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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  Collection  of 
EDWARD  HELLMAN  HELLER 

and 
ELINOR  RAAS  HELLER 


WILLIAM  FORBESMORGAN 


°l 


** 


WILEY  AND  PUTNAM'S 

LIBRARY  OF 

AMERICAN   BOOKS. 
POE'S   TALES. 


T   A   L   E   S 


BY 


EDGAR    A.    POE, 


LONDON: 
WILEY  &  PUTNAM,  6,  WATERLOO  PLACE. 

1846. 
[ENTERED  AT  STATIONERS'  HALL.] 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 

THE  GOLD-BUG 1 

THE  BLACK  CAT    .  37 

MESMERIC  REVELATION           ••••<*•••    47 
LIONIZING 58 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER  ......     64 

A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM 83 

THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA      .  „        •        .        .  100 

THE  CONVERSATION  OF  EIROS  AND  CHARMION         ,        •        •        .        .110 

THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE 119 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET  t 151 

THE  PURLOINED  LETTER        ....  ....  200 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  CROWD  •  219 


TALES 


EDGAR  A.  POE. 


THE  GOLD- BUG. 

What  ho !  what  ho !  this  fellow  is  dancing  mad ! 
He  hath  been  bitten  by  the  Tarantula. 

All  in  the  Wrong, 

MANY  years  ago,  I  contracted  an  intimacy  with  a  Mr.  William 
Legrand.  He  was  of  an  ancient  Huguenot  family,  and  had  once 
been  wealthy ;  but  a  series  of  misfortunes  had  reduced  him  to 
want.  To  avoid  the  mortification  consequent  upon  his  disasters, 
he  left  New  Orleans,  the  city  of  his  forefathers,  and  took  up  his 
residence  at  Sullivan's  Island,  near  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 

This  Island  is  a  very  singular  one.  It  consists  of  little  else 
than  the  sea  sand,  and  is  about  three  miles  long.  Its  breadth  at 
no  point  exceeds  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  It  is  separated  from  the 
main  land  by  a  scarcely  perceptible  creek,  oozing  its  way  through 
a  wilderness  of  reeds  and  slime,  a  favorite  resort  of  the  marsh- 
hen.  The  vegetation,  as  might  be  supposed,  is  scant,  or  at  least 
dwarfish.  No  trees  of  any  magnitude  are  to  be  seen.  Near  the 
western  extremity,  where  Fort  Moultrie  stands,  and  where  are 
some  miserable  frame  buildings,  tenanted,  during  summer,  by  the 
fugitives  from  Charleston  dust  and  fever,  may  be  found,  indeed, 
the  bristly  palmetto ;  but  the  whole  island,  with  the  exception  of 
this  western  point,  and  a  line  of  hard,  white  beach  on  the  sea- 
coast,  is  covered  with  a  dense  undergrowth  of  the  sweet  myrtle, 

8 


FOE'S  TALES. 


so  much  prized  by  the  horticulturists  of  England.  The  shrub 
here  often  attains  the  height  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  and  forms 
an  almost  impenetrable  coppice,  burthening  the  air  with  its  fra 
grance. 

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  soon  ripened  into  friendship — for 
there  was  much  in  the  recluse  to  excite  interest  and  esteem.  I 
found  him  well  educated,  with  unusual  powers  of  mind,  but  in 
fected  with  misanthropy,  and  subject  to  perverse  moods  of  alter 
nate  enthusiasm  and  melancholy.  He  had  with  him  many  books, 
but  rarely  employed  them.  His  chief  amusements  were  gun 
ning  and  fishing,  or  sauntering  along  the  beach  and  through  the 
myrtles,  in  quest  of  shells  or  entomological  specimens ; — his  col 
lection  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  improb 
able  that  the  relatives  of  Legrand,  conceiving  him  to  be  some 
what  unsettled  in  intellect,  had  contrived  to  instil  this  obstinacy 
into  Jupiter,  with  a  view  to  the  supervision  and  guardianship  of 
the  wanderer. 

The  winters  in  the  latitude  of  Sullivan's  Island  are  seldom 
very  severe,  and  in  the  fall  of  the  year  it  is  a  rare  event  indeed 
when  a  fire  is  considered  necessary.  About  the  middle  of  Octo 
ber,  18 — ,  there  occurred,  however,  a  day  of  remarkable  chilli 
ness.  Just  before  sunset  I  scrambled  my  way  through  the  ever 
greens  to  the  hut  of  my  friend,  whom  I  had  not  visited  for  several 
weeks — my  residence  being,  at  that  time,  in  Charleston,  a  dis 
tance  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,  un 
locked  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 


THE   GOLD-BUG. 


