, William Wilson. The fair page now lying before me need not be sullied with my real appellation. This has been already too much an object for the scorn, for the horror, for the detestation of my race. ‘To the uttermost regions of Oe et ee ee et ee ee ee ee ee ete ee eee ae = A L ee eS ee 8 eae eeee ae rk tied Sa Perens EDGAR ALLAN POE the glove nave not the indignant winds bruited its un- paralleled infamy? Oh, outcast of all outcasts most abandoned! to the earth art thou not for ever dead? to its honours, to its flowers, to its golden aspirations? —and a cloud, dense, dismal, and limitless, does it not hang eternally between thy hopes and heaven? I would not, if I could, here or to-day, embody a record of my later years of unspeakable misery, and un- pardonable crime. This epoch—these later years—took unto themselves a sudden elevation in turpitude, whose origin alone it is my present purpose to assign. Men usually grow base by degrees. From me in an instant all virtue dropped bodily as a mantle. From compara- tively trivial wickedness I passed, with the stride of a giant, into more than the enormities of an Elagabalus. What chance—what one event brought this evil thing to pass, bear with me while I relate. Death approaches ; and the shadow which foreruns him has thrown a soften- ing influence over my spirit. I long, in passing through the dim valley, for the sympathy,—I had nearly said for the pity,—of my fellow-men. I would fain have them believe that I have been in some measure the slave of circumstances beyond human control. I would wish them to seek out for me, in the details I am about to give, some little oasis of fatality amid a wilderness of error. I would have them allow—what they cannot refrain from allowing—that although temptation may have erewhile existed as great, man was never thus, at least, tempted before, certainly never thus fell. And is it therefore that he has never thus suffered? Have I not indeed been living in a dream? And am I not now dying a victim to the horror and the mystery of the wildest of all sublunary visions? I am the descendant of a race whose imaginative and easily excitable temperament has at all times renderedWILLIAM WILSON 87 them remarkable; and in my earliest infancy I gave vidence of having fully inherited the family character. As I advanced in years it was more strongly developed, becoming for many reasons a cause of serious disquietude to my friends, and of positive injury to myself. I grew self-willed, addicted to the wildest caprices, and a prey to the most ungovernable passions. Weak-minded, and beset with constitutional infirmities akin to my own, my parents could do but little to check the evil propensities which distinguished me. Some feeble and _ ill-directed efforts resulted in complete failure on their part, and of course in total triumph on mine. Thenceforward my voice was a household law; and at an age when few children have abandoned their leading-strings, I was left to the guidance of my own will, and became in all but name the master of my own actions. My earliest recollections of a school-life are connected with a large rambling Elizabethan house, in a misty- looking village of England, where were a vast number of gigantic and gnarled trees, and where all the houses were excessively ancient. In truth, it was a dream-like and spirit-soothing place, that venerable old town. At this moment, in fancy, I feel the refreshing chilliness of its deeply-shadowed avenues, inhale the fragrance of its thousand shrubberies, and thrill anew with indefinable delight at the deep hollow note of the ehurch-bell, break- ing each hour with sullen and sudden roar upon the still- ness of the dusky atmosphere in which the fretted Gothic steeple lay imbedded and asleep. It gives me perhaps as much of pleasure as I can now in any manner experience to dwell upon minute recollec- tions of the school and its concerns. Steeped in misery as I am—misery, alas! only too real—I shall be par- doned for seeking relief, however slight and temporary, in the weakness of a few rambling details. These,ee ee eee 88 EDGAR ALLAN POE moreover, utterly trivial, and even ridiculous in them- selves, assume to my fancy adventitious importance, as connected with a period and a locality when and where I recognise the first ambiguous monitions of the destiny which afterwards so fully overshadowed me. Let me then remember. The house, I have said, was old and irregular. The grounds were extensive, and a high and solid brick wall, topped with a bed of mortar and broken glass, encom- passed the whole. This prison-like rampart formed the limit of our domain: beyond it we saw but thrice a week,—once every Saturday afternoon, when, attended by two ushers, we were permitted to take brief walks in a body through some of the neighboring fields; and twice during Sunday, when we were paraded in the same for- mal manner to the morning and evening service in the one church of the village. Of this church the principal of our school was pastor. With how deep a spirit of wonder and perplexity was I wont to regard him from our remote pew in the gallery, as with step solemn and slow he ascended the pulpit! This reverend man, with countenance so demurely benign, with robes so glossy and so clerically flowing, with wig so minutely powdered, so rigid and so vast—could this be he who, of late, with sour visage, and in snuffy habiliments, administered, ferule in hand, the Draconian ‘laws of the academy? Oh, gigantic paradox, too utterly mon- strous for solution! At an angle of the ponderous wall frowned a more ponderous gate. It was riveted and studded with iron bolts, and surmounted with jagged iron spikes. What impressions of deep awe did it inspire! It was never opened save for the three periodical egressions and in- gressions already mentioned; then in every creak of its mighty hinges we found a plenitude of mystery, a worldof matter meditation. WILLIAM WILSON 89 for solemn remark, or for more solemn The extensive enclosure was irregular in form, having many capacious recesses. Of these, three or four of the largest constituted the play-ground. It was level, and covered with fine hard gravel. I well remembered it had no trees nor benches, nor anything similar within it. Of course it w as in the rear of the house. In front lay a small parterre, planted with box and other shrubs; but through this sacred division we passed only upon rare occasions indeed—such as a first advent to school or final departure thence, or perhaps, when a parent or friend having called for us, we joyfully took our way home for the Christmas or Midsummer holidays. But the house!—how quaint an old building was this! to me how was really veritably a palace of enchantment! There no end to its windings—to its incomprehen- sible subdivisions. It was difficult, at any given time, to say with certainty upon which of its two stories one happened to be. From each room to every other there were sure to be found three or four steps either in ascent or descent. Then the lateral branches were in- numerable, selves that inconceivable, and so returning in upon them- our most exact ideas in regard to the whole mansion were not very far different from those with which we pondered upon infinity. During the five years of my residence here I was never able to ascertain with precision in what remote locality lay the little apartment assigned to myself and some eighteen or twenty other scholars. The school-room was the largest in the house—I could not help thinking, in the world. It was very long, narrow, and dismally low, with pointed Gothic windows and a ceiling of oak. In a remote and terror-inspiring angle was a square enclosure of eight or ten feet, com- Th Ae eee eee ee hl90 EDGAR ALLAN POE prising the sanctum, “during hours,” of our principal, the Reverend Dr. Bransby. It was a solid structure, with massy door, sooner than open which in the absence of the “dominie’” we would all have willingly perished by the peine forte et dure. In other angles were two other similar boxes, far less reverenced, indeed, but still greatly matters of awe. One of these was the pulpit of the “classical” usher, one of the “English and mathe- matical.” Interspersed about the room, crossing and recrossing in endless irregularity, were innumerable benches and desks, black, ancient, and time-worn, piled desperately with much-bethumbed books, and so be- seamed with initial letters, names at full length, gro- tesque figures, and other multiplied efforts of the knife, as to have entirely lost what little of original form might have been their portion in days long departed. A huge bucket with water stood at one extremity of the room, and a clock of stupendous dimensions at the other. Encompassed by the massy walls of this venerable academy, I passed, yet not in a tedium or disgust, the years of the third lustrum of my life. The teeming brain of childhood requires no external world of incident to occupy or amuse it; and the apparently dismal monot- ony of a school was replete with more intense excite- ment than my riper youth has derived from luxury, or my full manhood from crime. Yet I must believe that my first mental development had in it much of the un- common—even much of the outré. Upon mankind at large the events of very early existence rarely leave in mature age any definite impression. All is grey shadow —a weak and irregular remembrance—an indistinct re- gathering of feeble pleasures and phantasmagoric pains. With me this is not so. In childhood I must have felt with the energy of a man what I now find stamped uponWILLIAM WILSON 91 memory in lines as vivid, as deep, and as durable as the exergues of the Carthaginian medals. Yet in fact—in the fact of the world’s view—how little was there to remember! The morning’s awakening, the nightly summons to bed; the connings, the recitations; the periodical half-holidays, and perambulations; the play-ground, with its broils, its pastimes, its intrigues ; —these, by a mental sorcery long forgotten, were made to involve a wilderness of sensation, a world of rich incident. an universe of varied emotion, of excitement the most passionate and spirit-stirring. “O le bon temps, que ce siecle de fer!” In truth. the ardour, the enthusiasm, and the imperi- ousness of my disposition, soon rendered me a marked character among my schoolmates, and by slow but natural gradations gave me an ascendency over all not greatly older than myself ;—over all with a single excep- tion. This exception was found in the person of a scholar, who, although no relation, bore the same Chris- tian and surname as myself;—a circumstance, in fact, little remarkable: for notwithstanding a noble descent, mine was one of those every-day appellations which seem, by prescriptive right, to have been, time out of mind, the common property of the mob. In this narra- tive I have therefore designated myself as William Wilson—a fictitious title not very dissimilar to the real. My name-sake alone, of those who in school phraseology constituted “our set,’ presumed to compete with me in the studies of the class—in the sports and broils of the play-ground—to refuse implicit belief in my assertions, and submission to my will—indeed, to interfere with my arbitrary dictation in any respect whatsoever. If there is on earth a supreme and unqualified despotism, it is the despotism of a master-mind in boyhood over the less energetic spirits of its companions. St i ee ee ed e . ae =ieie ort es tee ee 5s és eteoeeeeOe a ee ee ae ee dee ae begege peso peer ete te tebats ota 92 EDGAR ALLAN POE Wilson’s rebellion was to me a source of the greatest embarrassment: the more so as, in spite of the bravado with which in public I made a point of treating him and his pretensions, I secretly felt that I feared him, and could not help thinking the equality which he main- tained so easily with myself a proof of his true superi- ority, since not to be overcome cost me a perpetual struggle. Yet this superiority—even this equality— was in truth acknowledged by no one but myself; our associates, by some unaccountable blindness, seemed not even to suspect it. Indeed, his competition, his resist- ance, and especially his impertinent and dogged inter- ference with my purposes, were not more pointed than private. He appeared to be destitute alike of the ambi- tion which urged, and of the passionate energy of mind which enabled me to excel. In his rivalry he might have been supposed actuated solely by a whimsical desire to thwart, astonish, or mortify myself; although there were times when I could not help observing, with a feel- ing made up of wonder, abasement, and pique, that he mingled with his injuries, his insults, or his contradic- tions, a certain most inappropriate, and assuredly most unwelcome affectionateness of manner. I could only conceive this singular behaviour to arise from a con- summate self-conceit assuming the vulgar airs of patron- age and protection. Perhaps it was this latter trait in Wilson’s conduct, conjoined with our identity of name, and the mere accident of our having entered the school upon the same day, which set afloat the notion that we were brothers among the senior classes in the academy. These do not usually inquire with much strictness into the affairs of their juniors. I have before said, or should have said. that Wilson was not, in the most remote degree, con- nected with my family. But assuredly if we had beenWILLIAM WILSON 93 brothers we must have been twins; for, after leaving Dr. Bransby’s, I casually learned that my namesake was born on the nineteenth of January, 1813—and this is a somewhat remarkable coincidence, for the day is pre- cisely that of my own nativity. It may seem strange that, in spite of the continual anxiety occasioned me by the rivalry of Wilson, and his intolerable spirit of contradiction, I could not bring my- self to hate him altogether. We had, to be sure, nearly every day a quarrel, in which, yielding me publicly the palm of victory, he in some manner contrived to make me feel that it was he who had deserved it, yet a sense of pride on my part and a veritable dignity on his own, kept us always upon what are called “speaking terms,’ while there were many points of strong congeniality in our tempers, operating to awake in me a sentiment which our position alone, perhaps, prevented from ripening into friendship. It is difficult indeed to define or even to describe my real feelings towards him. They formed a motley and heterogeneous admixture; some petulant animosity, which was not yet hatred, some esteem, more respect, much fear, with a world of uneasy curios- ity. To the moralist it will be unnecessary to say in addition that Wilson and myself were the most insepa- rable of companions. It was no doubt the anomalous state of affairs existing between us which turned all my attacks upon him (and they were many, either open or covert) into the channel of banter or practical joke (giving pain while assuming the aspect of mere fun), rather than into a more serious and determined hostility. But my endeavours on this head were by no means uniformly successful, even when my plans were the most wittily concocted; for my name- sake had much about him in character of that unassuming and quiet austerity which, while enjoying the poignancy ienicdivdedeaaied deat eed lk Rik a ‘e PaPe ereee ee ee ee es mee Oe ee ee 94 EDGAR ALLAN POE of its own jokes, has no heel of Achilles in itself, and absolutely refuses to be laughed at. I could find indeed but one vulnerable point, and that lying in a personal peculiarity, arising perhaps from constitutional disease, would have been spared by any antagonist less at his wit’s end than myself; my rival had a weakness in the faucial or guttural organs which precluded him from raising his voice at any time above a very low whisper. Of this defect I did not fail to take what poor advantage lay in my power. Wilson’s retaliations in kind were many; and there was one form of his practical wit that disturbed me beyond measure. How his sagacity first discovered at all that so petty a thing would vex me is a question I never could solve, but having discovered, he habitually practised the annoyance. I had always felt aversion to my uncourtly patronymic and its very common, if not plebeian prenomen. The words were venom in my ears; and when, upon the day of my arrival, a second William Wilson came also to the academy, I felt angry with him for bearing the name, and doubly disgusted with the name because a stranger bore it, who would be the cause of its twofold repetition, who would be constantly in my presence, and whose concerns, in the ordinary routine of the school business, must inevitably, on ac- count of the detestable coincidence, be often confounded with my own. The feeling of vexation thus engendered grew stronger with every circumstance tending to show resemblance, moral or physical, between my rival and myself. I had not then discovered the remarkable fact that we were of the same age; but I saw that we were of the same height, and I perceived that we were even singularly alike in general contour of person and outline of feature. I was galled, too, by the rumour touching a relationship,WILLIAM WILSON 95 which had grown current in the upper forms. In a word, nothing could more seriously disturb me (although I scrupulously concealed such disturbance), than any allusion to a similarity of mind, person, or condition existing between us. But, in truth, I had no reason to believe that (with the exception of the matter of relation- ship, and in the case of Wilson himself) this similarity had ever been made a subject of comment or even ob- served at all by our schoolfellows. That he observed it in all its bearings, and as fixedly as I, was apparent; but that he could discover in such circumstances so fruitful a field of annoyance can only be attributed, as I said before, to his more than ordinary penetration. His cue, which was to perfect an imitation of myself, lay both in words and in actions, and most admirably did he play his part. My dress it was an easy matter to copy; my gait and general manner were without diffi- culty appropriated; in spite of his constitutional defect, even my voice did not escape him. My louder tones were of course unattempted, but then the key, it was identical; and his singular whisper, it grew the very echo of my own. How greatly this most exquisite portraiture harassed me (for it could not justly be termed a caricature), I will not now venture to describe. I had but one con- solation—in the fact that the imitation, apparently, was noticed by myself alone, and that I had to endure only the knowing and strangely sarcastic smiles of my name- sake himself. Satisfied with having produced in my bosom the intended effect he seemed to chuckle in secret over the sting he had inflicted, and was characteristically disregardful of the public applause which the success of his witty endeavours might have so easily elicited. That the school, indeed, did not feel his design, perceive its accomplishment, and participate in his sneer, was foreS ee ee ns a. eT ee ee ee ae 06 EDGAR ALLAN POE many anxious months a riddle I could not resolve. Per- haps the gradation of his copy rendered it not so readily perceptible, or more possibly I owed my security to the masterly air of the copyist, who, disdaining the letter (which in a painting is all the obtuse can see), gave but the full spirit of his original for my individual con- templation and chagrin. I have already more than once spoken of the disgust- ing air of patronage which he assumed toward me, and of his frequent officious interference with my will. This interference often took the ungracious character of ad- vice—advice not openly given but hinted or insinuated. I received it with a repugnance which gained strength as I grew in years. Yet at this distant day, let me do him the simple justice to acknowledge that I can recall no occasion when the suggestions of my rival were on the side of those errors or follies so usual to his im- mature age and seeming inexperience; that his moral sense, at least, if not his general talents and worldly wisdom, was far keener than my own; and that I might to-day have been a better, and thus a happier man, had I less frequently rejected the counsels embodied in those meaning whispers which I then but too cordially hated and too bitterly despised. As it was, I at length grew restive in the extreme under his distasteful supervision, and daily resented more and more openly what I considered his intolerable arrogance. I have said that in the first years of our connection as schoolmates, my feelings in regard to him might have been easily ripened into friendship; but, in the latter months of my residence at the academy, al- though the intrusion of his ordinary manner had, beyond doubt, in some measure abated, my sentiments in nearly similar proportion partook very much of positive hatred.WILLIAM WILSON 97 Upon one occasion he saw this, I think, and afterwards avoided, or made a show of avoiding me. It was about the same period, if I remember aright, that, in an altercation of violence with him, in which he was more than usually thrown off his guard, and spoke and acted with an openness of demeanour rather foreign to his nature, I discovered, or fancied I discovered, in his accent, his air, and general appearance, a something which first startled, and then deeply interested me, by bringing to mind dim visions of my earliest infancy— wild, confused, and thronging memories of a time when memory herself was yet unborn. I cannot better de- scribe the sensation which oppressed me than by saying that I could with difficulty shake off the belief of my having been acquainted with the being who stood before me at some epoch very long ago—some point of the past even infinitely remote. The delusion, however, faded rapidly as it came, and I mention it at all but to define the day of the last conversation I there held with my singular namesake. The huge old house, with its countless subdivisions, had several large chambers communicating with each other, where slept the greater number of the students. There were, however (as must necessarily happen in a building so awkwardly planned), many little nooks or recesses, the odds and ends of the structure; and these the economic ingenuity of Dr. Bransby had also fitted up as dormitories; although, being the merest closets, they were capable of accommodating but a single indi- vidual. One of these small apartments was occupied by Wilson. One night, about the close of my fifth year at the school, and immediately after the altercation just men- tioned, finding every one wrapped in sleep, I arose from bed, and, lamp in hand, stole through a wilderness ofee ae ee ee ae ee ok ete ee eee 98 EDGAR ALLAN POE narrow passages from my own bedroom to that of my rival. I had long been plotting one of those ill-natured practical wit at his expense in which I had pieces of It was my in- hitherto been so uniformly unsuccessful. tention now to put my scheme in operation, and I re- solved to make him feel the whole extent of the malice with which I was imbued. Having reached his closet I noiselessly entered, leaving the lamp, with a shade over it. on the outside. I advanced a step and listened to the sound of his tranquil breathing. Assured of his being returned, took the light, and with it again ap- Close curtains were around it, which, I slowly and quietly with- asleep, I proached the bed. in the prosecution of my plan, drew. when the bright rays fell vividly upon the sleeper, and my eyes, at the same moment, upon his countenance. I looked:—and a numbness, an iciness of feeling, in- stantly pervaded my frame. My breast heaved, my knees tottered, my whole spirit became possessed with an objectless yet ‘ntolerable horror. Gasping for breath I lowered the lamp in still nearer proximity to the face. Were these—these the lineaments of William Wilson? I saw. indeed, that they were his, but I shook as if with a fit of the ague in fancying they were not. What was there about them to confound me in this manner? I y brain reeled with a multitude of inco- gazed ;—while m Not thus he appeared—assuredly not herent thoughts. thus—in the vivacity of his waking hours. The same name! the same contour of person! the same day of arrival at the academy! And then his dogged and mean- gait, my voice, my habits, and in truth, within the bounds of saw was the result ingless imitation of my my manner! Was it, human possibility that what I now merely of the habitual practice of this sarcastic imita- tion? Awe-stricken, and with a creeping shudder, I extinguished the lamp, passed silently from the chamber,and left a WILLIAM WILSON 99 t once the halls of that old’) aeddemy, nevér to enter them again. After a idleness, I lapse of some months, spentsat home in mere found myself a student 4t Eton. “VThe brief interval had been sufficient to enfeeble my remembrance of the events at Dr. Bransby’s, or at least to effect 4 material change in the nature of the feelings’ with which I remembered them. The truth, the tragedy, of the drama the eviden subject at was no more. I could now find room to doubt ce of my senses, and seldom called up the all but with wonder at the extent of human credulity, and a smile at the vivid force of the imagina- tion which I hereditarily possessed. Neither was this species of character scepticism likely to be diminished by the of the life I led at Eton. The vortex of thoughtless folly into which I there so immediately and so recklessly plunged washed away all but the froth of my past hours, engulfed at once every solid or serious impression of a forme I do no miserable , and left to memory only the veriest levities ‘r existence. t wish, however, to trace the course of my profligacy here—a profligacy which set at defiance the laws, while it eluded the vigilance of the institution. Three years of folly, passed without profit, had but given me rooted habits of vice, and added, in a somewhat after a we party of tl unusual degree, to my bodily stature, when, ek of soulless dissipation, I invited a small 1e most dissolute students to a secret carousal in my chambers. We met at a late hour of the night, for our debaucheries were to be faithfully protracted until morning. The wine flowed freely, and there were not wanting other and perhaps more dangerous seduc- tions, so t hat the grey dawn had already faintly ap- peared in the east, while our delirious extravagance was at its height. Madly flushed with ecards and intoxica-eee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee eae erec 100 EDGAR ALLAN POE tion. I was in the act of insisting upon a toast of more than wonted profanity when my attention was suddenly diverted by the violent, although partial, unclosing ot the door of the apartment, and by the eager voice of a servant from without. He said that some person, ap- parently in great haste, demanded to speak with me in the hall. Wildly excited with wine, the unexpected interruption rather delighted than surprised me. [| staggered for- ward at once, and a few steps brought me to the vesti- bule of the building. In this low and small room there hung no lamp, and now no light at all was admitted, save that of the exceedingly feeble dawn which made its way through the semi-circular window. As I put my foot over the threshold I became aware of the figure of a youth about my own height, and habited in a white kerseymere morning frock, cut in the novel fashion of the one I myself wore at the moment. This the faint light enabled me to perceive, but the features of his face I could not distinguish. Upon my entering he strode hurriedly up to me, and seizing me by the arm with a gesture of petulant impatience, whispered the words “William Wilson!’ in my ear. I grew perfectly sober in an instant. There was that in the manner of the stranger, and in the tremulous shake of his uplifted finger, as he held ht, which filled me with it between my eyes and the lig unqualified amazement; but it was not this which had so violently moved me. It was the pregnancy of solemn admonition in the singular, low, hissing utterance, and, above all, it was the character, the tone, the key, of those few, simple, and familiar, yet whispered syllables, which came with a thousand thronging memories of by- gone days, and struck upon my soul with the shock ofWILLIAM WILSON 101 a galvanic battery. Ere I could recover the use of my senses he was gone. Although this event failed not of a vivid effect upon my disordered imagination, yet was it evanescent as vivid. For some weeks, indeed, I busied myself in earnest inquiry, or was wrapped in a cloud of morbid speculation. I did not pretend to disguise from my perception the identity of the singular individual who thus perseveringly interfered with my affairs, and harassed me with his insinuated counsel. But who and what was this Wilson?—and whence came he?—and what were his purposes? Upon neither of these points could I be satisfied merely ascertaining in regard to him, that a sudden accident in his family had caused his removal from Dr. Bransby’s academy on the afternoon of the day in which I myself had eloped. But in a brief period I ceased to think upon the subject, my attention being all absorbed in a contemplated departure for Oxford. Thither I soon went, the uncalculating vanity of my parents furnishing me with an outfit and annual establishment which would enable me to indulge at will in the luxury already so dear to my heart—to vie in profuseness of expenditure with the haughtiest heirs of the wealthiest earldoms in Great Britain. Excited by such appliances to vice, my constitutional temperament broke forth with redoubled ardour, and I spurned even the common restraints of decency in the mad infatuation of my revels. But it were absurd to pause in the detail of my extravagance. Let it suffice, that among spendthrifts I out-Heroded Herod, and that giving name to a multitude of novel follies, I added no brief appendix to the long catalogue of vices then usual in the most dissolute university of Europe. It could hardly be credited, however, that I had, even here, so utterly fallen from the gentlemanly estate as to102 EDGAR ALLAN POE ntance with the vilest arts of the gambler by ing become an adept in his despicable it habitually as a means of increasing seek acqual profession, and hav science, to practise my already enormous income at the expense of the weak-minded among my fellow-collegians. Such, never- theless, was the fact; and the very enormity of this offence against all manly and honourable sentiment proved, beyond doubt, the main, if not the sole reason of the impunity with which it was committed. Who, indeed, among my most abandoned associates would not rather have disputed the clearest evidence of his senses than have suspected of such courses the gay, the frank, the generous William Wilson—the noblest and most liberal commoner at Oxford—him whose follies (said his parasites) were but the follies of youth and unbridled fancy—whose errors but inimitable whim— whose darkest vice but a careless and dashing extrava- gance? I had been now two years successfully busied in this way when there came to the university a young parvenu nobleman, Glendinning—rich, said report, as Herodes Atticus—his riches, too, as easily acquired. I soon found him of weak intellect, and of course marked him as a fitting subject for my skill. I frequently engaged him in play, and contrived with the gambler’s usual art to let him win considerable sums, the more effectually to entangle him in my snares. At length, my schemes being ripe, I met him (with the full intention that this meeting should be final and decisive) at the chambers of a fellow-commoner (Mr. Preston) equally intimate with both, but who, to do him justice, entertained not even a remote suspicion of my design. To give to this a better colouring I had contrived to have assembled a party of some eight or ten, and was solicitously careful that the introduction of cards should appear accidental, andWILLIAM WILSON 103 originate in the proposal of my contemplated dupe him- self. ‘To be brief upon a vile topic, none of the low finesse was omitted, so customary upon similar occasions, that it is a just matter for wonder how any are still found so besotted as to fall its victim. We had protracted our sitting far into the night, and I had at length effected the maneuvre of getting Glendin- ning as my sole antagonist. The game, too, was my favourite écarté. The rest of the company, interested in the extent of our play, had abandoned their own cards, and were standing around us as spectators. The parvenu, who had been induced by my artifices in the early part of the evening to drink deeply, now shuffled, dealt, or played, with a wild nervousness of manner for which his intoxication I thought might partially but could not altogether account. In a very short period he had become my debtor to a large amount, when, having taken a long draught of port, he did precisely what I had been coolly anticipating—he proposed to double our already extravagant stakes. With a well-feigned show of reluctance, and not until after my repeated refusal had seduced him into some angry words which gave a colour of pique to my compliance, did I finally comply. The result of course did but prove how entirely the prey was in my toils: in less than an hour he had quadrupled his debt. For some time his countenance had been losing the florid tinge lent it by the wine, but now to my astonishment I perceived that it had grown to a pallor truly fearful. I say to my astonishment. Glendinning had been represented to my eager inquiries as immeas- urably wealthy; and the sums which he had as yet lost, although in themselves vast, could not, I supposed, very seriously annoy, much less so violently affect him. That he was overcome by the wine just swallowed was the idea which most readily presented itself; and, rather eee ey peer ee ee eeepre pe men be be bet ol ee DES PETA rE! Pe Tr seers cet ee to say. 104 EDGAR ALLAN POE with a view to the preservation of my own character in the eyes of my associates, than from any less interested motive, I was about to insist peremptorily, upon a dis- continuance of the play, when some expressions at my elbow from among the company, and an ejaculation even of a fiend. evincing utter despair on the part of Glendinning, gave me to understand that I had effected his total ruin under circumstances which, rendering him an object for the pity of all, should have protected him from the ill offices What now might have been my conduct it is difficult The pitiable condition of my dupe had thrown an air of embarrassed gloom over all, and for some moments a profound silence was maintained, during which I could not help feeling my cheeks tingle with the many burning glances of scorn or rcproach cast upon me by the less abandoned of the party. I will even own that an intolerable weight of anxiety was a brief instant lifted from my bosom by the sudden and extraordinary interruption which ensued. The wide heavy folding- doors of the apartment were all at once thrown open to their full extent, with a vigorous and rushing impetuosity that extinguished, as if by magic, every candle in the room. Their light, in dying, enabled us just to perceive that a stranger had entered, about my own height, and closely muffled in a cloak. The darkness, however, was now total, and we could only feel that he was standing in our midst. Before any one of us could recover from the extreme astonishment into which this rudeness had thrown all, we heard the voice of the intruder. “Gentlemen.” he said, in a low, distinct, and never-to-~ be-forgotten whisper which thrilled to the very marrow of my bones, “gentlemen, I make no apology for this behaviour, because in thus behaving, I am but fulfilling my duty. You are, beyond doubt, uninformed of theWILLIAM WILSON 105 true character of the person who has to-night won at écarté a large sum of money from Lord Glendinning. I will therefore put you upon an expeditious and decisive plan of obtaining this very necessary information. Please to examine at your leisure the inner linings of the cuff of his left sleeve, and the several little packages which may be found in the somewhat capacious pockets of his embroidered morning wrapper.” While he spoke, so profound was the stillness that one might have heard a pin drop upon the floor. In ceasing, he departed at once, and as abruptly as he had entered. Can I—shall I describe my sensations? Must I say that I felt all the horrors of the damned? Most assuredly I had little time for reflection. Many hands roughly seized me upon the spot, and lights were imme- diately re-procured. A search ensued. In the lining of my sleeve were found all the court cards essential in écarté, and in the pockets of my wrapper a number of packs, facsimiles of those used at our sittings, with the single exception that mine were of the species called, technically, arrondées; the honours being slightly convex at the ends, the lower cards slightly convex at the sides. In this disposition, the dupe who cuts, as customary, at the length of the pack, will invariably find that he cuts his antagonist an honour; while the gambler, cutting at the breadth, will as certainly cut nothing for his victim which may count in the records of the game. Any burst of indignation upon this discovery would have affected me less than the silent contempt, or the sarcastic composure, with which it was received. “Mr. Wilson,” said our host, stooping to remove from beneath his feet an exceedingly luxurious cloak of rare furs, ““Mr. Wilson, this is your property.” (The weather was cold; and, upon quitting my own room, I had thrown a cloak over my dressing wrapper, putting it off uponee ee ee a Ca permentmier Pen tee 106 EDGAR ALLAN POE reaching the scene of play.) “I presume it is supererog- atory to seek here (eyeing the folds of the garment with a bitter smile) for any further evidence of your skill. Indeed, we have had enough. You will see the necessity, I hope, of quitting Oxford—at all events, of quitting instantly my chambers.” Abased, humbled to the dust as I then was, it is prob- able that I should have resented this galling language by immediate personal violence, had not my whole atten- tion been at the moment arrested by a fact of the most startling character. The cloak which I had worn was of a rare description of fur; how rare, how extravagantly costly, I shall not venture to say. Its fashion, too, was of my own fantastic invention, for I was fastidious to an absurd degree of coxcombry in matters of this frivolous nature. When, therefore, Mr. Preston reached me that which he had picked up upon the floor, and near the folding doors of the apartment, it was with an astonish- ment nearly bordering upon terror, that I perceived my own already hanging on my arm (where I had no doubt unwittingly placed it), and that the one presented me was but its exact counterpart in every, in even the minutest possible particular. The singular being who had so disastrously exposed me had been muffled, I remembered, in a cloak, and none had been worn at all by any of the members of our party with the exception of myself. Retaining some presence of mind, I took the one offered me by Preston, placed it unnoticed over my own, left the apartment with a resolute scowl of defiance, and next morning, ere dawn of day, commenced a hurried journey from Oxford to the Continent in a per- fect agony of horror and of shame. I fled in vain. My evil destiny pursuea me as if in exultation, and proved indeed that the exercise of itsWILLIAM WILSON 107 mysterious dominion had as yet only begun. Scarcely had I set foot in Paris ere I had fresh evidence of the detestable interest taken by this Wilson in my concerns. at Years flew while I experienced no relief. Villain! Rome, with how untimely, yet with how spectral an officiousness, stepped he in between me and my ambition ! At Vienna, too—at Berlin—and at Moscow! Where, in truth, had I not bitter cause to curse him within my heart? From his inscrutable tyranny did I at length flee, panic-stricken, as from a pestilence; and to the very ends of the earth I fled in vain. And again and again, in secret communion with my own spirit, would I demand the questions “Who is he? and what are his objects?” But no whence came he? answer was there found. And now I scrutinised, with a minute scrutiny, the forms, and the methods, and the leading traits of his impertinent supervision. But even here there was very little upon which to base a conjec- ture. It was noticeable, indeed, that in no one of the multiplied instances in which he had of late crossed my path had he so crossed it except to frustrate those schemes, or to disturb those actions, which, if fully car- ried out, might have resulted in bitter mischief. Poor justification this, in truth, for an authority so imperi- ously assumed! Poor indemnity for natural rights of self-agency so pertinaciously, so insultingly denied ! I had also been forced to notice that my tormentor for a very long period of time (while scrupulously and with miraculous dexterity maintaining his whim of an identity of apparel with myself) had so contrived it, in the ex- ecution of his varied interference with my will, that I saw not at any moment the features of his face. Be Wilson what he might, this at least was but the veriest of affectation or of folly. Could he for an instant haveen ee ee ee a eS eee ee 108 EDGAR ALLAN POE supposed that in my admonisher at Eton—in the de- stroyer of my honour at Oxford—in him who thwarted my ambition at Rome, my revenge at Paris, my passion- ate love at Naples, or what he falsely termed my avarice in Egypt,—that in this, my arch-enemy and evil genius, I could fail to recognise the William Wilson of my school-boy days,—the name-sake, the companion, the rival—the hated and dreaded rival at Dr. Bransby’s? Impossible !—But let me hasten to the last eventful scene of the drama. Thus far I had succumbed supinely to this imperious domination. The sentiment of deep awe with which I habitually regarded the elevated character, the majestic wisdom, the apparent omnipresence and omnipotence of Wilson, added to a feeling of even terror, with which certain other traits in his nature and assumptions in- spired me, had operated hitherto to impress me with an idea of my own utter weakness and helplessness, and to suggest an implicit, although bitterly reluctant submis- sion to his arbitrary will. But of late days I had given myself up entirely to wine, and its maddening influence upon my hereditary temper rendered me more and more impatient of control. I began to murmur,—to hesitate,— to resist. And was it only faney which induced me to believe that, with the increase of my own firmness, that of my tormentor underwent a proportional diminution? Be this as it may, I now began to feel the inspiration of a burning hope, and at length nurtured in my secret thoughts a stern and desperate resolution that I would submit no longer to be enslaved. It was at Rome, during the Carnival of 18—, that I attended a masquerade in the palazzo of the Neapolitan Duke Di Broglio. I had indulged more freely than usual in the excesses of the wine-table, and now the suffocatingWILLIAM WILSON 109 atmosphere of the crowded rooms irritated me beyond endurance. The difficulty, too, of forcing my way through the mazes of the company contributed not a little to the ruffling of my temper; for I was anxiously seeking (let me not say with what unworthy motive) the young, the gay, the beautiful wife of the aged and doting Di Broglio. With a too unscrupulous confidence she had previously communicated to me the secret of the costume in which she would be habited, and now, having caught a glimpse of her person, I was hurrying to make my way into her presence. At this moment I felt a light hand placed upon my shoulder, and that ever-remembered, low, damnable whisper within my ear. In an absolute frenzy of wrath I turned at once upon him who had thus interrupted me, and seized him violently by the collar. He was attired, as I had ex- pected, in a costume altogether similar to my own; wear- ing a Spanish cloak of blue velvet, begirt about the waist with a crimson belt sustaining a rapier. A mask of black silk entirely covered his face. “Scoundrel !”’ I said, in a voice husky with rage, while every syllable I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury; “scoundrel! impostor! accursed villain! you shall not— you shall not dog me unto death! Follow me, or I stab you where you stand!’’—and I broke my way from the ball-room into a small ante-chamber adjoining, dragging him unresistingly with me as I went. Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He staggered against the wall, while I closed the door with an oath, and commanded him to draw. He hesitated but for an instant; then, with a slight sigh, drew in silence, and put himself upon his defence. The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every species of wild excitement, and felt within myes a Petre ty apes ee ee ee ee i oe ee ee rer eee wey 110 EDGAR ALLAN POE single arm the energy and power of a multitude. Ina few seconds I forced him by sheer strength against the wainscoting, and thus, getting him at mercy, plunged my sword, with brute ferocity, repeatedly through and through his bosom. At that instant some person tried the latch of the door. I hastened to prevent an intrusion, and then immediately returned to my dying antagonist. But what human lan- guage can adequately portray that astonishment, that horror which possessed me at the spectacle then pre- sented to view? The brief moment in which I averted my eyes had been sufficient to produce apparently a material change in the arrangements at the upper or farther end of the room. A large mirror—so at first it seemed to me in my confusion—now stood where none had been perceptible before; and, as I stepped up to it in extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features all pale and dabbled in blood, advanced to meet me with a feeble and tottering gait. Thus it appeared, I say, but was not. It was my an- tagonist—it was Wilson who then stood before me in the agonies of his dissolution. His mask and cloak lay where he had thrown them upon the floor. Nota thread in all his raiment—not a line in all the marked and singular lineaments of his face which was not, even in the most absolute identity, mine own! It was Wilson; but he spoke no longer in a whisper, and I could have fancied that I myself was speaking while he said: “You have conquered and I yield. Yet, hencefor- ward art thou also dead—dead to the World, to Heaven, and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself.”THE MAN OF THE CROWD Ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir étre seul. La Bruyeére. “ es Ir was well said of a certain German book that lasst sich nicht lesen’”—it does not permit itself to be read. There are some secrets which do not permit them- selves to be told. Men die nightly in their beds, wring- ing the hands of ghostly confessors, and looking them piteously in the eyes—die with despair of heart and convulsion of throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man takes up a burden so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged. Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in autumn, I sat at the large bow-window of the D—— Coffee-House in London. For some months I had been ill in health, but was now convalescent, and, with return- ing strength, found myself in one of those happy moods which are so precisely the converse of ennui moods of the keenest appetency, when the film from the mental vision departs the axAus n Wp ennev and the intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its every-day condition, as does the vivid yet candid reason of Leibnitz, the mad and flimsy rhetoric of Gorgias. Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and | derived positive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources of pain. I felt a calm but inquisitive interest in everything. With a cigar in my mouth and a newspaper in my lap, I had been amus- ing myself for the greater part of the afternoon, now in poring over advertisements, now in observing the 11) Pree e—reas mse tetdie es eeee eee 112 EDGAR ALLAN POE promiscuous company in the room, and now in peering through the smoky panes into the street. This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and had been very much crowded during the whole day. But, as the darkness came on, the throng momently increased; and, by the time the lamps were well lighted, two dense and continuous tides of popula- tion were rushing past the door. At this particular period of the evening I had never before been in a similar situation, and the tumultuous sea of human heads filled me, therefore, with a delicious novelty of emotion. I gave up, at length, all care of things within the hotel, and became absorbed in contemplation of the scene without. At first my observations took an abstract and general- izing turn. I looked at the passengers in masses, and thought of them in their aggregate relations. Soon, however, I descended to details, and regarded with minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure, dress, air, gait, visage, and expression of countenance. By far the greater number of those who went by had a satisfied business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their way through the press. Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled quickly; when pushed against by fellow-wayfarers they evinced no symptom of impatience, but adjusted their clothes and hurried on. Others, still a numerous class, were restless in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked and gesticulated to themselves, as if feeling in solitude on account of the very denseness of the company around. When impeded in their progress, these people suddenly ceased muttering, but redoubled their gesticula- tions, and awaited, with an absent and overdone smile upon the lips, the course of the persons impeding them. If jostled, they bowed profusely to the jostlers, andTHE MAN OF THE CROWD 113 appeared overwhelmed with confusion——There was nothing very distinctive about these two large classes beyond what I have noted. Their habiliments belonged to that order which is pointedly termed the decent. They were undoubtedly noblemen, merchants, attorneys, tradesmen, stockjobbers—the Eupatrids and the com- mon-places of society—men of leisure and men actively engaged in affairs of their own—conducting business upon their own responsibility. They did not greatly excite my attention. The tribe of clerks was an obvious one; and here I discerned two remarkable divisions. There were the junior clerks of flash houses—young gentlemen with tight coats, bright boots, well-oiled hair, and supercilious lips. Setting aside a certain dapperness of carriage, which may be termed deskism for want of a better word, the manner of these persons seemed to me an exact facsimile of what had been the perfection of bon ton about twelve or eighteen months before. They wore the cast-off graces of the gentry; and this, I believe, involves the best definition of the class. The division of the upper clerks of stanch firms, or of the “steady old fellows,” it was not possible to mis- take. These were known by their coats and pantaloons of black or brown, made to sit comfortably, with white cravats and waistcoats, broad solid-looking shoes, and thick hose or gaiters.—They had all slightly bald heads, from which the right ears, long used to penholding, had an odd habit of standing off on end. I observed that they always removed or settled their hats with both hands, and wore watches, with short gold chains of sub- stantial and ancient pattern. Theirs was the affectation of respectability ;—if indeed there be an affectation so honorable. There were many individuals of dashing appearance,ee ee ee ee eee ee ss ee ee et ee i-e-7- 114 EDGAR ALLAN POE whom I easily understood as belonging to the race of swell pick-pockets, with which all great cities are infested. I watched these gentry with much inquisitive- ness, and found it difficult to imagine how they should ever be mistaken for gentlemen by gentlemen them- selves. Their voluminousness of waistband, with an air of excessive frankness, should betray them at once. The gamblers, of whom I descried not a few, were still more easily recognizable. They wore every variety of dress, from that of the desperate thimble-rig bully, with velvet waistcoat, fancy neckerchief, gilt chains, and filagreed buttons, to that of the scrupulously inornate clergyman than which nothing could be less liable to suspicion. Still all were distinguished by a certain sod- I } den swarthiness of complexion, a filmy dimness of eye, and pallor and compression of lip. There were two other traits, moreover, by which I could always detect them ;—a guarded lowness of tone in conversation, and a more than ordinary extension of the thumb in a direction at right angles with the fingers.—Very often, in com- pany with these sharpers, I observed an order of men somewhat different in habits, but still birds of a kindred feather. They may be defined as the gentlemen who live by their wits. They seem to prey upon the public in two battalions—that of the dandies and that of the military men. Of the first grade the leading features are long locks and smiles; of the second frogged coats and frowns. Descending in the scale of what is termed gentility, I found darker and deeper themes for speculation. I saw Jew pedlars, with hawk eyes flashing from coun- tenances whose every other feature wore only an expres- sion of abject humility; sturdy professional street beg- gars scowling upon mendicants of a better stamp, whom despair alone had driven forth into the night for charity;THE MAN OF THE CROWD 115 feeble and ghastly invalids, upon whom death had placed a sure hand, and who sidled and tottered through the mob, looking every one beseechingly in the face, as if in search of some chance consolation, some lost hope; modest young girls returning from long and late labor to a cheerless home, and shrinking more tearfully than indignantly from the glances of ruffians, whose direct contact, even, could not be avoided; women of the town of all kinds and of all ages—the unequivocal beauty in the prime of her womanhood, putting one in mind of the statue in Lucian, with the surface of Parian marble, and the interior filled with filth—the loathsome and utterly lost leper in rags—the wrinkled, bejewelled and paint- begrimed beldame, making a last effort at youth—the mere child of immature form, yet, from long associa- tion, an adept in the dreadful coquetries of her trade, and burning with a rapid ambition to be ranked the equal of her elders in vice; drunkards innumerable and indescribable—some in shreds and patches, reeling, inarticulate, with bruised visage and lack-lustre eyes— some in whole although filthy garments, with a slightly unsteady swagger, thick sensual lips, and hearty-looking rubicund faces—others clothed in materials which had once been good, and which even now were scrupulously well brushed—men who walked with a more than naturally firm and springy step, but whose countenances were fearfully pale, whose eyes hideously wild and red, and who clutched with quivering fingers, as they strode through the crowd, at every object which came within their reach; besides these, pie-men, porters, coal-heavers, sweeps; organ-grinders, monkey-exhibiters and ballad- mongers, those who vended with those who sang; ragged artisans and exhausted laborers of every description, and all full of a noisy and inordinate vivacity which bend esousasetss “i ~eteeee ee ee eee 116 EDGAR ALLAN POE jarred discordantly upon the ear, and gave an aching sensation to the eye. As the night deepened, so deepened to me the interest of the scene; for not only did the general character of the crowd materially alter (its gentler features retiring in the gradual withdrawal of the more orderly portion of the people, and its harsher ones coming out into bolder relief, as the late hour brought forth every species of infamy from its den), but the rays of the gas-lamps, feeble at first in their struggle with the dying day, had now at length gained ascendency, and threw over every- thing a fitful and garish lustre. All was dark yet splen- did—as that ebony to which has been likened the style of Tertullian. The wild effects of the light enchained me to an examination of individual faces; and although the rapid- ity with which the world of light flitted before the win- dow prevented me from casting more than a glance upon each visage, still it seemed that, in my then peculiar mental state, I could frequently read, even in that brief interval of a glance, the history of long years. With my brow to the glass, I was thus occupied in scrutinizing the mob, when suddenly there came into view a countenance (that of a decrepit old man, some sixty-five or seventy years of age), a countenance which at once arrested and absorbed my whole attention, on account of the absolute idiosyncrasy of its expression. Anything even remotely resembling that expression I had never seen before. I well remember that my first thought, upon beholding it, was that Retzch, had he viewed it, would have greatly preferred it to his own pictural incarnations of the fiend. As I endeavored, during the brief minute of my original survey, to form some analysis of the meaning conveyed, there arose con- fusedly and paradoxically within my mind the ideas ofTHE MAN OF THE CROWD 117 vast power, of caution, of penuriousness, of avarice, of coolness, of malice, of bloodthirstiness, of triumph, of merriment, of excessive terror, of intense—of supreme despair. I felt singularly aroused, startled, fascinated. “How wild a history,’ I said to myself, “is written within that bosom!” ‘Then came a craving desire to keep the man in view—to know more of him. Hurriedly putting on an overcoat, and seizing my hat and cane, I made my way into the street, and pushed through the crowd in the direction which I had seen him take; for he had already disappeared. With some little difficulty I at length came within sight of him, approached, and followed him closely, yet cautiously, so as not to attract his attention. I had now a good opportunity of examining his person. He was short in stature, very thin, and apparently very feeble. His clothes, generally, were filthy and ragged; but as he came, now and then, within a strong glare of a lamp, I perceived that his linen, although dirty, was of beautiful texture; and my vision deceived me, or, through a rent in a closely-buttoned and _ evidently second-handed roquelaure which enveloped him, I caught a glimpse both of a diamond and of a dagger. These observations heightened my curiosity, and I resolved to follow the stranger whithersoever he should go. It was now fully nightfall, and a thick humid fog hung over the city, soon ending in a settled and heavy rain. This change of weather had an odd effect upon the crowd, the whole of which was at once put into new commotion, and overshadowed by a world of umbrellas. The waver, the jostle, and the hum increased in a ten- fold degree. For my own part I did not much regard the rain—the lurking of an old fever in my system rendering the moisture somewhat too dangerously pleasant. Tying a handkerchief about my mouth, [ee ee ee ee 118 EDGAR ALLAN POE kept on. For half an hour the old man held his way with difficulty along the great thoroughfare; and I here walked close at his elbow through fear of losing sight of him. Never once turning his head to look back, he did not observe me. By and by he passed into a cross street, which, although densely filled with people, was not quite so much thronged as the main one he had quitted. Here a change in his demeanor became evident. He walked more slowly and with less object than before —more hesitatingly. He crossed and re-crossed the way repeatedly without apparent aim; and the press was still so thick, that, at every such movement, I was obliged to follow him closely. The street was a narrow and long one, and his course lay within it for nearly an hour, during which the passengers had gradually diminished to about that number which is ordinarily seen at noon in Broadway near the park—so vast a difference is there between a London populace and that of the most frequented American city. A second turn brought us into a square, brilliantly lighted, and overflowing with life. The old manner of the stranger reappeared. His chin fell upon his breast, while his eyes rolled wildly from under his knit brows, in every direction, upon those who hemmed him in. He urged his way steadily and perseveringly. I was surprised, however, to find, upon his having made the circuit of the square, that he turned and retraced his steps. Still more was I astonished to see him repeat the same walk several times—once nearly detecting me as he came round with a sudden movement. In this exercise he spent another hour, at the end of which we met with far less interruption from passengers than at first. The rain fell fast; the air grew cool; and the people were retiring to their homes. With a gesture of impatience, the wanderer passed into a by-THE MAN OF THE CROWD 119 street comparatively deserted. Down this, some quarter of a mile long, he rushed with an activity I could not have dreamed of seeing in one so aged, and which put me to much trouble in pursuit. A few minutes brought us to a large and busy bazaar, with the localities of which the stranger appeared well acquainted, and where his original demeanor again became apparent, as he forced his way to and fro, without aim, among the host of buyers and sellers. During the hour and a half, or thereabouts, which we passed in this place, it required much caution on my part to keep him within reach without attracting his observation. Luckily I wore a pair of caoutchouc over- shoes, and could move about in perfect silence. At no moment did he see that I watched him. He entered shop after shop, priced nothing, spoke no word, and looked at all objects with a wild and vacant stare. I was now utterly amazed at his behavior, and firmly resolved that we should not part until I had satisfied myself in some measure respecting him. A loud-toned clock struck eleven, and the company were fast deserting the bazaar. A shop-keeper, in put- ting up a shutter, jostled the old man, and at the instant I saw a strong shudder come over his frame. He hurried into the street, looked anxiously around him for an instant, and then ran with incredible swiftness through many crooked and peopleless lanes, until we emerged once more upon the great thoroughfare whence we had started—the street of the D wore, however, the same aspect. It was still brilliant Hotel. It no longer with gas; but the rain fell fiercely, and there were few persons to be seen. The stranger grew pale. He walked moodily some paces up the once populous avenue, then, with a heavy sigh, turned in the direction of the river, and, plunging through a great variety of devious ways,120 EDGAR ALLAN POE came out, at length, in view of one of the principal theatres. It was about being closed, and the audience were thronging from the doors. I saw the old man gasp as if for breath while he threw himself amid the crowd; but I thought that the intense agony of his countenance had, in some measure, abated. His head again fell upon his breast; he appeared as I had seen him at first. I observed that he now took the course in which had gone the greater number of the audience—but, upon the whole, I was at a loss to comprehend the waywardness of his actions. As he proceeded, the company grew more scattered, and his old uneasiness and vacillation were resumed. For some time he followed closely a party of some ten or twelve roisterers; but from this number one by one dropped off, until three only remained together, in a narrow and gloomy lane little frequented. The stranger paused, and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought; then, with every mark of agitation, pursued rapidly a route which brought us to the verge of the city, amid regions very different from those we had hitherto traversed. It was the most noisome quarter of London, where every- thing wore the worst impress of the most deplorable poverty, and of the most desperate crime. By the dim light of an accidental lamp, tall, antique, worm-eaten, wooden tenements were seen tottering to their fall, in directions so many and capricious that scarce the sem- blance of a passage was discernible between them. The paving-stones lay at random, displaced from their beds by the rankly-growing grass. Horrible filth festered in the dammed-up gutters. The whole atmosphere teemed with desolation. Yet, as we proceeded, the sounds of human life revived by sure degrees, and at length large bands of the most abandoned of a London populace were seen reeling to and fro. The spirits ofTHE MAN OF THE CROWD 121 the old man again flickered up, as a lamp which is near its death-hour. Once more he strode onward with elastic tread. Suddenly a corner was turned, a blaze of light burst upon our sight, and we stood before one of the huge suburban temples of Intemperance—one of the palaces of the fiend, Gin. It was now nearly daybreak; but a number of wretched inebriates still pressed in and out of the flaunting entrance. With a half-shriek of joy the old man forced a passage within, resumed at once his original bearing, and stalked backward and forward, without apparent object, among the throng. He had not been thus long occupied, however, before a rush to the doors gave token that the host was closing them for the night. It was something even more intense than despair that I then observed upon the countenance of the singular being whom I had watched so pertinaciously. Yet he did not hesitate in his career, but, with a mad energy, retraced his steps at once, to the heart of the mighty London. Long and swiftly he fled, while I followed him in the wildest amazement, resolute not to abandon a scrutiny in which I now felt an interest all-absorbing. The sun arose while we proceeded and, when we had once again reached that most thronged mart of the populous town, the street of the D——— Hotel, it presented an appear- ance of human bustle and activity scarcely inferior to what I had seen on the evening before. And here, long, amid the momently increasing confusion, did I persist in my pursuit of the stranger. But, as usual, he walked to and fro, and during the day did not pass from out the turmoil of that street. And, as the shades of the second evening came on, I grew wearied unto death, and, stopping fully in front of the wanderer, gazed at him steadfastly in the face. He noticed me not, but resumed his solemn walk, while I, ceasing to follow,ee ee ee Se eee 122 EDGAR ALLAN POE remained absorbed in contemplation. “This old man,” I said at length, “is the type and the genius of deep crime. He refuses to be alone. He is the man of the crowd. It will be in vain to follow; for I shall learn no more of him, nor of his deeds. The worst heart of the world is a grosser book than the Ortulus Animae,} and perhaps it is but one of the great mercies of God that es lasst sich nicht lesen.” THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH Tuer “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 profuse 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. 3ut the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half-depopulated, he summoned 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 court- iers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy ham- mers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means 1The Ortulus Anime cum Orationibus Aliquibus Superadditis of Griinninger.THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 128 neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair from without or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The ex- ternal world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve or to think. The prince had pro- vided all the appliances 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.”’ It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furi- ously 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 you of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven—an imperial suite. In many palaces, how- ever, 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 duke’s love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little 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 Gothie window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose colour varied in accordance with the prevail- ing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue, and vividly blue were its windows.ee ee Pe ee) eee ee &-e-7- 124 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 tapestries 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 colour of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. ‘The panes here were scarlet-—a deep blood-colour. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scat- tered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating 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 projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the firelight that streamed upon the dark hangings, through the blood-tinted panes, was chastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances 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 pendu- lum 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 anTHE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 125 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 evolutions, and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company, and while the chimes of the clock yet rang it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie 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 nervousness and folly, and made whis- pering 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 em- brace 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. But in spite of these things it was a gay and magnifi- cent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colours and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are 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 moveable embel- lishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great féte; 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 arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There were muchee ee Te ee ed ee ee ay 126 EDGAR ALLAN POE of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little 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 stiff-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 lies most eastwardly 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-coloured panes; and the black- ness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly em- phatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments. But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly 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 thoughtTHE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 127 crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, 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 rumour of this new presence having spread it- self whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation 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 mas- querade license 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 life 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 head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiff- ened 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. et eS eeee eee ee ee 128 EDGAR ALLAN POE When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn move- ment, 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 the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout 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 mummer 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 his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured 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 movementTHE OVAL PORTRAIT had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and 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 suddenly 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 them- selves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mum- mer, 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, un- tenanted 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 OVAL PORTRAIT “‘Egli @ vivo e parlerebbe se non osservasse la rigola del silentio.”’ Inscription beneath an Italian picture of St. Bruno. My fever had been excessive and of long duration. All the remedies attainable in this wild Apennine region hadee ee ee ee ee ee ee 130 EDGAR ALLAN POE been exhausted to no purpose. My valet and sole attendant in the lonely chateau was too nervous and too grossly unskilful to venture upon letting blood, of which, indeed, I had already lost too much in the affray with the banditti. Neither could I safely permit him to leave me in search of assistance. At length I bethought me of a little packet of opium which lay with my tobacco in the hookah-case; for at Constantinople I had acquired the habit of smoking the weed with the drug. Pedro handed me the case. I sought and found the narcotic. But when about to cut off a portion I felt the necessity of hesitation. In smoking it was a matter of little inportance how much was employed. Usually, I had half filled the bowl of the hookah with opium and tobacco cut and mingled intimately, half and half. Sometimes when I had used the whole of this mixture I experienced no very peculiar effects; at other times I would not have smoked the pipe more than two-thirds out, when symp- toms of mental derangement, which were even alarming, warned me to desist. But the effect proceeded with an easy gradation which deprived the indulgence of all dan- ger. Flere, however, the case was different. I had never swallowed opium betore. Laudanum and morphine I had occasionally used, and about them should have had no reason to hesitate. But the solid drug I had never seen employed. Pedro knew no more respecting the proper quantity to be taken than myself—and this, in the sad emergency, I was left altogether to conjecture. Still I felt no especial uneasiness ; for I resolved to proceed by degrees. 1I would take a very small dose in the first instance. Should this prove impotent, I would repeat it; and so on, until I should find an abatement of the fever. or obtain that sleep which was so pressingly req- uisite. and with which my reeling senses had not been blessed for now more than a week. No doubt it was thisTHE OVAL PORTRAIT 131 very reeling of my senses—it was the dull delirium which already oppressed me,—that prevented me from per- ceiving the incoherence of my reason—which blinded me to the folly of defining anything as either large or small where I had no preconceived standard of comparison. I had not, at the moment, the faintest idea that what I conceived to be an exceedingly small dose of solid opium might in fact be an excessively large one. On the con- trary, I well remember that I judged confidently of the quantity to be taken by reference to the entire quantity of the lump in my possession. The portion which, in conclusion I swallowed, and swallowed without fear. was no doubt a very small proportion of the piece which I held in my hand. The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with mani- fold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paint- ings in frames of rich golden arabesque. In these paint- ings which depended from the walls, not only in their main surfaces, but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary—in these !'This opening paragraph appears in the early form of the story “Life in Death,” Graham’s Magazine, April, 1842. With the motto, it is omit{ed in later forms. (ditor.)ee ee ee a eee ee, ee ee eee ee ee ed 132 EDGAR ALLAN POE paintings my incipient delirium perhaps had caused me to take deep interest; so that I bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room—since it was already night —to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which stood by the head of my bed—and to throw open far and wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at least alternately to the con- templation of these pictures, and the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe them. Long, long I read—and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by, and the deep midnight came. The position of the candelabrum dis- pleased me, and outreaching my hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book. But the action produced an effect altogether un- anticipated. The rays of the numerous candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the bedposts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the paint- ing hurriedly, and then closed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception. But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to gain time for thought—to make sure that my vision had not deceived me to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments I again looked fixedly at the painting. That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor whichTHE OVAL PORTRAIT 133 was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at once into waking life. The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It was a mere head and shoulders, done in what is technically termed a vignette manner; much in the style of the favourite heads of Sully. The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair, melted imper- ceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the background of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded and filigreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself. But it could have been neither the execution of the work nor the immortal beauty of the countenance which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least of all, could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at once that the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea—must have prevented even its momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At length, satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the bed. I had found the spell of the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which, at first startling, finally confounded, subdued, and appalled me. With deep and reverent awe I re- placed the candelabrum in its former position. The cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning to the number which designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and quaint words which follow :— “She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour whenbectew ere wey? aperastacerterr seers cert wee Dee ee ee 134 EDGAR ALLAN POE she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, pas- sionate, studious, austere, and having already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee: all light and smiles, and frolick- some as the young fawn: loving and cherishing all things: hating only the Art which was her rival: dread- ing only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride. But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day. And he was a passionate, and wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastlily in that lone turret withered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter (who had high renown) took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But at length, as the labour drew nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter had grown wild with the ardour of his work, and turned his eyes from the canvas rarely, even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the cheeks ofTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 135 her who sate beside him. And when many weeks had assed. and but little remained to do, save one brush > 3 upon the mouth, and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and for one moment the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought; but in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, ‘This is indeed Life itself!’ turned suddenly to regard his beloved: She was dead!” THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM Impia tortorum longas hic 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 sen- tence—the dread sentence of death—was the last of dis- tinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisitorial 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 the intensity of their expression of tirmness—of im- and thin even to grotesqueness; thin with= eee ee eee fe ee Da 136 EDGAR ALLAN POE movable 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 succeeded. 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 my frame thrill, as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, 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 super- vened; 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 still will not say that all of con- sciousness 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 secondTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 137 afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we remem- ber 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 impres- sions 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 re- called, yet, after long interval, do they not come un- bidden. while we marvel whence they come? He who has never swooned, is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly familiar 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 over the per- fume of some novel flower; is not he whose brain grows bewildered with the meaning of some musical cadence which has never before arrested his attention. Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavours to remem- ber, amid earnest struggles to re gather 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 unnatural stillness. ‘Then comes a sense of sud- den motionlessness throughout all things; as if those who ete ee ee ee er eea te Oa Pees wreerer: ee ee 138 EDGAR ALLAN POE bore me (a ghastly train!) had outrun, in their descent, the limits of the limitless, and paused from the weari- someness of their toil. After this I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is madness—the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things. Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and sound—the tumultuous motion of the heart, and, in my ears, the sound of its beating. Then a pause in which all is blank. Then again sound, and motion, and touech— a tingling sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere consciousness of existence, without thought—a con- dition which lasted long. Then, very suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest endeavour to com- prehend my true state. Then a strong desire to lapse into insensibility. 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 much earnestness of endeavour 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 despera- tion 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 intensity of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle me. The atmosphere was intolerably close. ITHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 139 still lay quietly, and made effort to exercise my reason. I brought to mind the inquisitorial 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, perished 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. Moreover, 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 tor- rents upon my heart, and for a brief period I once more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recovering, I at once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly above and around me in all directions. I felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be impeded by the walls of a tomb. Per- spiration 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 on- ward, there came thronging upon my recollection a a eee eye eSee ee eS Ee ek lade” ated ee ee ee ee ee 140 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 subterranean world of dark- ness; 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 cir- cuit, 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 insuperable. 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 encounter 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 toTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 141 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 afterwards 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 cir- cuit. 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 re- searches; but a vague curiosity prompted me to continue them. Quitting the wall, I resolved to cross the area of the enclosure. At first I proceeded with extreme caution, for the floor, although seemingly of solid material, was treacherous with slime. At length, however, I took courage and did not hesitate to step firml y—endeav- oring 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 imme- diately apprehend a somewhat startling circumstance, which yet, in a few seconds afterward, and while I still lay prostrate, arrested 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 ee -<* - oa eS oo Pee eee eesee ee a ee es ee ee ee en ee 142 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 extent, of course, I had no means of ascer- taining 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 frivolous 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 horrors. 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 pic- tured 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 of cowards. NeitherTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 143 could I forget what I had read of these pits—that the sudden extinction of life 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 arous- ing, 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 objects around me were visible. By a wild sulphurous lustre, the origin of which I could not at first determine, I was enabled to see the extent and aspect of the prison. In its size I had been greatly mistaken. The whole circuit 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 impor- tance, 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 endeavours 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 observing 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 feeling my way I had found many angles, ee ee ee ee eee ps “eee_— + weber eseresint > wtb ow owe e ee ee Se DD ie ioe Reed Se ee G29 ere 144 EDGAR ALLAN POE and thus deduced an idea of great irregularity; so potent is the effect of total darkness upon one arousing from lethargy or sleep! The angles were simply those of a few slight depressions, 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 colours 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 dun- ‘on. oe All this I saw indistinctly 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 framework of wood. To this I Was securely bound by a long strap resembling 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 exertion, 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.THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 145 It was some thirty or forty feet overhead, and con- structed 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 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 immediately over my own) I fancied that I saw it in motion. In an instant afterward the fancy was con- firmed. 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. * Chey 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 effort 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 pendulum had increased in extent by nearly a yard. Asa natural consequence, its velocity was also much greater. But what mainly disturbed me was the idea that it had per- ceptibly 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 Pere eee yet: oar |a on Set eo ee ee ee 146 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 ap- pended 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 monkish ingenuity in torture. My cognisance of the pit had become known to the inquisitorial agents—the pit whose horrors had been destined for so bold a recu- sant as myself—the pit, typical of hell, and regarded by rumour 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 entrapment into torment formed an important portion of all the grotes- querie 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 oscillations of the steel! Inch by inch—line by line— 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 odour 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 glittering death as a child at some rare bauble. There was another interval of utter insensibility; it was brief; for upon again lapsing into life there hadTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 147 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 effort 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 J with hope? It was, as I say, a half-formed thought—man has many such which are never completed. I felt that it was of joy—of hope; but I felt also that it had perished in ‘ts formation. In vain I struggled to perfect—to regain it. Long suffering had nearly annihilated all my ordi- nary 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—and again. Notwithstanding its terrifically wide sweep (some thirty feet or more) and the hissing vigour of its descent, sufficient to sunder these very walls of iron, still the fraying of my robe would be all that, for several minutes, it would accomplish. And at this thought I paused. I dared not go farther than this reflection. I dwelt upon it with a pertinacity of atten- tion—as if, in so dwelling, Il 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 peculiar thrilling sensation which the friction of cloth produces on the nerves. I pondered upon all this frivolity until my teeth were on edge.> os Oe ee ee ee a oped ee ee ee ee ee 148 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 fasten- ings above the elbow, I would have seized and attempted to arrest the pendulum. I might as well have attempted to arrest an avalanche! Down—still unceasingly—still inevitably down! I gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrunk con- vulsively at its every sweep. My eyes followed its out- ward or upward whirls with the eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodi- cally at the descent, although 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, glistening axe upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver— the frame to shrink. It was hope—the hope that tri- umphs on the rack—that whispers to the death-con- demned 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 observation there suddenly came over my spirit all the keen, collected calmness of despair. For the first time during many hours—or perhaps days—I thought. It now occurred to me that the bandage or surcingle which enveloped me was unique. I was tied by no separateTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 149 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 a moiety only floated indeterminately through my brain when I raised food to my burning lips. « Lhe 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 motion- lessness 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 pre- vent 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 uncon- scious uniformity of the movement deprived it of effect Pee ae ee eee eo et as SE a eS ey ee eeeee Se te oD Dt ie Deine Sat 150 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 terri- fied 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 frame- work 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 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 that 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 en- dured in vain. I at length felt that I was free. The sur- cingle 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 deliverersTHE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 151 hurried tumultuously away. With a steady movement— cautious, sidelony, shrinking, and slow—l slid from the embrace of the bandage and beyond the reach of the scimitar. For the moment, at least, J 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 cell. 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 sepa- rated from the floor. I endeavoured, but of course in vain, to look through the aperture. As I arose from the attempt, the mystery of the altera- tion in the chamber broke at once upon my understand- ing. I have observed that, although the outline of the figures upon the walls was sufficiently distinct, yet the colours seemed blurred and indefinite. These colours had now assumed, and were momentarily assuming, a startling 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 Se Py pores rte Sehe de}" — SPEEDO S ADs CePe Pi Peere ert -F eee SS ee ee aes we poerecre 152 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 vapour of heated iron! A suffocating odour 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 like 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 shud- dering 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 if with a fit of the ague. There had been a second change in the cell—and now the change was obviously in the form. As before, it was in vain that I, at first, endeavoured 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,THE TELL-TALE HEART 153 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 with- stand its pressure? And now, flatter and flatter grew the lozenge, with a rapidity that left me no time for con- templation. 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 Gen- eral Lasalle. The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its enemies. Te Bs oC Als Pine a rc es 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. Pe eT ese ee ete S444 PrSarve ee ee ee a ee)ee ee ee ee ee ee ee os ee ee ee 154 EDGAR ALLAN POE I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily—how calmly, I can tell 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. When- ever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees very gradually I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever. 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 about 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 lan- tern all closed, closed, so that no light 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 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—oh, so cau- tiously—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 nightTHE TELL-TALE HEART 155 just at 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 pro- found old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept. Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cau- tious 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 feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door little by little, 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 rob- bers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in the 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 did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening ;—just as I have done, night after night, hark- ening to the death watches in the wall. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew 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 Te ty tS Pret aesranrgeererect-ers ee ee ee ee ie Pas 156 EDGAR ALLAN POE arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it had 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 tlie first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since grow- ing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying 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 try- ing to comfort himself with these suppositions; but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death in ap- proaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mourn- ful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel—although he neither saw nor heard—to feel the presence of my head within the room. When I had waited a long time very patiently with- out 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 single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell full 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—all 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 mistakefor madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, THE TELL-TALE HEART such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. old man’s heart. a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. But even yet I refrained and kept still. breathed. steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. time the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It was the beating of the I held the lantern motionless. It increased my fury, as the beating of I scarcely I tried how Mean- It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every in- stant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!—do you mark me well? am. I have told you that I am nervous: so I 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. minutes longer I refrained and stood still. beating grew louder. louder! = -_ burst. And now a new would be heard by a neighbour! come! leaped into the room. Yet, for some But the I thought the heart must anxiety seized me—the sound The old man’s hour had With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and He shrieked once—once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. so far done. with a muffled sound. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed But for many minutes the heart beat on would not be heard through the wall. ceased. and dead. stone dead. examined the corpse. The old man was dead. Yes, This, however, did not vex me; it At length it I removed the bed he was There was no pulsation. stone, stone I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. He was 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 con- 157 aren TET SEE eee Be a Lt u ee ee ee ee ee eee Cert eee Peete esee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee eee 158 EDGAR ALLAN POE cealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. I took up three planks from the flooring of the cham- ber, 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. When I had made an end of these labours, 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 intro- duced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard:by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; in- formation 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 the gentle- men 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, undis- turbed.- 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 wishedTHE TELL-TALE HEART 159 them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ring- ing 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. No doubt I now 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, enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath—and yet the oficers 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 observa- tions 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! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God!—no, no! They heard!—they suspected !—they knew!—they were making a mockery of my horror !— this I thought, and this I think. But anything was bet- ter than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those 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!’ eet eerie 7 ) “ but as “the circumstances’ were not forthcoming al- though I pumped for them with much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to return home and digest my impatience at leisure. I did not receive the expected message from the cap- tain for nearly a week. It came at length, however, and I immediately went on board; the ship was crowded with passengers, and everything was in the bustle at- tendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party arrived in about ten minutes after myself. There were the two sisters, the bride, and the artist—the latter in one of his customary fits of moody misanthropy. I was too well used to these, however, to pay them any special atten- tion. He did not even introduce me to his wife—this courtesy devolving, per force, upon his sister Marian—a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, in a few hurried words, made us acquainted. Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she raised her veil, in acknowledging my bow, I confess that I was very profoundly astonished. I should have been much more so, however, had not long experience advised me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the enthusi- astic descriptions of my friend the artist when indulging in comments upon the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the theme, I well knew with what facility he soared into the regions of the purely ideal. The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly, she was not, I think, very far from it. She was dressed, however, in exquisite taste—and then I had no doubt that she had captivated my friend’s heart by the more enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She eee eer. eo 7- ee ee ee ees spt rent wee Pre rete a ek ee ee ee Sa 188 EDGAR ALLAN POE said very few words, and passed at once into her state- room with Mr. W. My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was no servant—that was a settled point. I looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After some delay, a cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was every- thing that seemed to be expected. Immediately upon its arrival we made sail, and in a short time were safely over the bar and standing out to sea. The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in length by two and a half in breadth; I observed it attentively, and like to be precise. Now, this shape was peculiar; and no sooner had I seen it than I took credit to myself for the accuracy of my guessing. I had reached the conclusion, it will be remembered, that the extra baggage of my friend the artist would prove to be pictures, or at least a picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in conference with Nicolino; and now here was a box which, from its shape, could possibly contain nothing in the world but a copy of Leonardo’s “Last Supper;” and a copy of this very “Last Supper,” done by Rubini the younger, at Florence, I had known for some time to be in the possession of Nicolino. This point, therefore, I con- sidered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled excessively when I thought of my acumen. It was the -first time I had ever known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets, but here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle a fine picture to New York under my very nose, expecting me to know nothing of the matter. I resolved to quiz him well, now and hereafter. One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into the extra state-room. It was de- posited in Wyatt’s own; and there, too, it remained,THE OBLONG BOX 189 occupying very nearly the whole of the floor—no doubt to the exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife ;— this the more especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in sprawling capitals emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my fancy, a peculiarly disgusting odour. nelius Wyatt, Esq. ”> care. Now, On the lid were painted the words—‘Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, Albany, New York. I was aware This side up. that Mrs. Charge of Cor- To be handled with Adelaide Albany, was the artist’s wife’s mother; but then I looked Curtis, of upon the whole address as a mystification, intended especially for myself. I made up my mind, of course, that the box and contents would never get farther north than the studio of my misanthropic friend in Chambers Street, New York. For the first three or four days we had fine weather, although the wind was dead ahead; having chopped round to the northward immediately upon our losing sight of the coast. The passengers were consequently in high spirits, and disposed to be social. I must except, however, Wyatt and his sisters, who behaved stifily, and I could not help thinking uncourteously to the rest of the party. Wyatt’s conduct I did not so much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual habit—in fact, he was morose tricity. excuse. For the sisters, however, I could make but in him I was prepared for eccen- no They secluded themselves in their state-rooms during the greater part of the passage, and absolutely refused, although I repeatedly urged them, to hold communication with any person on board. Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was chatty; and to be chatty is no slight recommendation at sea. with most of the ladies; and, to my profound astonish- She became excessively intimate ted Sie ete te ad eros Pete ete aD ret esee ee ee ee a erecdv: 190 EDGAR ALLAN POE ment, evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet with the men. She amused us all very much. I say “amused” —and scarcely know how to explain myself. The truth is, I soon found that Mrs. W. was far oftener laughed at than with. The gentlemen said little about her; but the ladies, in a little while, pronounced her “‘a good-hearted thing, rather indifferent-looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly vulgar.’”’ The great wonder was how Wyatt had been entrapped into such a match. Wealth was the general solution—but this I knew to be no solution at all; for Wyatt had told me that she neither brought him a dollar, nor had any expectations from any source what- ever. ‘He had married,” he said, “for love, and for love only; and his bride was far more than worthy of his love.” When I thought of these expressions on the part of my friend, I confess that I felt indescribably puzzled. Could it be possible that he was taking leave of his senses? What else could I think? He, so refined, so intellectual, so fastidious, with so exquisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen an appreciation of the beau- tiful! To be sure, the lady seemed especially fond of when she made him—particularly so in his absence herself ridiculous by frequent quotations of what had been said by her “beloved husband, Mr. Wyatt.” The word “husband” seemed forever—to use one of her own delicate expressions—forever “‘on the tip of her tongue.” In the meantime, it was observed by all on board, that he avoided her in the most pointed manner, and for the most part shut himself up alone in his state- room, where, in fact, he might have been said to live altogether, leaving his wife at full liberty to amuse her- self as she thought best in the public society of the main- cabin. My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was that the artist, by some unaccountable freak of fate, or per-THE OBLONG BOX 191 haps in some fit of enthusiastic and fanciful passion, had been induced to unite himself with a person altogether beneath him, and that the natural result, entire and speedy disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the bot- tom of my heart—but could not, for that reason, quite forgive his incommunicativeness in the matter of the “Last Supper.” For this I resolved to have my revenge. One day he came upon deck, and taking his arm as had been my wont, I sauntered with him backwards and forwards. His gloom, however (which I considered quite natural under the circumstances ), seemed entirely unabated. He said little, and that moodily, and with evident effort. I ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening attempt at a smile. Poor fellow !—as I thought of his wife, I wondered that he could have heart to put on even the semblance of mirth. At last I ventured a home thrust. I determined to commence a series of covert insinuations or innuendoes about the oblong box just to let him perceive gradually that I was not alto- gether the butt or victim of his little bit of pleasant mystification. My first observation was by way of open- ing a masked battery. I said something about the “pecu- liar shape of that box;” and, as I spoke the words, I smiled knowingly, winked, and touched him gently with my fore-finger in the ribs. The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless pleasantry convinced me at once that he was mad. At first he stared at me as if he found it impossible to com- prehend the witticism of my remark; but as its point seemed slowly to make its way into his brain, his eyes in the same proportion seemed protruding from their sockets. Then he grew very red—then hideously pale— then, as if highly amused with what I had insinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which, to my aston- ishment, he kept up with gradually increasing vigoura ee ne ee see ee ee ee es et ee 192 EDGAR ALLAN POE for ten minutes or more. In conclusion he fell flat and heavily upon the deck. When I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was dead. I called assistance, and with much difficulty we brought him to himself. Upon reyiving he spoke in- coherently for some time. At length we bled him and put him to bed. The next morning he was quite re- covered, so far as regarded his mere bodily health. Of his mind I say nothing, of course. I avoided him during the rest of the passage by advice of the captain, who seemed to coincide with me altogether in my views of his insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this head to any person on board. Several circusstances occurred immediately after this fit of Wyatt’s which contributed to heighten the curiosity with which I was already possessed. Among other things, this: I had been nervous—drank too much strong green tea, and slept ill at night—in fact, for two nights I could not be properly said to sleep at all. Now, my state-room opened into the main-cabin, or dining-room, as did those of all the single men on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the after-cabin, which was separated from the main one by a slight sliding-door, never locked even at night. As we were almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not a little stiff, the ship heeled to leeward very considerably; and whenever her starboard was to leeward, the sliding-door between the cabins slid open, and so remained, nobody taking the trouble to get up and shut it. But my berth was in such a position that when my own state-room door was open, as well as the sliding-door in question (and my own door was always open on account of the heat), I could see into the after- cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too, where were situated the state-rooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two nights (not consecutive) while I lay aw ake, ITHE OBLONG BOX 193 clearly saw Mrs. W., about eleven o’clock upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-room of Mr. W., and enter the extra room, where she remained until day- break, when she was called by her husband and went back. That they were virtually separated was clear. They had separate apartments—no doubt in contempla- tion of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all, I thought, was the mystery of the extra state-room. There was another circumstance, too, which interested me much. During the two wakeful nights in question, and immediately after the disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the extra state-room, I was attracted by certain singular, cautious, subdued noises in that of her hus- band. After listening to them for some time with thoughtful attention, I at length succeeded perfectly in translating their import. They were sounds occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box by means of a chisel and mallet, the latter being apparently muffled or deadened by some soft woollen or cotton substance in which its head was enveloped. In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the pre- cise moment when he fairly disengaged the lid—also, that I could determine when he removed it altogether, and when he deposited it upon the lower berth in his room; this latter point I knew, for example, by certain slight taps which the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the berth as he endeavoured to lay it down very gently, there being no room for it on the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and I heard nothing more upon either occasion until nearly day- break; unless, perhaps, I may mention a low sobbing or murmuring sound, so very much suppressed as to be nearly inaudible, if indeed the whole of this latter noise were not rather produced by my own imagination. I say it seemed to resemble sobbing or sighing, but of course it Pee Se ee ete eeee ee ee eee ee oe) St ee ee ee ee ae 194 EDGAR ALLAN POE could not have been either. I rather think it was a ringing in my ownears. Mr. Wyatt, no doubt, according to custom, was merely giving the rein to one of his hob- bies—indulging in one of his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had opened his oblong box in order to feast his eyes on the pictorial treasure within. There was nothing in this. however, to make him sob. I repeat therefore that ‘t must have been simply a freak of my own fancy, dis- tempered by good Captain Hardy’s green tea. Just be- fore dawn, on each of the two nights of which I speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt replace the lid upon the ob- long box, and force the nails into their old places by means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he issued from his state-room, fully dressed, and proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers. We had been at sea seven days, and were now off Cape Hatteras, when there came a tremendously heavy hlow from the south-west. We were in a measure pre- pared for it, however, as the weather had been holding out threats for some time. Everything was made snug, alow and aloft; and as the wind steadily freshened we lay-to at length under spanker and foretopsail, both double-reefed. In this trim we rode safely enough for forty-eight hours—the ship proving herself an excellent sea-boat in many respects, and shipping no water of any conse- quence. At the end of this period, however, the gale had freshened into a hurricane, and our after-sail split into ribbons, bringing us so much in the trough of the water that we shipped several prodigious seas, one immediately after the other. By this accident we lost three men over- board with the caboose, and nearly the whole of the larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we recovered our senses before the foretopsail went into shreds, when we got up a storm stay-sail, and with this did pretty wellTHE OBLONG BOX 195 for some hours, the ship heading the sea much more steadily than before. The gale still held on, however, and we saw no signs of its abating. The rigging was found to be ill-fitted, and greatly strained; and on the third day of the blow, about five in the afternoon, our mizzen-mast, in a heavy lurch to windward, went by the board. For an hour or more we tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of the prodigious rolling of the ship, and before we had suc- ceeded, the carpenter came aft and announced four feet of water in the hold. To add to our dilemma, we found the pumps choked and nearly useless. All was now confusion and despair—but an effort was made to lighten the ship by throwing overboard as much of her cargo as could be reached, and by cutting away the two masts that remained. This we at last accom- plished—but we were still unable to do anything at the pumps; and in the meantime the leak gained on us very fast. At sundown the gale had sensibly diminished in violence, and as the sea went down with it, we still entertained faint hopes of saving ourselves in the boats. At eight p.m. the clouds broke away to windward, and we had the advantage of a full moon—a piece of good fortune which served wonderfully to cheer our drooping spirits. After incredible labour we succeeded at length in get- ting the long-boat over the side without material acci- dent, and into this we crowded the whole of the crew and most of the passengers. This party made off immedi- ately, and after undergoing much suffering finally ar- rived in safety at Ocracoke Inlet on the third day after the wreck. Fourteen passengers, with the captain, remained on board, resolving to trust their fortunes to the jolly-boatwe Pees PTT wee Pers peers cesta es at Se ot ee 196 EDGAR ALLAN POE at the stern. We lowered it without difficulty, although it was only by a miracle that we prevented it from swamping as it touched the water. It contained, when afloat, the captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a Mexican officer, wife, four children, and myself, with a negro valet. We had no room, of course, for anything except a few positively necessary instruments, some provision, and the clothes upon our backs. No one had thought of even attempting to save anything more. What must have been the astonishment of all then, when, having proceeded a few fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the stern-sheets, and coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat should be put back for the purpose of taking in his oblong box! “Sit down, Mr. Wyatt,” replied the captain, somewhat sternly; “you will capsize us if you do not sit quite still. Our gunwale is almost in the water now.” “The box!” vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing— “the box, I say! Captain Hardy, you cannot, you will not refuse me: Its weight will be but a trifle—it is nothing—mere nothing. By the mother who bore you —for the love of Heaven—by your hope of salvation, I implore you to put back for the box!” The captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the earnest appeal of the artist, but he regained his stern composure, and merely said— “Mr. Wyatt, you are mad. I cannot listen to you. Sit down, I say, or you will swamp the boat. Stay— hold him—seize him!—he is about to spring overboard! There—I knew it—he is over!” As the Captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from the boat, and as we were yet in the lee of the wreck, succeeded by almost superhuman exertion in getting hold of a rope which hung from the forechains. In anotherTHE OBLONG BOX 197 moment he was on board, and rushing frantically down into the cabin. In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the ship, and being quite out of her lee, were at the mercy of the tremendous sea which was still running. We made a determined effort to put back, but our little boat was like a feather in the breath of the tempest. We saw at a glance that the doom of the unfortunate artist was sealed. As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased, the madman (for as such only could we regard him) was seen to emerge from the companion-way, up which, by dint of a strength that appeared gigantic, he dragged bodily the oblong box. While we gazed in the extremity of astonishment, he passed rapidly several turns of a three-inch rope, first around the box and then around his body. In another instant both body and box were in the sea—disappearing suddenly, at once and for ever. We lingered a while sadly upon our oars, with our eyes riveted upon the spot. At length we pulled away. The silence remained unbroken for an hour. Finally, I hazarded a remark. “Did you observe, captain, how suddenly they sank? Was not that an exceedingly singular thing? I confess that I entertained some feeble hope of his final deliver- ance, when I saw him lash himself to the box, and commit himself to the sea.”’ “They sank as a matter of course,” replied the cap- tain, ‘and that like a shot. They will soon rise again, however, but not till the salt melts.” “The salt!” I ejaculated. “Hush!” said the captain, pointing to the wife and sisters of the deceased. ‘‘We must talk of these things at some more appropriate time.” Sat a ett ee eee a rt. Te eT eee a ee ee a asC4 Pes) werPers pees cert Se ee ee et ee eee 198 EDGAR ALLAN POE We suffered much, and made a narrow escape, but fortune befriended us, as well as our mates in the long- hoat. We landed, in fine, more dead than alive, after four days of intense distress, upon the beach opposite Roanoke Island. We remained here a week, were not ill-treated by the wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New York. About a month after the loss of the Independence, I happened to meet Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our conversation turned, naturally, upon the disaster, and especially upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus learned the following particulars. The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two sisters. and a servant. His wife was, indeed, as she had been represented, a most lovely and most accomplished woman. On the morning of the fourteenth of June (the day in which I first visited the ship), the lady suddenly sickened and died. ‘The young husband was frantic with grief—but circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his voyage to New York. It was necessary to take to her mother the corpse of his adored wife, and, on the other hand, the universal prejudice which would prevent his doing so openly was well known. Nine- tenths of the passengers would have abandoned the ship rather than take passage with a dead body. In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse, being first partially embalmed, and packed with of salt in a box of suitable dimensions, a large quantity Nothing should be conveyed on board as merchandise. was to be said of the lady’s decease, and as it was well understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage for his iry that some person should per- This the deceased lady’s The extra state- wife, it became necessé sonate her during the voyage. maid was easily prevailed on to do. room, originally engaged for this girl during her mis-THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO 199 tress's life, was now merely retained. In this state-room the pseudo wife slept of course every night. In the day- time she performed, to the best of her ability, the part of her mistress—whose person, it had been carefully ascertained, was not known to any of the passengers on board. My own mistakes arose, naturally enough, through too careless, too inquisitive, and too impulsive a temperament. But of late, it is a rare thing that I sleep soundly at night. There is a countenance which haunts me, turn as I will. There is an hysterical laugh which will forever ring within my ears. THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO Tue 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 definitiveness 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 himself 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 enthusiasm is adopted to suit the200 EDGAR ALLAN POE time and opportunity to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, hut in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially ;—I was skilful in the Italian 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 accosted 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 and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him—‘‘My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day! But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontil- lado, and I have my doubts.” “How?” said he, ‘“Amontillado? A pipe? Impos- sible! And in the middle of the carnival?” “IT have my doubts,’ I replied; “and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without con- sulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.” ‘“‘Amontillado!” “T have my doubts.” ““Amontillado !” “And I must satisfy them.’ ““Amontillado !” ‘As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If , any one has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell me’ “Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherrv. »>THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO “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 your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchesi ’- “IT 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 Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontil- lado.”’ Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. 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 honour 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 imme- diate 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 Jength to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.eee fee ee ee 202 EDGAR ALLAN POE The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. “The pipe,” said he. “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 replied. ‘How long have you had that cough?” “Uch! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh !—ugh! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh Le 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 Luchesi ’—— “Enough,” he said; “the cough is a mere nothing: it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.” “True—true,”’ I replied; “‘and, indeed, I had no inten- tion 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 lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. “T drink,’ he said, ‘to the buried that repose around us.” “And I to your long life.”THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO He again took my arm, and we proceeded. “These vaults,” he said, “‘are extensive.” “The Montresors,’ I replied, “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 walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, 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 like 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 and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the move- ment—a grotesque one. “You do not comprehend?” he said. “Not I,” I replied. “Then you are not of the brotherhood.” “How?” “You are not of the masons.” “Nesy yes, I'said; “yes;*yes;Hs Dea Pewre~swerPerrtpeece ceri sy ee ey ee ee ee ae eer oe 204 EDGAR ALLAN POE SOUT Impossible! A mason?” “A mason,” I replied. “A sion,” he said. “It is this,’ I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of my roquelaure. “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 descending 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 lined with human remains piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this man- ner. From the fourth 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 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 between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite. It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depths of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. “Proceed,” I said: “herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi’’— “He is an ignoramus,”’ interrupted my friend, as heTHE CASK OF AMONTILLADO 205 stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed imme- diately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. 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 depended 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 astounded 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 little 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 discovered 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 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 labours and sat downeee ee ee eee fae --e- 206 EDGAR ALLAN POE upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed 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 flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting sud- denly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated J trembled. Unsheathing 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 reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamoured.* I re-echoed—I aided—lI surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer 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.”HOP-FROG “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. 1 grew impatient. I called aloud— “Fortunato!” No answer. I called again— “Fortunato !”’ No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remain- ing 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 labour. I forced the last stone into its position; 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! HOP-FROG I never knew any one so keenly alive to a joke as the king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a good story of the joke kind, and to tell it well, was the surest road to his favour. Thus it happened that his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers. They all took after the king, too, in being large, corpulent, oily men, as well as inimitable jokers. Whether people grow fat by joking, or whether there is something in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never been quite able to determine, but certain it is that a lean joker is a rara avis in terris. About the refinements, or, as he called them, the ’ of wit, the king troubled himself very little. ‘ ‘ghosts’ He had an especial admiration for breadth in a jest, and would often put up with length for the sake of it. ray ee eee eeee fe ee ea) Se ee ee oe 208 EDGAR ALLAN POE Over-niceties wearied him. He would have preferred Rabelais’ “Gargantua” to the ‘“Zadig” of Voltaire; and, upon the whole, practical jokes suited his taste far better than verbal ones. At the date of my narrative, professing Jesters had not altogether gone out of fashion at court. Several of the great continental “powers” still retained their “fools,” who wore motley, with caps and bells, and who were expected to be always ready with sharp witticisms at a moment’s notice, in consideration of the crumbs that fell from the royal table. Our king, as a matter of course, retained his “‘fool.”’ The fact is, he required something in the way of folly— if only to counterbalance the heavy wisdom of the seven wise men who were his ministers—not to mention himself. His fool, or professional jester, was not only a fool, however. His value was trebled in the eyes of the king by the fact of his being also a dwarf and a cripple. Dwarfs were as common at court in those days as fools; and many monarchs would have found it difficult to get through their days (days are rather longer at court than elsewhere) without both a jester to laugh with and a dwarf to laugh at. But, as I have already observed, your jesters, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, are fat, round, and unwieldy—so that it was no small source of self-congratulation with our king that in Hop-Frog (this was the fool’s name) he possessed a triplicate treasure in one person. I believe the name ‘‘Hop-Frog”’ was not that given to the dwarf by his sponsors at baptism, but it was con- ferred upon him by general consent of the seven minis- ters on account of his inability to walk as other men do. In fact, Hop-Frog could only get along by a sort of interjectional gait—something between a leap and aHOP-FROG wriggle—a movement that afforded illimitable amuse- ment, and of course consolation to the king, for (not- withstanding the protuberance of his stomach and a constitutional swelling of the head) the king, by his whole court, was accounted a capital figure. But although Hop-Frog, through the distortion of his legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty along a road or floor, the prodigious muscular power which nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms, by way of compensation for deficiency in the lower limbs, en- abled him to perform many feats of wonderful dexterity where trees or ropes were in question, or anything else to climb. At such exercises he certainly much more resembled a squirrel, or a small monkey, than a frog. I am not able to say with precision from what country Hog-Frog originally came. It was from some barbarous region, however, that no person ever heard of—a vast distance from the court of our king. Hop-Frog, and a young girl very little less dwarfish than himself (al- though of exquisite proportions and a marvellous dancer), had been forcibly carried off from their re- spective homes in adjoining provinces, and sent as pres- ents to the king by one of his ever-victorious generals. Under these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that a close intimacy arose between the two little cap- tives. Indeed, they soon became sworn friends. Hop- Frog, who, although he made a great deal of sport, was by no means popular, had it not in his power to render Trippetta many services; but she, on account of her grace and exquisite beauty (although a dwarf), was uni- versally admired and petted, so she possessed much ‘nfluence, and never failed to use it whenever she could for the benefit of Hop-Frog. On some grand state occasion—I forget what—the king determined to have a masquerade; and whenever aee ee ee ee ee =-+ EDGAR ALLAN POE masquerade or anything of that kind occurred at our court, then the talents both of Hop-Frog and Trippetta were sure to be called in play. Hop-Frog, in especial, was so inventive in the way of getting up pageants, suggesting novel characters, and arranging costume for masked balls, that nothing could be done, it seems, without his assistance. The night appointed for the féte had arrived. A gorgeous hall had been fitted up, under Trippetta’s eye, with every kind of device which could possibly give éclat to a masquerade. The whole court was in a fever of expectation. As for costumes and characters, it might well be supposed that everybody had come to a decision on such points. Many had made up their minds (as to what réles they should assume) a week, or even a month, in advance; and, in fact, there was not a particle of in- decision anywhere—except in the case of the king and his seven ministers. Why they hesitated I never could tell, unless they did it by way of a joke. More probably they found it difficult, on account of being so fat, to make up their minds. At all events, time flew; and as a last resource, they sent for Trippetta and Hop-Frog. When the two little friends obeyed the summons of the king, they found him sitting at his wine with the seven members of his cabinet council; but the monarch appeared to be in a very ill humour. He knew that Hop-Frog was not fond of wine; for it excited the poor cripple almost to madness, and madness is no comfort- able feeling. But the king loved his practical jokes, and took pleasure in forcing Hop-Frog to drink and (as the king called it) ‘“‘to be merry.” “Come here, Hop-Frog,” said he, as the jester and his friend entered the room; “swallow this bumper to the health of your absent friends [here Hop-Frog sighed ], and then let us have the benefit of your invention. WeHOP-FROG 211 want characters—characters, man—something novel— out of the way. We are wearied with this everlasting sameness. Come, drink! the wine will brighten your wits.” Hop-Frog endeavoured as usual to get up a jest in reply to these advances from the king, but the effort was too much. It happened to be the poor dwarf’s birthday, and the command to drink to his “absent friends’ forced the tears to his eyes. Many large, bitter drops fell into the goblet as he took it, humbly, from the hand of the tyrant. “Ah! ha! ha! ha!” roared the latter, as the dwarf reluctantly drained the beaker. “See what a glass of good wine can do! Why, your eyes are shining already!” Poor fellow! his large eyes gleamed rather than shone; for the effect of wine on his excitable brain was not more powerful than instantaneous. He placed the goblet nervously on the table, and looked round upon the com- pany with a half-insane stare. They all seemed highly amused at the success of the king’s “joke.” ‘“‘And now to business,” said the prime minister, a very fat man. “Yes,” said the king; ‘come, Hop-Frog, lend us your assistance. Characters, my fine fellow; we stand in need of characters—all of us—ha! ha! ha!” and as this was seriously meant for a joke, his laugh was chorused by the seven. Hop-Frog also laughed, although feebly and some- what vacantly. “Come, come,” said the king, impatiently, “have you nothing to suggest?” “T am endeavouring to think of something novel,” re- plied the dwarf, abstractedly, for he was quite bewil- dered by the wine. “Endeavouring!” cried the tyrant, fiercely; “what doee ee ee Pero oe ee ee ee EDGAR ALLAN POE you mean by that? Ah, I perceive. You are sulky, and want more wine. Here, drink this!’’ and he poured out another goblet full and offered it to the cripple, who merely gazed at it, gasping for breath. “Drink, I say!’ shouted the monster, “or by the fiends 4 The dwarf hesitated. The king grew purple with rage. The courtiers smirked. Trippetta, pale as a corpse, advanced to the monarch’s seat, and, falling on her knees before him, implored him to spare her friend. The tyrant regarded her for some moments in evident wonder at her audacity. He seemed quite at a loss what to do or say—how most becomingly to express his indignation... At last, without uttering a syllable, he pushed her violently from him, and threw the contents of the brimming goblet in her face. The poor girl got up as best she could, and, not daring even to sigh, resumed her position at the foot of the table. There was a dead silence for about half-a-minute, dur- ing which the falling of a leaf or of a feather might have been heard. It was interrupted by a low, but harsh and protracted grating sound which seemed to come at once from every corner of the room. “What—what—what are you making that noise for?” demanded the king, turning furiously to the dwarf. The latter seemed to have recovered in great measure from his intoxication, and looking fixedly but quietly into the tyrant’s face merely ejaculated: “I—I? How could it have been me?” “The sound appeared to come from without,” observed one of the courtiers. “I fancy it was the parrot at the window, whetting his bill upon his cage-wires.”’ “True,” replied the monarch, as if much relieved by the suggestion, “but on the honour of a knight I couldHOP-FROG 213 have sworn that it was the grinding of this vagabond’s teeth.” Hereupon the dwarf laughed (the king was too con- firmed a joker to object to any one’s laughing), and displayed a set of large, powerful, and very repulsive teeth. Moreover, he avowed his perfect willingness to swallow as much wine as desired. The monarch was pacified; and having drained another bumper with no very perceptible ill effect, Hop-Frog entered at once and with spirit into the plans for the masquerade. “T cannot tell what was the association of idea,’ ob- served he, very tranquilly, and as if he had never tasted wine in his life, “but just after your majesty had struck the girl and thrown the wine in her face—just after your majesty had done this, and while the parrot was making that odd noise outside the window, there came into my mind a capital diversion—one of my own country frolics —often enacted among us at our masquerades, but here it will be new altogether. Unfortunately, however, it requires a company of eight persons, and ——" “Here we are!” cried the king, laughing at his acute discovery of the coincidence: “eight to a fraction—lI and my seven ministers. Come! what is the diversion?’ “We call it,’ replied the cripple, “the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs, and it really is excellent sport if well enacted.” “We will enact it,” remarked the king, drawing him- self up, and lowering his eyelids. The beauty of the game,’ continued Hop-Frog, “lies in the fright it occasions among the women.” “Capital!” roared in chorus the monarch and his ministry. “J will equip you as ourang-outangs,’ proceeded the dwarf; “leave all that to me. The resemblance shall be so striking, that the company of masqueraders willapens~tweeemerr geese rertayecer: mew EDGAR ALLAN POE take you for real beasts—and of course they will be as much terrified as astonished.” “O, this is exquisite!’ exclaimed the king. “Hop- Frog! I will make a man of you.” “The chains are for the purpose of increasing the con- fusion by their jangling. You are supposed to have escaped, en masse, from your keepers. Your majesty cannot conceive the effect produced at a masquerade by eight chained ourang-outangs, imagined to be real ones by most of the company; and rushing in with savage cries among the crowd of delicately and gorgeously habited men and women. The contrast is inimitable.” “It must be,” said the king: and the council arose hurriedly (as it was growing late) to put in execution the scheme of Hop-Frog. His mode of equipping the party as ourang-outangs was very simple, but effective enough for his purposes. The animals in question had, at the epoch of my story, very rarely been seen in any part of the civilised world; and as the imitations made by the dwarf were sufficiently beast-like, and more than sufficiently hideous, their truth- fulness to nature was thus thought to be secured. The king and his ministers were first encased in tight-fitting stockinet shirts and drawers. They were then saturated with tar. At this stage of the process some one of the party suggested feathers; but the suggestion was at once overruled by the dwarf, who soon convinced the eight, by ocular demonstration, that the hair of such a brute as the ourang-outang was much more efficiently repre- sented by flar. A thick coating of the latter was accord- ingly plastered upon the coating of tar. A long chain was now procured. First, it was passed about the waist of the king, and tied; then about another of the party and also tied; then about all successively, in the same manner. When this chaining arrangement was complete,HOP-FROG 215 and the party stood as far apart from each other as pos- sible, they formed a circle; and to make all things appear natural, Hop-Frog passed the residue of the chain, in two diameters, at right angles, across the circle, after the fashion adopted at the present day by those who capture chimpanzees or other large apes in Borneo. The grand saloon in which the masquerade was to take place was a circular room, very lofty, and receiving the light of the sun only through a single window at the top. At night (the season for which the apartment was especially designed) it was illuminated principally by a large chandelier, depending by a chain from the centre of the skylight, and lowered or elevated by means of a counter-balance as usual; but (in order not to look unsightly) this latter passed outside the cupola and over the roof. The arrangements of the room had been left to Trip- petta’s superintendence; but in some particulars, it seems, she had been guided by the calmer judgments of her friend the dwarf. At his suggestion it was that on this occasion the chandelier was removed. Its waxen drippings (which, in weather so warm, it was quite im- possible to prevent) would have been seriously detri- mental to the rich dresses of the guests, who, on account of the crowded state of the saloon, could not all be ex- pected to keep from out its centre—that is to say, from under the chandelier. Additional sconces were set in various parts of the hall, out of the way; and a flambeau, emitting sweet odour, was placed in the right hand of each of the Caryatides that stood against the wall—some fifty or sixty altogether. The eight ourang-outangs, taking Hop-Frog’s advice, waited patiently until midnight (when the room was thoroughly filled with masqueraders) before making their appearance. No sooner had the clock ceasedOE ee ee te ie Ed A ae eee ee eee 216 EDGAR ALLAN POE oe striking, however, than they rushed, or rather rolled in, all together—for the impediment of their chains caused most of the party to fall, and all to stumble as they entered. The excitement among the masqueraders was pro- digious, and filled the heart of the king with glee. As had been anticipated, there were not a few of the guests who supposed the ferocious-looking creatures to be beasts of some kind in reality, if not precisely ourang- outangs. Many of the women swooned with affright; and had not the king taken the precaution to exclude all weapons from the saloon, his party might soon have expiated their frolic in their blood. As it was, a general rush was made for the doors, but the king had ordered them to be locked immediately upon his entrance; and, at-the dwarf’s suggestion, the keys had been deposited with him. While the tumult was at its height, and each masque- rader attentive only to his own safety (for, in fact, there was much real danger from the pressure of the excited crowd), the chain by which the chandelier ordinarily hung, and which had been drawn up on its removal, might have been seen very gradually to descend, until its hooked extremity came within three feet of the floor. Soon after this, the king and his seven friends, having reeled about in the hall in all directions, found them- selves at length in its centre, and, of course, in immedi- ate contact with the chain. While they were thus situated, the dwarf, who had followed closely at their heels, inciting them to keep up the commotion, took hold of their own chain at the intersection of the two portions which crossed the circle diametrically and at right angles. Here, with the rapidity of thought, he inserted the hook from which the chandelier had been wont to depend; and in an instant, by some unseen agency, theHOP-FROG 217 chandelier-chain was drawn so far upward as to take the hook out of reach, and as an inevitable consequence, to drag the ourang-outangs together in close connection, and face to face. The masqueraders by this time had recovered in some measure from their alarm, and, beginning to regard the whole matter as a well-contrived pleasantry, set up a loud shout of laughter at the predicament of the apes. j7? “Leave them to me!” now screamed Hop-Frog, his shrill voice making itself easily heard through all the din. “Leave them to me. I fancy IJ know them. If I can only get a good look at them J can soon tell who they are!’ Here, scrambling over the heads of the crowd, he managed to get to the wall, when, seizing a flambeau from one of the Caryatides, he returned, as he went, to the centre of the room, leaped with the agility of a monkey upon the king’s head, and thence clambered a few feet up the chain, holding down the torch to examine the group of ourang-outangs, and still screaming, “J shall soon find out who they are!” And now, while the whole assembly (the apes in- cluded) were convulsed with laughter, the jester sud- denly uttered a shrill whistle, when the chain flew violently up for about thirty feet, dragging with it the gs, and leaving dismayed and struggling ourang-outang them suspended in mid-air between the sky-light and the floor. Hop-Frog, clinging to the chain as it rose, still maintained his relative position in respect to the eight maskers, and still (as if nothing were the matter) con- tinued to thrust his torch down towards them as though endeavouring to discover who they were. So thoroughly astonished were the whole company at this ascent, that a dead silence of about a minute’s dura- tion ensued. It was broken by just such a low, harsh,oo Oe te ee et tee oe ee ee) os OO 218 EDGAR ALLAN POE grating sound, as had before attracted the attention of the king and his councillors when the former threw the wine in the face of Trippetta. But on the present occa- sion there could be no question as to whence the sound issued. It came from the fang-like teeth of the dwarf, who ground them and gnashed. them as he foamed at the mouth, and glared with an expression of maniacal rage into the upturned countenances of the king and his seven companions. “Ah, ha!” said at length the infuriated jester. “Ah, ha! I begin to see who these people are now!” Here, pretending to scrutinise the king more closely, he held the flambeau to the flaxen coat which enveloped him, and which instantly burst into a sheet of vivid flame. In less than half-a-minute the whole eight ourang- outangs were blazing fiercely, amid the shrieks of the multitude who gazed at them from below, horror- stricken, and without the power to render them the slightest assistance. At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence, forced the jester to climb higher up the chain to be out of their reach, and as he made this movement the crowd again sank for a brief instant into silence. The dwarf seized his opportunity, and once more spoke: “IT now see distinctly,” he said, “what manner of people these maskers are. They are a great king and his seven privy-councillors—a king who does not scruple to strike a defenceless girl, and his seven councillors who abet him in the outrage. As for myself, I am simply Hop-Frog, the jester, and this is my last jest.” Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech before the work of vengeance was complete. The eight corpses swung in their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistinguishable mass.MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 219 The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light. It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that, together, they effected their es- cape to their own country, for neither was seen again. Ms;.DOUND IN A BOTTLE Qui n’a plus qu’un moment a vivre N’a plus rien a dissimuler. Quinault—Atys. Or my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill-usage and length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me from the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me to method- ise the stories which early study very diligently gar- nered up. Beyond all things, the study of the German moralists gave me great delight; not from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquent madness, but from the ease with which my habits of rigid thought enabled me to detect their falsities. I have often been reproached with the aridity of my genius; a deficiency of imagina- tion has been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions has at all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a strong relish for physical philosophy has, I fear, tinctured my mind with a very common error of this age—I mean the habit of referring occurrences, even the least susceptible of such reference, to the principles of that science. Upon the whole, no person could be less liable than myself to be led away from the severe precincts of truth by the ignes fatui of superstition. I have thought proper to premise thus much, lest the incredible tale I have to tell should bea POrs~swreePerr tees cesta Se oe aS ee ee et ee ee, 220 EDGAR ALLAN POE considered rather the raving of a crude imagination than the positive experience of a mind to which the reveries of fancy have been a dead letter and a nullity. After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18—, from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island of Java, on a voyage to the Archipelago of the Sunda Islands. I went as passenger—having no other inducement than a kind of nervous restlessness which haunted me as a fiend. Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hundred tons, copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of Malabar teak. She was freighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lachadive islands. We had also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoanuts, and a few cases of opium. The stowage was clumsily done, and the vessel conse- quently crank. We got under way with a mere breath of wind, and for many days stood along the eastern coast of Java, with- out any other incident to beguile the monotony of our course than the occasional meeting with some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which we were bound. One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very singular isolated cloud to the N.W. It was remark- able. as well for its colour as from its being the first we had seen since our departure from Batavia. I watched it attentively until sunset, when it spread all at once to the eastward and westward, girting in the horizon with a narrow strip of vapour, and looking like a long line of low beach. My notice was soon afterwards attracted by the dusky-red appearance of the moon, and the peculiar character of the sea. The latter was under- going a rapid change, and the water seemed more than usually transparent. Although I could distinctly see the bottom, yet, heaving the lead, I found the ship in fifteen fathoms. The air now became intolerably hot,MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 221 ~ and was loaded with spiral exhalations similar to those arising from heated iron. As night came on, every breath of wind died away, and a more entire calm it is impossible to conceive. The flame of a candle burned upon the poop without the least perceptible motion, and a long hair, held between the finger and thumb, hung without the possibility of detecting a vibration. How- ever, as the captain said he could perceive no indication of danger, and as we were drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered the sails to be furled, and the anchor let go. No watch was set, and the crew, consisting principally of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon deck. I went below—not without a full presentiment of evil. Indeed, every appearance warranted me in apprehend- ing a simoom. I told the captain my fears; but he paid no attention to what I said, and left me without deigning to give a reply. My uneasiness, however, prevented me from sleeping, and about midnight I went upon deck. As I placed my foot upon the upper step of the com- panion-ladder, I was startled by a loud, humming noise, like that occasioned by the rapid revolution of a mill- wheel, and before I could ascertain its meaning, I found the ship quivering to its centre. In the next instant, a wilderness of foam hurled us upon our beam-ends, and, rushing over us fore and aft, swept the entire decks from stem to stern. The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great measure, the salvation of the ship. Although completely water-logged, yet, as her masts had gone by the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily from the sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense pressure of the tempest, finally righted. By what miracle I escaped destruction it is impossible to say. Stunned by the shock of the: water, I found myself, upon recovery, jammed in between the stern-postee ee es ee ee <2 oe ee ee ee ee 222 EDGAR ALLAN POE and rudder. With great difficulty I gained my feet, and, looking dizzily around, was at first struck with the idea of our being among breakers; so terrific, beyond the was the whirlpool of mountainous wildest imagination, within which we were engulfed. and foaming ocean After awhile, I heard the voice of an old Swede, who had shipped with us at the moment of our leaving port. I hallooed to him with all my strength, and presently he came reeling aft. We soon discovered that we were the sole survivors of the accident. All on deck, with the exception of ourselves, had been swept overboard; the captain and mates must have perished as they slept, the cabins were deluged with water. Without assist- ance, we could expect to do little for the security of the ship, and our exertions were at first paralysed by the momentary expectation of going down. Our cable had, of course, parted like pack-thread at the first breath of the hurricane, or we should have been instan- taneously overwhelmed. We scudded with frightful velocity before the sea, and the water made clear breaches over us. The framework of our stern was shat- tered excessively, and in almost every respect we had received considerable injury; but to our extreme joy we found the pumps unchoked, and that we had made no great shifting of our ballast. The main fury of the blast had already blown over, and we apprehended little danger from the violence of the wind; but we looked for- ward to its total cessation, with dismay ; well believing, that in our shattered condition, we should inevitably perish in the tremendous swell which would ensue. But this very just apprehension seemed by no means likely to be soon verified. For five entire days and nights— during which our only subsistence was a small quantity of jaggeree, procured with great difficulty from the fore- castle—the hulk flew at a rate defying computation, be- forMS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 223 fore rapidly succeeding flaws of wind, which, without equalling the first violence of the simoom, were still more terrific than any tempest I had before encountered. Our course for the first four days was, with trifling varia- tions, S.E. and by S.; and we must have run down the coast of New Holland. On the fifth day the cold be- came extreme, although the wind had hauled round a point more to the northward. The sun arose with a sickly yellow lustre, and clambered a very few degrees above the horizon—emitting no decisive light. There were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the in- crease, and blew with a fitful and unsteady fury. About noon, as nearly as we could guess, our attention was again arrested by the appearance of the sun. It gave out no light, properly so called, but a dull and sullen glow without reflection, as if all its rays were polarized. Just before sinking within the turgid sea, its central fires suddenly went out, as if hurriedly extinguished by some unaccountable power. It was a dim, silver-like rim, alone, as it rushed down the unfathomable ocean. We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day— that day to me has not arrived—to the Swede never did arrive. Thenceforward we were enshrouded in pitchy darkness, so that we could not have seen an object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternal night continued to envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoric sea-bril- liancy to which we had been accustomed in the tropics. We observed too, that, although the tempest continued to rage with unabated violence, there was no longer to be discovered the usual appearance of surf, or foam, which had hitherto attended us. All around were horror, and thick gloom, and a black sweltering desert of ebony. Superstitious terror crept by degrees into the spirit of the old Swede, and my own soul was wrapped up in silent wonder. We neglected all care of bb (pe eteesassiseesa “eoee — Pho Pere ~swwce Pere teere ceri a a ee ee ee t EDGAR ALLAN POE than useless, and securing ourselves, the ship as worse the stump of the mizzen-mast, as well as possible, to looked out bitterly into the world of ocean. We had no ating time, nor could we form any guess means of calcul We were, however, well aware of hav- of our situation. ing made farther to the southward than any previous and felt great amazement at not meeting navigators, In the meantime with the usual impediments of ice. every moment threatened to be our last——every moun tainous billow hurried to overwhelm us. The swell anything I had imagined possible, and that not instantly buried is a miracle. My com- lightness of our cargo, and re- surpassed we were panion spoke of the minded me of the excellent qualities of our ship; but I could not help feeling the utter hopelessness of hope itself, and prepared myself eloomily for that death which I thought nothing could defer beyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship made, the swelling of the black stupendous seas became more dismally ap- palling. At times we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond the albatross—at times became dizzy with the velocity of our descent into some watery hell, where the air grew stagnant, and no sound disturbed the slumbers of the kraken. We were at the bottom of one of the abysses, when a quick scream from my companion broke fearfully upon the night. “See! see!” cried he, shrieking in my ears. “Almighty God! see! see!” As he spoke, I became aware of a dull, sullen glare of red light which streamed down the sides of the vast chasm where we lay, and threw a fitful brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upwards, I beheld a spectacle which froze the current of my blood. At a terrific height directly above us, and upon the very verge of the precipitous descent, hovered a gigantic ship, of perhaps four thousand tons.MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE Although upreared upon the summit of a wave more than a hundred times her own altitude, her apparent size still exceeded that of any ship of the line or East Indiaman in existence. Her huge hull was of a deep dingy black, unrelieved by any of the customary cary- ings of a ship. A single row of brass cannon protruded from her open ports, and dashed from their polished surfaces the fires of innumerable battle-lanterns, which swung to and fro about her rigging. But what mainly inspired us with horror and astonishment was, that she bore up under a press of sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea, and of that ungovernable hurricane. When we first discovered her, her bows were alone to be seen, as she rose slowly from the dim and horrible gulf beyond her. For a moment of intense terror she paused upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contemplation of her own sublimity, then trembled and tottered, and— came down. At this instant, I know not what sudden self-posses- sion came over my spirit. Staggering as far aft as I could, I awaited fearlessly the ruin that was to over- whelm. Our own vessel was at length ceasing from her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea. The shock of the descending mass struck her, consequently, in that portion of her frame which was already under water, and the inevitable result was to hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging of the stranger. As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about; and to the confusion ensuing I attributed my escape from the notice of the crew. With little difficulty I made my way, unperceived, to the main hatchway, which was partially open, and soon found an opportunity of secret- ing myself in the hold. Why I did so I can hardly tell. An indefinite sense of awe, which at first sight of the navigators of the ship had taken hold of my mind, wasee ee ee ee ae ee ee ee a aie 226 EDGAR ALLAN POE perhaps the principle of my concealment. I was un- willing to trust myself with a race of people who had offered, to the cursory glance I had taken, so many points of vague novelty, doubt, and apprehension. I therefore thought proper to contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This I did by removing a small portion of the shifting-boards, in such a manner as to afford me a convenient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship. I had searcely completed my work, when a footstep ‘n the hold forced me to make use of it. A man passed by my place of concealment with a feeble and unsteady gait. I could not see his face, but had an opportunity of observing his general appearance. There was about it an evidence of great age and infirmity. His knees tottered beneath a load of years, and his entire frame quivered under the burden. He muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, some words of a language which I could not understand, and groped in a corner among a pile of singular-looking instruments, and decayed charts of navigation. His manner was a wild mixture of the peevishness of second childhood and the solemn dignity of a God. He at length went on deck, and I saw him no more. * * ¥* * * ¥* A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken posses- sion of my soul—a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the lessons of bygone time are inadequate, and for which I fear futurity itself will offer me no key. To a mind constituted like my own, the latter consideration is an evil. I shall never—I know that I shall never—be satisfied with regard to the nature of my conceptions. Yet it is not wonderful that these conceptions are indefinite, since they have their originMS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 227 in sources so utterly novel. A new sense—a néw entity is added to my soul. * * * * * * It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and the rays of my destiny are, I think, gathering to a focus. Inecomprehensible men! Wrapped up in meditations of a kind which I cannot divine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter folly on my part, for the people will not see. It was but just now that I passed directly before the eyes of the mate; it was no long while ago that I ventured into the captain’s own private cabin, and took thence the materials with which I write, and have written. I shall from time to time continue this journal. It is true that I may not find an opportunity of transmitting it to the world, but I will not fail to make the endeavour. At the last moment I will enclose the MS. in a bottle and cast it within the sea. % * * * * * An incident has occurred which has given me new room for meditation. Are such things the operation of ungoverned chance? I had ventured upon deck and thrown myself down, without attracting any notice, among a pile of ratline-stuff and old sails, in the bottom of the yawl. While musing upon the singularity of my fate, I unwittingly daubed with a tar-brush the edges of a neatly-folded studding-sail which lay near me on a barrel. The studding-sail is now bent upon the ship, and the thoughtless touches of the brush are spread out into the word Discovery. I have made many observations lately upon the structure of the vessel. Although well armed, she is not, I think, a ship of war. Her rigging, build, and general equipment, all negative a supposition of this kind. What she is not, I can easily perceive; what she is, I fear it is re ee eee ee + « ot =ee ee Pe ae a ee EDGAR ALLAN POE impossible to say. I know not how it is, but in scru- tinising her strange model and singular cast of spars, her huge size and overgrown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and antiquated stern, there will occasionally flash across my mind a sensation of familiar things, and there is always mixed up with such indistinct shadows of recollection an unaccountable memory of old foreign chronicles and ages long ago. * * * * * * I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She is built of a material to which I am a stranger. There is a peculiar character about the wood which strikes me as rendering it unfit for the purpose to which it has been applied. I mean its extreme porousness, considered independently of the worm-eaten condition which is a consequence of navigation in these seas, and apart from the rottenness attendant upon age. It will appear per- haps an observation somewhat over-curious, but this wood would have every characteristic of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any unnatural means. In reading the above sentence, a curious apothegm of an old weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes full upon my recollection. “It is as sure,’ he was wont to say, when any doubt was entertained of his veracity, “as sure as there is a sea where the ship itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the seaman.” * ™ ~ - About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself among a group of the crew. They paid me no manner of attention, and, although I stood in the very midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious of my presence. Like the one I had first seen in the hold, they all bore about them the marks of a hoary old age. Their knees trembled with infirmity; their shoulders were bent double with decrepitude; their shrivelled skins rattled in the wind; their voices were low, tremulous, and broken;MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE their eyes glistened with the rheum of years; and their grey hairs streamed te rribly in the tempe % Around them, on every part of the deck, lay scattered mathe- matical instruments of the most quaint and construction. x Me - = obsolete I mentioned some time ago the bending of a studding- sail. From that period, the ship, bei ‘ing thrown dead off the wind, has continued her terrific course due south, with every rag of canvas packed upon her, from her trucks to her lower studding-sail booms, and rolling every moment her top-gallant yard-arms into the most appalling hell of water which it can enter into the mind of man to imagine. I have just left the deck, where I find it impossible to maintain a footing, although the crew seem to experience little inconvenience. It appears to me a miracle of miracles that our enormous bulk is not swallowed up at once and for ever. We are surely doomed to hover continu: ally upon the brink of ete rnity, without taking a final plunge into the abyss. From billows a thousand times more stupendous than any I have ever seen, we glide away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull; and the colossal waters rear their heads above us like demons of the deep, but like demons con- fined to simple threats, and forbidden to de ‘stroy. I am led to attribute these fre ‘quent escapes to the only natu- ral cause which can account for such effect. I must sup- pose the ship to be within the influence of some strong current, or impetuous under-tow. * * * * I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own cabin—but, as I expected, he paid me no attention. Although in his appearance there is, to a casual ob- server, nothing which might bespeak him more or less than man, still, a feeling of irrepressible reverence and awe mingled with the sensation of wonder with which I regarded him. In stature, he is nearly my own height; ee ee ee et Sr rteee ee ee ee ee ae ee et et ee or ec7 230 EDGAR ALLAN POE that is, about five feet eight inches. He is of a well-knit and compact frame of body, neither robust nor remark- able otherwise. But it is the singularity of the expres- sion which reigns upon the face—it is the intense, the the thrilling evidence of old age, so utter, so xcites within my spirit a sense—a senti- ment ineffable. His forehead, although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the stamp of a myriad of years. His grey hairs are records of the past, and his greyer eyes are sibyls of the future. The cabin floor was thickly strewn with strange, iron-clasped folios, and of science, and obsolete long-for- wonderful, extreme, which e mouldering instruments gotten charts. His head was bowed down upon his hands, and he pored with a fiery unquiet eye over a paper which I took to be a commission, and which, at all events, bore the signature of a monarch. He mut- tered to himself—as did the first seaman whom I saw in the hold—some low peevish syllables of a foreign tongue; and although the speaker was close at my elbow, his voice seemed to reach my ears from the distance of a mile. * * * * The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of Eld. The crew glide to and fro like the chosts of buried centuries; their eyes have an eager and uneasy mean- ing; and when their figures fall athwart my path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I feel as I have never felt before, although I have been all my life a dealer in antiquities, and have :mbibed the shadows of fallen col- umns at Balbec, and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has become a ruin. - . : - When I look around me I feel ashamed of my former apprehensions. If I trembled at the blast which has hitherto attended us, shall I not stand aghast at a war- ring of wind and ocean, to convey any idea of which the words tornado and simoom are trivial and ineffective?MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 231 All in the immediate vicinity of the ship is the blackness of eternal night, and a chaos of foamless w ater; but, about a league on either side of us. may be seen, inthe tinctly and at intervals, stupendous ramparts of ice towering away into the desolate sky, and looking like the walls of the universe. * * * % As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current—if that appellation can properly be given to a tide which, howling and shrieking by the white ice, thunders on to the southward with a velocity like the headlong das! ling of a cataract. z W = = To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I pre sume, utterly impossible; yet a curlosity to penetrate the mys- teries of these awful regions predominates even over my despair, and will reconcile me to the most hideous aspect of death. It is evident that we are hurrying onwards to some exciting knowledge—some never-to-be- imparted secret, whose attainment is destruction. Per- haps this current leads us to the southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a supposition appare ntly so wild has every probability in its favour. * * * * ¥* ¥* The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous step; but there is upon their countenances an expression more of the eagerness of hope than of the apathy of despair. in the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and as we carry a crowd of canvas the ship is at times lifted bodily from out the sea. Oh, horror upon horror !—the ice opens suddenly to the right, and to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense concentric circles, round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre, the summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance. But little time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny! The circles rapidly grow small—we are Saeed at toed al ak ee Eri persser ee ee ao Spee eeeee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee eee 232 EDGAR ALLAN POE plunging madly within 'the grasp of the whirlpool—and amid a roaring, and bellowing, and thundering of ocean and of tempest, the ship is quivering—Oh God! and going down! Nore.—The “MS. Found in a Bottle” was originally published in 1831. and it was not until many years afterwards that I became acquainted with the maps of Mercator, in which the ocean is repre- sented as rushing, by four mouths, into the (northern) Polar Gulf, to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth; the Pole itself being rep- resented by a black rock towering to a prodigious height. THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS PFAALL With a heart of furious fancies, Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander. Tom O’ Bedlam’s Song. By late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high state of philosophical excitement. Indeed phenomena have there occurred of a nature so completely unexpected—so entirely novel—so utterly at variance as to leave no doubt on my with preconceived opinions mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears. It appears that on the day of positive about the date), a vast crowd of people, for purposes not specifically mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Exchange in the well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm—unusually so for the season—there was hardly a breath of air stir- ring; and the multitude were in no bad humour at being now and then besprinkled with friendly showers of momentary duration, that fell from large white masses (I am notTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL-~ 233 of cloud profusely distributed about the blue vault of the firmament. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but remarkable agitation became apparent in the assembly; the clattering of ten thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an instant afterwards, ten thousand faces were up- turned towards the heavens, ten thousand pipes descended simultaneously from the corners of ten thou- sand mouths, and a shout, which could be compared to nothing but the roaring of Niagara, resounded long, loudly, and furiously, through all the city and through all the environs of Rotterdam. The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From behind the huge bulk of one of those sharply-defined masses of cloud already mentioned was seen slowly to emerge into an open area of blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solid substance, so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not to be in any manner comprehended, and never to be suf- ficiently admired, by the host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it be? In the name of all the devils in Rotterdam, what could it possibly portend? No one knew; no one could imagine; no one—not even the burgomaster, Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk—had the slightest clue by which to unravel the mystery; so, as nothing more reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe carefully in the corner of his mouth, and maintaining an eye steadily upon the phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddied about, and grunted significantly—then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally—pufted again. In the meantime, however, lower and still lower towards the goodly city, came the object of so much curiosity, and the cause of so much smoke. In a very few minutes it arrived near enough to be accurately dis- cerned. It appeared to be—yes! it was undoubtedly aaptrs~tascere rs teers cert ee Se ee ee ee eee EDGAR ALLAN POE species of balloon; but surely no such balloon had ever been seen in Rotterdam before. For who, let me ask, ever heard of a balloon manufactured entirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland certainly; yet here, under the very noses of the people, or rather at some distance above their noses, was the identical thing in question, and composed, I have it on the best authority, of the precise material which no one had ever before known to be used for a similar purpose.—It was an egregious insult to the sood sense of the burghers of Rotterdam. As to the shape of the phenomenon, it was even still more reprehensible. Being little or nothing better than a huge fool’s cap turned upside down. And this similitude was regarded as by no means lessened, when upon nearer inspection, the crowd saw a large tassel depending from its apex, and, around the upper rim or base of the cone, a circle of little instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a continual tink- ling to the tune of Betty Martin. But still worse. Sus- pended by blue ribbons to the end of this fantastic machine, there hung, by way of car, an enormous drab beaver hat, with a brim superlatively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black band and a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat remarkable that many citizens of Rotterdam swore to having seen the same hat repeatedly before; and indeed the whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes of familiarity; while the vrouw Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it, uttered an excla- mation of joyful surprise, and declared it to be the iden- tical hat of her good man himself. Now this was a circumstance the more to be observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had actually disappeared from Kotter- dam about five years before, in a very sudden and un- accountable manner, and up to the date of this narrative all attempts at obtaining intelligence concerning themTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL-~ 285 had failed. To be sure, some bones which were thought to be human, mixed up with a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had been lately discovered in a retired situation to the east of the city; and some people went so far as to imagine that in this spot a foul murder had been committed, and that the sufferers were in all probability Hans Pfaall and his associates. But to return. The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now descended to within a hundred feet of the earth, allow- ing the crowd below a sufficiently distinct view of the person of its occupant. This was in truth a very singu- lar somebody. He could not have been more than two feet in height; but this altitude, little as it was, would have been sufficient to destroy his equilibrium, and tilt him over the edge of his tiny car, but for the interven- tion of a circular rim reaching as high as the breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon. The body of the little man was more than proportionally broad, giving to his entire figure a rotundity highly absurd. His feet, of course, could not be seen at all. His hands were enormously large. His hair was gray, and collected into a queue behind. His nose was prodigiously long, crooked, and inflammatory; his eyes full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks, although wrinkled with age, were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any kind there was not a semblance to be discovered upon any portion of his head. This odd little gentleman was dressed in a loose surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breeches to match, fastened with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was of some bright yellow material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his head; and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red silk handkerchief enveloped his throat, and fell down, in a dainty manner, upon his bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of super-eminent dimensions. ip hein oe ETT TLE eS a ee wary pee ee ee oe ae Pee eS pere oe t ee ee ee esee ee ee ee 236 EDGAR ALLAN POE Having descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feet from the surface of the earth, the little old gentleman was suddenly seized with a fit of trepida- tion, and appeared disinclined to make any nearer approach to terra firma. Throwing out, therefore, a quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which he lifted with great difficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then proceeded, in a hurried and agitated manner, to extract from a side-pocket in his surtout a large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in his hand; then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise, and was evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened it, and, drawing therefrom a huge letter sealed with red sealing-wax and tied carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the feet of the burgomaster Superbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having apparently no further business to detain him in Rotter- dam, began at this moment to make busy preparations for departure; and it being necessary to discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to re-ascend, the half- dozen bags which he threw out one after another, with- out taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every one of them, most unfortunately, upon the back of the burgomaster, and rolled him over and over no less than half-a-dozen times, in the face of every indi- vidual in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed, however, that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on the contrary, that during each of his half- dozen circumvolutions, he emitted no less than half-a- dozen distinct and furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole time with all his might, and to which he intends holding fast (God willing) until the day of his decease.THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL - 287 5 In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and. soaring far away above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud similar to that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost forever to the won- dering eyes of the good citizens of Rotterdam. All atten- tion was now directed to the letter, the descent of which, and the consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally subversive of both person and personal dignity to his Excellency Von Underduk. That functionary, however, had not failed, during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a thought upon the important object of securing the epistle, which was seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the most proper hands, being actually addressed to himself and Professor Ruba- dub, in their official capacities of President and Vice- President of the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to contain the following extraordinary, and indeed very serious, communication :— To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rubadub, President and Vice-President of the States’ College of Astronomers, in the city of Rotterdam. Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember an humble artisan, by name Hans Pfaall, and by occupation a mender of bellows, who, with three others, disappeared from Rotterdam about five years ago, in a manner which must have been considered unaccount- able. If, however, it so please your Excellencies, I, the writer of this communication, am the identical Hans Pfaall himself. It is well known to most of my fellow- citizens that for the period of forty years I continued to occupy the little square brick building at the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in which I resided at the time of my disappearance. My ancestors have alsoapeePerprpeerecert-y a ee ee ee ee eee 238 EDGAR ALLAN POE resided therein time out of mind—they, as well as my- self, steadily following the respectable and indeed lucrative profession of mending of bellows; for, to speak the truth, until of late years, that the heads of all the people have been set agog with politics, no better busi- ness than my own could an honest citizen of Rotterdam either desire or deserve. Credit was good, employment was never wanting, and there was no lack of either money or good will. But, as I was saying, we soon began to feel the effects of liberty, and long speeches, and radicalism, and all that sort of thing. People who were formerly the very best customers in the world, had now not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had as much as they could do to read about the revolu- tions, and keep up with the march of intellect and the spirit of the age. If a fire wanted fanning, it could readily be fanned with a newspaper; and as the Govern- ment grew weaker, I have no doubt that leather and iron acquired durability in proportion—for, in a very short time, there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam that ever stood in need of a stitch or required the assist- ance of a hammer. This was a state of things not to be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat, and having a wife and children to provide for, my burdens at length became intolerable, and I spent hour after hour in reflect- ing upon the most convenient method of putting an end to my life. Duns, in the meantime, left me little leisure for contemplation. My house was literally besieged from morning till night. There were three fellows, in particular, who worried me beyond endurance, keeping watch continually about my door, and threatening me with the law. Upon these three I vowed the bitterest revenge, if ever I should be so happy as to get them within my clutches; and I believe nothing in the world but the pleasure of this anticipation prevented me fromTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 239 _ putting my plan of suicide into immediate execution. by blowing my brains out with a blunderbuss. I thought it best, however, to dissemble my wrath, and to treat them with promises and fair words, until. by some good turn of fate, an opportunity of vengeance should be afforded me. One day, having given them the slip, and feeling more than usually dejected, I continued for a long time to wander about the most obscure streets without object, until at length I chanced to stumble against the corner of a bookseller’s stall. Seeing a chair close at hand, for the use of customers, I threw myself doggedly into it, and hardly knowing why, opened the pages of the first volume which came within my reach. It proved to be a small pamphlet treatise on Speculative Astronomy, written either by Professor Encke of Berlin. or by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name. I had some little tincture of information on matters of this nature, and soon became more and more absorbed in the contents of the book—reading it actually through twice before I awoke to a recollection of what was passing around me. By this time it began to grow dark, and I directed my steps towards home. But the treatise (in conjunction with a discovery in pneumatics, lately communicated to me as an important secret, by a cousin from Nantz) had made an indelible impression on my mind, and as I[ sauntered along the dusky streets I revolved carefully Over in my memory the wild and sometimes unintelligible reasonings of the writer. There are some particular passages which affected my imagination in an extra- ordinary manner. The longer I meditated upon these the more intense grew the interest which had been excited within me. The limited nature of my education in general, and more especially my ignorance on subjects connected with natural philosophy, so tar from render- Silk ie ae eee eee es =. iene ee dat ood Oe ee ee etee ee ee ee ee = Dew ee ee ee ee ae 240 EDGAR ALLAN POE ing me diffident of my own ability to comprehend what I had read, or inducing me to mistrust the many vague notions which had arisen in consequence, merely served as a further stimulus to imagination; and I was vain enough, or perhaps reasonable enough, to doubt whether those crude ideas which, arising in ill-regulated minds, have all the appearance, may not often in effect possess all the force, the reality, and other inherent properties of instinct or intuition. It was late when I reached home, and I went imme- diately to bed. My mind, however, was too much occupied to sleep, and I lay the whole night buried in meditation. Arising early in the morning, I repaired eagerly to the bookseller’s stall, and laid out what little ready money I possessed in the purchase of some volumes of Mechanics and Practical Astronomy. Having arrived at home safely with these, I devoted every spare moment to their perusal, and soon made such proficiency in studies of this nature as I thought sufficient for the execution of a certain design with which either the devil or my better genius had inspired me. In the intervals of this period I made every endeavour to conciliate the three creditors who had given me so much annoyance. In this I finally sueceeded—partly by selling enough of my household furniture to satisfy a moiety of their claim, and partly by a promise of paying the balance upon completion of a little project which I told them I had in view, and for assistance in which I solicited their services. By these means (for they were ignorant men) I found little difficulty in gaining them over to my purpose. Matters being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid of my wife, and with the greatest secrecy and caution, to dispose of what property I had remaining, and to borrow, in small sums, under various pretences, andTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 241 without giving any attention (I am ashamed to say) to my future means of repayment, no inconsiderable quan- tity of ready money. With the means thus accruing I proceeded to procure at intervals, cambric muslin, very fine, in pieces of twelve yards each; twine; a lot of the varnish of caoutchouc; a large and deep basket of wicker-work, made to order; and several other articles necessary in the construction and equipment of a balloon of extraordinary dimensions. This I directed my wife to make up as soon as possible, and gave her all requisite information as to the particular method of proceeding. In the meantime I worked up the twine into net-work of sufficient dimensions; rigged it with a hoop and the necessary cords; and made purchase of numerous instru- ments and materials for experiment in the upper regions of the upper atmosphere. I then took opportunities of conveying by night, to a retired situation east of Rotter- dam, five iron-bound casks, to contain about fifty gal- lons each, and one of a larger size; six tin tubes, three inches in diameter, properly shaped, and ten feet in length; a quantity of a particular metallic substance, or semi-metal, which I shall not name, and a dozen demi- johns of a very common acid. The gas to be formed from these latter materials is a gas never yet generated by any other person than myself—or at least never applied to any similar purpose. I can only venture to say here that it is a constituent of azote, so long con- sidered irreducible, and that its density is about 37.4 times less than that of hydrogen. It is tasteless, but not odourless; burns, when pure, with a greenish flame, and is instantaneously fatal to animal life. Its full secret I would make no difficulty in disclosing, but that it of right belongs (as I have before hinted) to a citizen of Nantz, in France, by whom it was conditionally com- municated to myself. The same individual submitted oa hs ee es - - >t eg gp ee tebe Ss etsctisesa ee ee ee ee Se ee ee ee ee ee ee ee 24.2 EDGAR ALLAN POE to me, without being at all aware of my intentions, a method of constructing balloons from the membrane of a certain animal, through which substance any escape of gas was nearly an impossibility. I found it, how- ever, altogether too expensive, and was not sure, upon the whole, whether cambric muslin with a coating of gum caoutchouc, was not equally as good. I mention this circumstance, because I think it probable that here- after the individual in question may attempt a balloon ascension with the novel gas and material I have spoken of, and I do not wish to deprive him of the honour of a very singular invention. On the spot which I intended each of the smaller casks to occupy respectively during the inflation of the balloon, I privately dug a small hole; the holes forming in this manner a circle twenty-five feet in diameter. In the centre of this circle, being the station designed for the large cask, I also dug a hole of greater depth. In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited a canister contain- ing fifty pounds, and in the larger one a keg holding one hundred and fifty pounds of cannon powder. These —the keg and the canisters—I connected in a proper manner with covered trains; and having let into one of the canisters the end of about four feet of slow-match, I covered up the hole, and placed the cask over it, leav- ing the other end of the match protruding about an inch, and barely visible beyond the cask. I then filled up the remaining holes, and placed the barrels over them in their destined situation! Besides the articles above enumerated, I conveyed to the depot, and there secreted, one of M. Grimm’s im- provements upon the apparatus for condensation of the atmospheric air. I found this machine, however, to re- quire considerable alteration before it could be adapted to the purposes to which I intended making it applicable.THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 243 But, with severe labour and unremitting perseverance, I at length met with entire success in all my prepara- tions. My balloon was soon completed. It would con- tain more than forty thousand cubic feet of gas; would take me up easily, I calculated, with all my implements, and if I managed rightly, with one hundred and seventy- five pounds of ballast into the bargain. It had received three coats of varnish, and I found the cambric muslin to answer all the purposes of silk itself, being quite as strong and a good deal less expensive. Everything being now ready, I exacted from my wife an oath of secrecy in relation to all my actions from the day of my first visit to the bookseller’s stall; and prom- ising, on my part, to return as soon as circumstances would permit, I gave her what little money I had left, and bade her farewell. Indeed I had no fear on her account. She was what people call a notable woman, and could manage matters in the world without my as- sistance. I believe, to tell the truth, she always looked upon me as an idle body—a mere make-weight—good for nothing but building castles in the air—and was rather glad to get rid of me. It was a dark night when I bade her good-bye, and taking with me, as aides-de- camp, the three creditors who had given me so much trouble, we carried the balloon, with the car and ac- coutrements, by a roundabout way, to the station where the other articles were deposited. We there found them all unmolested, and I proceeded immediately to business. It was the first of April. The night, as I said before, was dark; there was not a star to be seen; and a driz- zling rain falling at intervals rendered us very uncom- fortable. But my chief anxiety was concerning the balloon, which, in spite of the varnish with which it was defended, began to grow rather heavy with the moisture; the powder also was liable to damage. I therefore keptannette gaebadbesqaenes ge ert rset net htbes-s- sess tttict< ee ee ee ee ee 244 EDGAR ALLAN POE my three duns working with great diligence, pounding down ice around the central cask, and stirring the acid in the others. They did not cease, however, importuning me with questions as to what | intended to do with all this apparatus, and expressed much dissatisfaction at the terrible labour I made them undergo. They could not perceive (so they said) what good was likely to re- sult from their getting wet to the skin, merely to take a part in such horrible incantations. I began to get uneasy, and worked away with all my might; for I verily believe the idiots supposed that I had entered into a compact with the devil and that, in short, what I was now doing was nothing better than it should be. I was therefore in great fear of their leaving me altogether. I contrived, however, to pacify them by promises of payment of all scores in full as soon as I could bring the present business to a termination. To these speeches they gave of course their own interpretation; fancying, no doubt, that at all events I should come into possession of vast quantities of ready money ; and provided I paid them all I owed, and a trifle more in consideration of their services, I dare say they cared very little what be- came of either my soul or my carcase. In about four hours and a half I found the balloon sufficiently inflated. I attached the car, therefore, and put all my implements in it—a telescope; a barometer, with some important modifications; a thermometer; an electrometer; a compass; a magnetic needle; a seconds watch; a bell; a speaking trumpet, etc., etc., etc.—also a globe of glass, exhausted of air and carefully closed with a stopper—not forgetting the condensing appara- tus, some unslacked lime, a stick of sealing-wax, a copious supply of water, and a large quantity of provi- sions, such as pemmican, in which much nutriment isTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL = 245 contained in comparatively little bulk. I also secured in the car a pair of pigeons and a cat. It was now nearly daybreak, and I thought it high time to take my departure. Dropping a lighted cigar on the ground, as if by accident, I took the opportunity, in stooping to pick it up, of igniting privately the piece of slow-match, the end of which, as I said before, pro- truded a little beyond the lower rim of one of the smaller casks. This manceuvre was totally unperceived on the part of the three duns; and, jumping into the car, I immediately cut the single cord which held me to the earth, and was pleased to find that I shot upwards with inconceivable rapidity, carrying with all ease one hun- dred and seventy-five pounds of leaden ballast, and able to have carried up as many more. As I left the earth, the barometer stood at thirty inches, and the centigrade thermometer at 19°. Searcely, however, had I attained the height of fifty yards, when, roaring and rumbling up after me in the most tumultuous and terrible manner, came so dense a hurricane of fire, and gravel, and burning wood, and blazing metal, and mangled limbs, that my very heart sunk within me, and I fell down in the bottom of the car, trembling with terror. Indeed, I now perceived that I had entirely overdone the business, and that the main consequences of the shock were yet to be experi- enced. Accordingly, in less than a second, I felt all the blood in my body rushing to my temples, and, immedi- ately thereupon, a concussion, which I shall never forget, burst abruptly through the night, and seemed to rip the very firmament asunder. When I afterwards had time for reflection, I did not fail to attribute the extreme violence of the explosion, as regarded myself, to its proper cause—my situation directly above it, and in the line of its greatest power. But at the time I thought Se ee ee a re ee ee a€<246 EDGAR ALLAN POE only of preserving my life. The balloon at first col- lapsed, then furiously expanded, then whirled round and round with sickening velocity, and finally, reeling and staggering like a drunken man, hurled me over the rim of the car, and left me dangling, at a terrific height, with my head downward and my face outward, by a piece of slender cord about three feet in length, which hung acci- dentally through a crevice near the bottom of the wicker- work, and in which, as I fell, my left foot became most providentially entangled. It is impossible—utterly im- possible—to form any adequate idea of the horror of my situation. I gasped convulsively for breath—a shudder resembling a fit of the ague agitated every nerve and muscle in my frame—I felt my eyes starting from their sockets—a horrible nausea overwhelmed me—and at length I lost all consciousness in a swoon. How long I remained in this state it is impossible to say. It must, however, have been no inconsiderable time, for when I partially recovered the sense of exis- tence, I found the day breaking, the balloon at a pro- digious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a trace of land to be discovered far and wide within the limits of the vast horizon. My sensations, however, upon thus recovering, were by no means so replete with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed, there was much of madness in the calm survey which I began to take of my situation. I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one after the other, and wondered what occurrence could have given rise to the swelling of the veins, and the horrible blackness of the finger nails. I afterwards carefully examined my head, shaking it repeatedly, and feeling it with minute attention, until I succeeded in satisfying myself that it was not, as I had more than half suspected, larger than my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt in my breeches pockets, andTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 247 missing therefrom a set of tablets and a _ tooth-pick case, endeavoured to account for their disappearance, and, not being able to do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. It now occurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of my left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation began to glimmer through my mind. But, strange to say, I was neither astonished nor horror- stricken! If I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind of chuckling satisfaction at the cleverness I was about to display in extricating myself from this dilemma; and never for a moment did I look upon my ultimate safety as a question susceptible of doubt. For a few minutes I remained wrapped in the profoundest meditation. I have a distinct recollection of frequently compressing my lips, putting my fore-finger to the side of my nose, and making use of other gesticulations and grimaces common to men who, at ease in their arm-chairs, medi- tate upon matters of intricacy or importance. Having, as I thought, sufficiently collected my ideas, I now, with great caution and deliberation, put my hands behind my back, and unfastened the large iron buckle which be- longed to the waistband of my pantaloons. This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat rusty, turned with great difficulty on their axis. I brought them, however, after some trouble, at right angles to the body of the buckle, and was glad to find them remain firm in that position. Holding within my teeth the instrument thus obtained, I now proceeded to untie the knot of my cravat. I had to rest several times before I could accom- plish this manceuvre; but it was at length accomplished. To one end of the ‘cravat I then made fast the buckle, and the other end I tied, for greater security, tightly round my wrist. Drawing now my body upwards, with a prodigious exertion of muscular force, I succeeded at the very first trial, in throwing the buckle over the car, ae ep ee ee ee ae ee 2 wey rte =theae Ce a ee eee ee ee ee es) 248 EDGAR ALLAN POE and entangling it, as I had anticipated, in the circular rim of the wicker-work. My body was now inclined towards the side of the car at an angle of about forty-five degrees; but it must not be understood that I was therefore only forty-five de- grees below the perpendicular. So far from it, I still lay nearly level with the plane of the horizon; for the change of situation which I had acquired had forced the bottom of the car considerably outward from my position, which was accordingly one of the most immi- nent peril. It should be remembered, however, that when I fell, in the first instance, from the car, if I had fallen with my face turned towards the balloon, instead of turned outwardly from it as it actually was—or if, in the second place, the cord by which I was suspended had chanced to hang over the upper edge, instead of through a crevice near the bottom of the car—lI say it may readily be conceived that in either of these sup- posed cases I should have been unable to accomplish even as much as I had now accomplished, and the dis- closures now made would have been utterly lost to pos- terity. I had therefore every reason to be grateful; although in point of fact I was still too stupid to be anything at all, and hung for perhaps a quarter of an hour in that extraordinary manner, without making the slightest further exertion, and in a singularly tranquil state of idiotic enjoyment. But this feeling did not fail to die rapidly away, and thereunto succeeded horror and dismay, and a sense of utter helplessness and ruin. In fact the blood so long accumulating in the vessels of my head and throat, and which had hitherto buoyed up my spirits with delirium, had now begun to retire within their proper channels, and the distinctness which was thus added to my perception of the danger merely served to deprive me of the self-possession, and courage 'THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL- 249 to encounter it. But this weakness was, luckily for me, of no very long duration. In good time came to my rescue the spirit of despair, and, with frantic cries and struggles, I jerked my way bodily upwards, till, at length, clutching with a vice-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my person over it, and fell headlong and shuddering within the car. It was not until some time afterward that I recovered myself sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares of the balloon. I then, however, examined it with attention, and found it, to my great relief, uninjured. My imple- ments were all safe, and, fortunately, I had lost neither ballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so well secured them in their places, that such an accident was entirely out of the question. Looking at my watch, I found it six o’clock. I was still rapidly ascending, and the barometer gave a present altitude of three and three- quarter miles. Immediately beneath me in the ocean lay a small black object, slightly oblong in shape, seem- ingly about the size of a domino, and in every respect bearing a great resemblance to one of those toys. Bring- ing my telescope to bear upon it, I plainly discerned it to be a British ninety-four gun ship, close-hauled, and pitching heavily in the sea, with her head to the W.S.W. Besides this ship, I saw nothing but the ocean, and the sky, and the sun, which had long arisen. It is now high time that I should explain to your Excellencies the object of my voyage. Your Excellencies will bear in mind that distressed circumstances in Rot- terdam had at length driven me to the resolution of com- mitting suicide. It was not, however, that to life itself I had any positive disgust, but that I was harassed be- yond endurance by the adventitious miseries attending my situation. In this state of mind, wishing to live, yet wearied with life, the treatise at the stall of the book- eee ee a Pe ee ereen ee ee Pe ee ee | ee ree eregc.7> 250 EDGAR ALLAN POE seller, backed by the opportune discovery of my cousin of Nantz, opened a resource to my imagination, I then finally made up my mind. I determined to depart, yet live—to leave the world, yet continue to exist—in short, to drop enigmas, I resolved, let what would ensue, to force a passage, if I could, to the moon. Now lest I should be supposed more of a madman than I actually am, I will detail as well as I am able the considerations which led me to believe that an achievement of this nature, although without doubt difficult, and full of dan- ger, was not absolutely to a bold spirit beyond the con- fines of the possible. The moon’s actual distance from the earth was the first thing to be attended to. Now the mean or average interval between the centres of the two planets is 59.9643 of the earth’s equatorial radii, or only about 237,000 miles. I say the mean or average interval ;— but it must be borne in mind that the form of the moon’s orbit being an ellipse of eccentricity amounting to no less than 0.05484 of the major semi-axis of the ellipse itself, and the earth’s centre being situated in its focus, if I could in any manner contrive to meet the moon in its perigee, the above-mentioned distance would be mate- rially diminished. But to say nothing at present of this possibility, it was very certain that, at all events, from the 237,000 miles I would have to deduct the radius of the earth, say 4000, and the radius of the moon, say 1080, in all 5080, leaving an actual interval to be traversed under average circumstances of 231,920 miles. Now this, I reflected, was no very extraordinary dis- tance. Travelling on the land had been repeatedly ac- complished at the rate of sixty miles per hour; and indeed a much greater speed may be anticipated. But even at this velocity it would take me no more than 161 days to reach the surface of the moon. There were,THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL however, many particulars inducing me to believe that my average rate of travelling might possibly very much exceed that of sixty miles per hour, and, as these con- siderations did not fail to make a deep impression upon my mind, I will mention them more fully hereafter. The next point to be regarded was one of far greater importance. From indications afforded by the barometer, we find that in ascensions from the surface of the earth we have, at the height of 1000 feet, left below us about one-thirtieth of the entire mass of atmospheric air; that at 10,600 we have ascended through nearly one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not far from the elevation of Cotopaxi, we have surmounted one-half the material, or, at all events, one-half the ponderable body of air in- cumbent upon our globe. It is also calculated that at an altitude not exceeding the hundredth part of the earth’s diameter—that is, not exceeding eighty miles— the rarefaction would be so excessive that animal life could in no manner be sustained, and, moreover, that the most delicate means we possess of ascertaining the presence of the atmosphere, would be inadequate to as- sure us of its existence. But I did not fail to perceive that these latter calculations are founded altogether on our experimental knowledge of the properties of air and the mechanical laws regulating its dilation and com- pression in what may be called, comparatively speaking, the immediate vicinity of the earth itself; and, at the same time, it is taken for granted that animal life is and must be essentially incapable of modification at any given unattainable distance from the surface. Now, all such reasoning and from such data, must of course be simply analogical. The greatest height ever reached by man was that of 25,000 feet, attained in the aeronautic expedition of Messieurs Gay-Lussac and Biot. This is a moderate altitude, even when compared with the eightyee ee Se eh sae ee ae ee ee ey Dag sg 252 EDGAR ALLAN POE miles in question; and I could not help thinking that the subject admitted room for doubt, and great latitude for speculation. But in point of fact, an ascension being made to any given altitude, the ponderable quantity of air surmounted in any farther ascension is by no means in proportion to the additional height ascended (as may be plainly seen from what has been stated before), but in a ratio con- stantly decreasing. It is therefore evident that, ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally speaking, arrive at a limit beyond which no atmosphere is to be found. It must exist, I argued; although it may exist in a state of infinite rarefaction. On the other hand, I was aware that arguments have not been wanting to prove the existence of a real and definite limit to the atmosphere, beyond which there is absolutely no air whatsoever. But a circumstance which has been left out of view by those who contend for such a limit, seemed to me, although no positive refutation of their creed, still a point worthy very serious investiga- tion. On comparing the intervals between the succes- sive arrivals of Encke’s comet at its perihelion, after giving credit in the most exact manner for all the disturbances due to the attractions of the planets, it ap- pears that the periods are gradually diminishing; that is to say, the major axis of the comet's ellipse is grow- ing shorter, in a slow but perfectly regular decrease. Now this is precisely what ought to be the case, if we suppose a resistance experienced from the comet from an extremely rare ethereal medium pervading the regions of its orbit. For it is evident that such a medium must, in retarding the comet’s velocity, increase its centri- petal by weakening its centrifugal force. In other words, the sun’s attraction would be constantly attain- ing greater power, and the comet would be drawn nearerTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL- 253 at every revolution. Indeed, there is no other way of accounting for the variation in question. But again, the real diameter of the same comet’s nebulosity is ob- served to contract rapidly as it approaches the sun, and dilate with equal rapidity in its departure toward its aphelion. Was I not justifiable in supposing, with M. Valz, that this apparent condensation of volume has its origin in the compression of the same ethereal me- dium I have spoken of before, and which is dense in proportion to its vicinity to the sun? The lenticular- shaped phenomenon, also called the zodiacal light, was a matter worthy of attention. This radiance, so apparent in the tropics, and which cannot be mistaken for any meteoric lustre, extends from the horizon obliquely up- wards, and follows generally the direction of the sun’s equator. It appeared to me evidently in the nature of a rare atmosphere extending from the sun outwards be- yond the orbit of Venus at least, and I believed indefi- nitely farther.. Indeed, this medium I could not suppose confined to the path of the comet’s ellipse, or to the immediate neighbourhood of the sun. It was easy, on the contrary, to imagine it pervading the entire regions of our planetary system, condensed into what we call atmosphere at the planets themselves, and per- haps at some of them modified by considerations purely geological; that is to say, modified or varied in its pro- portions (or absolute nature) by matters volatilised from the respective orbs. Having adopted this view of the subject, I had little further hesitation. Granting that on my passage I should meet with atmosphere essentially the same as at the surface of the earth, I conceived that, by means of the very ingenious apparatus of M. Grimm, I should 1The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Emicant et trabes quas doxois vocant.—Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26. fe. rt:Per s~swweePere pe ere cert 9 er oe eee a ere 254 EDGAR ALLAN POE readily be enabled to condense it in sufficient quantity for the purposes of respiration. This would remove the chief obstacle in a journey to the moon. I had indeed spent some money and great labour in adapting the apparatus to the object intended, and confidently looked forward to its successful application, if I could manage to complete the voyage within any reasonable period.— This brings me back to the rate at which it would be possible to travel. It is true that balloons in the first stage of their as- censions from the earth are known to rise with a velocity comparatively moderate. Now the power of elevation lies altogether in the superior gravity of the atmospheric air compared with the gas in the balloon; and at first sight it does not appear probable that, as the balloon acquires altitude, and consequently arrives successively in atmospheric strata of densities rapidly diminishing— I say it does not appear at all reasonable that, in this its progress upward, the original velocity should be ac- celerated. On the other hand, I was not aware that in any recorded ascension a diminution had been proved to be apparent in the absolute rate of ascent; although such should have been the case, if on account of nothing else, on account of the escape of gas through balloons ill-constructed, and varnished with no better material than the ordinary varnish. It seemed therefore that the effect of such escape was only sufficient to counterbalance the effect of the acceleration attained in the diminishing of the balloon’s distance from the gravitating centre. I now considered that, provided in my passage I found the medium I had imagined, and provided it should prove to be essentially what we denominate atmospheric air, it could make comparatively little difference at what extreme state of rarefaction I should discover it—that is to say, in regard to my power of ascending—for theTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 255 gas in the balloon would not only be itself subject to similar rarefaction (in proportion to the occurrence of which, I could suffer an escape of so much as would be requisite to prevent explosion), but, being what it was, would, at all events, continue specifically lighter than any compound whatever of mere nitrogen and oxygen. Thus there was a chance—in fact there was a strong probability—that, at no epoch of my ascent, I should reach a point where the united weights of my immense balloon, the inconceivably rare gas within it, the car, and its contents, should equal the weight of the mass of the surrounding atmosphere displaced; and this will be readily understood as the sole condition upon which my upward flight would be arrested. But if this point were even attained, I could dispense with ballast and other weight to the amount of nearly 300 pounds. In the meantime, the force of gravitation would be con- stantly diminishing, in proportion to the squares of the distances, and so, with a velocity prodigiously accelerat- ing, I should at length arrive in those distant regions where the force of the earth’s attraction would be super- seded by that of the moon. There was another difficulty, however, which occa- sioned me some little disquietude. It has been observed that, in balloon ascensions to any considerable height, besides the pain attending respiration, great uneasiness is experienced about the head and body, often accom- panied with bleeding at the nose, and other symptoms of an alarming kind, and growing more and more incon- venient in proportion to the altitude attained. This was a reflection of a nature somewhat startling. Was it not probable that these symptoms would increase until 1 Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr. Green, of Nassau-balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts, deny the assertions of Humboldt in this respect, and speak of a decreasing inconvenience,—precisely in accordance with the theory here urged. be bg tetgee bot SS chehedeh eA LRG1 sbee pass we er Se esPPPs teeePerr geese ceri my wwe ed 620s rie trtatetct- 256 EDGAR ALLAN POE terminated by death itself? I finally thought not. Their origin was to be looked for in the progressive removal of the customary atmospheric pressure upon the surface of the body, and consequent distension of the super- ficial blood-vessels—not in any positive disorganisation of the animal system, as in the case of difficulty in breathing, where the atmospheric density is chemically insufficient for the due renovation of blood in a ventricle of the heart. Unless for default of this renovation, I could see no reason, therefore, why life could not be sus- tained even in a vacuum; for the expansion and com- pression of chest, commonly called breathing, is action purely muscular, and the cause, not the effect, of res- piration. In a word. I conceived that, as the body should become habituated to the want of atmospheric pressure, these sensations of pain would gradually di- minish—and to endure them while they continued, I relied with confidence upon the iron hardihood of my constitution. Thus, may it please your E xcellencies, I have detailed some, though by no means all, the considerations which led me to form the project of a lunar voyage. I shall now proceed to lay before you the result of an attempt so apparently audacious in conception, and, at all events, so utterly unparalleled in the annals of mankind. Having attained the altitude before me ntioned—that is to say, three miles and three-quarters—I threw out from the car a quantity of feathers, and found that I still ascended with sufficient rapidity; there was, there- fore, no necessity for discharging any ballast. I was glad of this, for I wished to retain with me as much weight as I could carry, for the obvious reason that I could not be positive either about the gravitation or the atmospheric density of the moon. I as yet suffered no bodily inconvenience, breathing with great freedom, andTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL bdo Kr vi feeling no pain whatever in the head. The cat was lying very demurely upon my coat, which I had taken off, and eyeing the pigeons with an air of nonchalance. These latter, being tied by the leg to prevent their escape, were busily employed in picking up some grains of rice scattered for them in the bottom of the car. At twenty minutes past six o'clock the barometer showed an elevation of 26,400 feet, or five miles to a fraction. The prospect seemed unbounded. Indeed, it is very easily calculated by means of spherical geometry how great an extent of the earth’s area I beheld. The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to the entire surface of the sphere itself, as the versed sine of the segment to the diameter of the sphere. Now in my case, the versed sine—that is to say, the thickness of the segment beneath me—was about equal to my elevation, or the elevation of the point of sight above the surface. “As five miles, then, to eight thousand,’ would express the proportion of the earth’s area as seen by me. In other words, I beheld as much as a sixteen-hundredth part of the whole surface of the globe. The sea ap- peared unruffled as a mirror, although, by means of the telescope, I could perceive it to be in a state of violent agitation. The ship was no longer visible, having drifted away apparently to the eastward. I now began to experience at intervals severe pain in the head, especially about the ears—still, however, breathing with tolerable freedom. The cat and pigeons seemed to suffer no in- convenience whatsoever. At twenty minutes before seven the balloon entered a long series of dense cloud, which put me to great trouble, by damaging my condensing apparatus, and wetting me to the skin. This was, to be sure, a singular rencontre, for I had not believed it possible that a cloud of this nature could be sustained at so great an eleva-b3-eserer se ere sort De ee ee et ee ot ee | 258 EDGAR ALLAN POE tion. I thought it best, however, to throw out two five-pound pieces of ballast, reserving still a weight of one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Upon so doing, I soon rose above the difficulty, and perceived immediately that I had obtained a great increase in my rate of ascent. In a few seconds after my leaving the cloud a flash of vivid lightning shot from one end of it to the other, and caused it to kindle up throughout its vast extent, like a mass of ignited charcoal. This, it must be remembered, was in the broad light of day. No fancy may picture the sublimity which might have been ex- hibited by a similar phenomenon taking place amid the darkness of the night. Hell itself might then have found a fitting image. Even as it was my hair stood on end, while I gazed afar down within the yawning abysses, letting imagination descend, and stalk about in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddy gulfs, and red ghastly chasms of the hideous and unfathomable fire. I had indeed made a narrow escape. Had the balloon remained a very short while longer within the cloud— that is to say, had not the inconvenience of getting wet, determined me to discharge the ballast——my destruction might, and probably would, have been the consequence. Such perils, although little considered, are perhaps the greatest which must be encountered in balloons.. I had by this time, however, attained too great an elevation to be any longer uneasy on this head. I was now rising rapidly, and by seven o’clock the barometer indicated an altitude of no less than nine miles and a half. I began to find great difficulty in drawing my breath. My head, too, was excessively painful; and having felt for some time a moisture about my cheeks, I at length discovered it to be blood, which was oozing quite fast from the drums of my ears. My eyes, also, gave me great uneasiness. Upon passing theTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL_ 259 hand over them they seemed to have protruded from their sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all objects in the car, and even the balloon itself, appeared dis- torted to my vision. These symptoms were more than I had expected, and occasioned me some alarm. At this juncture, very imprudently, and without consideration, I threw out from the car three five-pound pieces of ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus obtained carried me too rapidly, and without sufficient gradation, into a highly rarefied stratum of the atmosphere, and the result had nearly proved fatal to my expedition and to myself. I was suddenly seized with a spasm which lasted for more than five minutes, and even when this in a measure ceased, I could catch my breath only at long intervals and in a gasping manner, bleeding all the while copiously at the nose and ears, and even slightly at the eyes. The pigeons appeared distressed in the extreme, and struggled to escape; while the cat mewed piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, staggered to and fro in the car as if under the influence of poison. I.now too late discovered the great rashness of which I had been guilty in discharging the ballast, and my agitation was excessive. I antici- pated nothing less than death, and death in a few minutes. The physical suffering I underwent contrib- uted also to render me nearly incapable of making any exertion for the preservation of my life. I had, indeed, little power of reflection left, and the violence of the pain in my head seemed to be greatly on the increase. Thus I found that my senses would shortly give way altogether, and I had already clutched one of the valve ropes with the view of attempting a descent, when the recollection of the trick I had played the three creditors, and the possible consequences to myself, should I return, operated to deter me for the moment. I lay down in — Oe ee ee ee zy: a ~ a ee eo eet ee a] <-_tesos Perens wreemer: peers recta or wae pee a. eo ee 260 EDGAR ALLAN POE the bottom of the car and endeavoured to collect my faculties. In this I so far succeeded as to determine upon the experiment of losing blood. Having no lancet, however, I was constrained to perform the operation in the best manner I was able, and finally succeeded in opening a vein in my left arm, with the blade of my pen-knife. The blood had hardly commenced flowing when I experienced a sensible relief, and by the time I had lost about half a moderate basin-full, most of the worst symptoms had abandoned me entirely. I nevertheless did not think it expedient to attempt get- ting on my feet immediately; but, having tied up my arm as well as I could, I lay still for about a quarter of an hour. At the end of this time I arose, and found myself freer from absolute pain of any kind than I had been during the last hour and a quarter of my ascension. The difficulty of breathing, however, was diminished in a very slight degree, and I found that it would soon be positively necessary to make use of my condenser. In the meantime, looking towards the cat, who was again snugly stowed away upon my coat, I discovered, to my infinite surprise, that she had taken the opportunity of my indisposition to bring into light a litter of three little kittens. This was an addition to the number of passen- gers on my part altogether unexpected ; but I was pleased at the occurrence. It would afford me a chance of bringing to a kind of test the truth of a surmise, which, more than anything else, had influenced me in attempting this ascension. I had imagined that the habitual endurance of the atmospheric pressure at the surface of the earth was the cause, or nearly so, of the pain attending animal existence at a distance above the surface. Should the kittens be found to suffer uneasi- ness in an equal degree with their mother, 1 must con-THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 261 sider my theory in fault, but a failure to do so I should look upon as a strong confirmation of my idea. By eight o'clock I had actually attained an elevation of seventeen miles above the surface of the earth. Thus it seemed to me evident that my rate of ascent was not only on the increase, but that the progression would have been apparent in a slight degree even had I not discharged the ballast which I did. The pains in my head and ears returned, at intervals, with violence, and I still continued to bleed occasionally at the nose; but upon the whole I suffered much less than might have been expected. I breathed, however, at every moment with more and more difficulty, and each inhalation was attended with a troublesome spasmodic action of the chest. I now unpacked the condensing apparatus, and got it ready for immediate use. The view of the earth at this period of my ascension was beautiful indeed. To the westward, the northward, and the southward, as far as I could see, lay a boundless sheet of apparently unrufiled ocean, which every moment gained a deeper and deeper tint of blue. At a vast distance to the eastward, although perfectly discernible, extended the islands of Great Britain, the entire Atlan- tic coasts of France and Spain, with a small portion of the northern part of the continent of Africa. Of indi- vidual edifices not a trace could be discovered, and the proudest cities of mankind had utterly faded away from the face of the earth. What mainly astonished me in the appearance of things below, was the seeming concavity of the surface of the globe. I had thoughtlessly enough expected to see its real convexity become evident as I ascended; but a very little reflection sufficed to explain the discrep- ancy. A line dropped from my position perpendicularly to the earth would have formed the perpendicular of a ee tka = ~ aed er od ee ee ee a) “er . TSee ee ee ee. oe ee os tee ee ee ee a ee --927- 262 EDGAR ALLAN POE right-angled triangle, of which the base would have extended from the right-angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon to my position. But my height was little or nothing in comparison with my pros- pect. In other words, the base and hypothenuse of the supposed triangle would in my case have been so long, when compared to the perpendicular, that the two for- mer might have been regarded as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon of the aeronaut appears always to be upon a level with the car. But as the point imme- diately beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it seems of course also at a great distance below the horizon. Hence the impression of concavity; and this impression must remain until the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to the prospect, that the ap- parent parallelism of the base and hypothenuse dis- appears. The pigeons about this time seeming to undergo much suffering, I determined upon giving them their liberty. I first untied one of them, a beautiful grey-mottled pigeon, and placed him upon the rim of the wicker-work. He appeared extremely uneasy, looking anxiously around him, fluttering his wings, and making a loud cooing noise, but could not be persuaded to trust himself from the car. I took him up at last, and threw him to about half-a-dozen yards from the balloon. He made, however, no attempt to descend as I had expected, but struggled with great vehemence to get back, uttering at the same time very shrill and piercing cries. He at length succeeded in regaining his former station on the rim, but had hardly done so when his head dropped upon his breast, and he fell dead within the car. The other one did not prove so unfortunate. To prevent his following the example of his companion, and accomplish- ing a return, I threw him downwards with all my force,THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL - 2638 and was pleased to find him continue his descent with great velocity, making use of his wings with ease, and in a perfectly natural manner. Ina very short time he was out of sight, and I have no doubt he reached home in safety. Puss, who seemed in a great measure recovered from her illness, now made a hearty meal of the dead bird, and then went to sleep with much apparent satis- faction. Her kittens were quite lively, and so far evinced not the slightest sign of any uneasiness. At a quarter-past eight, being able no longer to draw breath without the most intolerable pain, I proceeded forthwith to adjust around the car the apparatus belong- ing to the condenser. This apparatus will require some little explanation, and your Excellencies will please to bear in mind that my object, in the first place, was to surround myself and car entirely with a barricade against the highly rarefied atmosphere in which I was existing, with the intention of introducing within this barricade, by means of my condenser, a quantity of this same atmosphere sufficiently condensed for the purposes of respiration. With this object in view I had prepared a very strong, perfectly air-tight, but flexible gum-elastic bag. In this bag, which was of sufficient dimensions, the entire car was in a manner placed. That is to say, it (the bag) was drawn over the whole bottom of the car, up its sides, and so on, along the outside of the ropes, to the upper rim or hoop where the net-work is attached. Having pulled the bag up in this way, and formed a complete enclosure on all sides, and at bottom, it was now necessary to fasten up its top or mouth, by passing its material over the hoop of the net-work, in other words, between the net-work and the hoop. But if the net-work were separated from the hoop to admit this passage, what was to sustain the car in the mean- time? Now the net-work was not permanently fastened' ee ee oe ee ee ee te De te ek ee at ee | ee ee ee ee ee ee 264 EDGAR ALLAN POE to the hoop, but attached by a series of running loops or nooses. I therefore undid only a few of these loops at one time, leaving the car suspended by the remainder. Having thus inserted a portion of the cloth forming the upper part of the bag, I refastened the loops—not to the hoop, for that would have been impossible, since the cloth now intervened,—but to a series of large but- tons, affixed to the cloth itself, about three feet below the mouth of the bag; the intervals beween the buttons having been made to correspond to the intervals between the loops. This done, a few more of the loops were unfastened from the rim, a further portion of the cloth introduced, and the disengaged loops then connected with their proper buttons. In this way it was possible to insert the whole upper part of the bag between the net-work and the hoop. It is evident that the hoop would now drop down within the car, while the whole weight of the car itself, with all its contents, would be held up merely by the strength of the buttons. This, at first sight, would seem an inadequate dependence; but it was by no means so, for the buttons were not only very strong in themselves, but so close together, that a very slight portion of the whole weight was supported by any one of them. Indeed, had the car and contents been three times heavier than they were, I should not have been at all uneasy. I now raised up the hoop again within the covering of gum-elastic, and propped it at nearly its former height by means of three light poles prepared for the occasion. ‘This was done, of course, to keep the bag distended at the top, and to preserve the lower part of the net-work in its proper situation. All that now remained was to fasten up the mouth of the enclosure; and this was readily accomplished by gather- ing the folds of the material together, and twisting themTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL- 265 up very tightly on the inside by means of a kind of stationary tourniquet. In the sides of the covering thus adjusted round the car had been inserted three circular panes of thick but clear glass, through which I could see without difficulty around me in every horizontal direction. In that por- tion of the cloth forming the bottom was likewise a fourth window, of the same kind, and corresponding with a small aperture in the floor of the car itself. ‘This enabled me to see perpendicularly down, but having found it impossible to place any similar contrivance overhead, on account of the peculiar manner of closing up the opening there, and the consequent wrinkles in the cloth, I could expect to see no objects situated directly in my zenith. This, of course, was a matter of little consequence; for, had I even been able to place a window at the top, the balloon itself would have pre- vented my making any use of it. About a foot below one of the side windows was a circular opening, three inches in diameter, and fitted with a brass rim adapted in its inner edge to the wind- ings of a screw. In this rim was screwed the large tube of the condenser, the body of the machine being, of course, within the chamber of gum-elastic. Through this tube a quantity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent being drawn by means of a vacuum created in the body of the machine, was thence discharged, in a state of con- densation, to mingle with the thin air already in the chamber. This operation being repeated several times, at length filled the chamber with atmosphere proper for all the purposes of.respiration. But in so confined a space it would in a short time necessarily become foul and unfit for use from frequent contact with the lungs. It was then ejected by a small valve at the bottom of the car, the dense air readily sinking into the thinner we ee ee 2 es fete be Exea Se pt el ee at Oe ae ad ee ee ee Sa 266 EDGAR ALLAN POE atmosphere below. To avoid the inconvenience of mak- ing a total vacuum at any moment within the chamber, this purification was never accomplished all at once, but in a gradual manner, the valve being opened only for a few seconds, then closed again, until one or two strokes from the pump of the condenser had supplied the place of the atmosphere ejected. For the sake of experiment I had put the cat and kittens in a small basket, and sus- pended it outside the car to a button at the bottom, close by the valve, through which I could feed them at any moment when necessary. I did this at some little risk, and before closing the mouth of the chamber, by reach- ing under the car with one of the poles before mentioned, to which a hook had been attached. As soon as dense air was admitted in the chamber, the hoop and poles became unnecessary; the expansion of the enclosed atmosphere powerfully distending the gum-elastic. By the time I had fully completed these arrangements and filled the chamber as explained, it wanted only ten minutes of nine o'clock. During the whole period of my being thus employed I endured the most terrible distress from difficulty of respiration; and bitterly did I repent the negligence, or rather fool-hardiness, of which I had been guilty, of putting off to the last moment a matter of so much importance. But having at length accomplished it, | soon began to reap the benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed with perfect freedom and ease and indeed why should I not? I was also agreeably surprised to find myself in a great measure relieved from the violent pains which had hitherto tormented me. A slight headache, accompanied with a sensation of fulness or distension about the wrists, the ankles, and the throat, was nearly all of which I had now to complain. Thus it seemed evident that a greater part of the uneasiness attending the removal of atmospheric pressure hadTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL = 267 actually worn off, as I had expected, and that much of the pain endured for the last two hours should have been attributed altogether to the effects of a deficient respiration. At twenty minutes before nine o’clock—that is to say, a short time prior to my closing up the mouth of the chamber—the mercury attained its limit, or ran down, in the barometer, which, as I mentioned before, was one of an extended construction. It then indicated an alti- tude on my part of 132,000 feet, or five and twenty miles, and I consequently surveyed at that time an ex- tent of the earth’s area amounting to no less than the three hundred and twentieth part of its entire super- ficies. At nine o’clock I had again lost sight of land to the eastward, but not before I became aware that the balloon was drifting rapidly to the N.N.W. The ocean beneath me still retained its apparent concavity, al- though my view was often interrupted by the masses of cloud which floated to and fro. At half-past nine I tried the experiment of throwing out a handful of feathers through the valve. They did not float as I had expected; but dropped down perpen- dicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and with the greatest velocity, being out of sight in a very few seconds. I did not at first know what to make of this extraordinary phenomenon; not being able to believe that my rate of ascent had, of a sudden, met with so prodigious an acceleration. But it soon occurred to me that the atmosphere was now far too rare to sustain even the feathers; that they actually fell, as they appeared to do, with great rapidity; and that I had been surprised by the united velocities of their descent and my own elevation. By ten o'clock I found that I had very little to occupy my immediate attention. Affairs went on swimmingly, ee eer rt er ee ee ee ee Oe te ee ee a -te- se an ST rSleieitic iq? Sri gtere_qe@n ecsuses ee eee “eaeee ee ee ee ee eer re ee eee ey Sa 268 EDGAR ALLAN POE and I believed the balloon to be going upwards with a speed increasing momently, although I had no longer any means of ascertaining the progression of the in- crease. I suffered no pain or uneasiness of any kind, and enjoyed better spirits than I had at any period since my departure from Rotterdam; busying myself now in examining the state of my various apparatus, and now in regenerating the atmosphere within the chamber. This latter point I determined to attend to at regular intervals of forty minutes, more on account of the preservation of my health, than from so frequent a renovation being absolutely necessary. In the mean- while I could not help making anticipations. Fancy revelled in the wild and dreamy regions of the moon. Imagination, feeling herself for once unshackled, roamed at will among the everchanging wonders of a shadowy and unstable land. Now there were hoary and time- honoured forests, and craggy precipices, and waterfalls tumbling with a loud noise into abysses without a bot- tom. Then I came suddenly into still noonday soli- tudes, where no wind of heaven ever intruded, and where vast meadows of poppies, and slender, lily-looking flowers spread themselves out a weary distance, all silent and motionless for ever. Then, again, I journeyed far down away into another country, where it was all one dim and vague lake, with a boundary-line of clouds. But fancies such as these were not the sole possessors of my brain. Horrors of a nature most stern and most appalling would too frequently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and shake the innermost depths of my soul with the bare supposition of their possibility. Yet I would not suffer my thoughts for any length of time to dwell upon these latter speculations, rightly judging the real and palpable dangers of the voyage sufficient for my undivided attention.THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL~ 269 At five o'clock p.m., being engaged in regenerating the atmosphere within the chamber, I took that oppor- tunity of observing the cat and kittens through the valve. The cat herself appeared to suffer again very much, and I had no hesitation in attributing her uneasi- ness chiefly to a difficulty in breathing; but my experi- ment with the kittens had resulted very strangely. I had expected, of course, to see them betray a sense of pain, although in a less degree than their mother; and this would have been sufficient to confirm my opinion con- cerning the habitual endurance of atmospheric pressure. But I was not prepared to find them, upon close ex- amination, evidently enjoying a high degree of health, breathing with the greatest ease and perfect regularity, and evincing not the slightest sign of any uneasiness. I could only account for all this by extending my theory, and supposing that the highly rarefied atmosphere around might perhaps not be, as I had taken for granted, chemically insufficient for the purposes of life, and that a person born in such a medium might, possibly, be un- aware of any inconvenience attending its inhalation, while, upon removal to the denser strata near the earth, he might endure tortures of a similar nature to those I had so lately experienced. It has since been to me a matter of deep regret that an awkward accident, at this time, occasioned me the loss of my little family of cats, and deprived me of the insight into this matter which a continued experiment might have afforded. In passing my hand through the valve, with a cup of water for the old puss, the sleeve of my shirt became entangled in the loop which sustained the basket, and thus, in a moment, loosened it from the button. Had the whole actually vanished into air, it could not have shot from my sight in a more abrupt and instantaneous manner. Positively there could not have intervened the tenth part of a ee ee ee ee ee eee eee 5 L. ee bt ete a Tete eee tS | at ae Bel270 EDGAR ALLAN POE second between the disengagement of the basket and its absolute disappearance with all that it contained. My good wishes followed it to the earth, but, of course, I had no hope that either cat or kittens would ever live to tell the tale of their misfortune. At six o’clock I perceived a great portion of the earth’s visible area to the eastward involved in thick shadow, which continued to advance with great rapidity, until, at five minutes before seven, the whole surface in view was enveloped in the darkness of night. It was not, however, until long after this time that the rays of the setting sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and this circumstance, although of course fully anticipated, did not fail to give me an infinite deal of pleasure. It was evident that in the morning I should behold the rising luminary many hours at least before the citizens of Rotterdam, in spite of their situation so much farther to the eastward, and thus, day after day, in proportion to the height ascended, would I enjoy the light of the sun for a longer and a longer period. I now determined to keep a journal of my passage, reckoning the days from one to twenty-four hours continuously, without taking into consideration the intervals of darkness. At ten o’clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie down for the rest of the night; but here a difficulty presented itself, which, obvious as it may appear, had escaped my attention up to the very moment of which I am now speaking. If I went to sleep as I proposed, how could the atmosphere in the chamber be regenerated in the interim? To breathe it for more than an hour at the farthest would be a matter of impossibility; or, if even this term could be extended to an hour and a quarter, the most ruinous consequences might ensue. The considera- tion of this dilemma gave me no little disquietude; and it will hardly be believed that, after the dangers I hadTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 271 undergone, I should look upon this business in so serious a light, as to give up all hope of accomplishing my ultimate design, and finally make up my mind to the necessity of a descent. But this hesitation was only momentary. I reflected that man is the veriest slave of custom, and that many points in the routine of his existence are deemed essentially important, which are only so at all by his having re ndered them habitual. It was very certain that I could not do without sleep; but I might easily bring myself to feel no inconvenience from being awakened at interv: als of an hour during the whole period of my repose. It would require but five minutes at most to regenerate the atmosphere in the fullest man- ner, and the only re: al difficulty was, to contrive a me thod of arousing myself at the proper moment for so doing. But this was a question which, I am willing to confess, occasioned me no little trouble in its solution. To be sure, I had heard of the student who, to prevent his falling asleep over his books, held in one hand a ball of copper, the din of whose descent into a basin of the same metal on the floor beside his chair served effectually to startle him up, if, at any moment, he should be overcome with drowsiness. My own case, however, was very dif- ferent. indeed, and left me no room for any similar idea; for I did not wish to keep awake, but to be aroused from slumber at regular intervals of time. I at length hit upon the following expedient, which, simple as it may seem, was hailed by me, at the moment of discovery, as an invention fully aan to that of the telescope, the steam-engine, or the art of printing itself. It is necessary to premise that the balloon, at the ele- vation now attained, continued its course upwards with an even and undeviating ascent, and the car conse- quently followed with a steadiness so perfect that it would have been impossible to detect in it the slightest oe ew sbsese Bybed og oes a ee ee ee eee ee et ee oe ee ee eet 272 vacillation. the project I now determined to adopt. EDGAR ALLAN This circumstance favoured me greatly POE in My supply of water had been put on board in kegs containing five gallons each, and ranged very securely around the in- terior of the car. I unfastened one of these, and taking two ropes, tied them tightly across the rim of the wicker- work from one side to the other, placing them about a foot apart and parallel, so as to form a kind of shelf, upon which I placed the keg, and steadied it in a hori- zontal position. About eight inches immediately below these ropes, and four feet from the bottom of the car, I fastened another shelf—but made of thin plank, being the only similar piece of wood I had. Upon this latter shelf, and exactly beneath one of the rims of the keg, a small earthen pitcher was deposited. I now bored a hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher, and fitted in a plug of soft wood, cut in a tapering or conical shape. This plug I pushed in or pulled out, as it might happen, until, after a few experiments, it arrived at that exact degree of tightness, at which the water, oozing from the hole, and falling into the pitcher below, would fill the latter to the brim in the period of sixty minutes. This, of course, was a matter briefly and easily ascer- tained, by noticing the proportion of the pitcher filled in any given time. the plan is obvious. Having arranged all this, the rest of My bed was so contrived upon the floor of the car, as to bring my head, in lying down, im- mediately below the mouth of the pitcher. It was evi- dent, that, at the expiration of an hour, the pitcher, getting full, would be forced to run over, and run over at the mouth, which was somewhat lower than the rim. It was also evident, that the water. thus falling from a height of more than four feet, could not do other- wise than fall upon my face, and that the sure conse-THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL) 2738 quence would be, to waken me up instantaneously, even from the soundest slumber in the world. It was fully eleven by the time I had completed these arrangements, and I immediately betook myself to bed, with full confidence in the efhiciency of my invention. Nor in this matter was I disappointed. Punctually every sixty minutes was I aroused by my trusty chronometer, when, having emptied the pitcher into the bung-hole of the keg, and performed the duties of the condenser, I retired again to bed. These regular interruptions to my slumber caused me even less discomfort than I had anticipated; and when I finally arose for the day, it was seven o’clock, and the sun had attained many degrees above the line of my horizon. April 3d. I found the balloon at an immense height ‘ndeed. and the earth’s convexity had now become strikingly manifest. Below me in the ocean lay a cluster of black specks, which undoubtedly were islands. Over- head the sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were brilliantly visible; indeed they had been so constantly since the first day o I perceived a thin, white, and exceedingly brilliant line, or streak, on the edge of the horizon, and I had no hesitation in supposing it to be the southern dise of the f ascent. Far away to the northward ‘ces of the Polar Sea. My curiosity was greatly excited, for I had hopes of passing on much farther to the north, and might possibly at some period find myself placed directly above the Pole itself. I now lamented that my great elevation would, in this case, prevent my taking as accurate a survey as I could wish. Much, however, might be ascertained. Nothing else of an extraordinary nature occurred dur ing the day. My apparatus all continued in good order, and the balloon still ascended without any perceptible vacillation. The cold was intense, and obliged me toa eS re! See ee sole. ee eae ee ee ee 274 EDGAR ALLAN POE wrap up closely in an overcoat. When darkness came over the earth, I betook myself to bed, although it was for many hours afterwards broad daylight all around my immediate situation. ‘The water-clock was punctual in its duty, and I slept until next morning soundly, with the exception of the periodical interruption. April 4th. Arose in good health and spirits, and was astonished at the singular change which had taken place in the appearance of the sea. It had lost, in a great measure, the deep tint of blue it had hitherto worn, being now of a greyish-white, and of a lustre dazzling to the eye. The convexity of the ocean had become so eyvi- dent, that the entire mass of the distant water seemed to be tumbling headlong over the abyss of the horizon, and I found myself listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the mighty cataract. The islands were no longer visible; whether they had passed down the horizon to the south- east, or whether my increasing elevation had left them out of sight, it is impossible to say. I was inclined, how- ever, to the latter opinion. The rim of ice to the north- ward was growing more and more apparent. Cold by no means so intense. Nothing of importance occurred, and I passed the day in reading, having taken care to supply myself with books. April 5th. Beheld the singular phenomenon of the sun rising, while nearly the whole visible surface of the earth continued to be involved in darkness. In time, however, the light spread itself over all, and I again saw the line of ice to the northward. It was now very dis- tinct, and appeared of a much darker hue than the waters of the ocean. I was evidently approaching it, and with great rapidity. Fancied I could again dis- tinguish a strip of land to the eastward, and one also to the westward, but could not be certain. WeatherTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL) 275 moderate. Nothing of any consequence happened dur- ing the day. Went early to bed. April 6th. Was surprised at finding the rim of ice at a very moderate distance, and an immense field of the same material stretching away off to the horizon in the north. It was evident that if the balloon held its present course, it would soon arrive above the Frozen Ocean, and I had now little doubt of ultimately seeing the Pole. During the whole of the day I continued to near the ice. Towards night the limits of my horizon very suddenly and materially increased, owing undoubtedly to the earth’s form being that of an oblate spheroid, and my arriving above the flattened regions in the vicinity of the Arctic circle. When darkness at length overtook me, I went to bed in great anxiety, fearing to pass over the object of so much curiosity when I should have no op- portunity of observing it. April 7th. Arose early, and, to my great joy, at length beheld what there could be no hesitation in sup- posing the northern Pole itself. It was there beyond a doubt, and immediately beneath my feet: but, alas! I had now ascended to so vast a distance, that nothing could with accuracy be discerned. Indeed, to judge from the progression of the numbers indicating my various altitudes respectively at different periods be- tween six A.M. on the second of April and twenty minutes before nine a.m. of the same day (at which time the barometer ran down), it might be fairly inferred that the balloon had now, at four o'clock in the morning of April the seventh, reached a height of not less, certainly, than 7254 miles above the surface of the sea. This ele- vation may appear immense, but the estimate upon which it is calculated gave a result in all probability far in- ferior to the truth. At all events I undoubtedly beheld the whole of the earth’s major diameter; the entirene ee en eet a oe! oe oe See ws ee a ee ee ee ee en ee ee EDGAR ALLAN POE northern hemisphere lay beneath me like a chart or- thographically projected; and the great circle of the equator itself formed the boundary line of my horizon. Your Excellencies may, however, readily imagine that the confined regions hitherto unexplored within the limits of the Arctic circle, although situated directly beneath me, and therefore seen without any appearance of being foreshortened, were still in themselves compara- tively too diminutive, and at too great a distance from the point of sight, to admit of any very accurate ex- amination. Nevertheless, what could be seen was of a nature singular and exciting. Northwardly from that huge rim before mentioned, and which, with slight quali- fication, may be called the limit of human discovery in these regions, one unbroken, or nearly unbroken, sheet of ice continues to extend. In the first few degrees of this its progress, its surface is very sensibly flattened, farther on depressed into a plain, and finally, becoming not a little concave, it terminates, at the Pole itself, in a circular centre, sharply defined, whose apparent diameter subtended at the balloon an angle of about sixty-five seconds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity, was at all times darker than any other spot upon the visible hemisphere, and occasionally deepened into the most absolute blackness. Farther than this, little could be ascertained. By twelve o'clock the cir- cular centre had materially decreased in circumference, and by seven p.m. I lost sight of it entirely; the balloon passing over the western limb of the ice, and floating away rapidly in the direction of the equator. April 8th. Found a sensible diminution in the earth’s apparent diameter, besides a material alteration in its general colour and appearance. The whole visible area partook in different degrees of a tint of pale yellow, and in some portions had acquired a brilliancy even painfulTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL) 277 to the eye. My view downwards was also considerably impeded by the dense atmosphere in the vicinity of the surface being loaded with clouds, between whose masses I could only now and then obtain a glimpse of the earth itself. This difficulty of direct vision had troubled me more or less for the last forty-eight hours; but my present enormous elevation brought closer together, as it were, the floating bodies of vapour, and the incon- venience became, of course, more and more palpable in proportion to my ascent. Nevertheless, I could easily perceive that the balloon now hovered above the range of great lakes in the continent of North America, and was holding a course due south, which would soon bring me to the tropics. This circumstance did not fail to give me the most heartfelt satisfaction, and I hailed it as a happy omen of ultimate success. Indeed, the direction I had hitherto taken had filled me with uneasiness; for it was evident that, had I continued it much longer, there would have been no possibility of my arriving at the moon at all, whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at only the smal! angle of 5° 8’ 48”. Strange as it may seem, it was only at this late period that I began to understand the great error I had committed in not taking my de- parture from earth at some point in the plane of the lunar ellipse. April 9th. To-day the earth’s diameter was greatly diminished, and the colour of the surface assumed hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The balloon kept steadily on her course to the southward, and arrived at nine P.M. over the northern edge of the Mexican Gulf. April 10th. I was suddenly aroused from slumber about five o’clock this morning by a loud, crackling, and terrific sound, for which I could in no manner account. It was of very brief duration, but, while it lasted, re- sembled nothing in the world of which I had any pre- ey ee spk. gibt pte ee eee aoda 4 eA TEP 8-t Ores Perris ee ee ee et ee 278 EDGAR ALLAN POE vious experience. It is needless to say that I became excessively alarmed, having, in the first instance, at- tributed the noise to the bursting of the balloon. I exam- ined all my apparatus, however, with great attention, and could discover nothing out of order. Spent a great part of the day in meditating upon an occurrence so extraordinary, but could find no means whatever of ac- counting for it. Went to bed dissatisfied, and in a state of great anxiety and agitation. April 11th. Found a startling diminution in the ap- parent diameter of the earth, and a considerable in- crease, now observable for the first time, in that of the moon itself, which wanted only a few days of being full. It now required long and excessive labour to condense within the chamber sufficient atmospheric air for the sustenance of life. April 12th. A singular alteration took place in re- gard to the direction of the balloon, and although fully anticipated, afforded me the most unequivocal delight. Having reached, in its former course, about the twen- tieth parallel of southern latitude, it turned off suddenly, at an acute angle, to the eastward, and thus proceeded throughout the day, keeping nearly, if not altogether, in the exact plane of the lunar ellipse. What was worthy of remark, a very perceptible vacillation in the car was a vacillation a consequence of this change of route, which prevailed, in a more or less degree, for a period of many hours. April 13th. Was again very much alarmed by a repetition of the loud crackling noise which terrified me on the tenth. Thought long upon the subject, but was unable to form any satisfactory conclusion. Great decrease in the earth’s apparent diameter, which now subtended from the balloon an angle of very little more than twenty-five degrees. The moon could not be seenTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL = 279 at all, being nearly in my zenith. I still continued in the plane of the ellipse, but made little progress to the eastward. \April 14th. Extremely rapid decrease in the diam- eter of the earth. To-day I became strongly impressed with the idea that the balloon was now actually running up the line of apsides to the point of perigee,—in other words, holding the direct course which would bring it immediately to the moon in that part of its orbit the nearest to the earth. The moon itself was directly over- head, and consequently hidden from my view. Great and long-continued labour necessary for the condensa- tion of the atmosphere. April 15th. Not even the outlines of continents and seas could now be traced upon the earth with distinct- ness. About twelve o’clock I became aware, for the third time, of that appalling sound which had so astonished me before. It now, however, continued for some moments, and gathered intensity as it continued. At length, while, stupefied and terror-stricken, I stood in expectation of I knew not what hideous destruction, the car vibrated with excessive violence, and a gigantic and flaming mass of some material which I could not distinguish came with a voice of a thousand thunders, roaring and booming by the balloon. When my fears and astonishment had in some degree subsided, I had little difficulty in supposing it to be some mighty volcanic fragment ejected from that world to which I was so rapidly approaching, and, in all probability, one of that singular class of substances occa- sionally picked up on the earth, and termed meteoric stones for want of a better appellation. April 16th. To-day, looking upwards as well as I could, through each of the side windows alternately, I beheld, to my great delight, a very small portion of the moon’s disk protruding, as it were, on all sides beyondms barers-tweererrteere ceria ee ee ee ree hae Pe ee ee eee 280 EDGAR ALLAN POE me O the huge circumference of the balloon. My agitation was extreme; for I had now little doubt of soon reaching the end of my perilous voyage. Indeed, the labour now required by the condenser had increased to a most op- pressive degree, and allowed me scarcely any respite from exertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out of the question. I became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaustion. It was impossible that human nature could endure this state of intense suffering much longer. During the now brief interval of darkness a meteoric stone again passed in my vicinity, and the frequency of these phenomena began to occasion me much appre- hension. April 17th. This morning proved an epoch in my voyage. It will be remembered, that, on the thirteenth, the earth subtended an angular breadth of twenty-five degrees. On the fourteenth this had greatly diminished ; on the fifteenth a still more rapid decrease was obsery- able; and, on retiring for the night of the sixteenth, I had noticed an angle of no more than about seven de- grees and fifteen minutes. What, therefore, must have been my amazement, on awakening from a brief and disturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the seven- teenth, at finding the surface beneath me so suddenly and wonderfully augmented in volume, as to subtend no less than thirty-nine degrees in apparent angular diam- eter! I was thunderstruck! No words can give any adequate idea of the extreme, the absolute horror and astonishment, with which I was seized, possessed, and altogether overwhelmed. My knees tottered beneath me —my teeth chattered—my hair started up on end. “The balloon, then, had actually burst!’ These were the first tumultuous ideas which hurried through my mind: “The balloon had positively burst!—I was falling—falling with the most impetuous, the most unparalleled velocity!THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 281 To judge from the immense distance already so quickly passed over, it could not be more than ten minutes, at the farthest, before I should meet the surface of the earth, and be hurled into annihilation!’ But at length reflection came to my relief. I paused; I considered; and I began to doubt. The matter was impossible. I could not in any reason have so rapidly come down. Besides, although I was evidently approaching the sur- face below me, it was with a speed by no means com- mensurate with the velocity I had at first conceived. This consideration served to calm the perturbation of my mind, and I finally succeeded in regarding the phenome- non in its proper point of view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprived me of my senses, when I could not see the vast difference, in appearance, between the surface below me and the surface of my mother earth. The latter was indeed over my head, and completely hidden by the balloon, while the moon—the moon itself in all its glory—lay beneath me, and at my feet. The stupor and surprise produced in my mind by this extraordinary change in the posture of affairs, was per- haps, after all, that part of the adventure least suscep- tible of explanation. For the bouleversement in itself was not only natural and inevitable, but had been long actually anticipated, as a circumstance to be expected whenever I should arrive at that exact point of my voy- age where the attraction of the planet should be super- seded by the attraction of the satellite—or, more precisely, where the gravitation of the balloon towards the earth should be less powerful than its gravitation towards the moon. To be sure I arose from a sound slumber, with all my senses in confusion, to the contem- plation of a very startling phenomenon, and one which, although expected, was not expected at the moment. The revolution itself must, of course, have taken place in anee eat TTS. es ek oe be a = CTs Et Str. ae ee ee ee ee ee cee re) ed ee ee rerecs 282 EDGAR ALLAN POE easy and gradual manner, and it is by no means clear that. had I even been awake at the time of the occur- rence, I should have been made aware of it by any internal evidence of an inversion—that is to say, by any inconvenience or disarrangement, either about my person or about my apparatus. It is almost needless to say, that, upon coming to a due sense of my situation, and emerging from the terror which had absorbed every faculty of my soul, my atten- tion was, in the first place, wholly directed to the con- templation of the general physical appearance of the moon. It lay beneath me like a chart—and although I judged it to be still at no inconsiderable distance, the indentures of its surface were defined to my vision with a most striking and altogether unaccountable distinctness. The entire absence of ocean or sea, and indeed of any lake or river, or body of water whatsoever, struck me at the first glance, as the most extraordinary feature in its geological condition. Yet, strange to say, I beheld vast level regions of a character decidedly alluvial, although by far the greater portion of the hemisphere in sight was covered with innumerable volcanic mountains, conical in shape, and having more the appearance of artificial than of natural protuberances. The highest among them does not exceed three and three-quarter miles in perpendicu- lar elevation; but a map of the volcanic districts of the Campi Phlegrei would afford to your Excellencies a better idea of their general surface than any unworthy description I might think proper to attempt. The greater part of them were in a state of evident eruption, and gave me fearfully to understand their fury and their power, by the repeated thunders of the miscalled mete- oric stones, which now rushed upwards by the balloon with a frequency more and more appalling. April 18th. To-day I found an enormous increase inTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL- 283 the moon’s apparent bulk—and the evidently accelerated velocity of my descent, began to fill me with alarm. It will be remembered, that, in the earliest stage of my speculations upon the possibility of a passage to the moon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an atmosphere dense in proportion to the bulk of the planet, had en- tered largely into my calculations; this too in spite of many theories to the contrary, and, it may be added, in spite of a general disbelief in the existence of any lunar atmosphere at all. But, in addition to what I have al- ready urged in regard to Encke’s comet and the zodiacal light, I had been strengthened in my opinion by certain observations of Mr. Schroeter, of Lilienthal. He ob- served the moon, when two days and a half old, in the evening soon after sunset, before the dark part was visible, and continued to watch it until it became visible. The two cusps appeared tapering in a very sharp faint prolongation, each exhibiting its farthest extremity faintly illuminated by the solar rays, before any part of the dark hemisphere was visible. Soon afterwards the whole dark limb became illuminated. This pro- longation of the cusps beyond the semicircle, I thought, must have arisen from the refraction of the sun’s rays by the moon’s atmosphere. I computed, also, the height of the atmosphere (which could refract light enough into its dark hemisphere, to produce a twilight more luminous than the light reflected from the earth when the moon is about 82° from the new), to be 1356 Paris feet; in this view, I supposed the greatest height capable of refracting the solar ray to be 5376 feet. My ideas upon this topic had.also received confirmation by a passage in the eighty-second volume of the Philosophi- cal Transactions, in which it is stated, that, at an oc- cultation of Jupiter’s satellites, the third disappeared pede a ee bebe > ee see SD > ee ee elets Ld Se ee ee od TP eer rer er ee Se ee ee 2854 wks vhiepa rte Hees ee ee es ee, eee Las es_ ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee. ee ron) ee ee ee ees 284 EDGAR ALLAN POE after having been about 1” or 2” of time indistinct, and the fourth became indiscernible near the limb.’ Upon the resistance, or more properly, upon the sup- port of an atmosphere, existing in the state of density imagined, I had, of course, entirely depended for the safety of my ultimate descent. Should I then, after all, prove to have been mistaken, I had in consequence nothing better to expect, as a finale to my adventure, than being dashed into atoms against the rugged surface of the satellite. And, indeed, I had now every reason to be terrified. My distance from the moon was com- paratively trifling, while the labour require d by the con- denser was diminished not at all, and I could discover no indication whatever of a decreasing rarity in the air. April 19th. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o’clock, the surface of the moon being frightfully near, and my apprehensions excited to the utmost, the pump of my condenser at length gave evident tokens of an alteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had reason to believe its density considerably increased. By eleven, very little labour was necessary at the apparatus; and at twelve o'clock, with some hesitation, I ventured to unscrew the tourniquet, when, finding no inconvenience from haying done so, I finally threw open the gum- 1 Hevelius writes that he has several times found, in skies per- fectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the moon, at the same elongation from the earth, and with one and the same excel- lent telescope, the moon and its macule did not appear equally lucid at all times. From the circumstances of the observation, it is evident that the cause of this phenomenon is not either in our ar, in the tube, in the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be looked for in something (an atmosphere?) existing about the moon. Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and the fixed stars, when approaching the moon to occultation, to have their circular figure changed into an oval one; and, in other oecultations, he found no alteration of figure at all. Hence it might be supposed that at some times, and not at others, there is a dense matter encompassing the moon wherein the rays of the stars are refracted.THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL_ 285 elastic chamber, and unrigged it from around the car. As might have been expected, spasms and violent head- ache were the immediate consequences of an experiment so precipitate and full of danger. But these and other difficulties attending respiration, as they were by no means so great as to put me in peril of my life, I de- termined to endure as I best could, in consideration of my leaving them behind me momently in my approach to the denser strata near the moon. This approach, however, was still impetuous in the extreme; and it soon became alarmingly certain that, although I had prob- ably not been deceived in the expectation of an atmos- phere dense in proportion to the mass of the satellite, still I had been wrong in supposing this density, even at the surface, at all adequate to the support of the great weight contained in the car of my balloon. Yet this should have been the case, and in an equal degree as at the surface of the earth, the actual gravity of bodies at either planet supposed in the ratio of the atmospheric condensation. That it was not the case. however. my precipitous downfall gave testimony enough; why it was not so can only be explained by a reference to those possible geological disturbances to which I have for- merly alluded. At all events I was now close upon the planet, and coming down with the most terrible im- petuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throw- ing overboard first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing apparatus, and gum-elastie chamber, and finally every article witliin the car. But it was all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible rapidity, and was now not more than half a mile from the surface. As a last resource, therefore, having got rid of my coat. hat. ar e and boots, I cut loose from the balloon the car itself, which was of no inconsiderable weight, and thus, cling- ing with both hands to the net-work, I had barely time oe eS ee at ey ee ee ee ee eeor Sh ac a at rt ita eileen tees th dla hi tl a ed Ba 286 EDGAR ALLAN POE to observe that the whole country, as far as the eye could reach, was thickly interspersed with diminutive habitations, ere I tumbled headlong into the very heart of a fantastical-looking city, and into the middle of a vast crowd of ugly little people, who none of them uttered a single syllable, or gave themselves the least trouble to render me assistance, but stood like a parcel of idiots, grinning in a ludicrous manner, and eyeing me and my balloon askant, with their arms set a-kimbo. I turned from them in contempt, and, gazing upwards at the earth so lately left, and left perhaps for ever, be- held it like a huge, dull, copper shield, about two de- grees in diameter, fixed immovably in the heavens over- head, and tipped on one of its edges with a crescent border of the most brilliant gold. No traces of land or water could be discovered, and the whole was clouded with variable spots, and belted with tropical and equa- torial zones. Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series of great anxieties, unheard-of dangers, and unparalleled escapes, I had, at length, on the nineteenth day of my departure from Rotterdam, arrived in safety at the con- clusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most extraordinary, and the most momentous, ever accomplished, undertaken, or conceived by any denizen of earth. But my ad- ventures yet remain to be related. And indeed your Excellencies may well imagine that, after a residence of five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting in its own peculiar character, but rendered doubly so by its intimate connection, in capacity of satellite, with the world inhabited by man, I may have intelligence for the private ear of the States’ College of Astronomers of far more importance than the details, however wonderful, of the mere voyage which so happily concluded. This is, in fact, the case. I have much—very much which itTHE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL - 287 would give me the greatest pleasure to communicate. I have much to say of the climate of the planet; of its wonderful alternations of heat and cold; of unmitigated and burning sunshine for one fortnight, and more than polar frigidity for the next; of a constant transfer of moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo, from the point beneath the sun to the point the farthest from it; of a variable zone of running water; of the people them- selves; of their manners, customs, and political institu- tions; of their peculiar physical construction; of their ugliness; of their want of ears, those useless appendages in an atmosphere so peculiarly modified; of their conse- quent ignorance of the use and properties of speech; of their substitute for speech in a singular method of inter-communication; of the incomprehensible connection between each particular individual in the moon, with some particular individual on the earth—a connection analogous with, and depending upon that of the orbs of the planet and the satellite, and by means of which the lives and destinies of the inhabitants of the one are interwoven with the lives and destinies of the inhabitants of the other; and above all, if it so please your Excel- lencies above all, of those dark and hideous mysteries which lie in the outer regions of the moon,—regions which owing to the almost miraculous accordance of the satellite’s rotation on its own axis with its sidereal revolution about the earth, have never yet been turned, and, by God’s mercy, never shall be turned, to the All this, and more— scrutiny of the telescopes of man. much more—would I most willingly detail. But, to be brief, I must have my reward. I am pining for a return to my family and to my home; and as the price of any farther communications on my part—in consideration of the light which I have it in my power to throw upon many very important branches of physical and meta- Pea eeet ase tisegcecsd pravitating influence, kes fly about with fans. er a eee ( cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general philosophy of the volume. ‘I must now declare to you,” says the Signor Gonzales. “the nature of the place in which I found myself. All the clouds were beneath my feet, or, if you please, spread between me and the earth. As to the stars, since there was no night where I was. they always had the same appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearly like the moon of a morning. But few of them were visible, and these ten times larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem THE ADVENTURE OF HANS PFAALL 2938 en ee eee ee ee ee eee ee ee ee bs . . eS Pe eee ee ee ee ee ee eee en es wer eet ee. eeee Oe ee SS Ce eee ee ote ee ee ee 294 EDGAR ALLAN POE to the inhabitants of the earth. The moon, which wanted two days of being full, was of a terrible bigness. “T must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of the globe turned towards the moon, and that the closer they were to it the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whether ‘t was calm weather or stormy, I found myself always immediately hetween the moon and the earth. I was convinced of this for two reasons—because my birds always flew in a straight line; and be- cause whenever we attempted to rest, we were carried insenstbly around the globe of the earth. For I admit the opinion of Copernicus, who maintains that it never ceases to revolve from the east to the west, not upon the poles of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of the world, but upon those of the Zodiac, a question of which I propose to speak more at length hereafter, when I shall have leisure to refresh my memory in regard to the astrology which I learned at Salamanca when young, and have since forgotten.” Notwithstanding the blunders italicised, the book is not without some claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of the current astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed, that the “cravitating power” extended but a short distance from the earth’s surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager “carried insensibly around the globe,” etc. There have been other “‘ voyages to the moon,”’ but none of higher merit than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly meaningless. In the third volume of the ‘American Quarterly Review” will be found quite an elaborate criticism upon a certain “Journey” of the kind in question;—a criticism in which it is diffi- cult to say whether the critic most exposes the stupidity of the book, or his own absurd ignorance of astronomy. I forget the title of the work: but the means of the voyage are more deplorably ill-conceived than are even the ganzas of our friend the Signor Gonzales. The adventurer, in digging the earth, happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the moon has a strong attraction, and straightwav constructs of it a box, which, when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with him forthwith to the satellite. The “Flight of Thomas O'Rourke” is a jeu d esprit not altogether contemptible, and has been translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to the tale. The “‘flight”’ is made on an eagle’s back, from Hungry Hill, a lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay. In these various brochures the aim is always satirical, the theme being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours. In none is there any effort of plausibility in the details of the voyage itself. The writers seem in each instance to be utterly uninformed in respect to astronomy. In “Hans Pfaall’’ the design is original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at verisimilitude, in the application of scientific principles (so far as the whimsical nature of the subject would permit), to the actual passage between the earth and the moon.A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM The ways of God in Nature, as in Providence, are not as ovr ways; nor are the models that we frame any way commensurate to the vastness, profundity, and unsearchableness of His works, which have a depth in them greater than the well of Democritus. Joseph Glanville. We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much ex- hausted 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 [ can scarcely look over this little cliff without getting giddy?” The “little cliff,’ upon whose edge he had so care- lessly thrown himself down to rest that the weightier portion of his body hung over it, while he was only kept from falling by the tenure of his elbow on its ex- treme and slippery edge—this “little cliff” arose, a sheer unobstructed precipice of black shining rock, some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from the world of crags beneath us. Nothing would have tempted 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, 295 es ee ee ee Serr. et eS ee ee Pie eon tt t 7) 7ee ee ee ee el nan | Ce in ee Sa 296 EDGAR ALLAN POE elung to the shrubs around me, and dared not even glance upward at the sky—while I struggled in vain to divest myself of the idea that the very foundations of the mountain were in danger from the fury of the winds. It was long before I could reason myself into suficient courage to sit up and look out into the dis- tance. “You must get over these fancies,’ said the guide, “for I have brought you here that you might have the best possible view of the scene of that event I mentioned —and to tell you the whole story with the spot just under your eye. “We are now,” he continued in that particularising manner which distinguished him—‘‘we are now close upon the Norwegian coast—in the sixty-eighth degree of latitude—in the great province 9f Nordland—and in the dreary district of Lofoden. The mountain upon whose top we sit is Helseggen, the Cloudy. Now raise your- self up a little higher—hold on to the grass if you feel giddy—so—and look out, beyond the belt of vapour be- neath 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, howling and shrieking for ever. Just opposite the promontory upon whose apex we were placed, and at a distance of some five or six miles out at sea, there was visible a small. bleak-looking island; or, more properly, its position wasA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM = 297 discernible through the wilderness of surge in which it was enveloped. About two miles near the land arose another of smaller size, hideously craggy and barren, and encompassed at various intervals by a cluster of dark rocks. The appearance of the ocean, in the space between the more distant island and the shore, had something very unusual about it. Although at the time so strong a gale was blowing landward that a brig in the remote offing lay to under a double-reefed trysail, and 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 ‘n 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, “Gs called by the Norwegians Vurrgh. The one midway +s Moskoe. That a mile to the northward is Ambaaren. Yonder are Iflesen, Hoeyholm, Kieldholm, Suarven, and Buckholm. Farther off—between Moskoe and Vurrgh are Otterholm, Flimen, Sandflesen, and Skarholm. These are the true names of the places—but why it has been thought necessary to name them at all, is more than either you or I can understand. Do you hear any- thing? Do you see any change in the water?” We had now been about ten minutes upon the top of Helseggen, to which we had ascended from the interior of 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 moaning 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 changing into a current which set to the eastward. Even while I ee ee rf Dd eae ro shobe bea eka Fer et feel rises eea Coe ee Pees Perens wy i ee ee 298 EDGAR ALLAN POE gazed this current acquired a monstrous velocity. Each moment added to its speed—to its headlong impetuosity. In five minutes the whole sea as far as Vurrgh was lashed into ungovernable fury; but it was between Moskoe and the coast that the main uproar held its sway. Here the vast bed of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand conflicting channels, burst sud- denly into frenzied convulsion—heaving, boiling, hiss- ing,— gyrating in gigantic and innumerable vortices, and all whirling and plunging on to the eastward with a rapidity which water never elsewhere assumes except in precipitous descents. In a few minutes more, there came over the scene another radical alteration. The general surface grew somewhat more smooth, and the whirlpools one by one disappeared, while prodigious streaks of foam became apparent where none had been seen before. These streaks at length, spreading out to a great distance, and entering into combination, took unto themselves the gyratory motion of the subsided vortices, and seemed to form the germ of another more vast. Suddenly—very suddenly—this assumed a distinct and definite existence in a circle of more than 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 terrific funnel, whose interior, as far as the eye could fathom it, was a smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of water, inclined to the horizon at an angle of some forty-five degrees, speeding dizzily round and round with a swaying and sweltering motion, and sending forth to the wind 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 rockA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 299 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 Nor- wegians call it the Moskoe-strom, from the island of Moskoe in the midway.” The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no means prepared me for what I saw. That of Jonas Ramus, which is perhaps the most circumstantial of any, cannot impart the faintest conception either of the magnifi- cence, or of the horror of the scene—or of the wild be- wildering 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 +t could neither have been from the summit of Helseg- gen, nor during a storm. There are some passages of his description, 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-five and forty fathoms ; but on the other side, toward Ver (Vurrgh) this depth decreases so as not to afford a convenient passage for a vessel, without the risk of splitting on the rocks, which happens even in the calmest weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up the country between Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous rapidity, but the roar of its impetuous ebb to the sea is scarce equalled by the loud- est and most dreadful cataracts—the noise being heard several leagues off, and the vortices or pits are of such an extent and depth, that if a ship comes within its attraction it is inevitably absorbed and carried down to the bottom and there beat to pieces against the rocks, and when the water relaxes the fragments thereof are eee ie eee ee oe oe eemee es DAS Pett weereer tere cert“ aD era oe ee ee ee ee | 300 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 boister- ous, 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 hap- pens frequently that whales come too near the stream. and are overpowered by its violence, and then it is im- possible to describe their howlings and bellowings in their fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. A bear once, attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe. was caught by the stream and borne down, while he roared terribly, so as to be heard on shore. Large stocks of firs and pine trees, after being absorbed by the current, rise again broken and torn to such a degree as if bristles grew upon them. This plainly shows the bottom to consist of craggy rocks, among which they are whirled to and fro. This stream is regulated by the flux and reflux of the sea—it being constantly high and low water every six hours. In the year 1645, early in the morning of Sexagesima Sunday, it raged with such noise and impetuosity that the very stones of the houses on the coast fell to the ground.” In regard to the depth of the water, I could not see how this could have been ascertained at all in the im- mediate vicinity of the vortex. The “forty fathoms” must have reference only to portions of the channel close upon the shore either of Moskoe or Lofoden. The depth in the centre of the Moskoe-strém. must be im- measurably 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 downA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 301 from this pinnacle upon the howling Phlegethon below, I could not help smiling at the simplicity with which the honest Jonas Ramus records, as a matter difficult of belief, the anecdotes of the whales and the bears; for it appeared to me, in fact, a self-evident thing that the largest ship 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 r ceived is that this, as well as three smaller vortices among the Ferroe 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 precipi- tates 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 experi- ments.”—These are the words of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Kircher and others imagine that in the centre of the channel of the Maelstrém is an abyss pene- trating the globe, and issuing in some very remote part —the Gulf of Bothnia being somewhat 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 surprised 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 Pe ee er erect eee are - - ad aie t PT Pee eee lee ee etoe ee —— ee ee ee ee ee ee te ee ee Dae 302 EDGAR ALLAN POE on paper, it becomes altogether unintelligible, and even absurd, amid the thunder of the abyss. “You have had a good look at the whirl now,” said the old man, “and if you will creep round this crag so as to get in its lee, and deaden the roar of the water, I will tell you a story that will convince you I ought to know something of the Moskoe-strém.”’ 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 to- gether in a week. In fact, we made it a matter of des- perate speculation—the risk of life standing instead of labour, 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 down upon anchorage somewhere near Otterholm, or Sandflesen, 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 uponA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM — 303 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 miscalculation 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, starv- ing 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. “IT could not tell you the twentieth part of the diffi- culties we encountered ‘on the grounds’—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 somehow, although we ran the risk ourselves we had not the heart to let the young ones get into the danger—for, after all is 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 ee oe ee es |5 el a tit pit te ak ole lk ete teed ee ee ee ee ee ergce: 304 EDGAR ALLAN POE I am going to tell you occurred. It was on the tenth day of July 18 of the world will never forget—for it was one in which , a day which the people of this part 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 fore- seen what was to follow. “The three of us—my two brothers and myself—had crossed over to the islands about 2 o’clock p.m., and had soon nearly loaded the smack with fine fish, which, we all remarked, were more plentiful 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 cut with a fresh wind on our starboard quarter, and for some time spanked along at a great rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed we saw not the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at once we were taken aback by a breeze from over Helseggen. This was most unusual—something that had never happened to us before—and I began to feel a little uneasy without exactly knowing why. We put the boat on the wind, but could make no headway at all for the eddies, and I was just upon the point of proposing to return to the anchorage, when, looking astern, we saw the whole horizon covered with a singular copper-col- oured 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 thanA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 305 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 describing. The oldest seaman in Norway never experi- enced 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 circumstance we should have foundered at once—for we lay entirely buried for some moments. How my elder brother escaped destruction I cannot say, for I never had an opportunity of ascertaining. For my part, as soon as I had let the foresail run, I threw my- self flat on deck, with my feet against the narrow gun- wale of the bow, and with my hands grasping a ring-bolt near the foot of the fore-mast. It was mere instinct that prompted me to do this—which was undoubtedly the very best thing I could have done—for I was too much flurried to think. “For some moments we were completely deluged, as I say, and all this time I held my breath, and clung to the bolt. When I could stand it no longer I raised my- self upon my knees, still keeping hold with my hands, and thus got my head:clear. Presently our little boat gave herself a shake, just as a dog does in coming out of the water. and thus rid herself in some measure of the seas. I was now trying to get the better of the stupor that had come over me, and to collect my senses so as toee eee oe] ee rere eee ee war be bees ene 306 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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-strém!’ ‘No one ever will know what my feelings were at that moment. I shook from head to foot, as if I had had the most violent fit of the ague. I knew what he meant by that one word well enough—I knew what he wished to make me understand. With the wind that now drove us on we were bound for the whirl of the Strom, and nothing could save us! “You perceive that in crossing the Strém channel, we always went a long way up above the whirl, even in the calmest weather, and then had to wait and watch care- fully 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 little hope in that’—but in the next moment I cursed myself for being so great a fool as to dream of hope at all. I knew very well that we were doomed had we been ten times a ninety-gun ship. “By this time the first fury of the tempest had spent itself, or perhaps we did not feel it so much as we scudded before it, but at all events the seas, which at first had been kept down by the wind and lay flat and frothing, now got up into absolute mountains. A singu- lar 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 She with a lustre that I never before knew her to wear.A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM — 307 lit up everything about us with the greatest distinctness —-but, O God, what a scene it was to light up! “T now made one or two attempts to speak to my but, in some manner which I could not under- brother stand, the din had so increased that I could not make him hear a single word, although I screamed at the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of his fingers as if to say ‘listen!’ “At first I could not make out what he meant—but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. | dragged my watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears as I flung it far away into the ocean. It had run down at seven o’clock! We were behind the time of the slack, and the whirl of the Strém 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 ap- pears 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 slide, and a plunge, that made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we were up I had thrown a quick glance around—and that one glance was all sufficient. I saw our exact posi- tion in an instant. The Moskoe-strém 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 haveoe) " ' ee eee ee ee, ee er ee et ee ee ee ee ee ee feces eee eh ed et ad a oe eee eee 308 EDGAR ALLAN POE recognised the place at all. As it was, I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The lids clenched themselves together as if in a spasm. “Tt could not have been more than two minutes after- ward 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 like a thunderbolt. At the same moment the roaring noise of the water was completely drowned in a kind of shrill shriek—such a sound as you might imagine given out by the waste-pipes of many thousand steam-vessels letting off their steam all together. We were now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl; and I thought of course that another moment would plunge us into the abyss—down which we could only see indistinctly on account of the amazing velocity with which we were borne along. The boat did not seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an air-bubble upon the sur- face 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 good 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—lI began to reflect how magnificent a thing it was to die in such a manner, and how foolish it was in me to think of so paltry a consideration as my own individual life in view of so wonderful a manifestation of God’s power. I do believe that I blushed with shame when this idea crossed my mind. After a little while I becameA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM — 309 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 com- panions 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 little light-headed. “There was another circumstance which tended - to restore my self-possession, and this was the cessation of the wind, which could not reach us in our present situa- tion—for, as you saw yourself, the belt of such is con- siderably lower than the ceneral bed of the ocean, and this latter now towered above us, a high, black, moun- tainous 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. 3ut we were now, in a great measure, rid of these annoyances—]ust as death-con- demned felons in prison are allowed petty indulgences, forbidden them while their doom is yet uncertain. “How often we made the circuit of the belt it is impos- sible 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 theoe Sa renent weemerr pees ceria as eid ee ee ee ee ee ns 310 EDGAR ALLAN POE agony of his terror, he endeavoured 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 se- cured myself in my new position when we gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the abyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over. “As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent I had instinctively tightened my hold upon the barrel, and closed my eyes. For some seconds I dared not open them, while I expected instant destruction, and wondered that I was not already in my death-struggles with the water. But moment after moment elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had ceased; and the motion of the vessel seemed much as it had been before while in the belt of foam, with the exception that she now lay more along. I took courage, and looked once again upon the scene. “Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and admiration with which I gazed about me. The boat appeared to be hanging, as if by magic, midway down, upon the interior surface of a funnel vast in circumfer- ence, prodigious in depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides might have been mistaken for ebony but for the bewildering rapidity with which they spun around, andA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 311 for the gleaming and ghastly radiance they shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, ‘rom 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 any- thing accurately. The general burst of terrific grandeur was all that I beheld. When I recovered myself a little, however, my gaze fell instinctively downward. In this direction I was able to obtain an unobstructed view from the manner in which the smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. She was quite upon an even keel— that is to say, her deck lay in a plane parallel with that of the water—but this latter sloped at an angle of more than forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to be lying upon our beam-ends. I could not help observing, 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 bot- tom of the profound gulf; but still I could make out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick mist in which everything there was enveloped, and over which there hung a magnificent rainbow, like that narrow and tot- tering bridge which Mussulmen 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, 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 a great distance down the slope, but our farther descent was by no means propor- eee ee ee ee ee—T a DOO Pes weePerr sree cert ee ee 312 EDGAR ALLAN POE tionate. Round and round we swept—not with any uni- form movement—but in dizzying swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few hundred yards—sometimes nearly the complete circuit of the whirl. Our progress downward at each revolution was slow but very per- ceptible. “Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid ebony on which we were thus borne, I perceived that our boat was not the only object in the embrace of the whirl. Both above and below us were visible fragments of vessels, large masses of building timber and trunks of trees, with many smaller articles, such as pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, barrels, and staves. I have already described the unnatural curiosity which had taken the place of my original terrors. It appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my dread- ful doom. I now began to watch, with a strange in- terest, the numerous things that floated in our company. I must have been delirious, for I even sought amusement in speculating upon the relative velocities of their several descents toward the foam 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 in- variable 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 thatA DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM _ 313 strewed the coast of Lofoden, having been absorbed and then thrown forth by the Moskoe-strom. By far the greater number of the articles were shattered in the most extraordinary way—so chafed and roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full of splinters—but then I distinctly recollected that there were some of them which were not disfigured at all. Now I could not ac- count for this difference except by supposing that the roughened fragments were the only ones which had been completely absorbed—that the others had entered the whirl at so late a period of the tide, or, for 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 undergoing the fate of those which had been drawn in more early, or absorbed more rapidly. I made also three important observations. The first was that, as a general rule, the larger the 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 superior- ity in speed of descent was with the sphere; the third, that. between two masses of equal size, the one cylin- drical 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 Il learned the use of the words ‘cylinder’ and ‘sphere. He ex- plained to me—although I have forgotten the explana- tion—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 eer eee eee Pee ee aeeePA —t he . ee ee eee ee eee SS gr nego wow tebe ie wi poy rece 314 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 to turn them to account, and this was that at every revolution we passed something like 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 first opened my eyes upon the wonders of the whirlpool were now high up above us, and seemed to have moved but little from their original station. “I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash myself securely to the water-cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to throw my- self 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 reach 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 pre- cipitated myself with it into the sea without another moment’s hesitation. “The result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. As it is myself who now tell you this tale see that I did escape—and as you are already in posses- as you sion of the mode in which this escape was effected, and must therefore anticipate all that I have further to say, I will bring my story quickly to conclusion. It might have been an hour or thereabout after my quitting the 1See Archimedes, “‘ De Incidentibus in Fluido,” lib. 2.A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 315 smack, when, having descended to a vast distance be- neath me, it made three or four wild gyrations in rapid succession, and, bearing my loved brother with it, plunged headlong at once and for ever 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 over- board, 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 sharp. The gyra- tions of the whirl grew gradually less and less violent. By degrees the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the bottom of the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, the winds had gone down, and the full moon was setting radiantly in the west, when I found myself on the surface of the ocean, in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above the spot where the pool of the Mos- koe-strém 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 Strém, 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 be- lieve 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.” boo ee ee eee - a oe eo ee en 2 Pe- = P ~ _ Se a os SO ee ee ee ae ae _ ta. es ed THE PREMATURE BURIAL THERE are certain themes of which the interest is all- absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction. These the mere roman- ticist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend or to disgust. ‘They are with propriety handled only when the severity and majesty of truth sanctify and sustain them. We thrill, for example, with the most intense of “pleasurable pain” over the accounts of the Passage of the Beresina, of the Earthquake at Lisbon, of the Plague at London, of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, or of the stifling of the hundred and twenty-three prisoners in the Black Hole at Calcutta. But in these accounts it is the fact—it is the reality—it is the history which excites. As inventions, we should regard them with simple abhorrence. I have mentioned some few of the more prominent and august calamities on record; but in these it is the extent, not less than the character of the calamity, which so vividly impresses the fancy. JI need not remind the reader that, from the long and weird catalogue of human miseries, I might have selected many individual instances more replete with essential suffering than any of these vast generalities of disaster. The true wretchedness, indeed—the ultimate woe is particular, not diffuse. That the ghastly extremes of agony are endured by man the unit, and never by man the mass—for this let us thank a merciful God! To be buried while alive is beyond question the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. That it has frequently, very fre- quently, so fallen, will scarcely be denied by those who think. The boundaries which divide life from death are 316THE PREMATURE BURIAL 317 at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and where the other begins? We know that there are diseases in which occur total cessations of all the apparent functions of vitality, and yet in which these cessations are merely suspensions, properly so called. They are only temporary pauses in the incomprehensible mechanism. A certain period elapses, and some unseen mysterious principle again sets in motion the magic pin- ions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was not for ever loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably broken. But where meantime was the soul? Apart, however, from the inevitable conclusion, a priori, that such causes must produce such effects—that the well-known occurrence of such cases of suspended animation must naturally give rise now and then to premature interments—apart from this consideration, we have the direct testimony of medical and ordinary experience to prove that a vast number of such inter- ments have actually taken place. I might refer at once, if necessary, to a hundred well-authenticated instances. One of very remarkable character, and of which the cir- cumstances may be fresh in the memory of some of my readers, occurred not very long ago in the neighbouring city of Baltimore, where it occasioned a painful, intense, and widely-extended excitement. The wife of one of the most respectable citizens—a lawyer of eminence and a member of Congress—was seized with a sudden and un- accountable illness, which completely baffled the skill of her physicians. After much suffering she died, or was supposed to die. No one suspected, indeed, or had rea- son to suspect, that she was not actually dead. She presented all the ordinary appearances of death. The face assumed the usual pinched and sunken outline. The lips were of the usual marble pallor. The eyes were lustreless. There was no warmth. Pulsation had et says eS ee ery ee ee ee ee : = - aa Oe el ded ee ee ee ee a ee eee aed ieee iets te teeee ee ee eee at. es ee 318 EDGAR ALLAN POE ceased. For three days the body was preserved un- buried, during which it had acquired a stony rigidity. The funeral, in short, was hastened, on account of the rapid advance of what was supposed to be decomposi- tion. The lady was deposited in her family vault, which for three subsequent years was undisturbed. At the expira- tion of this term it was opened for the reception of a sarcophagus ;—but, alas! how fearful a shock awaited the husband, who personally threw open the door. As its portals swung outwardly back, some white-appar- elled object fell rattling within his arms. It was the skeleton of his wife in her yet unmouldered shroud. A careful investigation rendered it evident that she had revived within two days after her entombment—that her struggles within the coffin had caused it to fall from a ledge or shelf to the floor, where it was so broken as to permit her escape. A lamp which had been acci- dentally left full of oil within the tomb was found empty; it might have been exhausted, however, by evaporation. On the uppermost of the steps which led down into the dread chamber was a large fragment of the coffin, with which it seemed that she had endeav- oured to arrest attention by striking the iron door. While thus occupied she probably swooned, or possibly died, through sheer terror; and, in falling, her shroud became entangled in some iron-work which projected interiorly. Thus she remained, and thus she rotted, erect. In the year 1810, a case of living inhumation hap- pened in France, attended with circumstances which go far to warrant the assertion that truth is indeed stranger than fiction. The heroine of the story was a Madem- oiselle Victorine Lafourcade, a young girl of illustrious family, of wealth, and of great personal beauty. AmongTHE PREMATURE BURIAL 319 her numerous suitors was Julien Bossuet, a poor littéra- teur, or journalist, of Paris. His talents and general amiability had recommended him to the notice of the heiress, by whom he seems to have been truly beloved ; but her pride of birth decided her finally to reject him, and to wed a Monsieur Renelle, a banker, and a diplo- matist of some eminence. After marriage, however, this gentleman neglected, and perhaps even more positively ill-treated her. Having passed with him some wretched years, she died—at least her condition so closely re- sembled death as to deceive every one who saw her. She was buried—not in a vault—but in an ordinary grave in the village of her nativity. Filled with despair, and still inflamed by the memory of a profound attach- ment, the lover journeys from the capital to the remote province in which the village lies, with the romantic purpose of disinterring the corpse and possessing him- self of its luxuriant tresses. He reaches the grave. At midnight he unearths the coffin, opens it, and is in the act of detaching the hair, when he is arrested by the unclosing of the beloved eyes. In fact, the lady had been buried alive. Vitality had not altogether departed ; and she was aroused by the caresses of her lover from the lethargy which had been mistaken for death. He bore her frantically to his lodgings in the village. He employed certain powerful restoratives suggested by no little medical learning. In fine, she revived. She rec- ognized her preserver. She remained with him until by slow degrees she fully recovered her original health. Her woman’s heart was not adamant, and this last les- son of love sufficed to soften it. She bestowed it upon Bossuet. She returned no more to her husband, but concealing from him her resurrection, fled with her lover to America. Twenty years afterwards the two returned to France, in the persuasion that time had so greatly dene bane bade bed he Fores ye tcegie i hh : és +s u he bt ese tre oe ee tgs eteeges ee ee ee ee) TT a a eeeee Pe eee eee een ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ae SS a eee ee 320 EDGAR ALLAN POE altered the lady’s appearance that her friends would be unable to recognize her. They were mistaken, how- ever; for at the first meeting Monsieur Renelle did actu- ally recognize and make claim to his wife. ‘This claim she resisted; and a judicial tribunal sustained her in her resistance, deciding that the peculiar circumstances, with the long lapse of years, had extinguished, not only equitably but legally, the authority of the husband. The “Chirurgical Journal” of Leipsic—a periodical of high authority and merit, which some American bookseller would do well to translate and republish— records in a late number a very distressing event of the character in question. An officer of artillery, a man of gigantic stature and of robust health, being thrown from an unmanageable horse, received a very severe contusion upon the head, which rendered him insensible at once; the skull was slightly fractured, but no immediate danger was appre- hended. Trepanning was accomplished successfully. He was bled, and many other of the ordinary means of relief were adopted. Gradually, however, he fell into a more and more hopeless state of stupor, and, finally, it was thought that he died. The weather was warm, and he was buried with inde- cent haste in one of the public cemeteries. His funeral took place on Thursday. On the Sunday following the grounds of the cemetery were as usual much thronged with visitors; and about noon an intense excitement was created by the declaration of a peasant that, while sit- ting upon the grave of the officer, he had distinctly felt a commotion of the earth, as if occasioned by some one struggling beneath. At first little attention was paid to the man’s asseveration; but his evident terror, and the dogged obstinacy with which he persisted in his story, had at length their natural effect upon the crowd.tum Viale THE PREMATURE BURIAL 321 Spades were hurriedly procured, and the grave, which was shamefully shallow, was in a few minutes so far thrown open that the head of its occupant appeared. He was then seemingly dead, but he sat nearly erect within his coffin, the lid of which, in his furious strug- gles, he had partially uplifted. He was forthwith conveyed to the nearest hospital, : ee Pere ee ey ee Se f : bs Se ee Ld and there pronounced to be still living, although in an asphyctie condition. After some hours he revived, rec- ognized individuals of his acquaintance, and in broken sentences spoke of his agonies in the grave. From what he related it was clear that he must have been conscious of life for more than an hour, while in- humed, before lapsing into insensibility. ‘The grave was carelessly and loosely filled with an exceedingly porous soil, and thus some air was necessarily admitted. He heard the footsteps of the crowd overhead, and endeay- oured to make himself heard in turn. It was the tumult within the grounds of the cemetery, he said, which ap- peared to awaken him from a deep sleep, but no sooner was he awake than he became fully aware of the awful horrors of his position. This patient it is recorded was doing well, and seemed to be in a fair way of ultimate recovery, but fell a victim to the quackeries of medical experiment. The galvanic battery was applied, and he suddenly expired in one of those ecstatic paroxysms which occasionally it super- induces. The mention of the galvanic battery, nevertheless, recalls to my memory a well-known and very extra- ordinary case in point, where its action proved the means of restoring to animation a young attorney of London, who had been interred for two days. This occurred in 1831, and created at the time a very pro-ee ree eee Pe ee eee ee a ee Yt are See weer eta 322 EDGAR ALLAN POE found sensation wherever it was made the subject of converse. The patient, Mr. Edward Stapleton, had died ap- parently of typhus fever, accompanied with some anoma- lous symptoms which had excited the curiosity of his medical attendants. Upon his seeming decease his friends were requested to sanction a post mortem exami- nation, but declined to permit it. As often happens when such refusals are made, the practitioners resolved to disinter the body and dissect it at leisure in private. Arrangements were easily effected with some of the numerous corps of body-snatchers with which London abounds; and upon the third night after the funeral, the supposed corpse was unearthed from a grave eight feet deep, and deposited in the operating chamber of one of the private hospitals. An incision of some extent had been actually made in the abdomen, when the fresh and undecayed appearance of the subject suggested an application of the battery. One experiment succeeded another, and the customary effects supervened, with nothing to characterise them in any respect except upon one or two occasions a more than ordinary degree of life-likeness in the convulsive action. It grew late. The day was about to dawn, and it was thought expedient at length to proceed at once to the dissection. A student, however, was especially de- sirous of testing a theory of his own, and insisted upon applying the battery to one of the pectoral muscles. A rough gash was made, and a wire hastily brought in con- tact, when the patient, with a hurried but quite uncon- vulsive movement, arose from the table, stepped into the middle of the floor, gazed about him uneasily for a few seconds, and then spoke. What he said was unin- telligible; but the words were uttered; the syllabificationTHE PREMATURE BURIAL 323 was distinct. Having spoken, he fell heavily to the floor. For some moments all were paralyzed with awe—but the urgency of the case soon restored them to their presence of mind. It was seen that Mr. Stapleton was alive, although in a swoon. Upon exhibition of ether he revived and was rapidly restored to health, and to the society of his friends—from whom, however, all knowledge of his resuscitation was withheld, until a re- lapse was no longer to be apprehended. Their wonder —their rapturous astonishment—may be conceived. The most thrilling peculiarity of this incident, never- theless, is involved in what Mr. S. himself asserts. He declares that at no period was he altogether insensible— that, dully and confusedly he was aware of everything which happened to him, from the moment in which he was pronounced dead by his physicians, to that in which he fell swooning to the floor of the hospital. “I am alive,” were the uncomprehended words which, upon recognizing the locality of the dissecting-room, he had endeavoured in his extremity to utter. It were an easy matter to multiply such histories as these, but I forbear, for, indeed, we have no need of such to establish the fact that premature interments occur. When we reflect how very rarely, from the na- ture of the case, we have it in our power to detect them, we must admit that they may frequently occur without our cognisance. Scarcely, in truth, is a graveyard en- croached upon for any purpose, to any great extent, that skeletons are not found in postures which suggest the most fearful of suspicions. Fearful indeed the suspicion, but more fearful the doom! It may be asserted, without hesitation, that no event is so terribly well adapted to inspire the supreme- ness of bodily and of mental distress as is burial before ee ere ee ee oe eee : pal 2 er tS et eeee eee ta. os Dede Pere t ax ~— tl ee merece 324 EDGAR ALLAN POE death. The unendurable oppression of the lungs—the stifling fumes of the damp earth—the clinging to the death garments—the rigid embrace of the narrow house —the blackness of the absolute night—the silence like a sea that overwhelms—the unseen but palpable pres- ence of the conqueror worm—these things, with thoughts of the air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate, and with consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed—that our hopeless portion is that of the really dead—these considerations, I say, carry into the heart which still palpitates a degree of appalling and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagina- tion must recoil. We know of nothing so agonizing upon earth—we can dream of nothing half so hideous in the realms of the nethermost hell; and thus all narra- tives upon this topic have an interest so profound; an interest, nevertheless, which, through the sacred awe of the topic itself, very properly and very peculiarly de- pends upon our conviction of the truth of the matter narrated. What I have now to tell is of my own actual knowledge—of my own positive and personal experi- ence. For several years I have been subject to attacks of the singular disorder which physicians have agreed te term catalepsy in default of a more definite title. Al- though both the immediate and the predisposing causes, and even the actual diagnosis of this disease, are still mysterious, its obvious and apparent character is suffi- ciently well understood. Its variations seem to be chiefly of degree. Sometimes the patient lies for a day only, or even for a shorter period, in a species of exaggerated lethargy. He is senseless and externally motionless, but the pulsation of the heart is still faintly perceptible; some traces of warmth remain; a slight colour lingerst THE PREMATURE BURIAL 32! within the centre of the cheek; and upon application of a mirror to the lips we can detect a torpid, unequal, and vacillating action of the lungs. Then again the duration of the trance is for weeks—even for months; while the closest scrutiny, and the most rigorous medical tests, fail to establish any material distinction between the state of the sufferer and what we conceive of absolute death. Very usually he is saved from premature inter- ment solely by the knowledge of his friends that he has been previously subject to catalepsy, by the consequent suspicion excited, and, above all, by the non-appearance of decay. The advances of the malady are, luckily, gradual. The first manifestations, although marked, are unequivocal. The fits grow successively more and more distinctive, and endure each for a longer term than the preceding. In this lies the principal security from in- humation. The unfortunate whose first attack should be of the extreme character which is occasionally seen would almost inevitably be consigned alive to the tomb. My own case differed in no important particular from those mentioned in medical books. Sometimes, without any apparent cause, I sank, little by little, into a con- dition of semi-syncope or half-swoon; and in this condi- tion, without pain, without ability to stir, or, strictly speaking, to think, but with a dull lethargic conscious- ness of life and of the presence of those who surrounded my bed, I remained, until the crisis of the disease re- stored me, suddenly, to perfect sensation. At other times I was quickly and impetuously smitten. I grew sick, and numb, and chilly, and dizzy, and so fell pros- trate at once. Then for weeks all was void, and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe. Total annihilation could be no more. From these latter attacks I awoke, however, with a gradation slow in proportion to the suddenness of the seizure. Just as the day dawns seis eet bed ed eae hte Spe os ~ eceeses SSP et ee eee pteee ee ee Pe ee ee ee at - er ee ee a ey 326 EDGAR ALLAN POE to the friendless and houseless beggar who roams the street throughout the long desolate winter night—just so tardily—just so wearily—just so cheerily came back the light of the soul to me. Apart from the tendency to trance, however, my general health appeared to be good; nor could I per- ceive that it was at all affected by the one prevalent malady—unless, indeed, an idiosyncrasy in my ordinary sleep may be looked upon as superinduced. Upon awaking from slumber, I could never gain at once thorough possession of my senses, and always remained for many minutes in much bewilderment and perplexity; the mental faculties in general, but the memory in es- pecial, being in a condition of absolute abeyance. In all that I endured there was no physical suffering, but of moral distress an infinitude. My fancy grew charnel. I talked “of worms, of tombs, and epitaphs.” I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea of prema- ture burial held continual possession of my brain. The ghastly danger to which I was subjected haunted me day and night. In the former, the torture of meditation was excessive—in the latter, supreme. When the grim darkness overspread the earth, then, with very horror of thought, I shook—shook as the quivering plumes upon the hearse. When nature could endure wakefulness no longer, it was with a struggle that I consented to sleep —for I shuddered to reflect that upon awaking I might find myself the tenant of a grave. And when, finally, I sank into slumber, it was only to rush at once into a world of phantasms, above which, with vast, sable, over- shadowing wings, hovered predominant the one sepul- chral idea. From the innumerable images of gloom which thus oppressed me in dreams, I select for record but a solitary vision. Methought I was immersed in a cataleptic tranceTHE PREMATURE BURIAL 327 of more than usual duration and profundity. Suddenly there came an icy hand upon my forehead, and an im- patient gibbering voice whispered the word “arise!” within my ear. I sat erect. The darkness was total. I could not see the figure of him who had aroused me. I could call to mind neither the period at which I had fallen into the trance, nor the locality in which I then lay. While I remained motionless, and busied in endeavours to collect my thoughts, the cold hand grasped me fiercely by the wrist, shaking it petulantly, while the gibbering voice said again: ““Arise! did I not bid thee arise?’ “And who,” I demanded, “art thou?’ “TI have no name in the regions which I inhabit,” re- , > plied the voice, mournfully; “I was mortal, but am fiend. I was merciless, but am pitiful. Thou dost feel that I shudder. My teeth chatter as I speak, yet it is not with the chilliness of the night—of the night with- out end. But this hideousness is insufferable. How canst thou tranquilly sleep? I cannot rest for the ery of these great agonies. These sights are more than I can bear. Get thee up! Come with me into the outer night, and let me unfold to thee the graves. Is not this a spectacle of woe?—Behold!” I looked; and the unseen figure, which still grasped me by the wrist, had caused to be thrown open the graves of all mankind, and from each issued the faint phosphoric radiance of decay, so that I could see into the innermost recesses, and there view the shrouded bodies in their sad and solemn slumbers with the worm. But, alas! the real sleepers were fewer by many millions than those who slumbered not at all; and there was a feeble struggling; and there was a general sad unrest; and from out the depths of the countless pits there came a328 EDGAR ALLAN POE melancholy rustling from the garments of the buried; and of those who seemed tranquilly to repose I saw that a vast number had changed, in a greater or less degree, the rigid and uneasy position in which they had origi- nally been entombed. And the voice again said to me as I gazed: “Is it not—O, is it not a pitiful sight?” But before I could find words to reply, the figure had ceased to grasp my wrist, the phosphoric lights expired, and the graves were closed with a sudden violence, while from out them arose a tumult of despairing cries, saying again, “Is it not—O God! is it not a very pitiful sight?” Phantasies such as these presenting themselves at night extended their terrific influence far into my waking hours. My nerves became thoroughly unstrung, and I fell a prey to perpetual horror. I hesitated to ride, or to walk or to indulge in any exercise that would carry me from home. In fact, I no longer dared trust myself out of the immediate presence of those who were aware of my proneness to catalepsy, lest, falling into one of my usual fits, I should be buried before my real condi- tion could be ascertained. I doubted the care, the fidelity of my dearest friends. I dreaded that, in some trance of more than customary duration, they might be prevailed upon to regard me as irrecoverable. I even went so far as to fear that, as I occasioned much trouble, they might be glad to consider any very protracted at- tack as sufficient excuse for getting rid of me altogether. It was in vain they endeavoured to reassure me by the most solemn promises. I exacted the most sacred oaths that under no circumstances they would bury me until decomposition had so materially advanced as to render further preservation impossible; and even then my mortal terrors would listen to no reason, would accept no consolation. I entered into a series of elaborate pre-THE PREMATURE BURIAL 329 cautions. Amony other things, I had the family vault so remodelled as to admit of being readily opened from within. The slightest pressure upon a long lever that extended far into the tomb would cause the iron portals to fly back. There were arrangements also for the free admission of air and light, and convenient receptacles for food and water, within immediate reach of the coffin intended for my reception. This coffin was warmly and softly padded, and was provided with a lid, fashioned upon the principle of the vault-door, with the addition of springs so contrived that the feeblest movement of the body would be sufficient to set it at liberty. Besides all this, there was suspended from the roof of the tomb a large bell, the rope of which, it was designed, should extend through a hole in the coffin, and so be fastened to one of the hands of the corpse. But, alas! what avails the vigilance against the destiny of man? Not even these well-contrived securities sufficed to save from the uttermost agonies of living inhumation a wretch to these agonies foredoomed ! There arrived an epoch—as often before there had arrived—in which I found myself emerging from total unconsciousness into the first feeble and indefinite sense of existence. Slowly—with a tortoise gradation—ap- proached the faint grey dawn of the psychal day. A torpid uneasiness. An apathetic endurance of dull no effort. Then, after long pain. No care—no hope interval, a ringing in the ears; then, after a lapse still longer, a pricking or tingling sensation in the extremi- ties; then a seemingly eternal period of pleasurable quiescence, during which the awakening feelings are struggling into thought; then a brief re-sinking into nonentity ; then a sudden recovery. At length the slight quivering of an eyelid, and immediately thereupon an electric shock of a terror, deadly and indefinite, which Se eee tee - oe ot rt tte ele eee ee See ee re eea Ce eee ee es ee Oe ee ee ee ee + mee teaw-s2t a a. ot a alk ed ee Ee he eo FF Ot Pe Soe ek he 330 EDGAR ALLAN POE sends the blood in torrents from the temples to the heart. And now the first positive effort to think. And now the first endeavour to remember. And now a partial and evanescent success. And now the memory has so far regained its dominion that, in some measure, I am cognisant of my state. I feel that I am not awaking from ordinary sleep. I recollect that I have been sub- ject to catalepsy. And now, at last, as if by the rush of an ocean, my shuddering spirit is overwhelmed by the one grim danger—by the one spectral and ever-preva- lent idea. For some minutes after this fancy possessed me, I remained without motion. And why? I could not summon courage to move. I dared not make the effort which was to satisfy me of my fate; and yet there was something at my heart which whispered me it was sure. Despair—such as no other species of wretchedness ever calls into being—despair alone urged me after long irresolution to uplift the heavy lids of my eyes. I up- lifted them. It was dark—all dark. I knew that the fit was over. I knew that the crisis of my disorder had long passed. I knew that I had now fully recovered the use of my visual faculties—and yet it was dark— all dark—the intense and utter raylessness of the night that endureth for evermore. I endeavoured to shriek, and my lips and my parched tongue moved convulsively together in the attempt—but no voice issued from the cavernous lungs, which, op- pressed as if by the weight of some incumbent mountain, gasped and palpitated, with the heart, at every elaborate and struggling inspiration. The movement of the jaws in this effort to cry aloud showed me that they were bound up, as is usual with the dead. I felt too that I lay upon some hard substance; and by something similar my sides were also closelyTHE PREMATURE BURIAL 331 compressed. So far I had not ventured to stir any of my limbs—but now I violently threw up my arms, which had been lying at length with the wrists crossed. They struck a solid wooden substance which extended above , person at an elevation of not more than six inches “eee my face. I could no longer doubt that I reposed within a coffin at last. And now amid all my infinite miseries came sweetly the cherub hope—for I thought of my precautions. I writhed and made spasmodic exertions to force open the lid; it would not move. I felt my wrists for the bell- rope; it was not to be found. And now the comforter fled for ever, and a still sterner despair reigned trium- phant; for I could not help perceiving the absence of the paddings which I had so carefully prepared; and then too there came suddenly to my nostrils the strong peculiar odour of moist earth. The conclusion was irresistible. I was not within the vault. I had fallen into a trance while absent from home—while among strangers—when or how I could not remember; and it was they who had buried me as a dog—nailed up in some common coffin—and thrust deep, deep, and for ever, into some ordinary and nameless grave. As this awful conviction forced itself thus into the innermost chambers of my soul, I once again struggled to cry aloud; and in this second endeavour I succeeded. A long, wild, and continuous shriek, or yell of agony resounded through the realms of the subterrene night. “Hillo! hillo, there!’ said a gruff voice, in reply. ‘What the devil’s the matter now?” said a second. “Get out o’ that!” said a third. “What do you mean by yowling in that ere kind of style like a cattymount?” said a fourth; and hereupon I was seized and shaken without ceremony for several minutes by a junto of very rough-looking individuals. Se ee eee ee oe ee te ee een ee fe ee eee “er Tyee £2 Peet wy. cao soot Se ee ee ee 332 EDGAR ALLAN POE They did not arouse me from my slumber—for I was wide awake when I screamed—but they restored me to the full possession of my memory. This adventure occurred near Richmond, in Virginia. Accompanied by a friend I had proceeded upon a gun- ning expedition some miles down the banks of James River. Night approached, and we were overtaken by a storm. The cabin of a small sloop lying at anchor in the stream, and laden with garden mould, afforded us the only available shelter. We made the best of it, and passed the night on board. I slept in one of the only two berths in the vessel—and the berths of a sloop of sixty or seventy tons need scarcely be described. That which I occupied had no bedding of any kind. Its extreme width was eighteen inches. The distance of its bottom from the deck overhead was precisely the same. I found it a matter of exceeding difficulty to squeeze myself in. Nevertheless, I slept soundly; and the whole of my vision—for it was no dream, and no nightmare—arose naturally from the circumstances of my position—from my ordinary bias of thought, and from the difficulty, to which I have alluded, of collecting my senses, and especially of regaining my memory for a long time after awaking from slumber. The men who shook me were the crew of the sloop and some labourers engaged to unload it. From the load itself came the earthy smell. The bandage about the jaws was a silk handkerchief in which I had bound up my head in de- fault of my customary nightcap. The tortures endured, however, were indubitably quite equal for the time to those of actual sepulture. They were fearfully—they were inconceivably hideous; but out of evil proceeded good, for their very excess wrought in my spirit an inevitable revulsion. My soul acquired tone—acquired temper. I went abroad. I took vigorousTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 333 exercise. I breathed the free air of heaven. I thought upon other subjects than death. I discarded my medical books. “Buchan” I burned. I read no “Night Thoughts’”—no fustian about churchyards—no bugaboo tales—such as this. In short I became a new man and lived a man’s life. From that memorable night I dis- missed for ever my charnal apprehensions, and with them vanished the cataleptic disorder, of which perhaps they had been less the consequence than the cause. There are moments when, even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of a hell; but the imagination of man is no Carathis to explore with impunity its every cavern. Alas! the grim legion of sepulchral terrors cannot be regarded as altogether fanciful; but, like the demons in whose company Afrasiab made his voyage down the Oxus, they must sleep or they will devour us—they must be suffered to slumber or we perish. THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture-—Sir Thomas Browne. Tue mental features discoursed of as the analytical are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talent_ » a edt Godt ee. roel abe se er ee: aa _ etree rie: Se eee eee ee ee eS ae ee stepegs a ee ee oe 334 EDGAR ALLAN POE into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary appre- hension preternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition. The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invig- orated by mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has been called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet to calculate is not in itself to analyse. A chess-player, for example, does the one without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar narrative by ob- servations very much at random; I will therefore take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and bizarre motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex is mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is profound. The attention is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is committed, resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being not only manifold but involute, the chances of such oversights are multi- plied; and in nine cases out of ten it is the more concen- trative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed, what advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superiorTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 335 acumen. To be less abstract—let us suppose a game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some recherché movement, the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or hurry into miscalculation. Whist has long been noted for its influence upon what is termed the calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in all those more important under- takings where mind struggles with mind. When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whence legitimate advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold but multiform, and lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible to the ordi- nary understanding. To observe attentively is to re- member distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally comprehen- sible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to proceed by “the book,” are points commonly regarded as the sum-total of good playing. But it is in matters beyondet ee ee ee ee oe oe ee ee ee a Dae 336 EDGAR ALLAN POE the limits of mere rules that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the difference in the extent of the information obtained lies not so much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the observation. The necessary knowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because the game is the object, does he reject deductions from things external to the game. He examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully with that of each of his opponents. He con- siders the mode of assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by trump, and honour by honour, through the glances bestowed by their holders upon each. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of thought from the differ- ences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, of tri- umph, or of chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make another in the suit. He recognises what is played through feint, by the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their arrange- ment; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepida- tion—all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been played, he is in full posses- sion of the contents of each hand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their own. The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily in-THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 337 genious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of analysis. ‘The constructive or combining power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have attracted general ob- servation among writers on morals. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater indeed than that between the fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic. The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propo- sitions just advanced. Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18—, I there became acquainted with a Mon- sieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent—indeed, of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy of his character succumbed be- neath it, and he ceased to bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and upon the income arising from this, he managed by means of a rigorous economy to procure the necessaries of life, without trou- bling himself about its superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily ob- tained. Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare and very remarkable vol- ee eee ee eeeee ee eee a ae ee ee ee ee 338 EDGAR ALLAN POE ume brought us into closer communion. We saw each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little family history which he detailed to me with all that candour which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is his theme. I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervour and the vivid freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the ob- jects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting and furnishing, in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain. Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen —although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed, the locality of our retirement had been carefully kept a secret from my own former associates; and it had been many years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed within ourselves alone. It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamoured of the Night for her own sake; and into this bigarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon. The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her pres-THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 339 ence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the massive shutters of our old building; lighting a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams—reading, writ- ing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets, arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observa- tion can afford. At such times I could not help remarking and admir- ing (although from his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight in its exercise—if not exactly in its display—and did not hesitate to con- fess the pleasure thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to him- self, wore windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His man- ner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would have sounded petulantly but for the deliberateness and entire distinct- ness of the enunciation. Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a double Dupin—the creative and the resolvent. Let it not be supposed from what I have just said that I am detailing any mystery, or penning any ro- mance. What I have described in the Frenchman was merely the result of an excited or perhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at oo. eepQiueuieseagrenenentre:t-4 cs ae A et eee <¢*sa2e0 340 EDGAR ALLAN POE the periods in question an example will best convey the idea. We were strolling one night dewn a long dirty street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being both appar- ently occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forth with these words: “He is a very little fellow, that’s true, and would do better for the Théatre des Variétés.” “There can be no doubt of that,” tingly, and not at first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with my meditations. In an instant afterwards I recollected myself, and my astonishment was profound. “Dupin,” said I gravely, “this is beyond my compre- hension. I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you should know I was thinking of—?” Here I paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought. “of Chantilly,’ said he; “why do you pause? You were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy.”’ This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted the réle of Xerxes, in Crébillon’s tragedy so called, and I replied unwit- been notoriously pasquinaded for his pains. “Tell me, for Heaven’s sake,’ I exclaimed, “the method—if method there is—by which you have been enabled to fathom my soul in this matter.’’ In fact, I was even more startled than I would have been willing to express. “It was the fruiterer,’ replied my friend, ‘whoTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 341 brought you to the conclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne.” I know no fruit- “The fruiterer!—you astonish me erer whomsoever.” “The man who ran up against you as we entered the street—it may have been fifteen minutes ago.” I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down by accident as we passed from the Rue C into the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand. There was not a particle of charlatanerie about Dupin. “T will explain,” he said; “‘and that you may comprehend ail clearly, we will first retrace the course of your medi- tations from the moment in which I spoke to you until that of the rencontre with the fruiterer in question. The larger links of the chain ran thus—Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer.” There are few persons who have not at some period of their lives amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is often full of interest; and he who attempts it for the first time is astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence between the starting-point and the goal. What then must have been my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken the truth. He continued: ‘We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright, This was the last just before leaving the Rue C subject we discussed. As we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon his head, brushing etedht ee eet te ee ee Fo ( geese ee5c e@ees342 EDGAR ALLAN POE quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly sprained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words, turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not particu- larly attentive to what you did; but observation has become with me, of late, a species of necessity. “You kept your eyes upon the ground—glancing, with a petulant expression, at the holes and ruts in the pave- ment (so that I saw you were still thinking of the stones ), until we reached the little alley called Lamar- tine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your counte- nance brightened up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you murmured the word ‘stereot-_ omy, a term very affectedly applied to this species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself ‘stereotomy’ without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula in Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was now assured that I had cor- rectly followed your steps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday’s ‘Musée,’ the satirist making some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler’s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we have often conversed. I mean the line— Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 343 I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written Urion, and from certain pungencies connected with this explanation I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by the character of the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor cobbler’s immolation. So far you had been stooping in your gait, but now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little fellow that Chantilly, he would do better at the Théatre des Variétés.” Not long after this we were looking over an evening edition of the “Gazette des Tribunaux,’” when the fol- lowing paragraphs arrested our attention. “Ex?RAORDINARY Murpers.—This morning about three o’clock the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth storey of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occu- pancy of one Madame L’Espanaye, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbours entered, accompanied by two gendarmes. By this time the cries had ceased, but as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in angry contention were distinguished, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached these sounds also had ceased, and everything remained perfectly quiet. The party spread themselves and hur- ried from room to room. Upon arriving at a large backPEPE V2 at 3 i Oe eS eee ee St ee eee ee ee Ee ee ee eee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee a ae ee ee 7 Se ek eee eensacne 344 EDGAR ALLAN POE chamber in the fourth storey (the door of which, being found locked with the key inside, was forced open), a spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less with horror than with astonishment. “The apartment was in the wildest disorder, the furni- ture broken and thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead, and from this the bed had been removed and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair lay a razor besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an earring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of métal d’Alger, and two bags containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau which stood in one corner were open, and had been apparently rifled, although many articles still re- mained in them. A small iron safe was discovered under the bed (not under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old letters and other papers of little consequence. “Of Madame L’Espanaye no traces were here seen, but an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fireplace, a search was made in the chimney, and (hor- rible to relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head down- ward, was dragged therefrom, it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon examining it many ex- coriations were perceived, no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up and disen- gaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and upon the throat, dark bruises and deep indentations of finger-nails, as if the deceased had been throttled to death. “After a thorough investigation of every portion ofTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 345 the house, without further discovery, the party made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off. The body as well as the head was fearfully mutilated, the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance of humanity. “To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the slightest clue.” The next day’s paper had these additional particulars. “The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue-——Many individuals have been examined in relation to this most extraordi- nary and frightful affair” [the word “affaire” has not yet in France that levity of import which it conveys with us], “but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light upon it. We give below all the material testimony elicited. “Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has known both the deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period. ‘The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms—very affectionate to- wards each other. They were excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Be- lieved that Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Never met any persons in the house when she called for the clothes or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building except in the fourth storey. “Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L’Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in the neighbourhood, and has always resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the hcuse in which the corpses were found for more than six pe ee eee ee eee tat eal eeeee er es a ee -penendoscemerege ers -ori-<-+-s- ae a ss Ps Qo Patese gsc rin tabatas 346 EDGAR ALLAN POE years. It was formerly occupied by a jeweller, who underlet the upper rooms to various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life—were reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbours that Madame L. told fortunes—did not believe it. Had never seen any person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times. ‘Many other persons, neighbours, gave evidence to the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting the house. It was not known whether there were any living connections of Madame L. and her daughter. The shut- ters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear were always closed with the exception of the large back room, fourth storey. The house was a good house, not very old. “Tsidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was called to the house about three o’clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway endeavouring to gain admittance. Forced it open at length with a bayonet—not with a crowbar. Had but little difficulty in getting it open on account of its being a double or folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks were continued until the gate was forced, and then suddenly ceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony, were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way upstairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry contention—the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller—a very strangeTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 347 voice. Could distinguish some words of the former, which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was not a woman's voice. Could distinguish the words ‘sacré’ and ‘diable.’ The shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of the bodies was described by this wit- hess as we described them yesterday. ‘Henri Duval, a neighbour, and by trade a silver- smith, deposes that he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates the testimony of Muset in general. As soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the door to keep out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, this witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not French. Could not be sure that it was a man’s voice. It might have been a woman’s. Was not acquainted with the Italian language. Could not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the in- tonation that the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had conversed with both fre- quently. Was sure that the shrill voice was not that of either of the deceased. eS ee eeOR ee ee ee ee ee ee es ee es 356 EDGAR ALLAN POE believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I have already spoken of his ab- stract manner at such times. His discourse was ad- dressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud, had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only the wall. “That the voices heard in contention,” he said, “by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter, and afterwards have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L’Espanaye would have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter’s corpse up the chim- ney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of self-de- struction. Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert—not to the whole testimony respecting these voices—but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did you observe any- thing peculiar about it?” I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in sup- posing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh voice. “That was the evidence itself,’ said Dupin, “but it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You have ob- served nothing distinctive. Yet there was something to be observed. The witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But in re- gard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is—not that they disagreed—but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, aTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 357 Spaniard, a Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it—not to the voice of an individual of any nation with whose language he is con- versant—but the converse. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard, and ‘might have distinguished some words had he been acquainted with the Spanish.’ The Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a Frenchman; but we find it stated that ‘not understand- ing French, this witness was examined through an inter- preter. The Englishman thinks it the voice of a German, and ‘does not understand German.’ The Spaniard ‘is sure’ that it was that of an Englishman, but ‘Judges by the intonation’ altogether, ‘as he has no knowledge of the English.’ The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but ‘has never conversed with a native of Russia” A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian: but, not being cognisant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, ‘convinced by the intonation.’ Now, how strangely un- usual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony as this could have been elicited!—in whose tones, even, denizens of the five great divisions of Europe could recognise nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic—of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness ‘harsh rather than shrill.’ It is repre- sented by two others to have been ‘quick and unequal.’ No words—no sounds resembling words—were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable. “I know not,” continued Dupin, “what impression | may have made, so far, upon your own understanding, ehh Saad at ek Yt ee oe ee eee ee re reo se |ee a toe ee ee ee Oe ee ee ee a re eo 358 EDGAR ALLAN POE but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony—the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices—are in themselves sufficient to engender a suspicion which should give direction to all further progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said ‘legitimate deductions, but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones, and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the single result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form—a certain tendency—to my inquiries in the chamber. “Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believes in preternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L’Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and escaped materially. Then how? Fortu- nately there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision. Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where Mademoiselle L’Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining, when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls in every direction. No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys These, although of ordinary width for some eight or tenfeet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent ‘impossibilities’ are, in reality, not such. “There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavoured to raise it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head. Upon examin- ing the other window a similar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash failed also. The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And, there- fore, it was thought a matter of supererogation to with- draw the nails and open the windows. “My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the reason I have just given—because here it was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must be proved to be not such in reality. “I proceeded to think thus—a posteriori. The mur- derers did escape from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have re-fastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened—the con- THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 359 Ce i nel ee ee ee ee360 EDGAR ALLAN POE sideration which puts a stop, through its obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then, have the power of fastening themselves. There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructed casement, withdrew the nails with some difficulty, and attempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now knew, exist; and this corroboration of my idea convinced me that my premises, at least, were correct, however mysterious still appeared the circumstances attending the nails. A careful search soon brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the dis- covery, forbore to upraise the sash. “T now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the spring would have caught; but the nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my investiga- tions. The assassins must have escaped through the other window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, as was probable, there must be found a difference between the nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed, identical in character with its neighbour. I now looked at the nail. It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same manner, driven in nearly up to the head. “You will say that I was puzzled; but if you think so you must have misunderstood the nature of the induc- tions. To use a sporting phrase, I had not been once ‘at fault.’ The scent had never for an instant beenTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 361 lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the secret to its ultimate result; and that result was the nail.It had, I say, in every respect the appearance of its fellow in the other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive as it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here at this point terminated the clue. “There must be some- thing wrong,’ I said, ‘about the nail.’ I touched it, and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had partially imbedded in the top of the bottom sash the head portion of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head portion in the indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect nail was complete—the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again perfect. “The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. ‘The assassin had escaped through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of this spring which had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail,— further inquiry being thus considered unnecessary. “The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About five feet and a half from the casement in question there runs a lightning- rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of ee ee ee ee esreeesericts:+3 -teet ee Oe ee ee ee ee ee ote. sa red A ee ee et et ee Se te eee 362 EDGAR ALLAN POE entering it. I observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth storey were of the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters ferrades—a kind rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at Lyons and Bourdeaux. ‘They are in the form of an ordinary door (a single, not a folding door), except that the lower half is latticed or worked in open trellis, thus affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house they were both about half open that is to say, they stood off at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they must have done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having once satisfied them- selves that no egress could have been made in this quar- ter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory examination. It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the window at the head of the bed would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that by exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage an entrance into the window from the rod might have been thus effected. By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might even have swung himself into the room.THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 363 “I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a very unusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardous and so difficult a feat. It is my design to show vou, first, that the thing might pos- sibly have been accomplished; but, secondly and chiefly, I wish to impress upon your understanding the very extraordinary, the almost preternatural, character of that agility which could have accomplished it. “You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that ‘to make out my case’ I should rather under- value than insist upon a full estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to place in juxtaposition that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken with that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected.” At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension, without power to comprehend, as men at times find themselves upon the brink of remembrance, without being able in the end to remember. My friend went on with his discourse. “You will see,’ he said, “that I have shifted the question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the idea that both were effected in the same manner at the same point. Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them. The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess—a very silly one—and no more. ee ee eeeae See eer eee es eee ee ee oe eee ae oleae es red ee ey ee Ee a at 364 EDGAR ALLAN POE How are we to know that the articles found in the drawers were not all these drawers had originally con- tained? Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life—saw no company—seldom went out—had little use for numerous changes of habili- ment. Those found were at least of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why did he not take the best—why did he not take all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen? The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered in bags upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blun- dering idea of motive, engendered in the brains of the police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of our lives, without attracting even momentary notice. Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been edu- cated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities— that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustra- tion. In the present instance, had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days before would have formed something more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive together. “Keeping now steadily in mind the points to whichTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 365 I have drawn your attention—that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as this—let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this. Least of all do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was some- thing excessively outré something altogether irreconcil- able with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been that strength which could have thrust the body up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigour of several persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down! “Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigour most marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses—very thick tresses—of grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight) were clotted with fragments of the flesh of the scalp— sure token of the prodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half-a-million of hairs at atime. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body—the instrument was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutal ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L’Espanaye I do not speak. Mon- sieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor, Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the eer ee ee oe ee SeesecsSe ee ee ee ee et are Se ee ae ee rd De ee ee eed ee ee 366 EDGAR ALLAN POE stone pavement in the yard upon which the victim had fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them—because, by the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened at all. “If, now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in horror abso- lutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What impression have I made upon your fancy?” I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. “A madman,” I said, “has done this deed— some raving maniac escaped from a neighbouring maison de santé.” “In some respects,” he replied, “your idea is not irrelevant; but the voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it?” “Dupin!” I said, completely unnerved, “this hair is most unusual—this is no human hair.” “T have not asserted that it is,” said he; “but, beforeTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 367 we decide this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here traced upon this paper. It is a facsimile drawing of what has been described in one portion of the testimony as ‘dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails,’ upon the throat of Made- moiselle L’Espanaye, and in another (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne), as a ‘series of livid spots evidently the impression of fingers.’ “You will perceive,” continued my friend, spreading out the paper upon the table before us, “that this draw- ing gives the idea of a firm and fixed hold. There is no slipping apparent. Each finger has retained—possibly until the death of the victim—the fearful grasp by which it originally embedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impres- sions as you see them.”’ I made the attempt in vain. “We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial,” he said. “The paper is spread out upon a plane sur- face; but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which is about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the experiment again.” I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. “This,” I said, “is the mark of no human hand.” “Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier.”’ It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the large fulvous Ourang-outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.368 EDGAR ALLAN POE 5 “The description of the digits,” said I, as I made an end of reading, “is in exact accordance with this draw- ing. I see that no animal but an Ourang-outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed the inden- tations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly comprehend the par- ticulars of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contention, and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman.” “True; and you will remember an expression attri- buted almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice —the expression ‘Mon Dieu!’ This, under the circum- stances, has been justly characterised by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner) as an expression of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman was cognisant of the murder. It is possible—indeed it is far more than probable—that he was innocent of all participation in the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang- outang may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating cir- cumstances which ensued, he could never have recap- tured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses—for I have no right to call them more—since the shades of reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will call them guesses, then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, inno- cent of this atrocity, this advertisement which I left last night upon our return home at the office of ‘Le Monde’THE RUE THE MURDERS IN (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and much sought by sailors) will bring him to our residence.” He handed me a paper, and I read thus: “Cauaut.—In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the inst. (the morning of the murder), a very large tawny Ourang-outang of the Bornese species. The owner (who is ascertained to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel) may have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call at N , Rue eX 3” szeme. » Faubourg St. Germain—au troi- “How was it possible,’ I asked, “that you should know the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel P”’ “I do not know it,” said Dupin. “I am not sure of it. Here, however, is a piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all, I am wrong in my in- duction from this ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognisant, although innocent, of the murder, the Frenchinsatwil naturally hesitate about replying to the advertisement—about demanding the Ourang- MORGUE 369 ee a re rea ee ee ee ee ae a a Pe ee eee eRe at oo 370 EDGAR ALLAN POE outang. He will reason thus:—‘I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-outang is of great value—to one in my circumstances a fortune of itselfi—why should I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne —at a vast distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police are at fault—they have failed to procure the slightest clue. Should they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me cognisant of the murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of that cognisance. Above all, I am known. The advertiser designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the animal at least liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement, get the Ourang- outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown OVETNG: At this moment we heard a step upon the stair. “Be ready,’ said Dupin, “with your pistols, but neither use them nor show them until at a signal from myself.” The front door of the house had been left open, and the visitor had entered without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descend- ing. Dupin was moving quickly to the doer, when we again heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber. “Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone. A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently—a tall,THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 371 stout, and muscular-looking person, with a certain dare- devil expression of countenance, not altogether unpre- possessing. His face, greatly sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us “good evening’ in French accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin. “Sit down, my friend,’ said Dupin. “I suppose you have called about the Ourang-outang. Upon my word I almost envy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old do you suppose him to be?” The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied in an assured tone: “T have no way of telling—but he can’t be more than four or five years old. Have you got him here?” “Oh no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?” “To be sure I an, sir.” “T shall be sorry to part with him,” said Dupin. “T don’t mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing, sir,’ said the man. ‘“Couldn’t expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal—that is to say, anything in reason.” “Well,” replied my friend, “that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me think!—what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue.” Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, andea ee ee ee ee ee a oe! ee ay ee 372 very quietly. EDGAR ALLAN POE Just as quietly, too, he walked towards the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it, with- out the least flurry, upon the table. The sailor’s face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself. the bottom of my heart. “My friend,’ said Dupin in a kind tone, “you are alarming yourself unnecessarily—you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some measure impli- ne injury. cated in them. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from I pledge you the honour From what I have already said, you must know that I have had means of information about this matter dreamed. impunity. means of which you could never have Now the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have avoided—nothing, cer- tainly, which renders you culpable. You were not even cuilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with You have nothing reason for concealment. On bound by every principle of honour to confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpe- trator.” to conceal. You have no the other hand, you are The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all gone. “So help me God,” said he, after a brief pause, “I will tell you all I know about this affair;—but J do notTHE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 378 expect you to believe one-half I say—I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die for it.” What he stated was in substance this. He had lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own ex- clusive possession. After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract towards himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbours, he kept it carefully secluded until such time as it should recover from a wound in the foot received from a splin- ter on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it. Returning home from some sailor's frolic on the night, or rather in the morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room, into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely confined. Razor im hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting before a looking-glass at- tempting the operation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master through the key- hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-outang sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down the stairs and thence through a window, unfortunately open, into the street. The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor374 EDGAR ALLAN POE still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at his pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off. In this man- ner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive’s attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of Madame L’Espanaye’s chamber, in the fourth storey of her house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the light- ning-rod, clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-outang as it entered the room. The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had ventured except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A lightning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter, hab- ited in their night-clothes, had apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest already men-THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 375 tioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting with their backs towards the window; and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The flapping to of the shutter would naturally have been at- tributed to the wind. As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame L’Espanaye by the hair (which was loose as she had been combing it), and was flourishing the razor about her face in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless; she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during which the hair was torn from her head ) had the effect of changing the probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-outang into those of wrath. With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into frenzy. Gnashing its teeth and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast, which no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was instantly con- verted into fear. Conscious of having deserved punish- ment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation, throwing down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that— . _ SY ee g whe ts OP ee a 2 Soe 3 te Sas es a ab ae eee wre eee ee eee Pee ee ee ee ee eS Se ee ee ee eer 376 EDGAR ALLAN POE of the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window headlong. As the ape approached the casement with its muti- lated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at once home—dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Ourang-outang. The words heard by the party upon the staircase were the Frenchman’s ex- clamations of horror and affright, commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute. I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-outang must have escaped from the chamber by the rod, just before the breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes. Lebon was in- stantly released, upon our narration of the circum- stances (with some comments from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, how- ever well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two about the propriety of every person minding his own business. “Let him talk,” said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary to reply. “Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience. I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this mystery is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna,—or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially for one master-THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 377 stroke of cant, by which he has attained his reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has ‘de nier ce qui est, et d’expliquer ce qui n’est pas.’””* THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET * > A SEQUEL TO “THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklichkeit parallel liuft. Selten fallen sie zusammen. Menschen und Zufille modificiren gewohnlich die idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie unvoll- kommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen sind. So bei der Reformation; statt des Protestantismus kam das Luther- thum hervor. There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances, generally modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Reformation; instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism.—N ovalis—Moralische Ansichten. l'Rousseau—Nouvelle Héloise. 2 Upon the original publication of “‘Marie Rogét,” the foot-notes now appended were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several years since the tragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it ex- ‘ve them, and also to say a few words in explanation of A young girl, Mary Cecilia Rogers, was murdered in the vicinity of New York; and although her death occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery attending it had remained unsolved at the period when the present paper was written and published (November 1842). Herein, under pretence of relating the fate of a Parisian grisette, the author has followed in minute detail, the essential, while merely paralleling the inessential facts of the real murder of Mary Rogers. Thus all argument founded upon the fiction is applicable to the truth; and the investigation of the truth was the object. The “Mystery of Marie Rogét” was composed at a distance from the scene of the atrocity, and with no other means of investigation than the newspapers afforded. Thus much escaped the writer of which he could have availed himself had he been upon the spot, and visited the localities. It may not be improper to record, neverthe- less, that the confessions of two persons (one of them the Madame Deluc of the narrative), made at different periods, long subsequent to the publication, confirmed in full, not only the general conclusion, but absolutely all the chief hypothetical details by which that con- clusion was attained. pedient to g the general design.ee ee ee ee ee cae ee ee ee ee eee So Se Se SE ee ee 378 EDGAR ALLAN POE THERE are few persons, even among the calmest think- ers, who have not occasionally been started into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural, by coinci- dences of so seemingly marvellous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable to re- ceive them. Such sentiments—for the half-credences of which I speak have never the full force of thought— such sentiments are seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the doctrine of chance, or, as it is technically termed, the Calculus of Probabilities. Now, this Calcu- lus is in its essence purely mathematical; and thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in science applied to the shadow and spirituality of the most in- tangible in speculation. The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to make public will be found to form, as regards sequence of time, the primary branch of a series of scarcely intelligible coincidences, whose secondary or concluding branch will be recognised by all readers in the late murder of Mary Cecizia Rogers, at New York. When, in an article entitled “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” I endeavoured, about a year ago, to de- pict some very remarkable features in the mental char- acter of my friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin, it did not occur to me that I should ever resume the sub- ject. This depicting of character constituted my design; and this design was thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances brought to instance Dupin’s idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced other examples, but I should have proved no more. Late events, however, in their surprising development, have startled me into some further details, which will carry with them the air of extorted confession. Hearing what I have lately heard, it would be indeed strange should I remain silent in regard to what I both heard and saw so long ago.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 379 Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deaths of Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter, the Chevalier dismissed the affair at once from his atten- tion, and relapsed into his old habits of moody reverie. Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I readily fell in with his humour; and continuing to occupy our chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams. But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. It may readily be supposed that the part played by my friend in the drama at the Rue Morgue, had not failed of its impression upon the fancies of the Parisian police. With its emissaries, the name of Dupin had grown into a household word. The simple character of those induc- tions by which he had disentangled the mystery never having been explained even to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself, of course it is not surpris- ing that the affair was regarded as little less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier’s analytical abilities acquired for him the credit of intuition. His frankness would have led him to disabuse every inquirer of such prejudice; but his indolent humour forbade all further agitation of a topic whose interest to himself had long ceased. It thus happened that he found himself the cynosure of the policial eyes; and the cases were not few in which attempt was made to engage his services at the Prefecture. One of the most remarkable instances was that of the murder of a young girl named Marie Roget. This event occurred about two years after the atrocity in the Rue Morgue. Marie, whose Christian and family name will at once arrest attention from their resemblance to those of the unfortunate “cigar-girl,’’ was the only daughter of the widow Estelle Rogét. The father hada et a eee bo. ee ede perssieentes: greece rectong sc iss fedee ee —s ee ee ee ee ee ete 380 EDGAR ALLAN POE died during the child’s infancy, and from the period of his death, until within eighteen months before the assas- sination which forms the subject of our narrative, the mother and daughter had dwelt together in the Rue Pavée Sainte Andrée; Madame there keeping a pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the latter had attained her twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted the notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of the shops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and whose custom lay chiefly among the desperate ad- venturers infesting that neighbourhood. Monsieur Le Blanc ~ was not unaware of the advantages to be derived from the attendance of the fair Marie in his perfumery; and his liberal proposals were accepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more of hesitation by Madame. The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realised, and his rooms soon became notorious through the charms of the sprightly grisette. She had been in his employ about a year, when her admirers were thrown into con- fusion by her sudden disappearance from the shop. Monsieur Le Blane was unable to account for her ab- sence, and Madame Rogét was distracted with anxiety and terror. The public papers immediately took up the theme, and the police were upon the point of making serious investigations, when, one fine morning, after the lapse of a week, Marie, in good health, but with a some- what saddened air, made her reappearance at her usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry, except that of a private character, was of course immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc professed total ignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame, replied to all questions, that the last week had been spent at the house of a relation in 1 Nassau Street. 2 Anderson.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 381 the country. Thus the affair died away and was gener- ally forgotten, for the girl, ostensibly to relieve herself from the impertinence of curiosity, soon bade a final adieu to the perfumer, and sought the shelter of her mother’s residence in the Rue Pavée Ste. Andrée. It was about five months after this return home, that her friends were alarmed by her sudden disappearance for the second time. Three days elapsed, and nothing was heard of her. On the fourth her corpse was found ‘ near the shore which is opposite floating in the Seine, the Quartier of the Rue Sainte Andrée, and at a point not very far distant from the secluded neighbourhood of the Barriére du Roule.* The atrocity of this murder (for it was at once evident that murder had been committed), the youth and beauty of the victim, and, above all, her previous notoriety, conspired to produce intense excitement in the minds of the sensitive Parisians. I can call to mind no similar occurrence producing so general and so intense an effect. For several weeks, in the discussion of this one absorb- ing theme, even the momentous political topics of the day were forgotten. The Prefect made unusual exer- tions; and the powers of the whole Parisian police were of course tasked to the utmost extent. Upon the first discovery of the corpse it was not sup- posed that the murderer would be able to elude for more than a very brief period the inquisition which was imme- diately set on foot. It was not until the expiration of a week that it was deemed necessary to offer a reward; and even then this reward was limited to a thousand francs. In the meantime the investigation proceeded with vigour, if not always with judgment, and numerous individuals were examined to no purpese; while, owing 1The Hudson. 2 Weehawken.382 EDGAR ALLAN POE to the continued absence of all clue to the mystery, the popular excitement greatly increased. At the end of the tenth day it was thought advisable to double the sum originally proposed; and, at length, the second week having elapsed without leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice which always exists in Paris against the Police having given vent to itself in several serious émeutes, the Prefect took it upon himself to offer the sum of twenty thousand francs “for the conviction of the assassin,” or, if more than one should prove to have been implicated, ‘for the conviction of any one of the assas- sins.” In the proclamation setting forth this reward, a full pardon was promised to any accomplice who should come forward in evidence against his fellow; and to the whole was appended, wherever it appeared, the private placard of a committee of citizens, offering ten thousand francs in addition to the amount proposed by the Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood at no less than thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as an extraordinary sum when we consider the humble con- dition of the girl, and the great frequency in large cities of such atrocities as the one described. No one doubted now that the mystery of this murder would be immediately brought to light. But although, in one or two instances, arrests were made which prom- ised elucidation, yet nothing was elicited which could implicate the parties suspected, and they were discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear, the third week from the discovery of the body had passed, and passed without any light being thrown upon the subject, before even a rumour of the events which had so agitated the public mind reached the ears of Dupin and myself. Engaged in researches which had absorbed our whole ‘attention, it had been nearly a month since either of us ‘ad gone abroad, or received a visitor, or more thanTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 383 glanced at the leading political articles in one of the daily papers. The first intelligence of the murder was brought us by G , In person. He called upon us early in the afternoon of the thirteenth of July 18—, and remained with us until late in the night. He had been piqued by the failure of all his endeavours to ferret out the assassins. His reputation—so he said with a peculiarly Parisian air—was at stake. Even his honour was concerned. The eyes of the public were upon him; and there was really no sacrifice which he would not be willing to make for the development of the mys- tery. He concluded a somewhat droll speech with a compliment upon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and made him a direct and certainly a liberal proposition, the precise nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty to disclose, but which has no bearing upon the proper subject of my narrative. The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but the proposition he accepted at once, although its advantages were altogether provisional. This point be- ing settled, the Prefect broke forth at once into explana- tions of his own views, interspersing them with long comments upon the evidence, of which latter we were not yet in possession. He discoursed much, and, beyond doubt, learnedly; while I hazarded an occasional sug- gestion as the night wore drowsily awav. Dupin, sit- ting steadily in his accustomed arm-chair, was the em- bodiment of respectful attention. He wore spectacles during the whole interview, and an occasional glance beneath their green glasses sufficed to convince me that he slept not the less soundly, because silently, through- out the seven or eight leaden-footed hours which imme- diately preceded the departure of the Prefect. In the morning I procured at the Prefecture a full report of all the evidence elicited, and, at the various384 EDGAR ALLAN POE newspaper offices, a copy of every paper in which, from first to last, had been published any decisive information in regard to this sad affair. Freed from all that was positively disproved, this mass of information stood thus :— Marie Rogét left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavée Ste. Andrée, about nine o’clock in the morn- ing of Sunday, June the twenty-second, 18—. In going out, she gave notice to a Monsieur Jacques St. Eustache,* and to him only, of her intention to spend the day with an aunt who resided in the Rue des Drémes. The Rue des Drémes is a short and narrow but populous thorough- fare, not far from the banks of the river, and at a dis- tance of some two miles, in the most direct course pos- sible from the pension of Madame Rogét. St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Marie, and lodged, as well as took his meals, at the pension. He was to have gone for his betrothed at dusk, and to have escorted her home. In the afternoon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and, supposing that she would remain all night at her aunt’s (as she had done under similar circumstances before), he did not think it necessary to keep his prom- ise. As night drew on, Madame Rogét (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of age) was heard to express a fear “that she should never see Marie again;” but this observation attracted little attention at the time. On Monday, it was ascertained that the girl had not been to the Rue des Drémes; and when the day elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy search was instituted at several points in the city and its environs. It was not, however, until the fourth day from the period of her dis- appearance that anything satisfactory was ascertained respecting her. On this day (Wednesday, the twenty- 1 Payne.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 385 fifth of June), a Monsieur Beauvais,' who, with a friend, had been making inquiries for Marie near the Barriére du Roule, on the shore of the Seine which is opposite the Rue Pavée Ste. Andrée, was informed that a corpse had just been towed ashore by some fishermen, who had found it floating in the river. Upon seeing the body, Beauvais, after some hesitation, identified it as that of the perfumery-girl. His friend recognised it more promptly. The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which issued from the mouth. No foam was seen, as in the case of the merely drowned. ‘There was no discolora- tion in the cellular tissue. About the throat were bruises and impressions of fingers. The arms were bent over on the chest and were rigid. The right hand was clenched; the left partially open. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations, apparently the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one volution. A part of the right wrist, also, was much chafed, as well as the back throughout its extent, but more especially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing the body to the shore the fishermen had attached to it a rope, but none of the ex- coriations had been effected by this. The flesh of the neck was much swollen. There were no cuts apparent, or bruises which appeared the effect of blows. A piece of lace was found tied so tightly around the neck as to be hidden from sight; it was completely buried in the flesh, and was fastened by a knot which lay just under the left ear. This alone would have sufficed to produce death. The medical testimony spoke confidently of the virtuous character of the deceased. She had been sub- jected, it said, to brutal violence. The corpse was in such condition when found that there could have been no difficulty in its recognition by friends. 1 Crommelin. Se ae ety eee ee ee eeseae ett ose seis nt ae ae ate Re oe ee ke ate wel yagese geste ttheletsotail isms 386 EDGAR ALLAN POE The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outer garment a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the bottom hem to the waist, but not torn off. It was wound three times around the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back. The dress immediately beneath the frock was of fine muslin; and from this a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely out—torn very evenly and with great care. It was found around her neck, fitting loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslin slip and the slip of lace, the strings of a bonnet were attached; the bonnet being appended. The knot by which the strings of the bonnet were fastened was not a lady’s, but a slip or sailor’s knot. After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken to the Morgue (this formality being super- fluous), but hastily interred not far from the spot at which it was brought ashore. Through the exertions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously hushed up, as far as possible; and several days had elapsed before any public emotion resulted. A weekly paper,’ however, at length, took up the theme; the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination instituted, but nothing was elicited beyond what has been already noted. The clothes, how- ever, were now submitted to the mother and friends of the deceased, and fully identified as those worn by the girl upon leaving home. Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several individuals were arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell especially under suspicion; and he failed at first to give an intelligible account of his whereabouts during the Sunday on whch Marie left home. Subsequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G affidavits, accounting satisfactorily for every hour of the day in 1“The New York Mercury.”question. As time passed and no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumours were circulated, and journalists busied themselves with suggestions. Among these, the one which attracted the most notice was the idea that Marie Rogét still lived—that the corpse found in the Seine was that of some other unfortunate. It will be proper that I submit to the reader some passages which embody the suggestion alluded to. These pas- sages are literal translations from “L’Etoile,” + a paper conducted, in general, with much ability: ‘Mademoiselle Rogét left her mother’s house on Sunday morning, June the twenty-second, 18—, with the ostensible purpose of going to see her aunt, or some other connection, in the Rue des Dromes. From that hour nobody is proved to have seen her. There is no trace or tidings of her at all. . . . There has no person whatever come forward so far, who saw her at all on that day after she left her mother’s door. . . . Now, though we have no evidence that Marie Rogét was in the land of the living after nine o’clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second, we have prooi that up to that hour she was alive. On Wednesday at noon, a female body was discovered afloat on the shore of the Barriére du Roule. This was, even if we presume that Marie Rogét was thrown into the river within three hours after she left her mother’s house, only three days from the time she left her home—three days to an hour. But it is folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed on her body, could have been consummated soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw her body into the river before midnight. Those who are guilty of such horrid crimes choose darkness rather than light. . . . Thus we see that if the body found in the river was that of Marie Rogét, it could only have been in the water two and a half days, or three at the outside. All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient decom- position to take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’ immersion, it sinks again, if let alone. Now, we ask, what was there in this case to cause a departure from the or- dinary course of nature? If the body had been kept in its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of the murderers. It is a doubtful point, also, whether the body would be so soon afloat, even were it thrown in ''The “New York Brother Jonathan,” edited by Mr. Hastings Weld. THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGRT 387 aie eh oe ee ee ar Tet Pe eer ee serene se seeure eetee ee ee es ee a oe ie Pe ee ee ee ee et eas 388 EDGAR ALLAN POE after having been dead two days. And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable that any villains who had committed such a murder as is here supposed would have thrown the body in without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken.” The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have been in the water “not three days merely, but at least five times three days,” because it was so far decom- posed that Beauvais had great difficulty in recognising it. This latter point, however, was fully disproved. I continue the translation: “What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he has no doubt the body was that of Marie Rogét? He ripped up the gown-sleeve, and says he found marks which satisfied him of the identity. The public generally supposed those marks to have con- sisted of some description of scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair upon it—something as indefinite, we think, as can readily be imagined—as little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais did not return that night, but sent word to Madame Rogét at seven o’clock on Wednesday evening that an investigation was still in progress respecting her daughter. If we allow that Madame Rogét from her age and grief could not go over (which is allowing a great deal) there certainly must have been some one who would have thought it worth while to go over and attend the investigation if they thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went over. There was nothing said or heard about the matter in the Rue Paveé Ste. Andrée that reached even the occupants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, the lover and intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her mother’s house, deposes that he did not hear of the discovery of the body of his intended until the next morning, when M. Beauvais came into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of news like this, it strikes us it was very coolly received.” In this way the journal endeavoured to create the im- pression of an apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie, inconsistent with the supposition that these rela- tives believed the corpse to be hers. Its insinuations amount to this:—that Marie, with the connivance of her friends, had absented herself from the city for reasons involving a charge against her chastity, and that these friends, upon the discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the girl, had availed them-THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET _ 389 selves of the opportunity to impress the public with the belief of her death. But “L’Etoile’” was again over- hasty. It was distinctly proved that no apathy, such as was imagined, existed: that the old lady was exceedingly teeble, and so agitated as to be unable to attend to any duty: that St. Eustache, so far from receiving the news coolly, was distracted with grief and bore himself so frantically that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and relative to take charge of him, and prevent his at- tending the examination at the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated by “L’Etoile” that the corpse was re-interred at the public expense—that an advantageous offer of private sepulture was absolutely declined by the family—and that no member of the family attended the ceremonial :—although, I say, all this was asserted by ~L’Etoile” in furtherance of the impression it designed to convey—yet all this was satisfactorily disproved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an attempt was made to throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor says: ‘Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are told that on one occasion, while a Madame B was at Madame Rogét’s house, M. Beauvais, who was going out. told her that a gendarme was expected there, and that she, Madame B——., must not say anything to the gendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for him. In the present posture of affairs M. Beauvais appears to have the whole matter locked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken without M. Beauvais, for go which way you will you run against him. . . . For some reason he determined that nobody shall have anything to do with the proceedings but himself, and he has elbowed the male relatives out of the way, according to their representations, in a very singular manner. He seems to have been very much averse to permitting the relatives to see the body.” By the following fact some colour was given to the suspicion thus thrown upon Beauvais. A visitor at his office a few days prior to the girl’s disappearance, and during the absence of its occupant, had observed a rose390 EDGAR ALLAN POE in the keyhole of the door, and the name “Marie” in- scribed upon a slate which hung near at hand. The general impression, so far as we were enabled to glean it from the newspapers, seemed to be that Marie had been the victim of a gang of desperadoes—that by these she had been borne across the river, maltreated, and murdered. ‘Le Commercial,” 1 however, a print of extensive influence, was earnest in combating this popu- lar idea. I quote a passage or two from its columns: “We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a false scent, so far as it has been directed to the Barriére du Roule. It is impossible that a person so well known to thousands as this young woman was should have passed three blocks without some one having seen her; and any one who saw her would have remembered it, for she interested all who knew her. It was when the streets were full of people that she went out... - It is impossible that she could have gone to the Barriére du Roule or to the Rue des Drémes with- out being recognised by a dozen persons, yet no one has come forward who saw her outside her mother’s door, and there is no evidence, i that she did except the testimony concerning her expressed intentions, go out at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her, and tied, and by that the body was carried as a bundle. If the murder had been committed at the Barriére du Roule there would have been no necessity for any such arrangement. The fact that the body was found floating near the Barriére is no proof as to where it was thrown ‘nto the water. . . . A piece of one of the unfortunate girl’s petti- coats, two feet long and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under her chin around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.” A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, how- ever, some important information reached the police, which seemed to overthrow, at least, the chief portion of “Te Commercial’s” argument. Two smali boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, while roaming among the woods near the Barriére du Roule, chanced to penetrate a close thicket, within which were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat, with a back and footstool. On the upper stone lay a white petticoat, on the second a 1 New York “Journal of Commerce.”THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGRT 391 silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handker- chief were also here found. The handkerchief bore the name “Marie Rogét.’”’ Fragments of dress were dis- covered on the brambles around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of a struggle. Between the thicket and the river the fences were found taken down, and the ground bore evidence of some heavy burthen having been dragged along it. A weekly paper, “Le Soleil,” 1 had the following com- ments upon this discovery comments which merely echoed the sentiment of the whole Parisian press: “The things had all evidently been there at least three or four weeks; they were all mildewed down hard with the action of the rain, and stuck together from mildew. The grass had grown around and over some of them. The silk on the parasol was strong, but the threads of it were run together within. The upper part, where it had been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on its being opened. . . . The pieces of her frock torn out by the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of the frock, and it had been mended; the other piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips torn off, and were on the thorn bush, about a foot from the ground. . . There can be no doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling outrage has been discovered.” Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence ap- peared. Madame Deluc testified that she keeps a road- side inn not far from the bank of the river, opposite the Barriére du Roule. The neighbourhood is secluded— particularly so. It is the usual Sunday resort of black- guards from the city, who cross the river in boats. About three o’clock in the afternoon of the Sunday in question a young girl arrived at the inn accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. The two remained here for some time. On their departure, they took the road to some thick woods in the vicinity. Madame 1 Philadelphia “Saturday Evening Post,” edited by C. J. Peter- son, Esq.tees Oe ee Cn ee en ee ee ee ee ee ey ee ee ei 392 EDGAR ALLAN POE Deluc’s attention was called to the dress worn by the girl on account of its resemblance to one worn by a deceased relative. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after the departure of the couple a gang of miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and re-crossed the river as if in great haste. It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn. The screams were violent but brief. Madame D. recognised not only the scarf which was found in the thicket, but the dress which was discovered upon the corpse. An omnibus-driver, Valence,! now also testified that he saw Marie Rogét cross a ferry on the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a young man of dark com- plexion. He, Valence, knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her identity. The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by the relatives of Marie. The items of evidence and information thus collected by myself from the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin, embraced only one more point—but this was a point of seemingly vast consequence. It appears that, immediately after the discovery of the clothes as above described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless body of St. Eustache, Marie’s betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supposed the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled “Jaudanum,” and emptied, was found near him. His breath gave evidence of the poison. He died with- out speaking. Upon his person was found a letter, briefly stating his love for Marie, with his design of self-destruction. “T need scarcely tell you,” said Dupin, as he finished “Adam.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 393 the perusal of my notes, “that this is a far more intricate case than that of the Rue Morgue, from which it differs in one important respect. This is an ordinary, although an atrocious instance of crime. There is nothing pecul- iarly outré about it. You will observe that, for this rea- son, the mystery has been considered easy, when, for this reason, it should have been considered difficult of solu- tion. Thus, at first, it was thought unnecessary to offer were able at once a reward. The myrmidons of G to comprehend how and why suck an atrocity might have been committed. They could picture to their imagina- tions a mode many modes—and a motive—many motives; and because it was not impossible that either of these numerous modes and motives could have been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that one of them must. But the ease with which these variable fancies were entertained, and the very plausibility which each assumed, should have been understood as indicative rather of the difficulties than of the facilities which must attend elucidation. I have before observed that it is by prominences above the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels her way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that the proper question in cases such as this, is not so much ‘what has occurred?’ as ‘what has occurred that has never occurred before?’ In the investigations at the house of Madame L’Espanaye,' the agents of G were discouraged and confounded by that very unusual- ness which, to a properly regulated intellect, would have afforded the surest omen of success; while this same in- tellect might have been plunged in despair at the ordi- nary character of all that met the eye in the case of the perfumery-girl, and yet told of nothing but easy triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture. “In the case of Madame L’Espanaye and her daugh- 1 See “Murders in the Rue Morgue.”’ee Se Se ee eee belie tlie 394 EDGAR ALLAN POE ter, there was, even at the beginning of our investigation, no doubt that murder had been committed. The idea of suicide was excluded at once. Here, too, we are freed at the commencement from all supposition of self-murder. The body found at the Barriére du Roule was found under such circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassment upon this important point. But it has been suggested that the corpse discovered is not that of the Marie Rogét, for the conviction of whose assassin, or assassins, the reward is offered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement has been arranged with the Pre- fect. We both know this gentleman well. It will not do to trust him too far. If, dating our inquiries from the body found, and then tracing a murderer, we yet dis- cover this body to be that of some other individual than Marie; or, if starting from the living Marie, we find her, yet find her unassassinated—in either case we lose our with whom we have to labour, since it is Monsieur deal. For our own purpose, therefore, if not for the pur- pose of justice, it is indispensable that our first step should be the determination of the identity of the corpse with the Marie Rogét who is missing. “With the public the arguments of ‘L’ Etoile’ have had weight; and that the journal itself is convinced of their importance would appear from the manner in which it commences one of its essays upon the subject—‘Several of the morning papers of the day,’ it says, ‘speak of the conclusive article in Monday’s “L’Etoile.’’’ To me, this article appears conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We should bear in mind, that in general it is the object of our newspapers rather to create a sensa- tion—to make a point—than to further the cause of truth. The latter end is only pursued when it seems co- incident with the former. The print which merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well founded thisTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 395 opinion may be) earns for itself no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard as profound only him who suggests pungent contradictions of the general idea. In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram which is the most immediately and the most universally appreciated. In both, it is of the lowest order of merit. “What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrame of the idea, that Marie Rogét still lives, rather than any true plausibility in this idea, which have suggested it to ‘L’Etoile,’ and secured it a favourable reception with the public. Let us examine the heads of this journal’s argument; endeavouring to avoid the in- coherence with which it is originally set forth. “The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the interval between Marie’s disappearance and the finding of the floating corpse, that this corpse cannot be that of Marie. The reduction of this interval to its smallest possible dimension, becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In the rash pursuit of this object he rushes into mere assumption at the outset. ‘It is folly to suppose,’ he says, ‘that the murder, if murder was committed on her body, could have been con- summated soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river before midnight.’ We demand at once, and very naturally, why? Why is it folly to suppose that the murder was committed within five minutes after the girl’s quitting her mother’s house? Why is it folly to suppose that the murder was com- mitted at any given period of the day? There have been assassinations at all hours. But, had the murder taken place at any moment between nine o’clock in the morning of Sunday, and a quarter before midnight, there would still have been time enough ‘to throw the body into the river before midnight.’ This assumption, then, ei eked et ee ee Serer eee thdee ee ee ee ee ee ee 396 EDGAR ALLAN POE amounts precisely to this—that the murder was not com- mitted on Sunday at all; and if we allow ‘L’Etoile’ to assume this, we may permit it any liberties whatever. The paragraph beginning, ‘It is folly to suppose that the murder, etc.,’ however it appears as printed in “L’ Etoile,’ may be imagined to have existed actually thus in the brain of its inditer—‘It is folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed on the body, could have been committed soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river before mid- night. It is folly, we say, to suppose all this, and to suppose at the same time (as we are resolved to sup- pose), that the body was not thrown in until after mid- night’—a sentence sufficiently inconsequential in itself, but not so utterly preposterous as the one printed. “Were it my purpose,’ continued Dupin, “merely to make out a case against this passage of “L’Etoile’s’ argu- ment, I might safely leave it where it is. It is not, however, with ‘L’ Etoile’ that we have to do, but with the truth. The sentence in question has but one meaning as it stands, and this meaning I have fairly stated; but it is material that we go behind the mere words for an idea which these words have obviously intended—and failed—to convey. It was the design of the journalist to say that, at whatever period of the day or night of Sunday this murder was committed, it was improbable that the assassins would have ventured to bear the corpse to the river before midnight. And herein lies, really, the assumption of which I complain. It is assumed that the murder was committed at such a position, and under such circumstances, that the bearing it to the river be- came necessary. Now, the assassination might have taken place upon the river’s brink or on the river itself; and, thus, the throwing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to at any period of the dav or nightTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 397 as the most obvious and most immediate mode of dis- posal. You will understand that I suggest nothing here as probable, or as coincident with my own opinion. My design, so far, has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish merely to caution you against the whole tone of ‘L’Etoile’s’ suggestion, by calling your attention to its ex parte character at the outset. ‘Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own pre- conceived notions; having assumed that, if this were the body of Marie, it could have been in the water but a very brief time; the journal goes on to say:— *** All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’ immersion, it sinks again if let alone.’ “These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in Paris with the exception of ‘Le Moniteur.” This latter print endeavours to combat that portion of the paragraph which has reference to ‘drowned bodies’ only, by citing some five or six instances in which the bodies of individuals known to be drowned were found floating after the lapse of less time than is insisted upon by ‘L’Etoile.’ But there is something excessively un- philosophical in the attempt on the part of ‘Le Moniteur’ to rebut the general assertion of ‘L’Etoile,’ by a citation of particular instances militating against that assertion. Had it been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of bodies found floating at the end of two or three days, these fifty examples could still have been properly regarded only as exceptions to “L’Etoile’s’ rule until such time as the rule itself should be confuted. Admitting the rule (and this ‘Le Moniteur’ does not ‘The New York “Commercial Advertiser,” edited by Col. Stone. ba (p0eigbnd5423E5.666-305.8 RK SD ee 2 oT PS a) -_ae*398 EDGAR ALLAN POE deny, insisting merely upon its exceptions), the argu- ment of ‘L’Etoile’ is suffered to remain in full force; for this argument does not pretend to involve more than a question of the probability of the body having risen to the surface in less than three days; and this probability will be in favour of ‘L’Etoile’s’ position until the in- stances so childishly adduced shall be sufficient in num- ber to establish an antagonistical rule. “You will see at once that all argument upon this head should be urged, if at all, against the rule itself ; and for this end we must examine the rationale of the rule. Now the human body, in general, is neither much lighter nor much heavier than the water of the Seine; that is to say, the specific gravity of the human body, in its natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water which it displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, and of women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and large-boned, and of men; and the specific gravity of the water of a river is somewhat influenced by the presence of the tide from sea. But, leaving this tide out of question, it may be said that very few human bodies will sink at all, even in fresh water, of their own accord. Almost any one, fall- ing into a river, will be enabled to float, if he suffer the specific gravity of the water fairly to be adduced in comparison with his own—that is to say, if he suffer his whole person to be immersed, with as little exception as possible. The proper position for one who cannot swim, is the upright position of the walker on land, with the head thrown fully back, and immersed; the mouth and nostrils alone remaining above the surface. Thus circumstanced, we shall find that we float without diffi- culty and without exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of the body, and of the bulk of water dis- placed, are very nicely balanced, and that a trifle willTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 399 cause either to preponderate. An arm, for instance, up- lifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support, is an additional weight sufficient to immerse the whole head, while the accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber will enable us to elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in the struggles of one unused to swim- ming, the arms are invariably thrown upwards, while an attempt is made to keep the head in its usual perpendicu- lar position. The result is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the reception, during efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, of water into the lungs. Much is also received into the stomach, and the whole body becomes heavier by the difference between the weight of the air originally distending these cavities, and that of the fluid which now fills them. This differ- ence is sufficient to cause the body to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the cases of individuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or fatty matter. Such individuals float even after drowning. “The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will there remain until, by some means, its specific gravity again becomes less than that of the bulk of water which it displaces. This effect is brought about by de- composition, or otherwise. The result of decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the cellular tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffed appearance which is so horrible. When this distension has so far progressed that the bulk of the corpse is materially in- creased without a corresponding increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than that of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearance at the surface. But decomposition is modified by in- numerable circumstances—is hastened or retarded by in- numerable agencies; for example, by the heat or cold of the season, by the mineral impregnation or purity of SS ee ee Pet? ere ee et ke ee! g0eegbs55425556-42h-305 a TPee et ee rd pede ees eeteprgeeceseriogecot: Se ee Oe ee tava med ee ee ee et es 400 EDGAR ALLAN POE the water, by its depth or shallowness, by its currency or stagnation, by the temperament of the body, by its in- fection or freedom from disease before death. Thus it is evident that we can assign no period, with anything like accuracy, at which the corpse shall rise through decom- position. Under certain conditions this result would be brought about within an hour; under others, it might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by which the animal frame can be preserved for ever from corrup- tion; the bi-chloride of mercury is one. But, apart from decomposition, there may be, and very usually is, a gen- eration of gas within the stomach from the acetous fermentation of vegetable matter (or within other cavi- ties from other causes) sufficient to induce a distension which will bring the body to the surface. The effect produced by the firing of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may either loosen the corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is embedded, thus permitting it to rise when other agencies have already prepared it for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacity of some putrescent portions of the cellular tissue; allowing the cavities to distend under the influences of the gas. ‘Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject, we can easily test by it the assertions of ‘L’Etoile.’ “All experience shows,’ says this paper, ‘that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immedi- ately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’ immersion, it sinks again if let alone.’ “The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of inconsequence and incoherence. All experience does not show that ‘drowned bodies’ require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place toTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 401 bring them to the surface. Both science and experience show that the period of their rising is, and necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen to the surface through firing of cannon, it will not ‘sink again if let alone,’ until decomposition has so far pro- gressed as to permit the escape of the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention to the distinction which is made between ‘drowned bodies,’ and ‘bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence.’ Although the writer admits the distinction, he yet in- cludes them all in the same category. I have shown how it is that the body of a drowning man becomes specifi- cally heavier than its bulk of water, and that he would not sink at all, except for the struggles by which he elevates his arms above the surface, and his gasps for gasps which supply breath while beneath the surface by water the place of the original air in the lungs. But these struggles and these gasps would not occur in the body ‘thrown into the water immediately after death by violence.’ Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rule, would not sink at all—a fact of which ‘L’Etoile’ is evidently ignorant. When decomposition had proceeded to a very great extent—when the flesh had in a great measure left the bones—then, indeed, but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse. “And now what are we to make of the argument that the body found could not be that of Marie Rogét because, three days only having elapsed, this body was found floating? If drowned, being a woman, she might never have sunk; or, having sunk, might have reappeared in twenty-four hours, or less. But no one supposes her to have been drowned; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she might have been found floating at any period afterwards whatever. “But, says ‘L’Etoile,’ ‘if the body had been kept in ee ee oe ee te Peele a eS _ oo. eo . ee eeee ee ee ee he rere twerterrtewreseriag=eccstot Se ee eet ee te 402 EDGAR ALLAN POE its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.’ Here it is at first difficult to perceive the intention of the reasoner. He means to anticipate what he imagines would be an objection to his theory—viz.; that the body was kept on shore two days, suffering rapid decomposi- tion—more rapid than if immersed in water. He sup- poses that, had this been the case, it might have ap- peared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks that only under such circumstances it could so have appeared. He is accordingly in haste to show that it was not kept on shore; for, if so, “some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.’ I presume you smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how the mere duration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply traces of the assassins. Nor can I. ““And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable,’ continues our journal, ‘that any villains who had com- mitted such a murder as is here supposed, would have thrown the body in without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken.’ Observe, here, the laughable confusion of thought. No one—not even ‘L’Etoile-—disputes the murder committed on the body found. The marks of violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner’s object merely to show that this body is not Marie’s. He wishes to prove that Marie is not assassinated—not that the corpse was not. Yet his observation proves only the latter point. Here is a corpse without weight attached. Murderers, casting it in, would not have failed to attach a weight.- Therefore it was not thrown in by murderers. This is all which is proved, if anything is. The question of identity is not even approached, and ‘L’Etoile’ has been at great pains merely to gainsay now what it has admitted only aTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET § 403 moment before. ‘We are perfectly convinced,’ it says, ‘that the body found was that of a murdered female.’ “Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his subject, where our reasoner unwittingly reasons against himself. His evident object, I have already said, is to reduce, as much as possible, the interval be- tween Marie’s disappearance and the finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urging the point that no per- son saw the girl from the moment of her leaving her mother’s house. ‘We have no evidence,’ he says, ‘that Marie Rogét was in the land of the living after nine o’clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.’ As his argument is obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, have left this matter out of sight; for had any one been known to see Marie, say on Monday or on Tuesday, the interval in question would have been much reduced, and by his own ratiocination, the probability much diminished of the corpse being that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to observe that ‘L’Etoile’ insists upon its point in the full belief of its furthering its general argument. “Re-peruse now that portion of this argument which has reference to the identification of the corpse by Beau- vais. In regard to the hair upon the arm, ‘L’Etoile’ has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beauvais, not being an idiot, could never have urged, in identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is without hair. The generality of the expression of “L’Etoile’ is a mere perversion of the witness’s phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity in this hair. It must have been a peculiarity of colour, of quantity, of length, or of situation. “Her foot,’ says the journal, ‘was small,—so are thousands of feet. Her garter is no proof whatever, nor is her shoe, for shoes and garters are sold in packages. ete etre ee eeSe er ee eee See ee ee re Ce ee oe ee oe ee ee 404 EDGAR ALLAN POE The same may be said of the flowers in her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly insists is that the clasp on the garter found had been set back to take it in. This amounts to nothing; for most women find it proper to take a pair of garters home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to encircle, rather than to try them in the store where they purchase.’ Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest. Had M. Beauvais, in his search for the body of Marie, discovered a corpse corresponding in general size and appearance to the missing girl, he would have been warranted (with- out reference to the question of habiliment at all) in forming an opinion that his search had~beén successful. If, in addition to the point of general size and contour, he had found upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had observed upon the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly strengthened, and the increase of positiveness might well have been in the ratio of the peculiarity or unusualness of the hairy mark. If the feet of Marie being small, those of the corpse were also small, the increase of probability that the body was that of Marie would not be an increase in a ratio merely arithmetical, but in one highly geometrical, or accumu- lative. Add to all this shoes. such as she had been known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and although these shoes may be ‘sold in packages,’ you so far augment the probability as to verge upon the cer- tain. What of itself would be no evidence of identity, becomes, through its corroborative position, proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat corresponding to those worn by the missing girl, and we seek for noth- ing further. If only one flower, we seek for nothing further—what then if two or three, or more? Each suc- cessive one is multiple evidence—proof not added to proof, but multiplied by hundreds of thousands. Let usTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 405 now discover upon the deceased garters such as the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed. But these garters are found to be tightened by the setting back of a clasp, in just such a manner as her own had been tightened by Marie, shortly previous to her leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. What ‘L’Etoile’ says in respect to this abbreviation of the gar- ters being a usual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter is self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What is made to adjust itself must of necessity require foreign adjustment but rarely. It must have been by an accident, in its strictest sense, that these garters of Marie needed the tightening de- scribed. They alone would have amply established her identity. But it is not that the corpse was found to have the garters of the missing girl, or found to have her shoes. or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet, or her feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size and appearance—it is that the corpse had each, and all collectively. Could it be proved that the editor of ‘L’Etoile’ really entertained a doubt, under the cireum- stances, there would be no need, in his case, of a commis- sion de lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the small talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part, content themselves with echoing the rectangular precepts of the courts. I would here observe that very much of what is rejected as evidence by a court is the best cf evidence to the intellect. For the court, guiding itself by the general principles of evidence—the recog- nised and booked principles—is averse from swerving at particular instances. And this steadfast adherence to principle, with rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception, is a sure mode of attaining the maximum of attainable truth in any long sequence of time. The in oo oe eee ees eee eee oe we en eee ee eeSPpementwcetegrgewrescectoageccs: eee os a ae a ee ee Oe ee ee eee 406 EDGAR ALLAN POE practice, in mass, is therefore philosophical; but it is not the less certain that it engenders vast individual error.’ “In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will be willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomed the true character of this good gentleman. He is a busybody, with much of romance and little of wit. Any one so constituted will readily so conduct himself, upon occasion of real excitement, as to render himself liable to suspicion on the part of the over-acute or the ill-disposed. M. Beauvais (as it ap- pears from your notes) had some personal interviews with the editor of “L’Etoile,’ and offended him by ven- turing an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the theory of the editor, was in sober fact, that of Marie. ‘He persists,’ says the paper, ‘in asserting the corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot give a circumstance, in addition to those which we have commented upon, to make others believe.’ Now, without re-adverting to the fact that stronger evidence ‘to make others believe’ could never have been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very well be understood to believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to advance a single reason for the belief of a second party. Nothing is more vague than impressions of individual identity. Each man recognises his neighbour, yet there are few instances in which any one is prepared to give a reason for his recognition. The editor of ‘L’ Etoile’ had no right to be offended at M. Beauvais’ unreasoning belief. 1**A theory based on the qualities of an object will prevent its being unfolded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics in reference to their causes will cease to value them according to their results. Thus the jurisprudence of every nation will show that, when law becomes a science and a system, it ceases to be justice. The errors into which a blind devotion to principles of classification has led the common law will be seen by observing how often the legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity its scheme had lost.”—Landor.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 407 “The suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found to tally much better with my hypothesis of romantic busybodyism, than with the reasoner’s sugges- tion of guilt. Once adopting the more charitable inter- pretation we shall find no difficulty in comprehending the rose in the key-hole; the ‘Marie’ upon the slate; the ‘elbowing the male relatives out of the way; the ‘aver- sion to permitting them to see the body; the caution given to Madame B , that she must hold no conversa- tion with the gendarme until his return (Beauvais ) ; and, lastly, his apparent determination ‘that nobody should have anything to do with the proceedings except himself.’ It seems to me unquestionable that Beauvais was a suitor of Marie’s; that she coquetted with him; and that he was ambitious of being thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say nothing more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the assertion of ‘L’Etoile,’ touching the matter of apathy on the part of the mother and other relatives—an apathy inconsistent with the supposition of their believing the corpse to be that of the perfumery-girl—we shall now proceed as if the question of identity were settled to our perfect satisfaction.” “And what,” I here demanded, “do you think of the opinions of ‘Le Commercial’ ?” “That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of atten- tion than any which have been promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from the premises are philo- sophical and acute; but the premises, in two instances at least, are founded in imperfect observation. ‘Le Com- mercial’ wishes to intimate that Marie was seized by some gang of low ruffians not far from her mother’s door. ‘It is impossible,’ it urges, ‘that a person so well known to thousands as this young woman was, should have passed three blocks without some one having seen ee ee eT ST. ee ee ee Tee alte tein ee hed ee ae TP he eee Tt TS se eaeea Se ee ee et ee Ce Se Pe Pe eee ee 408 EDGAR ALLAN POE her.’ This is the idea of a man long resident in Paris— a public man—and one whose walks to and fro in the city have been mostly limited to the vicinity of the public offices. He is aware that he seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau without being recognised and accosted. And, knowing the extent of his personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him, he compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery-girl, finds no great difference between them, and reaches at once the conclusion that she, in her walks, would be equally liable to recognition with himself in his. This could only be the case were her walks of the same unvarying, methodical character, and within the same species of limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro at regular intervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals who are led to observation of his person through interest in the kindred nature of his occupation with their own. But the walks of Marie may, in general, be supposed discursive. In this particular instance it will be understood as most probable, that she proceeded upon a route of more than average diversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel which we imagine to have existed in the mind of ‘Le Commercial’ would only be sustained in the event of the two individ- uals traversing the whole city. In this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be equal, the chances would be also equal that an equal number of personal rencounters would be made. For my own part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as very far more than probable, that Marie might have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known. In viewing this question in its full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind the great disproportion be-THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 409 tween the personal acquaintances of even the most noted individual in Paris and the entire population of Paris itself. “But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of ‘Le Commercial’ will be much dimin- ished when we take into consideration the hour at which the girl went abroad. ‘It was when the streets were full of people,’ says ‘Le Commercial,’ ‘that she went out.’ But not so. It was at nine o’clock in the morning. Now, at nine o’clock of every morning in the week, with the exception of Sunday, the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. At nine on Sunday the populace are chiefly within doors, preparing for church. No observing person can have failed to notice the pecul- iarly deserted air of the town from about eight until Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so early a period as that designated. “There is another point at which there seems a de- ficiency of observation on the part of ‘Le Commercial.’ ‘A piece,’ it says, ‘of one of the unfortunate girl’s petti- coats, two feet long and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.’ Whether this idea is or is not well founded we will endeavour to see hereafter; but ‘by fellows who have no pocket-hand- kerchiefs’ the editor intends the lowest class of ruffians. These, however, are the very description of people who will always be found to have handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts. You must have had occasion to observe how absolutely indispensable, of late years, to the thorough blackguard, has become the pocket-hand- kerchief.”’ ten on the morning of every biel atte okt tat et ee eS tategbuegess= =2e2ee Sa Pee eee ee ee ee ee he oS 410 EDGAR ALLAN POE “And what are we to think,” I asked, “of the article in ‘Le Soleil’?” “That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot—in which case he would have been the most illustrious parrot of his race. He has merely repeated the individual items of the already published opinion; collecting them, with a laudable industry, from this paper and from that. “The things had all evidently been there,’ he says, ‘at least three or four weeks, and there can be no doubt that the spot of this appalling outrage has been discovered.’ The facts here re-stated by ‘Le Soleil’ are very far indeed from removing my own doubts upon this subject, and we will examine them more particularly hereafter in connection with another division of the theme. “At present we must occupy ourselves with other investigations. You cannot fail to have remarked the extreme laxity of the examination of the corpse. To be sure, the question of identity was readily determined, or should have been, but there were other points to be ascertained. Had the body been in any respect de- spoiled? Wad the deceased any articles of jewellery about her person upon leaving home? if so, had she any when found? These are important questions utterly untouched by the evidence; and there are others of equal moment which have met with no attention. We must endeavour to satisfy ourselves by personal inquiry. The case of St. Eustache must be re-examined. I have no suspicion of this person, but let us proceed methodically. We will ascertain beyond a doubt the validity of the affidavits in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits of this character are readily made matter of mystification. Should there be nothing wrong here, how- ever, we will dismiss St. Eustache from our investiga- tions. His suicide, however corroborative of suspicion,THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 411 were there found to be deceit in the affidavits, is, with- out such deceit, in no respect an unaccountable circum- stance, or one which need cause us to deflect from the line of ordinary analysis. “In that which I now propose, we will discard the interior points of this tragedy, and concentrate our attention upon its outskirts. Not the least usual error, in investigations such as this, is the limiting of inquiry to the immediate, with total disregard of the collateral or circumstantial events. It is the mal-practice of the courts to confine evidence and discussion to the bounds of apparent relevancy. Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, per- haps the larger portion of truth, arises from the seem- ingly irrelevant. It is through the spirit of this prin- ciple, if not precisely through its letter, that modern science has resolved to calculate upon the unforeseen. But perhaps you do not comprehend me. The history of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly shown that to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events, we are indebted for the most numerous and most valuable dis- coveries, that it has at length become necessary, in any prospective view of improvement, to make not only large, but the largest allowances for inventions that shall arise by chance, and quite out of the range of ordinary ex- pectation. It is no longer philosophical to base upon what has been a vision of what is to be. Accident is admitted as a portion of the substructure. We make chance a matter of absolute calculation. We subject the unlooked-for and unimagined to the mathematical formule of the schools. “TI repeat that it is no more than fact that the larger portion of all truth has sprung from the collateral; and it is but in accordance with the spirit of the principle involved in this fact that I would divert inquiry in the ot ba Petes ge cesicc. ee eee esee ee ee eee Pages esse wtetehe iat ae ae ee a a ae ee et eee 412 EDGAR ALLAN POE present case, from the trodden and hitherto unfruitful ground of the event itself, to the contemporary circum- stances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity of the affidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than you have as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the field of investigation; but it will be strange indeed if a comprehensive survey, such as I propose, of the public prints will not afford us some minute points which shall establish a direction for in- quiry.”’ In pursuance of Dupin’s suggestion, I made a scrupu- lous examination of the affair of the affidavits. The result was a firm conviction of their validity, and of the consequent innocence of St. Eustache. In the meantime my friend occupied himself with what seemed to me a minuteness altogether objectless in a scrutiny of the various newspaper files. At the end of a week he placed before me the following extracts :— “About three years and a half ago a disturbance very similar to the present was caused by the disappearance of t!:is same Marie Rogét from the parfumerie of Monsieur Le Blanc in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week, however, she re-appeared at her customary comp- toir as well as ever, with the exception of a slight paleness not al- together usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blane and her mother that she had merely been on a visit to some friend in the country, and the affair was speedily hushed up. We presume that the present absence is a freak of the same nature, and that, at the expiration of a week, or perhaps a month, we shall have her among us again.” —Evening Paper—Monday, June 23.1 “An evening journal of yesterday refers to a former mysterious disappearance of Mademoiselle Rogét. It is well known that during the week of her absence from Le Blanc’s parfumerie she was in the company of a young naval officer much noted for his debaucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed, providentially led to her return home. We have the name of the Lothario in question, who is at present stationed in Paris, but, for obvious reasons, forbear to make it public.” —Le Mercurie—Tuesday Morning, June 242 ‘An outrage of the most atrocious character was perpetrated near 1 New York “Express.” * New York “‘ Herald.”THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 413 this city the day before yesterday. A gentleman, with his wife and daughter, engaged about dusk the services of six young men, who were idly rowing a boat to and fro near the banks of the Seine, to convey him across the river. Upon reaching the opposite shore, the three passengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to be beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered that she had left in it her parasol. She returned for it. was seized by the gang, carried out into the stream, gagged, brutally treated, and finally taken to the shore at a point not far from that at which she had originally entered the boat with her parents. The villains have escaped for the time, but the police are upon their trail, and some of them will soon be taken.” —Morning Paper—June 25.1 “We have received one or two communications, the object of which is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity upon Mennais;2 but as this gentleman has been fully exonerated by a leg: gal inquiry, and as the arguments of our several correspondents appear to be more zealous than profound, we do not think it advisable to make them public.” —Morning Paper—June 28.3 ““We have received several forcibly written apparently from various sources, and which go far to render it a matter of certainty that the unfortunate Marie Rogét has become a victim of one of the numerous bands of blackguards which infest the vicinity of the city upon Sunday. Our own opinion is decidedly in favour of this supposition. We shall endeavour to make room for some of these arguments hereafter.””—Evening Paper—Tuesday, June 31.4 ““On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the revenue service saw an empty boat floating down the Seine. Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The bargeman towed it under the barge office. The next morning it was taken from thence without the knowledge of any of the officers. The rudder is now at the barge office.” —Le Diligence—Thu rsday, June 26.5 communications, Upon reading these various extracts. they not only seemed to me irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which any one of them could be brought to bear upon the matter in hand. I waited for some explanation from Dupin. “It is not my present design,” he said, “to dwell upon the first and second of these extracts. I have copied 1 New York ‘‘ Courier and Inquirer.” * Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested, but discharged through total lack of evidence. * New York “Courier and Inquirer.” * New York “Evening Post.” 5 New York “Standard.” oy all Neel el teal aed, ote -t tel te Ben "Died eisiic ier edt et seses ee pe ee | ee ee ee ee414 EDGAR ALLAN POE them chiefly to show you the extreme remissness of the police, who, as far as I can understand from the Pre- fect, have not troubled themselves in any respect with an examination of the naval officer alluded to. Yet it is mere folly to say that between the first and second dis- appearance of Marie, there is no supposable connection. Let us admit the first elopement to have resulted in a quarrel between the lovers and the return home of the betrayed. We are now prepared to view a second elope- ment (if we know that an elopement has again taken place) as indicating a renewal of the betrayer’s ad- vances, rather than as the result of new proposals by a second individual—we are prepared to regard it as a ‘making up’ of the old amour rather than as the com- mencement of a new one. The chances are ten to one that he who had once eloped with Marie would again propose an elopement rather than that she to whom proposals of elopement had been made by one individual should have them made to her by another. And here let me call your attention to the fact that the time elapsing between the first ascertained, and the second supposed elopement, is a few months more than the general period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the lover been interrupted in his first villainy by the necessity of departure to sea, and had he seized the first moment of his return to renew the base designs not yet altogether accomplished, or not yet altogether accom- plished by him? Of all these things we know nothing. “You will say, however, that, in the second instance, there was no elopement as imagined. Certainly not— but are we prepared to say that there was not the frus- trated design? Beyond St. Eustache, and perhaps Beau- vais, we find no recognised, no open, no honourable suitors of Marie. Of none other is there anything said. Who, then, is the secret lover of whom the relatives (atTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 415 least most of them) know nothing, but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, and who is so deeply in her confidence that she hesitates not to remain with him until the shades of the evening descend amid the solitary groves of the Barriére du Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of whom, at least, most of the rela- tives know nothing? And what means the singular prophecy of Madame Rogét on the morning of Marie’s departure—'I fear that I shall never see Marie again’? “But if we cannot imagine Madame Rogét privy to the design of elopement, may we not at least suppose this design entertained by the girl? Upon quitting home, she gave it to be understood that she was about to visit her aunt in the Rue des Drémes, and St. Eustache was requested to call for her at dark. Now, at first glance, this fact strongly militates against my suggestion; but let us reflect. That she did meet some companion, and proceed with him across the river, reaching the Barriére du Roule at so late an hour as three o’clock in the after- noon, is known. But in consenting so to accompany this individual (for whatever purpose—to her mother known or unknown), she must have thought of her expressed intention when leaving home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused in the bosom of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her at the hour appointed in the Rue des Drémes, he should find that she had not been there, and when, moreover, upon returning to the pension with this alarming intelligence, he should be- come aware of her continued absence from home. She must have thought of these things, I say. She must have foreseen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returning to brave this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial importance to her if we suppose her not intend- ing to return. ee i a es roSe et a ee ee Weebeprerereseriomg tots oo oe oe ee tee eed Ste ay a 416 EDGAR ALLAN POE “We may imagine her thinking thus—I am to meet a certain person for the purpose of elopement, or for certain other purposes known only to myself. It is necessary that there be no chance of interruption—there must be sufficient time given us to elude pursuit—I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and spend the day with my aunt at the Rue des Drémes—I will tell St. Eustache not to call for me until dark—ain this way, my absence from home for the longest possible period, without causing suspicion or anxiety, will be accounted for, and I shall gain more time than in any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call for me at dark, he will be sure not to call before; but, if I wholly neglect to bid him call, my time for escape will be diminished, since it will be expected that I return the earlier, and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety. Now, if it were my design to return at all—if I had in contempla- tion merely a stroll with the individual in question—it would not be my policy to bid St. Eustache call; for, calling, he will be sure to ascertain that I have played him false—a fact of which I might keep him for ever in ignorance, by leaving home without notifying him of my intention, by returning before dark, and by then stating that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Dromes. But, as it is my design never to return—or not for some weeks—or not until certain concealments are effected— the gaining of time is the only point about which I need give myself any concern.’ “You have observed, in your notes, that the most gen- eral opinion in relation to this sad affair is, and was from the first, that the girl had been the victim of a gang of blackguards. Now, the popular opinion, under certain conditions, is not to be disregarded. When aris- ing of itself—when manifesting itself in a strictly spon- taneous manner—we should look upon it as analogousTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 417 with that intuition which is the idiosynerasy of the in- dividual man of genius. In ninety-nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its decision. But it is im- portant that we find no palpable traces of suggestion. The opinion must be rigorously the public’s own; and the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceive and to maintain. In the present instance, it appears to me that this ‘public opinion,’ in respect to a gang, has been superinduced by the collateral event which is detailed in the third of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the discovered corpse of Marie, a girl young, beautiful, and notorious. This corpse is found, bearing marks of violence, and floating in the river. But it is now made known that, at the very period, or about the very period, in which it is supposed that the girl was assassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that endured by the deceased, although less in extent, was perpetrated, by a gang of young ruffians, upon the person of a second young female. Is it wonderful that the one known atroc- ity should influence the popular judgment in regard to the other unknown? This judgment awaited direction, and the known outrage seemed so opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, was found in the river; and upon this very river was this known outrage committed. The con- nection of the two events had about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder would have been a failure of the populace to appreciate and to seize it. But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so committed, is, if anything, evidence that the other, committed at a time nearly coincident, was not so committed. It would have been a miracle indeed, if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given locality, a most unheard-af wrong, there should have been another similar gang, in a similar locality, in the same city, under the same circumstances, with the same means and appliances,Oe Se eo ee ee an ee ee ey ee te 418 EDGAR ALLAN POE engaged in a wrong of precisely the same aspect, at precisely the same period of time! Yet in what, if not in this marvellous train of coincidence, does the acci- dentally suggested opinion of the populace call upon us to believe? “Before proceeding further, let us consider the sup- posed scene of the assassination in the thicket at the Barriere du Roule. This thicket, although dense, was in the close vicinity of a public road. Within were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat with a back and footstool. On the upper stone was discovered a white petticoat; on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief, were also here found. The handkerchief bore the name, ‘Marie Rogét.’ Frag- ments of dress were seen on the branches around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of a violent struggle. “Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the discovery of this thicket was received by the press, and the unanimity with which it was supposed to indicate the precise scene of the outrage, it must be admitted that there was some very good reason for doubt. That it was the scene, I may or I may not believe—but there was excellent reason for doubt. Had the true scene been, as ‘Le Commercial’ suggested, in the neighbourhood of the Rue Pavée Ste. Andrée, the perpetrators of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris, would naturally have been stricken with terror at the public attention thus acutely directed into the proper channel ; and in certain classes of minds there would have arisen at once a sense of the necessity of some exertion to re- divert this attention. And thus the thicket of the Bar- rigre du Roule having been already suspected, the idea of placing the articles where they were found might have been naturally entertained. There is no real evidence,THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 419 although ‘Le Soleil’ so supposes, that the articles dis- covered had been more than a very few days in the thicket; while there is much circumstantial proof that they could not have remained there, without attracting attention, during the twenty days elapsing between the fatal Sunday and the afternoon upon which they were found by the boys. “They were all mildewed down hard,’ says ‘Le Soleil,’ adopting the opinions of its predeces- sors, ‘with the action of the rain, and stuck together from mildew. ‘The grass had grown around and over some of them. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threads of it were run together within. The upper part, where it had been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on being opened.’ In respect to the grass having ‘grown around and over some of them,’ it is obvious that the fact could only have been ascertained from the words, and thus from the recollec- tions, of two small boys; for these boys removed the articles and took them home before they had been seen by a third party. But grass will grow, especially in warm and damp weather (such as was that of the period of the murder), as much as two or three inches in a single day. A parasol lying upon a newly-turfed ground might in a single week be entirely concealed from sight by the upspringing grass. And touching that mildew, upon which the editor of “Le Soleil’ so pertinaciously in- sists, that he employs the word no less than three times in the brief paragraph just quoted, is he really unaware of the nature of this mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the many classes of fungus, of which the most ordinary feature is its upspringing and decadence within twenty-four hours? “Thus we see at a glance that what has been most triumphantly adduced in support of the idea that the articles had been ‘for at least three or four weeks’ in the ee ee eee TEESE | ab eeaee by kth teh eS Pe es Se ee eeee ee ee ee ee Pre ee ee ee ee ee ee 420 EDGAR ALLAN POE thicket is most absurdly null as regards any evidence of that fact. On the other hand, it is exceedingly difficult to believe that these articles could have remained in the thicket specified for a longer period than a single week—for a longer period than from one Sunday to the next. Those who know anything of the vicinity of Paris know the extreme difficulty of finding seclusion, unless at a great distance from its suburbs. Such a thing as an unexplored, or even an unfrequently visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not for a moment to be imagined. Let any one, who, being at heart a lover of nature, is yet chained by duty to the dust and heat of this great metropolis—let any such one attempt, even during the week-days, to slake his thirst for solitude amid the scenes of natural loveliness which immediately surround us—at every second step he will find the grow- ing charm dispelled by the voice and personal intrusion of some ruffian or party of carousing blackguards. He will seek privacy amid the densest foliage all in vain. Here are the very nooks where the unwashed most abound—here are the temples most desecrate. With sickness of the heart the wanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a less odious, because less incon- gruous, sink of pollution. But if the vicinity of the city is so beset during the working days of the week, how much more so on the Sabbath! It is now especially that, released from the claims of labour or deprived of the customary opportunities of crime, the town black- guard seeks the precincts of the town, not through love of the rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way of escape from the restraints and conventionalities of society. He desires less the fresh air and the green trees than the utter license of the country. Here, at the road- side inn or beneath the foliage of the woods, he indulges, unchecked by any eye except those of his boon com-THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 421 panions, in all the mad excess of a counterfeit hilarity —the joint offspring of liberty and of rum. I say nothing more than what must be obvious to every dis- passionate observer, when I repeat that the circum- stance of the articles in question having remained un- discovered for a longer period than from one Sunday to another in any thicket in the immediate neighbourhood of Paris, is to be looked upon as little less than miracu- lous. “But there are not wanting other grounds for the suspicion that the articles were placed in the thicket with the view of diverting attention from the real scene of the outrage. And, first, let me direct your notice to the date of the discovery of the articles. Collate this with the date of the fifth extract made by myself from the newspapers. You will find that the discovery fol- lowed, almost immediately, the urgent communications sent to the evening newspaper. These communications, although various, and apparently from various sources, tended all to the same point—viz., the directing of atten- tion to a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, and to the neighbourhood of the Barriére du Roule as its scene. Now here, of course, the suspicion is not that, in con- sequence of these communications, or of the public atten- tion by them directed, the articles were found by the boys; but the suspicion might and may well have been that the articles were not before found by the boys for the reason that the articles had not before been in the thicket; having been deposited there only at so late a period as at the date, or shortly prior to the date of the communications, by the guilty authors of these com- munications themselves. “This thicket was a singular—an exceedingly singular one. It was unusually dense. Within its naturally walled enclosure were three extraordinary stones, forming aee ee toes ee nes 422 EDGAR ALLAN POE os seat with a back and footstool. And this thicket, so full of a natural art, was in the immediate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of Madame Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies about them in search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager—a wager of one thousand to one—that a day never passed over the heads of these boys without finding at least one of them ensconced in the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its natural throne? Those who would hesitate at such a wager have either never been boys themselves or have forgotten the boyish nature. I repeat—it is exceedingly hard to com- prehend how the articles could have remained in this thicket undiscovered for a longer period than one or two days; and that thus there is good ground for sus- picion, in spite of the dogmatic ignorance of ‘Le Soleil,’ that they were, at a comparatively late date, deposited where found. “But there are still other and stronger reasons for believing them so deposited than any which I have as yet urged. And, now, let me beg your notice to the highly artificial arrangement of the articles. On the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf; scattered around, were a parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief bearing the name of ‘Marie Roget.’ Here is just such an arrangement as would naturally be made by a not-over-acute person wishing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is by no means a really natural arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the things all lying on the ground and trampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that bower, it would have been scarcely possible that the petticoat and scarf should have retained a position upon the stones, when subjected to the brushing to and fro of many struggling persons. ‘There was evidence,’ it is said, ‘of a struggle; and theTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 423 earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,’—but the petticoat and scarf are found deposited as if upon shelves. The pieces of the frock torn out by the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of the frock, and it had been mended. They looked like strips torn off.’ Here, inadvertently, ‘Le Soleil’ has employed an exceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces, as described, do indeed ‘look like strips torn off,’ but purposely and by hand. It is one of the rarest of accidents that a piece is ‘torn off’ from any garment such as is now in question, by the agency of a thorn. From the very nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becoming entangled in them, tears them rectangularly—divides them into two longitudinal rents, at right angles with each other, and meeting at an apex where the thorn enters—but it is scarcely possible to conceive the piece ‘torn off.’ I never so knew it, nor did you. To tear a piece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in different directions, will be in almost every case required. If there be two edges to the fabric—if, for example, it be a pocket-handkerchief and it is desired to tear from it a slip, then, and then only, will the one force serve the purpose. But in the present case, the question is of a dress presenting but one edge. To tear a piece from the interior, where no edge is pre- sented, could only be effected by a miracle through the agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish it. But, even where an edge is presented, two thorns will be necessary, operating, the one in two distant directions, and the other in one. And this in the supposition that the edge is unhemmed. If hemmed, the matter is nearly out of the question. We thus see the numerous and great obstacles in the way of pieces being ‘torn off’ through the simple agency of ‘thorns;’ yet we are re- quired to believe not only that one piece but that many et. . rt oe er esa ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee a ee ee 42 4 EDGAR ALLAN POE have been so torn. ‘And one part,’ too, “was the hem of the frock!’ Another piece was ‘part of the skirt not the hem,’—that is to say, was torn completely out, through the agency of thorns, from the unedged interior of the dress. These, I say, are things which one may well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly, they form, perhaps, less of reasonable ground for suspicion than the one startling circumstance of the articles hay- ing been left in this thicket at all by any murderers who had enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You will not have apprehended me rightly, however, if you suppose it my design to deny this thicket as the scene of the outrage. There might have been a wrong here, or, more possibly, an accident at Madame Deluc’s. But, in fact, this is a point of minor importance. We are not engaged in an attempt to discover the scene, but to pro- duce the perpetrators of the murder. What I have ad- duced, notwithstanding the minuteness with which I have adduced it, has been with the view, first, to show the folly of the positive and headlong assertions of ‘Le Soleil,’ but secondly and chiefly, to bring you by the most natural route to a further contemplation of the doubt whether this assassination has, or has not been, the work of a gang. “We will resume this question by mere allusion to the revolting details of the surgeon examined at the inquest. It is only necessary to say that his published inferences, in regard to the number of the rufhans, have been prop- erly ridiculed as unjust and totally baseless by all the reputable anatomists of Paris. Not that the matter might not have been as inferred, but that there was no ground for the inference—was there not much for an- other? “Let us reflect now upon ‘the traces of a struggle;’ and let me ask what these traces have been supposed toTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 425 demonstrate. A gang. But do they not rather demon- strate the absence of a gang? What struggle could have taken place—what struggle so violent and so enduring as to have left its ‘traces’ in all directions—between a weak and defenceless girl and the gang of rufhans imag- ined? The silent grasp of a few rough arms and all would have been over. The victim must have been abso- lutely passive at their will. You will here bear in mind that the arguments urged against the thicket as the scene, are applicable, in chief part, only against it as the scene of an outrage committed by more than a single indi- vidual. If we imagine but one violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the struggle of so violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the ‘traces’ apparent. “And again. I have already mentioned the suspicion to be excited by the fact that the articles in question were suffered to remain at all in the thicket where dis- covered. It seems almost impossible that these evidences of guilt should have been accidentally left where found. There was sufficient presence of mind (it is supposed) to remove the corpse; and yet a more positive evidence than the corpse itself (whose features might have been quickly obliterated by decay ) is allowed to lie conspicu- ously in the scene of the outrage—lI allude to the hand- kerchief with the name of the deceased. If this was accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We can imagine it only the accident of an individual. Let us see. An individual has committed the murder. He is alone with the ghost of the departed. He is appalled by what lies motionless before him. The fury of his passion is over, and there is abundant room in his heart for the natural awe of the deed. His is none of that confidence which the presence of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with the dead. He trembles and is bewildered. Yet there is a necessity for disposing of the corpse. He ee op e'oeee ee eee er ee ee ca ee ee ee! SPSS recs 426 EDGAR ALLAN POE bears it to the river, but leaves behind him the other evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if not impossible, to carry all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to return for what is left. But in his toilsome journey to the water his fears redouble within him. The sounds of life en- compass his path. A dozen times he hears or fancies the step of an observer. Even the very lights from the city bewilder him. Yet, in time, and by long and frequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the river’s brink, and disposes of his ghastly charge—perhaps through the medium of a boat. But now what treasure does the world hold—what threat of vengeance could it hold out —which would have power to urge the return of that lonely murderer over that toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its blood-chilling recollections? He returns not, let the consequences be what they may. He could not return if he would. His sole thought is imme- diate escape. He turns his back for ever upon those dreadful shrubberies, and flees as from the wrath to come. “But how with a gang? Their number would have inspired them with confidence; if, indeed, confidence is ever wanting in the breast of the arrant blackguard; and of arrant blackguards alone are the supposed gangs ever constituted. Their number, I say, would have prevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror which I have imagined to paralyse the single man. Could we suppose an oversight in one, or two, or three, this oversight would have been remedied by a fourth. They would have left nothing behind them; for their number would have enabled them to carry all at once. There would have been no need of return. “Consider now the circumstance that, in the outer garment of the corpse when found, ‘a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the bottom hem to theTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 427 waist, wound three times round the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.’ This was done with the obvious design of affording a handle by which to carry the body. But would any number of men have dreamed of resorting to such an expedient? To three or four, the limbs of the corpse would have afforded not only a sufficient, but the best possible hold. The device is that of a single individual; and this brings us to the fact that ‘between the thicket and the river, the rails of the fences were found taken down, and the ground bore evident traces of some heavy burden having been dragged along ‘t! But would a number of men have put themselves to the superfluous trouble of taking down a fence for the purpose of dragging throu eh it a corpse which they might have lifted over any fence in an instant? Would a number of men have so dragged a corpse at all as to have left evident traces of the dragging? “And here we must refer to an observation of ‘Le Commercial,’ an observation upon which I have already, +n some measure, commented. ‘A piece, says this journal, ‘of one of the unfortunate girl’s petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows who had n O pocket-handkerchiefs.’ “IT have before suggested that a genuine blackguard +s never without a pocket-handkerchief. But it is not to this fact that I now especially advert. That it was not through want of a handkerchief for the purpose imagined by ‘Le Commercial’ that this bandage was employed, is rendered apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and that the object was not ‘to prevent screams’ appears, also, from the bandage having been employed in preference to what would so much better have answered the purpose. But the language of the evidence speaks of the strip in questi on as ‘found around the neck, ee ee ee se )mote pencere rere: ger Pe oe ee oa Dee atedegsecwentehe beta? Hv ae a 428 EDGAR ALLAN POE fitting loosely, and secured with a hard knot.’ These words are sufficiently vague, but differ materially from those of “Le Commercial.’ The slip was eighteen inches wide, and therefore, although of muslin, would form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudinally. And thus rumpled it was discovered. My inference is this. The solitary murderer, having borne the corpse for some distance (whether from the thicket or elsewhere by means of the bandage hitched around its middle), found the weight in this mode of procedure too much for his strength. He resolved to drag the burthen—the evidence goes to show that it was dragged. With this object in view, it became necessary to attach something like a rope to one of the extremities. It could be best attached about the neck, where the head would prevent its slipping off. And now the murderer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage about the loins. He would have used this, but for its volution about the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the reflection that it had not been ‘torn off’ from the garment. It was easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it, made it fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the river. That this ‘bandage,’ only attain- able with trouble and delay, and but imperfectly answer- ing its purpose—that this bandage was employed at all, demonstrates that the necessity for its employment sprang from circumstances arising at a period when the handkerchief was no longer attainable, that is to say, arising, as we have imagined, after quitting the thicket (if the thicket it was), and on the road between the thicket and the river. But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc (!) points especially to the presence of a gang, in the vicinity of the thicket, at or about the epoch of the murder. This I grant. I doubt if there were not aTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 429 dozen gangs, such as described by Madame Deluc, in and about the vicinity of the Barriére du Roule at or about the period of this tragedy. But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointed animadversion, although the somewhat tardy and very suspicious evidence of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is represented by that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eaten her cakes and swallowed her brandy without putting them- selves to the trouble of making her payment. Lt hine le ire? “But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? A gang of miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed the river as if in great haste. “Now this ‘great haste’ very possibly seemed greater haste in the eyes of Madame Deluc since she dwelt lingeringly and lamentingly upon her violated cakes and ale—cakes and ale for which she might still have enter- tained a faint hope of compensation. Why, otherwise, since it was about dusk, should she make a point of the haste? It is no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards should make haste to get home, when a wide river is to be crossed in small boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches. “T say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It was only about dusk that the indecent haste of these ‘miscreants’ offended the sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we are told that it was upon this very evening that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, ‘heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.’ And in what words does Madame Deluc designate the period of the evening at which these screams were heard? ‘It was soon after dark,’ she says. But ‘soon after dark’ is,ate Ba Ear me |S Oa aes oe ee ee tee as ® ee ee ee er oe a 430 EDGAR ALLAN POE at least, dark; and ‘about dusk,’ is as certainly daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that the gang quitted the Barriére du Roule prior to the screams overheard (?) by Madame Deluc. And although, in all the many reports of the evidence, the relative expressions in ques- tion are distinctly and invariably employed just as I have employed them in this conversation with yourself, no notice whatever of the gross discrepancy has as yet been taken by any of the public journals, or by any of the myrmidons of police. “T shall add but one to the arguments against a gang; but this one has, to my own understanding at least, a weight altogether irresistible. Under the circumstances of large reward offered, and full pardon to any King’s evidence, it is not to be imagined, for a moment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians, or of any body of men, would not long ago have betrayed his accom- plices. Each one of a gang so placed is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for escape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and early that he may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has not been divulged is the very best of proof that it is in fact a secret. The horrors of this dark deed are known only to one or two living human beings and to God. “Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of our long analysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatal accident under the roof of Madame Delue or of a murder perpetrated in the thicket at the Barriere du Roule, by a lover, or at least by an intimate and secret associate of the deceased. This associate is of swarthy complexion. This complexion, the ‘hitch’ in the bandage, and the sailor’s ‘knot,’ with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a seaman. His companionship with the deceased, a gay, but not an abject young girl, designates him as above the grade of the common sailor. Here theTHE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 431 well-written and urgent communications to the journals are much in the way of corroboration. The circumstance of the first elopement, as mentioned by ‘Le Mercurie, tends to blend the idea of this seaman with that of the ‘naval officer’ who is first known to have led the un- fortunate into crime. ‘And here most fitly comes the consideration of the continued absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause to observe that the complexion of this man is dark and swarthy; it was no common swarthiness which constituted the sole point of remembrance, both as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he murdered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the assassinated girl? The scene of the two outrages will naturally be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The assassins would most probably have disposed of both in the same way. But it may be said that this man lives, and is deterred from making himself known through dread of being charged with the murder. This consideration might be supposed to operate upon him now—at this late period—since it has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie—but it would have had no force at the period of the deed. The first impulse of an innocent man would have been to announce the outrage, and to aid in identifying the ruffians. This policy would have suggested. He had been seen with the girl. He had crossed the river with her in an open ferry-boat. The denouncing of the assassins would have appeared, even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of relieving him- self from suspicion. We cannot suppose him on the night of the fatal Sunday both innocent himself and incognisant of an outrage committed. Yet only under such circumstances is it possible to imagine that heme) Pt Ag 8 ea ne te.-ce be te re renimes:tesr seererettoEecot: ee ee ee ee ee 432 EDGAR ALLAN POE would have failed, if alive, in the denouncement of the assassins. “And what means are ours of attaining the truth? We shall find these means multiplying and gathering distinctness as we proceed. Let us sift to the bottom this affair of the first elopement. Let us know the full history of ‘the officer,’ with his present circumstances, and his whereabouts at the precise period of the murder. Let us carefully compare with each other the various communications sent to the evening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang. This done, let us com- pare these communications, both as regards style and MS., with those sent to the morning paper, at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon the guilt of Mennais. And all this done, let us again compare these various communications with the known MSS. of the oficer. Let us endeavour to ascertain by repeated ques- tionings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omnibus-driver, Valence, something more of the personal appearance and bearing of the ‘man of dark complexion.’ Queries, skilfully directed, will not fail to elicit from some of these parties information on this particular point (or upon others )—information which the parties themselves may not even be aware of posses- sing. And let us now trace the boat picked up by the bargeman on the morning of Monday, the twenty-third of June, and which was removed from the barge-oflice without the cognisance of the officer in attendance, and without the rudder, at some period prior to the discovery of the corpse. With a proper caution and perseverance we shall infallibly trace this boat; for not only can the bargeman who picked it up identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rudder of a sail-boat would not have been abandoned, without inquiry, by one altogether at ease in heart. And here let me pause to insinuate a question.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 433 There was no advertisement of the picking up of this boat. It was silently taken to the barge-office, and as silently removed. But its owner or employer—how hap- pened he, at so early a period as Tuesday morning, to be informed without the agency of advertisement, of the locality of the boat taken up on Monday, unless we imagine some connection with the navy—some personal permanent connection leading to cognizance of its minute interests—its petty local news? “In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his bur- den to the shore, I have already suggested the probability of his availing himself of a boat. Now we are to under- stand that Marie Rogét was precipitated from a boat. This would naturally have been the case. The corpse could not have been trusted to the shallow waters of the shore. The peculiar marks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the bottom ribs of a boat. That the body was found without weight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight would have been attached. We can only account for its absence by supposing the murderer to have neglected the precaution of supplying himself with it before pushing off. In the act of consigning the corpse to the water, he would un- questionably have noticed his oversight; but then no remedy would have been at hand. Any risk would have been preferred to a return to that accursed shore. Hav- ing rid himself of his ghastly charge, the murderer would have hastened to the city. There, at some obscure wharf he would have leaped on land. But the boat—would he have secured it? He would have been in too great haste for such things as securing a boat. Moreover, in fasten- ing it to the wharf he would have felt as if securing evidence against himself. His natural thought would have been to cast from him as far as possible all that had held connection with his crime. He would not only Oe ee ee ee ee o a434 EDGAR ALLAN POE have fled from the wharf, but he would not have per- mitted the boat to remain. Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. Let us pursue our fancies.—In the morning the wretch is stricken with unutterable horror at find- ing that the boat has been picked up and detained at a locality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting— at a locality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to fre- quent. The next night, without daring to ask for the rudder, he removes it. Now where is that rudderless boat? Let it be one of our first purposes to discover. With the first glimpse we obtain of it, the dawn of our success shall begin. This boat shall guide us with a rapidity which will surprise even ourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight of the fatal Sabbath. Cor- roboration will rise upon corroboration, and the mur- derer will be traced.” [For reasons which we shall not specify, but which to many readers will appear obvious, we have taken the liberty of here omitting, from the MSS. placed in our hands, such portion as details the following up of the apparently slight clue obtained by Dupin. We feel it advisable only to state, in brief, that the result desired was brought to pass; and that the Prefect fulfilled punctually, although with reluctance, the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr. Poe’s article concludes with the following words.—Eds."] It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and no more. What I have said above upon this topic must suffice. In my own heart there dwells no faith in preter- nature. That nature and its God are two, no man who thinks will deny. That the latter, creating the former, can, at will, control or modify it, is also unquestionable. I say “at will;’” for the question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic has assumed, of power. It is not 1 Of the magazine in which the article was originally published.— Ed.THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET § 435 that the Deity cannot modify his laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible necessity for modification. In their origin these laws were fashioned to embrace all contingencies which could lie in the Future. With God all is Now. I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as of coincidences. And further: in what I relate it will be seen that between the fate of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers, so far as that fate is known, and the fate of one Marie Rogét up to a certain epoch in her history, there has existed a parallel in the contemplation of whose wonderful exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be seen. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceeding with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just mentioned, and in tracing to its dénouement the mystery which enshrouded her, it is my covert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, or even to suggest that the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the assassin of a grisette, or measures founded in any similar ratiocination, would produce any similar result. For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition, it should be considered that the most trifling variation in the facts of the two cases might give rise to the most important miscalculations, by diverting thoroughly the two courses of events; very much as, in arithmetic, an error which, in its own individuality, may be inappre- ciable, produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all points of the process, a result enormously at variance with truth. And, in regard to the former branch, we must not fail to hold in view that the very Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred, forbids all idea of the extension of the parallel:—forbids it with a positive- ness strong and decided just in proportion as this parallel has already been long-drawn and exact. This a eee rer ee Oe eea ee ey + Gobet ee y warereniweeteprsrererertogeccet ee ee ey eT 436 EDGAR ALLAN POE is one of those anomalous propositions which, seemingly appealing to thought altogether apart from the mathe- matical, is yet one which only the mathematician can fully entertain. Nothing, for example, is more difficult than to convince the merely general reader that the fact of sixes having been thrown twice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient cause for betting the largest odds that sixes will not be thrown in the third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usually rejected by the intellect at once. It does not appear that the two throws which have been completed, and which lie now absolutely in the Past, can have influence upon the throw which exists only in the Future. The chance for throwing sixes seems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary time—that is to say, subject only to the influence of the various other throws which may be made by the dice. And this is a reflection which appears so exceedingly obvious that attempts to controvert it are received more frequently with a derisive smile than with anything like respectful attention. The error here involved—a gross error redolent of mischief—I cannot pretend to expose within the limits assigned me at present; and with the philosophical it needs no exposure. It may be sufficient here to say that it forms one of an infinite series of mis- takes which arise in the path of Reason through her propensity for seeking truth in detail. 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 Huguenot437 THE GOLD-BUG family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the quent upon his disasters, he left New fathers, and took up his resi- near Charleston, South mortification conse Orleans, the city of his fore dence at Sullivan's Island, Carolina. This island is a very little else than the sea sand, long. Its breadth at no point e It is separated from the mainland by a scarcely per- ereek, oozing its way through a wilderness of a favourite resort of the supposed, is secant, or at singular one. It consists of and is about three miles xceeds a quarter of a mile. ceptible reeds and slime, The vegetation, as might be least dwarfish. No trees of Near the western extremity, wher stands. and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charles- ton dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto ; but the whole island, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the undergrowth of the marsh-hen. any magnitude are to be seen. e Fort Moultrie sea-coast, is covered with a dense sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of The shrub here often attains the height of England. an almost impenetrable fifteen or twenty feet, and forms 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 accident, made his acquaintance. This ship—for there was much in the I found him well but infected soon ripened into friend recluse to excite interest and esteem. educated, with unusual powers of mind, with misanthropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief ee ee ee ee ee = . ~ ~_ —— - es ee ere opsspomendwreenegesrercreriogeccs: foe- es ee ee ee et 438 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 excursions 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 attendance 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 ob- stinacy 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, 18—, there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. 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 Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the facilities 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. 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 termTHE GOLD-BUG 439 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 scarabeus 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 scarabai 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 colour—about the size of a large hickory-nut—with twe jet black spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The antenne 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,” replied Legrand, some- what more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, “is that any reason for your letting the birds burn? The colour”—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-morrow. In the ees " ~ ¥ oPabe bed he Pot ese gecesi: cL Pe - i ~~ et oe eo . ee Te) sesece« di we ome wey ee se eee er Se ee ee ee ee eee ee ee ee Re 440 EDGAR ALLAN POE meantime I can give you some idea of the shape.” Say- ing 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 loud growl was heard, suc- ceeded 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 min- utes, “this zs a strange scarabeus, 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 drawTHE GOLD-BUG AAT 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 eacellent skull, according to the vulgar no- tions about such specimens of physiology—and your scarabeus must be the queerest scarabeus 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 scarabeus caput hominis, or something of that kind—there are many similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antenne@ you spoke of P”” “The antenne!” said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably warm upon the subject; “I am sure you must see the antenne. 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 addi- tional remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs had taken; his ill-humour puzzled me—and, as for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively no antenne visible, and the whole did bear a very close resemblance 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— +n another as excessively 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 direc- @ Peto eea hed .; tt fei es eieis ie? oe Pes ee ee Te ree oe Tes™ whee | ars-4 heb oe Se ee re ee ee eee to ae etl aw Dedapersni wermepesrereseit cg tot ee ee ae hae 442 EDGAR ALLAN POE tions. 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 carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanour; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in reverie, from which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I had fre- quently 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 inter- val I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. JI 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 nebber plain of notin—but him berry sick for all dat.”’ “Very sick, Jupiter—why didn’t you say so at once? Is he confined 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 Will.” “Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is youTHE GOLD-BUG 443 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 about de matter—Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him—but den what make him go about 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 syphon wid de figgurs on de slate—de queerest 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.” “Bh?—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 unpleas- ant happened since I saw you?” “No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since 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—lI’m berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout de head by dat goole-bug.” “And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a suppo- sition?” “Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did d bug—he kick and he bite ebery ting see sich a d owe > ft bs> St eee ee ee ae re rd eaeeS ee See eT a ee oe re a te aioe Latte ed ee ee ee ee ed ee = 444 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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?” “T 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?” “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 for- tunate circumstance am I to attribute the honour 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 foolish 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 toTHE GOLD-BUG AAD5 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. “T have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. “If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupiter. Docome. I wish to see you to-night, upon business of importance. I assure you that it is of the highest importance.—Ever yours, “Wittiam LEGRAND.” There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed mate- rially from that of Legrand. What could he be dream- ing 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 unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesitation, 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. “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 I know, and debbil take me if I don’t blieve ’tis more dan he know too. But it’s all cum ob de bug.”’ Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of a ee ee ee446 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 scarabeus from Lieutenant G “Oh, yes,” he replied, colouring violently, “I got it from him the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that scarabeus. 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 in- expressibly shocked. “This bug is to make my fortune,” he continued, with a triumphant smile, “to reinstate me in my family pos- sessions. 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 and I shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, bring me that scara- beus!” “What! de bug, massa? I’d rudder not go fer trubble dat bug—-you mus git him for your own self.” Here- upon Legrand 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 scarabeus, and, at thatTHE GOLD-BUG AAT 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 concordance with that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell. “T sent for you,’ said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had completed my examination of the beetle, “T 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 pre- cautions. 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 indication 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 reliove this excite- ment.” ‘And how is this to be done?”’ “Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into the hills, upon the mainland, and, in this expedition, we shall need the aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only one we can ete a as 'ae ee ee ee ee ee ee et ee ee ee ee ee seeety 448 EDGAR ALLAN POE trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now perceive in me will be equally allayed.”’ “T am anxious to oblige you in any way,’ I replied; “but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition into the hills?” welt hagiv “Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding.” “T 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 honour, 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 implicitly, as that of your physician?” “Yes; I premise; 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 complaisance. His demeanour 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 lan- terns, while Legrand contented himself with the scara- beus, which he carried attached to the end of a bit of whipcord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a con- jurer, as he went. When I observed this last plainTHE GOLD-BUG 449 evidence of my friend’s aberration of mind I could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humour 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 endeavoured, 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 vouch- safed 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 main land, proceeded in a north-westerly 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 tableland, near the summit of an almost in- accessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared 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 re- clined. 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 discovered 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 footee ee ee at eee ee ee ee ee ee ee oe Srece 450 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 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 de tree?—d—n if I do!” “If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can earry 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 for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only funnin any how. Me feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?’ Here he took cau- tiously hold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the insect as far from his person as circum- stances would permit, prepared to ascend the tree.THE GOLD-BUG 451 In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron tulipiferum, 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, 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 falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the whole business as virtually accomplished. 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 limbs 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, announc- ing that the seventh limb was attained.SP ae Se Pe ee ee Ee ee eee sees 452 EDGAR ALLAN POE “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 enter- tained 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 get- ting him home. While 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 all 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 sartain—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 well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it very rotten.” “Him rotten, massa, sure nuff,” replied 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 berry hebby bug. Spose I drop him down fuss, and den de limb won’t break wid just de weight ob one nigger.THE GOLD-BUG 453 “You infernal scoundrel!” cried Legrand, apparently much relieved, “what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As sure as you drop that beetle 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.” “I’m gwine, Massa Will—deed I is,” replied the negro very promptly—‘‘mos out to the eend now.” “Qut 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 noffin 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 limb ?—what holds it on?”’ “Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance, 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 dare aint no eye lef at all “Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand ~ p?? . from your left “Yes. I nose dat—nose all bout dat—tis my lef hand what I chops de wood wid.” ere ee ee ee ee +% - ee. eer) ieee eee Te oe) semes454 EDGAR ALLAN POE “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?’’ “Tet 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 dare below ly 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 glistened, like 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 scarabeus 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 accomplished 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 thusTHE GOLD-BUG 455 attained a second peg was driven, and about this, as a centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, de- scribed. 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 relish for such amusement at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly have declined 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 attempting 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 con- test with his master. I made no doubt that the latter had been infected with some of the innumerable South- ern superstitions about money buried, and that his fan- tasy had received confirmation by the finding of the scarabeus, 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 sugges- tions—especially if chiming in with favourite precon- ceived 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 puz- zled, 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 fallacy 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 picturesque a group we composed, and how456 EDGAR ALLAN .POE strange and suspicious our labours 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 Le- grand ;—for myself, I should have rejoiced at any inter- ruption which might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, very effectually 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, how- ever, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, 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 labour. 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 profound silence towards home. We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direc- tion, when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up toTHE GOLD-BUG 457 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 syl- lables from between his clenched teeth—‘you infernal black villain!—speak, I tell you'—answer me this in- stant, without prevarication !_-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. “T though so—I knew it! hurrah!” vociferated Le- grand, letting the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and aracols, much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked, mutely, from his master to myself, 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 he reached its foot, “come here! was the skull nailed to the limb with the face out- wards, or with the face to the limb?” “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 here Legrand touched each you dropped the beetle ?”’ 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 indi- cated. “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, re- Se eetr rite ite. tSeas ee Ds ha Pswrind wreeter: teers ee ee 4.58 EDGAR ALLAN POE moved the peg which marked 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 labour imposed. I had become most unaccountably interested—nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagant de- meanour of Legrand—some air of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with some- thing 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 howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently, but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter’s again attempt- ing to muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the 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 largeTHE GOLD-BUG Spanish knife, and, as_we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light. At the sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme disappointment. He urged us, how- ever, to continue our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I stumbled and fell forward, hav- ing 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 inter- yal we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which from its perfect preservation and wonderful hard- ness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizing process—perhaps that of the bichloride 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 form- ing a kind of open trelliswork 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 endeayours 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 con- sisted 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 a glow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes. I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Le- grand appeared exhausted with excitement, and spokeereetmgr toto ttn ee eee See ee oon ee ee 460 EDGAR, ALLAN POE 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, thunderstricken. 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 little 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 remoying the treasure. It was growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might get everything housed be- fore 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 immediately. 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, atTHE GOLD-BUG 461 which, for the second time, we deposited our golden burthens, just as the first faint streaks of the dawn gleamed from over the tree-tops in the East. We were now thoroughly broken down; but the in- tense 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 arrangement. Everything had been heaped in promiscuously. Having 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—estimat- ing 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 German money, with a few English guineas, and some counters, of which we had never seen specimens 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 diffi- culty 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 re- markable 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 ali this, there was ee ST ee eee ee eeeS Se ee eer ee restcog>-tct ee te So te ee ed 462 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 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 number being worth each five hun- dred 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 jew- elled and in cases of great worth. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a million 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 extraor- dinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the circum- stances connected with it. “You remember,” said he, “the night when I handed you the rough sketch I had made of the scarabeus. You recollect also, that I became quite vexed at you for in- sisting 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 admitted to myself that your remark had some little foundation in fact.THE GOLD-BUG 463 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 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 differ- ent 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, pro- ceeded 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 scarabeus, and that this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closely resemble my draw- ing. I say the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connec- tion—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 eT. = e ee Pe464 EDGAR ALLAN POE more than the coincidence. I began distinctly, posi- tively, to remember that there had been no drawing on the parchment when I made my sketch of the scarabeus. 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 there then, 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 glim- mer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a glow-worm-like conception of that truth which last night’s adventure brought to so mag- nificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all farther re- flection until I should be alone. “When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook myself to a more methodical investiga- tion of the affair. In the first place I considered the manner in which the parchment had come into my pos- session. The spot where we discovered the scarabeeus was on the coast of the mainland, 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 ob- served 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 resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced.THE GOLD-BUG 465 “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 inspec- tion. 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 conscious 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, when my hand fell upon the parchment. I thus detail the precise mode in which it came into my possession ; for the circumstances im- pressed me with peculiar force. “No doubt you will think me fanciful—but I had already established a kind of connection. I had put to- gether 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. “T have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parchment +s durable—almost imperishable. Matters of little moment are rarely consigned to parch- ment; since, for the mere ordinary purposes of drawing eS fewest osePod— ee see466 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 memo- randum—for a record of something to be long remem- bered 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 scarabeus?” “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 scarabeus, 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 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 endeavoured to re- member, and did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which occurred about the period in ques- tion. 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,THE GOLD-BUG 467 entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the parchment, was permitted to fall list- lessly between your knees, and in close proximity to the fre. 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 examina- tion. When I considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a moment that heat had been the agent in bring- ing 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 colours disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the material written on cools, but again become apparent upon the re-application of heat. “I now scrutinised the death’s-head with care. Its outer edges—the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vellum—were far more distinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the caloric had been im- perfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the skull; but, on persevering 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 sup- posed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was intended for a kid.”PP a ee Te Pe on eee 2s Poe ee ee ee ee a) ee ee eee 468 EDGAR ALLAN POE “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 establish a third link 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 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 upon the figure of the animal as a kind of pun- ning or hieroglyphical signature. I Say signature; be- cause 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 irre- sistibly impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than an actual belief; but do you know that Jupiter’s silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect on my faney? And then the series of accidents and coinci- dences—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 without the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at the precise moment in which he appeared, I >?THE GOLD-BUG 469 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 rumours afloat about money buried, somewhere on the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumours must have had some foundation in fact. And that the rumours 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 re- claimed it, the rumours 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 memorandum in- dicating 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, busy- ing themselves in vain, because unguided attempts, to regain it, had given first birth, and then universal cur- rency, to the reports which are now so common. Have you ever heard of any important treasure being un- earthed 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 cer- tainty, that the parchment so strangely found, involved a lost record of the place of deposit.”470 EDGAR ALLAN POE “But how did you proceed?” “I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat; but nothing appeared. I now thought it pos- sible that the coating of dirt might have something to do with the failure; so I carefully rinsed the parch- ment 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 slip, 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. On taking it off, the whole was just as you see it now.” Here Legrand, having re-heated the parchment, sub- mitted it to my inspection. The following characters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the death’s- head and the goat: 53117305) )6*; 4826) 4t.)4f) ;806*;48 +8760) )85;;]8*;:1*8183(88)5*t; 46(;88*96*? ;8) *t(;485) 5 *{2:*t(;4956*2(5*—4) 898*:4069285) :)648) 4 Tf; 1(19;48081;8:81 548185 ;4) 485 {528806*81(t9;48;(88;4(1?34;48)4t; 161;:188;f{?; “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 char- acters, as any one might readily guess, form a cipher— that is to say, they convey 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 crudeTHE GOLD-BUG 471 ‘ntellect of the sailor, absolutely insoluble without the key.” “And you really solved it?” “Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind which human in- genuity may not, by proper application, resolve. In fact, having once established connected and legible char- acters, I scarcely gave a thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import. indeed in all cases of secret “In the present case 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 dif- ficulty is removed by the signature. The pun on the word ‘Kidd’ 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 Eng- lish. “You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there been divisions, the task would have been comparatively 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 I, for example), I should have con- eed tet ee te Te472 EDGAR ALLAN POE sidered the solution as assured. But, there being no division, my first step was to ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent. Counting all, I constructed a table thus: Of the character 8 there are 33. ‘en = ip we D> »> —§-wiS BWOeH QD *¥ S “Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is e. Afterwards, the succession runs thus: a o i dhnrstuycfglmwbkpqus. E predominates so remarkably 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 groundwork 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 cryptograph is brief. “Let us assume 8 then, as e. Now, of all words in the language, ‘the’ is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether there are not repetitions of any three characters,THE GOLD-BUG A473 in the same order of collocation, the last of them being g. 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 ; represents t, 4 represents h, and 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 ; immediately ensuing is the commencement of a word, and, of the six characters succeeding this ‘the, we are cognisant of no less than five. Let us set 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 ‘thi? as forming no portion of the word commencing with the first t; 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 read- ing. 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 548, and employ it by way ee eee oeee eee ne ee ee eee Se oe ee 47 4 EDGAR ALLAN POE of terminction 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{?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 { ? and 3. “Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for com- binations of known characters, we find, not very far 3 3 ° from the beginning, this arrangement 5 o> 5 3 83(88, or egree, which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word ‘degree,’ and gives us another letter, d, represented by fT. “Four letters beyond the word ‘degree, we perceive the combination, 46 (388%. “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 char- acters 7 and n, represented by 6 and *. “Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find the combination, 53} TT.THE GOLD-BUG “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: represents a i d e - h —~ e+ % O> He OS CO—+ Or we “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 you the full translation of the characters on the parch- ment, as unriddled. Here it is: “«4 good glass in the bishop’s hostel in the devil’s 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 outs & “But,” said I, “the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as ever. How is it possible to extort a mean- ing from all this jargon about ‘devil’s seats, “death’s- heads,’ and ‘bishop’s hotels’ ?”’ eS ee er aeee ee ee ee Se Se Late ee eS See See a nt ee oe eS Fe er ee 476 EDGAR ALLAN POE “I confess,” replied Legrand, “that the matter still wears a serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavour was to divide the sentence into the natural division intended by the cryptographist.” “You mean to punctuate it?” “Something of that kind.” “But how was 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 difficulty of solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such an object, would be nearly certain to everdo the matter. When, in the course of his composi- tion, 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 observe 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 devil’s seat—twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes—north- east 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; during which I made diligent 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 proceeding in a more systematic manner, when, one morning, it entered into my head, quite suddenly, that this ‘Bishop’s Hostel’THE GOLD-BUG AT7 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 north- ward of the Island. I accordingly went over to the plantation, and re-instituted 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 proceeded to examine the place. The ‘castle’ consisted of an irregular assemblage of cliffs and rocks —one of the latter being quite remarkable for its height as well as for its insulated 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 narrow 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 other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, and a definite point of view, admitting no variation, from which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrases, ee Se ree Ssiess ee. es tt oe) re478 EDGAR ALLAN POE ‘twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes,’ and ‘north- east and by north,’ were intended as directions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by these dis- coveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and re- turned to the rock. “I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible to retain a seat upon it unless in one par- ticular position. This fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the ‘twenty-one degrees and thirteen 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 established 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 overtopped 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,’ admitted also of but one interpreta- tion, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I per- ceived that the design was to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a bee-line, 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,oe ee eee eee THE GOLD-BUG 479 would indicate a definite point—and beneath this point I thought it at least possible that a deposit of value lay concealed.” “All this,” I said, “is exceedingly clear, and, although ingenious, 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 experiment 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 attended by Jupiter, who had no doubt observed for some weeks past the abstraction of my demeanour, 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 flogging. With the rest of the adventure I believe you are as well acquainted as myself.” “T suppose,” said I, “you missed the spot, in the first attempt at digging, through Jupiter’s stupidity in letting the bug fall through the right instead of through the left eye of the skull?” “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 theaero ie’ edqns eh Ee eee ete See ee 480 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 impressions that treasure was here some- where actually buried, we might have had all our labour in vain.” “But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swing- ing 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 skele- tons 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 believe 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 labour. But the worst of this labour concluded, 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 sapientize odiosius acumine nimio. Seneca. Ar Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18—, 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 troisiéme, No. 33, Dunét, 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 discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversation between us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder of Marie Rogét. 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 5 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 forebore to enkindle the wick, ‘we shall examine it to better purpose in the dark.” 481 ates al eat did tel oe eo ee 2 Oe ee ee ee482 EDGAR ALLAN POE “That is another of your odd notions,” said the Pre- fect, who 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 supplied his visitor 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 bafiles 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 little 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 visitor, 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,” replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled him- self 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 mostTHE PURLOINED LETTER 483 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 very high quarter, that a certain document of the last importance has been purloined from the royal apart- ments. 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. “Tt 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 little 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 ques- tion the honour of a personage of most exalted station; and this fact gives the holder of the document an ascend- ency over the illustrious personage whose honour and peace are so jeopardised.” “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 dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The method of the theft was not less , who leet ieal diet tl te a eek ted48 4 EDGAR ALLAN POE ingenious than 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 endeavour to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, open as it was, upon a table. The address, however, was uppermost, and the contents thus un- exposed, the letter escaped notice. At this juncture enters the Minister D His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, recognises the handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some business transactions, 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 con- verses for some fifteen minutes upon the public 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,” replied 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 thisTHE PURLOINED LETTER A85 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 pos- sible that some such opinion may have been entertained.” “Tt 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 pro- ceeded. My first care was to make thorough search of the minister’s 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 aw fait in these investi- gations. The Parisian police haye 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 frequently 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 Neapolitans, 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 engaged, personally, in ransacking the D Hotel. My honour 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 ee ee ee486 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 concealed.” “But is it not possible,’ I suggested, “that although the letter may be in the 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 availability of the document —its susceptibility of being produced at a moment’s notice—a point of nearly equal importance with its possession.” “Its susceptibility 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.” “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 doggerel myself.” “Suppose you detail,” said I, “the particulars of your search.” “Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched everywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs.THE PURLOINED LETTER 487 I took the entire building, room by room; devoting the nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. We opened every possible drawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly trained police-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 line 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 re- placed. The bottoms and tops of bedposts are employed in the same way.” “But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?” I asked. “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 into 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?” pd tee ith eed eet ate ah Bet ne F . - as ca D © seers 2 tere 2) eo se +epesOF Che A ee ee eee ee ae ee oe he Perens WeePereseweres ee ee ee ar Ee ee Sete es 488 EDGAR ALLAN POE “Certainly not; but we did better—we examined the rungs of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the joint- ings of every description of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. 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 glueing—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 bedclothes, as well as the curtains and carpets.” “That of course; and when we had absolutely com- pleted every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compartments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed; then we scrutinised each indi- vidual square inch throughout the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, with the micro- scope, 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 comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and found it undisturbed.” “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 book-cover, with the most accurate admeasurement, andTHE PURLOINED LETTER 489 applied to each the most jealous scrutiny of the micro- scope. Had any of the bindings been recently meddled 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, longitudinally, with 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?” VERS: “You looked into the cellars?” “We did.” “Then,” I said, “you have been making a miscalcula- tion, and the letter is not upon the premises, as you sup- pose.” “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 “T am not more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel.” “T 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 document. Soon after finish- ing the perusal of this description, he took his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took . wi oe mee _ ee eee ee eed ee es Seal490 EDGAR ALLAN POE a pipe and a chair and entered into some ordinary con- versation. 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-examina- tion, however, as Dupin suggested—but it was all labour 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 cheque 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, however, 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 remember 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 the case to his physician as that of an imaginary individual. ~ “We will suppose,’ said the miser, ‘that his symptomsTHE PURLOINED LETTER 491 are 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, “J am perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really give fifty thousand francs to anybody who would aid me in the matter.” “In that case,” replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing a cheque-book, “you may as well fill me up a cheque 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 speech- less and motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and signed a cheque 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 functionary grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at ‘ts 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 cheque. 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 thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. ‘Thus, when G ee ee ee ee + eagh aps ioparers tied ated ee ee Pe ene ee ae as es ee 3 OSes eer 492 EDGAR ALLAN POE detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the Hotel D , I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory investigation—so far as his labours extended.” “So far as his labours 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 ques- tion, 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 inapplicable 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 perpetually 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 number 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 guess- ing, 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 school- boy replies ‘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 cunningTHE PURLOINED LETTER 493 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 varia- tion from even to odd, as did the first simpleton, but then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, 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.” “Tt 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 fol- lows: ‘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 moment, 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 pro- fundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld, to La Bruyére, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella.” “And the identification,’ I said, “of the reasoner $s ‘ntellect with that of his opponent depends, if I under- stand you aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent’s intellect is admeasured. “For its practical value it depends upon this,” replied Dupin, “and the Prefect and his cohort fail so fre- quently, first, by default of this identification, and 2s robe eet et Sn es ee ereee ee ee ee ee ee eee aoe abel es ow ceErer: ce ee oe ee! ae 4.94 EDGAR ALLAN POE 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 ingenuity 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 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 prob- ing, and sounding, and scrutinising with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the building 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 corner 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 recherchés nooks for concealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would be adopted only by ordinary intellects, for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article concealed, a disposal of it in this recherché manner, is in the very first instance pre-THE PURLOINED LETTER AQ5 sumable and presumed, 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 principle of its concealment been comprehended within the principles of the Prefect, its discovery would have been a matter altogether beyond question. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified, and the remote source 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 distributio medii 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 letters. 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 mathematician 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.” “