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  wel 
come.  Jupiter,  grinning  from  ear  tp  ear,  bustled  about  to  pre 
pare  some  marsh-hens  for  supper.  Legrand  was  in  one  of  his 
fits — how  else  shall  I  term  them  ?-r-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  scarab&us  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  scarab&i  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  sen$ 
Jup  down  for  it  at  sunrise.  It  is  the  loveliest  thing  in  creation !" 

"  What  ?— sunrise  ?" 

"  Nonsense  !  no  ! — the  bug.  It  is  of  a  brilliant  gold  color — 
about  the  size  of  a  large  hickoryrnut— with  two  jet  black  spots 
near  one  extremity  of  the  back,  and  another,  somewhat  longer,  at 
the  other.  The  antenna  are — " 

"  Dey  aint  no  tin  in  him,  Massa  Will,  I  keep  a  tel|in  on  you," 
here  interrupted  Jupiter  ;  "  de  bug  is  a  goole  bug,  sqljd,  et)ery 
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,  somewhat  more 
earnestly,  it  seemed  to  me,  than  the  case  demanded,  "  is  that  any 
reason  for  your  letting  the  birds  burn  ?  The  color" — here  he 
turned  to  me — "  is  really  almost  enough  to  warrant  Jupiter's 
idea.  You  never  saw  a  more  brilliant  metallic  lustre  than  the 
scales  emit — but  of  this  you  cannot  judge  till  to-morrow.  In  the 
mean  time  I  can  give  you  some  idea  of  the  shape."  Saying  this, 
he  seated  himself  at  a  small  table,  on  which  were  a  pen  and  ink, 
but  no  paper.  He  looked  for  some  in  a  drawer,  but  found  none. 

"Never  mind,"  said  he  at  length,  "this  will  answer ;"  and  he 


POE'S  TALES. 


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  with- 
out  rising.  As  I  received  it,  a  loud  growl  was  heard,  succeeded 
by  a  scratching  at  the  door.  Jupiter  opened  it,  and  a  large  New 
foundland,  belonging  to  Legrand,  rushed  in,  leaped  upon  my 
shoulders,  and  loaded  me  with  caresses ;  for  I  had  shown  him 
much  attention  during  previous  visits.  When  his  gambols  were 
over,  I  looked  at  the  paper,  and,  to  speak  the  truth,  found  myself 
not  a  little  puzzled  at  what  my  friend  had  depicted. 

"  Well !"  I  said,  after  contemplating  it  for  some  minutes,  "  this 
is  a  strange  scarabaus,  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  I"  echoed  Legrand — "  Oh — yes — well,  it  hag 
something  of  that  appearance  upon  paper,  no  doubt.  The  two 
upper  black  spots  look  like  eyes,  eh  ?  and  the  longer  one  at  the 
bottom  like  a  mouth — and  then  the  shape  of  the  whole  is  ovaL" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  I ;  "  but,  Legrand,  I  fear  you  are  no  artist. 
I  must  wait  until  I  see  the  beetle  itself,  if  I  am  to  form  any  idea 
of  its  personal  appearance." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  a  little  nettled,  "  I  draw  tolera 
bly — 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  excellent 
skull,  according  to  the  vulgar  notions  about  such  specimens  of 
physiology — and  your  scarabaus  must  be  the  queerest  scardb&us 
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  scarabaus  caput  hominis,  or  something  of  that  kind — 
there  are  many  similar  titles  in  the  Natural  Histories.  But  where 
are  the  antenna  you  spoke  of?" 

"  The  antenna  /"  said  Legrand,  who  seemed  to  be  getting  un 
accountably  warm  upon  the  subject ;  "  I  am  sure  you  must  see 


THE  GOLD-BUG. 


the  antenna.     I  made  them  as  distinct  as  they  are  in  the  original 
insect,  and  I  presume  that  is  sufficient." 

"  Well,  well,"  I  said,  "  perhaps  you  have — still  I  don't  see 
them  ;"  and  I  handed  him  the  paper  without  additional  remark, 
not  wishing  to  ruffle  his  temper ;  but  I  was  much  surprised  at 
the  turn  affairs  had  taken  ;  his  ill  humor  puzzled  me — and,  as  for 
the  drawing  of  the  beetle,  there  were  positively  no  antenna  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  crum 
ple  it,  apparently  to  throw  it  in  the  fire,  when  a  casual  glance  at 
the  design  seemed  suddenly  to  rivet  his  attention.  In  an  instant 
his  face  grew  violently  red^-in  another  as  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  examina 
tion  of  the  paper  •  turning  it  in  all  directions.  He  said  nothing, 
however,  and  his  conduct  greatly  astonished  me ;  yet  I  thought 
it  prudent  not  to  exacerbate  the  growing  moodiness  of  his  temper 
by  any  comment.  Presently  he  took  from  his  coat  pocket  a  wal 
let,  placed  the  paper  carefully  in  it,  and  deposited  both  in  a  wri 
ting-desk,  which  he  locked.  He  now  grew  more  composed  in  his 
demeanor ;  but  his  original  air  of  enthusiasm  had  quite  disap 
peared.  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  frequently 
done  before,  but,  seeing  my  host  in  this  mood,  I  deemed  it  proper 
to  take  leave.  He  did  not  press  me  to  remain,  but,  as  I  departed, 
he  shook  my  hand  with  even  more  than  his  usual  cordiality. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  this  (and  during  the  interval  I  had 
seen  nothing  of  Legrand)  when  I  received  a  visit,  at  Charleston, 
from  his  man,  Jupiter.  I  had  never  seen  the  good  old  negro  look 
so  dispirited,  and  I  feared  that  some  serious  disaster  had  befallen 
my  friend. 

"  Well,  Jup,"  said  I,  "  what  is  the  matter  now  ? — how  is  your 
master  ?" 


FOE'S  TALES. 


"  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  com 
plain  of?" 

"  Dar  !  dat's  it  != — him  neber  plain  of  notin — but  him  berry 
sick  for  all  dat." 

"  Very  sick,  Jupiter  I — 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  you  are  talking 
about.  You  say  your  master  is  sick.  Hasn't  he  told  you  what 
ails  him  ?" 

"  Why,  massa,  taint  worf  while  for  to  git  mad  about  de  mat 
ter — 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  deuced  good  beating 
when  he  did  come — but  Ise  sich  a  fool  dat  I  hadn't  de  heart  ar- 
ter  all — he  look  so  berry  poorly." 

"  Eh  ? — what  1 — ah  yes  ! — upon  the  whole  I  think  you  had  bet 
ter  not  be  too  severe  with  the  poor  fellow — don't  flog  him,  Jupiter 
— he  can't  very  well  stand  it — but  can  you  form  no  idea  of  what 
has  occasioned  this  illness,  or  rather  this  change  of  conduct  ? 
Has  anything  unpleasant  happened  since  I  saw  you  ?" 

"  No,  massa,  dey  aint  bin  noffin  onpleasant  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— I'm  berry  sartain  dat  Massa  Will  bin  bit  somewhere 
bout  de  head  by  dat  goole-bug." 


THE  GOLD-BUG. 


"And  what  cause  have  you,  Jupiter,  for  such  a  supposition?" 

"  Claws  enuff,  massa,  and  mouff  too.  I  nebber  did  see  sich  a 
deuced  bug — he  lack  and  he  bite  ebery  ting  what  cum  near 
him.  Massa  Will  cotch  him  fuss,  but  had  for  to  let  him  go  gin 
mighty  quick,  I  tell  you — den  was  de  time  he  must  ha  got  de 
bite.  I  did  n't  like  de  look  ob  de  bug  mouff,  myself,  no  how,  sol 
would  n't  take  hold  ob  him  wid  my  finger,  but  I  cotch  him  wid 
a  piece  ob  paper  dat  I  found.  I  rap  him  up  in  de  paper  and 
stuff  piece  ob  it  in  he  mouff— dat  was  de  way." 

"  And  you  think,  then,  that  your  master  was  really  bitten  by 
the  beetle,  and  that  the  bite  made  him  sick  ?" 

"  I  do  n'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  fortunate  cir 
cumstance  am  I  to  attribute  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  you  to-day  ?" 

"  What  de  matter,  massa  ?" 

"  Did  you  bring  any  message  from  Mr.  Legrand  ?" 

"  No,  massa,  I  bring  dis  here  pissel ;"  and  here  Jupiter  handed 
me  a  note  which  ran  thus  : 

MY  DEAR  — — 

Why  have  I  not  seen  you  for  so  long  a  time  ?  I  hope  you  have 
not  been  so  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  at 
tentions.  Would  you  believe  it  ? — he  had  prepared  a  huge  stick, 
the  other  day,  with  which  to  chastise  me  for  giving  him  the  slip, 
and  spending  the  day,  solus,  among  the  hills  on  the  main  land. 
I  verily  believe  that  my  ill  looks  alone  saved  me  a  flogging. 

I  have  made  no  addition  to  my  cabinet  since  we  met. 


FOE'S  TALES. 


If  you  can,  in  any  way,  make  it  convenient,  come  over  with 
Jupiter.     Do  come.     I  wish  to  see  you  to-night,  upon  business  of 
importance.     I  assure  you  that  it  is  of  the  highest  importance. 
Ever  yours,  WILLIAM  LEGRAND. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  this  note  which  gave  me 
great  uneasiness.  Its  whole  style  differed  materially  from  that 
ofLegrand.  What  could  he  be  dreaming  of?  What  new  crotch 
et  possessed  his  excitable  brain  ?  What  "  business  of  the  high 
est  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  pre 
pared  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  buy 
ing  for  him  in  de  town,  and  de  debbils  own  lot  of  money  I  had  to 
gib  for  em." 

"  But  what,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  mysterious,  is  your 
*  Massa  Will'  going  to  do  with  scythes  and  spades  ?" 

"  Dat's  more  dan  /  know,  and  debbil  take  me  if  I  don't  blieve 
'tis  more  dan  he  know,  too.  But  it's  all  cum  ob  de  bug." 

Finding  that  no  satisfaction  was  to  be  obtained  of  Jupiter, 
whose  whole  intellect  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  "  de  bug,"  I  now 
stepped  into  the  boat  and  made  sail.  With  a  fair  and  strong 
breeze  we  soon  ran  into  the  little  cove  to  the  northward  of  Fort 
Moultrie,  and  a  walk  of  some  two  miles  brought  us  to  the  hut. 
It  was  about  three  in  the  afternoon  when  we  arrived.  Legrand 
had  been  awaiting  us  in  eager  expectation.  He  grasped  my  hand 
with  a  nervous  empressement  which  alarmed  me  and  strengthened 
the  suspicions  already  entertained.  His  countenance  was  pale 
even  to  ghastliness,  and  his  deep-set  eyes  glared  with  unnatural 
lustre.  After  some  inquiries  respecting  his  health,  I  asked  him, 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  9 


not  knowing  what  better  to  say,  if  he  had  yet  obtained  the  scara- 

bceus  from  Lieutenant  G . 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  coloring  violently,  "  I  got  it  from  him 
the  next  morning.     Nothing  should  tempt  me  to  part  with  that 
scarab&us.     Do  you  know  that  Jupiter  is  quite  right  about  it  ?" 
"In  what  way  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  sad  foreboding  at  heart. 
"  In  supposing  it  to  be  a  bug  of  real  gold ."     He  said  this  with 
an  air  of  profound  seriousness,  and  I  felt  inexpressibly  shocked. 

"  This  bug  is  to  make  my  fortune,"  he  continued,  with  a  tri 
umphant  smile,  "  to  reinstate  me  in  my  family  possessions.  Is  it 
any  wonder,  then,  that  I  prize  it  ?  Since  Fortune  has  thought  fit 
to  bestow  it  upon  me,  I  have  only  to  use  it  properly  and  I  shall 
^arrive  at  the  gold  of  which  it  is  the  index.  Jupiter,  bring  me 
that  scarab&us  /" 

"  What !  de  bug,  massa  ?  I'd  rudder  not  go  fer  trubble  dat 
bug — you  rnus  git  him  for  your  own  self."  Hereupon  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 
scarab&us,  and,  at  that  time,  unknown  to  naturalists — of  course  a 
great  prize  in  a  scientific  point  of  view.  There  were  two  round, 
black  spots  near  one  extremity  of  the  back,  and  a  long  one  near 
the  other.  The  scales  were  exceedingly  hard  and  glossy,  with 
all  the  appearance  of  burnished  gold.  The  weight  of  the  insect 
was  very  remarkable,  and,  taking  all  things  into  consideration,  I 
could  hardly  blame  Jupiter  for  his  opinion  respecting  it;  but 
what  to  make  of  Legrand 's  concordance  with  that  opinion,  I  could 
not,  for  the  life  of  me,  tell. 

"  I  sent  for  you,"  said  he,  in  a  grandiloquent  tone,  when  I  had 
completed  my  examination  of  the  beetle,  "  I  sent  for  you,  that  I 
might  have  your  counsel  and  assistance  in  furthering  the  views 
of  Fate  and  of  the  bug"—, 

"  My  dear  Legrand,"  I  cried,  interrupting  him,  "  you  are  cer 
tainly  unwell,  and  had  better  use  some  little  precautions.     You 
shall  go  to  bed,  and  I  will  remain  with  you  a  few  days,  until  you 
get  over  this.     You  are  feverish  and" — 
"  Feel  my  pulse,"  said  he. 

I  felt  it,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  found  not  the  slightest  indication 
of  fever. 


10  POE'S  TALES. 


"  But  you  may  be  ill  and  yet  have  no  fever.  Allow  me  this 
once  to  prescribe  for  you.  In  the  first  place,  go  to  bed.  In  the 
next"— 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  interposed,  "  I  am  as  well  as  I  can 
expect  to  be  under  the  excitement  which  I  suffer.  If  you  really 
wish  me  well,  you  will  relieve  this  excitement." 

"  And  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Very  easily.  Jupiter  and  myself  are  going  upon  an  expe 
dition  into  the  hills,  upon  the  main  land,  and,  in  this  expedition, 
we  shall  need  the  aid  of  some  person  in  whom  we  can  confide. 
You  are  the  only  one  we  can  trust.  Whether  we  succeed  or  fail, 
the  excitement  which  you  now  perceive  in  me  will  be  equally  al 
layed." 

"  I  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  ?" 

"  It  has." 

"  Then,  Legrand,  I  can  become  a  party  to  no  such  absurd  pro^ 
ceeding." 

"  I  am  sorry — very  sorry — for  we  shall  have  to  try  it  by  our 
selves." 

"  Try  it  by  yourselves  !  The  man  is  surely  mad  ! — but  stay  ! 
• — how  long  do  you  propose  to  be  absent  ?" 

"  Probably  all  night.  We  shall  start  immediately,  and  be 
back,  at  all  events,  by  sunrise." 

"  And  will  you  promise  me,  upon  your  honor,  that  when  this 
freak  of  yours  is  over,  and  the  bug  business  (good  God  !)  settled 
to  your  satisfaction,  you  will  then  return  home  and  follow  my  ad 
vice  implicitly,  as  that  of  your  physician  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  promise  ;  and  now  let  us  be  off,  for  we  have  no  time 
to  lose." 

With  a  heavy  heart  I  accompanied  my  friend.  We  started 
about  four  o'clock — Legrand,  Jupiter,  the  dog,  and  myself.  Ju 
piter  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  demeanor 
was  dogged  in  the  extreme,  and"  dat  deuced  bug  "were  the  sole 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  11 


words  which  escaped  his  lips  during  the  journey.  For  my  own 
part,  I  had  charge  of  a  couple  of  dark  lanterns,  while  Legrand 
contented  himself  with  the  scarabaus,  which  he  carried  attached 
to  the  end  of  a  bit  of  whip-cord ;  twirling  it  to  and  fro,  with  the 
air  of  a  conjuror,  as  he  went.  When  I  observed  this  last,  plain 
evidence  of  my  friend's  aberration  of  mind,  I  could  scarcely  re 
frain  from  tears.  I  thought  it  best,  however,  to  humor  his  fancy, 
at  least  for  the  present,  or  until  I  could  adopt  some  more  energetic 
measures  with  a  chance  of  success.  In  the  mean  time  I  en 
deavored,  but  all  in  vain,  to  sound  him  in  regard  to  the  object  of 
the  expedition.  Having  succeeded  in  inducing  me  to  accompany 
him,  he  seemed  unwilling  to  hold  conversation  upon  any  topic  of 
minor  importance,  arid  to  all  my  questions  vouchsafed  no  other 
reply  than  "  we  shall  see  !" 

We  crossed  the  creek  at  the  head  of  the  island  by  means  of  a 
skiff,  and,  ascending  the  high  grounds  on  the  shore  of  the  main  land, 
proceeded  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  through  a  tract  of  country 
excessively  wild  and  desolate,  where  no  trace  of  a  human  foot 
step  was  to  be  seen.  Legrand  led  the  way  with  decision  ;  paus 
ing  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  setHng  when  we  entered  a  region  infinitely  more  dreary 
than  any  yet  seen.  It  was  a  species  of  table  land,  near  the  sum 
mit  of  an  almost  inaccessible  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  reclined.  Deep  ravines, 
in  various  directions,  gave  an  air  of  still  sterner  solemnity  to  the 
scene. 

The  natural  platform  to  which  we  had  clambered  was  thickly 
overgrown  with  brambles,  through  which  we  soon  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  foot  of  an  enormously  tall  tulip-tree,  which  stood, 
with  some  eight  or  ten  oaks,  upon  the  level,  and  far  surpassed  them 


12  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  exam 
ined  it  with  minute  attention.  When  he  had  completed  his  scru 
tiny,  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,  draw 
ing  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  carry  it  up  by 
this  string — but,  if  you  do  not  take  it  up  with  you  in  some  way, 
I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  breaking  your  head  with  this 
shovel." 

"  What  de  matter  now,  massa  ?"  said  Jup,  evidently  shamed 
into  compliance ;  "  always  want  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  cautiously  hold  of  the  extreme  end  of 
the  string,  and,  maintaining  the  insect  as  far  from  his  person  as 
circumstances  would  permit,  prepared  to  ascend  the  tree. 

In  youth,  the  tulip-tree,  or  Liriodendron  Tutipiferum,  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  diffi 
culty  of  ascension,  in  the  present  case,  lay  more  in  semblance 
than  in  reality.  Embracing  the  huge  cylinder,  as  closely  as  pos 
sible,  with  his  arms  and  knees,  seizing  with  his  hands  some  pro 
jections,  and  resting  his  naked  toes  upon  others,  Jupiter,  after  one 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  13 


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  Le- 
grand.  The  negro  obeyed  him  promptly,  and  apparently  with 
but  little  trouble  ;  ascending  higher  and  higher,  until  no  glimpse 
of  bis  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,  announcing  that 
the  seventh  limb  was  attained. 

"  Now,  Jup,"  cried  Legrand,  evidently  much  excited,  "  I  want 
you  to  work  your  way  out  upon  that  limb  as  far  as  you  can.  If 
you  see  anything  strange,  let  me  know." 

By  this  time  what  little  doubt  I  might  have  entertained  of  my 
poor  friend's  insanity,  was  put  finally  at  rest.  I  had  no  alterna 
tive  but  to  conclude  him  stricken  with  lunacy,  and  I  became  se 
riously  anxious  about  getting  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  befry  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." 


14  POE'S  TALES. 


"  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  fel 
low.  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  ven- 
tur  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." 

"  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." 

"  Out  to  the  end  /"  here  fairly  screamed  Legrand,  "  do  you 
say  you  are  out  to  the  end  of  that  limb  ?" 

"  Soon  be  to  de  eend,  massa, — o-o-o-o-oh  !  Lor-gol-a-marcy  ! 
what  is  dis  here  pon  de  tree  ?" 

"  Well !"  cried  Legrand,  highly  delighted,  "  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Why  taint  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  j    mus  look.     Why  dis  berry  curous  sar- 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  15 


cumstance,  pon  my  word — dare's  a  great  big  nail  in  de  skull, 
what  fastens  ob  it  on  to  de  tree." 

"  Well  now,  Jupiter,  do  exactly  as  I  tell  you — do  you  hear  ?" 

"Yes,  massa." 

"  Pay  attention,  then! — find  the  left  eye  of  the  skull." 

"  Hum !  hoo  !  dat's  good  !  why  dare  aint  no  eye  lef  at  all." 

"  Curse  your  stupidity !  do  you  know  your  right  hand  from 
your  left  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  nose  dat — nose  all  bout  dat— rtis  my  lef  hand  what  I 
chops  de  wood  wid." 

"  To  be  sure  !  you  are  left-handed ;  and  your  left  eye  is  on 
the  same  side  as  your  left  hand.  Now,  I  suppose,  you  can  find 
the  left  eye  of  the  skull,  or  the  place  where  the  left  eye  has  been. 
Have  you  found  it  ?" 

Here  was  a  long  pause.     At  length  the  negro  asked, 

"  Is  de  lef  eye  of  de  skull  pon  de  same  side  as  de  lef  hand  of 
de  skull,  too  ? — cause  de  skull  aint  got  not  a  bit  ob  a  hand  at 
all — nebber  mind !  I  got  de  lef  eye  now — here  de  lef  eye  !  what 
mus  do  wid  it  ?" 

"  Let  the  beetle  drop  through  it,  as  far  as  the  string  will 
reach — but  be  careful  and  not  let  go  your  hold  of  the  string." 

"  All  dat  done,  Massa  Will ;  mighty  easy  ting  for  to  put  de  bug 
fru  de  hole — look  out  for  him  dare  below  !" 

During  this  colloquy  no  portion  of  Jupiter's  perspn  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  bur 
nished  gold,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  some  pf  which 
still  faintly  illumined  the  eminence  upon  which  we  stood.  The 
scarab(£us  hung  quite  clear  of  any  branches^  and,  if  allowed  to 
fall,  would  have  fallen  at  our  feet.  Legrand  immediately  took 
the  scythe,  and  cleared  with  it  a  circular  space,  three  or  four 
yards  in  diameter,  just  beneath  the  insect,  and,  having  accom 
plished  this,  ordered  Jupiter  to  let  go  the  string  and  come  down 
from  the  tree. 

Driving  a  peg,  with  great  nicety,  into  the  ground,  at  the  precise 
spot  where  the  beetle  fell,  my  friend  now  produced  from  his  pocket 
a  tape-measure.  Fastening  one  end  of  this  at  that  point  of  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  which  was  nearest  the  peg,  he  unrolled  it  till  it 


16  FOE'S  TALES. 


reached  the  peg,  and  thence  farther  unrolled  it,  in  the  direction 
already  established  by  the  two  points  of  the  tree  and  the  peg,  for 
the  distance  of  fifty  feet — Jupiter  clearing  away  the  brambles 
with  the  scythe.  At  the  spot  thus  attained  a  second  peg  was 
driven,  and  about  this,  as  a  centre,  a  rude  circle,  about  four  feet 
in  diameter,  described.  Taking  now  a  spade  himself,  and  giving 
one  to  Jupiter  and  one  to  me,-Legrand  begged  us  to  set  about  dig 
ging  as  quickly  as  possible. 

To  speak  the  truth,  I  had  no  especial  relish  for  such  amuse 
ment  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  contest  with  his  master.  I  made  no 
doubt  that  the  latter  had  been  infected  with  some  of  the  innumer 
able  Southern  superstitions  about  money  buried,  and  that  his 
phantasy  had  received  confirmation  by  the  finding  of  the  scara- 
laus,  or,  perhaps,  by  Jupiter's  obstinacy  in  maintaining  it  to  be 
"  a  bug  of  real  gold."  A  mind  disposed  to  lunacy  would  readily 
be  led  away  by  such  suggestions — especially  if  chiming  in  with 
favorite  preconceived  ideas— -and  then  I  called  to  mind  the  poor 
fellow's  speech  about  the  beetle's  being  "  the  index  of  his  fortune." 
Upon  the  whole,  I  was  sadly  vexed  and  puzzled,  but,  at  length,  I 
concluded  to  make  a  virtue  of  necessity — to  dig  with  a  good  will, 
and  thus  the  sooner  to  convince  the  visionary,  by  ocular  demon 
stration,  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  pictu 
resque  a  group  we  composed,  and  how  strange  and  suspicious  our 
labors  must  have  appeared  to  any  interloper  who,  by  chance, 
might  have  stumbled  upon  our  whereabouts. 

We  dug  very  steadily  for  two  hours.  Little  was  said ;  and 
our  chief  embarrassment  lay  in  the  yelpings  of  the  dog,  who  took 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  17 


exceeding  interest  in  our  proceedings.  He,  at  length,  became  so 
obstreperous  that  we  grew  fearful  of  his  giving  the  alarm  to  some 
stragglers  in  the  vicinity ; — or,  rather,  this  was  the  apprehension 
of  Legrand ; — for  myself,  I  should  have  rejoiced  at  any  interrup 
tion  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  return 
ed,  with  a  grave  chuckle,  to  his  task. 

When  the  time  mentioned  had  expired,  we  had  reached  a  depth 
of  five  feet,  and  yet  no  signs  of  any  treasure  became  manifest. 
A  general  pause  ensued,  and  I  began  to  hope  that  the  farce  was 
at  an  end.  Legrand,  however,  although  evidently  much  discon 
certed,  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  sincere 
ly  pitied,  at  length  clambered  from  the  pit,  with  the  bitterest  dis 
appointment  imprinted  upon  every  feature,  and  proceeded,  slowly 
and  reluctantly,  to  put  on  his  coat,  which  he  had  thrown  off  at 
the  beginning  of  his  labor.  In  the  mean  time  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  direction,  when, 
with  a  loud  oath,  Legrand  strode  up  to  Jupiter,  and  seized  him  by 
the  collar.  The  astonished  negro  opened  his  eyes  and  mouth  to 
the  fullest  extent,  let  fall  the  spades,  and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"You  scoundrel,"  said  Legrand,  hissing  out  the  syllables  from 
between  his  clenched  teeth — "  you  infernal  black  villain  ! — speak, 
I  tell  you ! — answer  me  this  instant,  without  prevarication  ! — 
which — which  is  your  left  eye  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  golly,  Massa  Will !  aint  dis  here  my  lef  eye  for  sar- 
tain  ?"  roared  the  terrified  Jupiter,  placing  his  hand  upon  his  right 
organ  of  vision,  and  holding  it  there  with  a  desperate  pertinacity, 
as  if  in  immediate  dread  of  his  master's  attempt  at  a  gouge. 

"  I  thought  so  ! — I  knew  it !  hurrah  !"  vociferated  Legrand, 
letting  the  negro  go,  and  executing  a  series  of  curvets  and  cara. 

3 


]8  POE'S  TALES. 


cols,  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  we  reached  its  foot,  "  come  here  ! 
was  the  skull  nailed  to  the  limb  with  the  face  outwards,  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  you  drop 
ped  the  beetle  ?" — here  Legrand  touched  each  of  Jupiter's  eyes. 

"  Twas  dis  eye,  massa — de  lef  eye — jis  as  you  tell  me,"  and 
here  it  was  his  right  eye  that  the  negro  indicated. 

"  That  will  do — we  must  try  it  again." 

Here  my  friend,  about  whose  madness  I  now  saw,  or  fancied 
that  I  saw,  certain  indications  of  method,  removed  the  peg  which 
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  under 
standing  what  had  occasioned  the  change  in  my  thoughts,  I  felt 
no  longer  any  great  aversion  from  the  labor  imposed.  I  had  be 
come  most  unaccountably  interested — nay,  even  excited.  Per 
haps  there  was  something,  amid  all  the  extravagant  demeanor  of 
Legrand — some  air  of  forethought,  or  of  deliberation,  which  im 
pressed  me.  I  dug  eagerly,  and  now  and  then  caught  myself 
actually  looking,  with  something  that  very  much  resembled  ex 
pectation,  for  the  fancied  treasure,  the  vision  of  which  had  de 
mented  my  unfortunate  companion.  At  a  period  when  such  va 
garies  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  bowlings  of  the  dog.  His  uneasiness,  in  the  first 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  19 


instance,  had  been,  evidently,  but  the  result  of  playfulness  or  ca 
price,  but  he  now  assumed  a  bitter  and  serious  tone.  Upon  Ju 
piter's  again  attempting  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  sev 
eral  buttons  of  metal,  and  what  appeared  to  be  the  dust  of  decayed 
woollen.  One  or  two  strokes  of  a  spade  upturned  the  blade  of  a 
large  Spanish  knife,  and,  as  we  dug  farther,  three  or  four  loose 
pieces  of  gold  and  silver  coin  came  to  light. 

At  sight  of  these  the  joy  of  Jupiter  could  scarcely  be  restrained, 
but  the  countenance  of  his  master  wore  an  air  of  extreme  disap 
pointment.  He  urged  us,  however,  to  continue  our  exertions,  and 
the  words  were  hardly  uttered  when  I  stumbled  and  fell  forward, 
having  caught  the  toe  of  my  boot  in  a  large  ring  of  iron  that  lay 
half  buried  in  the  loose  earth. 

We  now  worked  in  earnest,  and  never  did  I  pass  ten  minutes 
of  more  intense  excitement.  During  this  interval  we  had  fairly 
unearthed  an  oblong  chest  of  wood,  which,  from  its  perfect  pres 
ervation  and  wonderful  hardness,  had  plainly  been  subjected  to 
some  mineralizing  process — perhaps  that  of  the  Bi-chloride  of 
Mercury.  This  box  was  three  feet  and  a  half  long,  three  feet 
broad,  and  two  and  a  half  feet  deep.  It  was  firmly  secured  by 
bands  of  wrought  iron,  riveted,  and  forming  a  kind  of  open  trellis- 
work  over  the  whole.  On  each  side  of  the  chest,  near  the  top, 
were  three  rings  of  iron — six  in  all — by  means  of  which  a  firm 
hold  could  be  obtained  by  six  persons.  Our  utmost  united  en 
deavors  served  only  to  disturb  the  coffer  very  slightly  in  its  bed. 
We  at  once  saw  the  impossibility  of  removing  so  great  a  weight. 
Luckily,  the  sole  fastenings  of  the  lid  consisted  of  two  sliding  bolts. 
These  we  drew  back — trembling  and  panting  with  anxiety.  In 
an  instant,  a  treasure  of  incalculable  value  lay  gleaming  before 
us.  As  the  rays  of  the  lanterns  fell  within  the  pit,  there  Hashed 
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.  Legrand  appeared  ex 
hausted  with  excitement,  and  spoke  very  few  words.  Jupiter's 


20  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  stupified — 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  solil 
oquy, 

"  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  removing  the  treasure.  It  was 
growing  late,  and  it  behooved  us  to  make  exertion,  that  we  might 
get  every  thing  housed  before  daylight.  It  was  difficult  to  say 
what  should  be  done,  and  much  time  was  spent  in  deliberation — 
so  confused  were  the  ideas  of  all.  We,  finally,  lightened  the  box 
by  removing  two  thirds  of  its  contents,  when  we  were  enabled, 
with  some  trouble,  to  raise  it  from  the  hole.  The  articles  taken 
out  were  deposited  among  the  brambles,  and  the  dog  left  to  guard 
them,  with  strict  orders  from  Jupiter  neither,  upon  any  pretence, 
to  stir  from  the  spot,  nor  to  open  his  mouth  until  our  return.  We 
then  hurriedly  made  for  home  with  the  chest ;  reaching  the  hut 
in  safety,  but  after  excessive  toil,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Worn  out  as  we  were,  it  was  not  in  human  nature  to  do  more  im 
mediately.  We  rested  until  two,  and  had  supper ;  starting  for 
the  hills  immediately  afterwards,  armed  with  three  stout  sacks, 
which,  by  good  luck,  were  upon  the  premises.  A  little  before 
four  we  arrived  at  the  pit,  divided  the  remainder  of  the  booty,  as 
equally  as  might  be,  among  us,  and,  leaving  the  holes  unfilled, 
again  set  out  for  the  hut,  at  which,  for  the  second  time,  we  de 
posited  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  intense  ex 
citement  of  the  time  denied  us  repose.  After  an  unquiet  slumber 
of  some  three  or  four  hours'  duration,  we  arose,  as  if  by  precon 
cert,  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 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  21 


contents.  There  had  been  nothing  like  order  or  arrangement. 
Every  thing  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 — estimating  the 
value  of  the  pieces,  as  accurately  as  we  could,  by  the  tables  of 
the  period.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  silver.  All  was  gold 
of  antique  date  and  of  great  variety — French,  Spanish,  and  Ger 
man  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  difficulty  in  estimating.  There 
were  diamonds — some  of  them  exceedingly  large  and  fine — a 
hundred  and  ten  in  all,  and  not  one  of  them  small ;  eighteen  ru 
bies  of  remarkable  brilliancy  ; — three  hundred  and  ten  emeralds, 
all  very  beautiful ;  and  twenty-one  sapphires,  with  an  opal. 
These  stones  had  all  been  broken  from  their  settings  and  thrown 
loose  in  the  chest.  The  settings  themselves,  which  we  picked  out 
from  among  the  other  gold,  appeared  to  have  been  beaten  up  with 
hammers,  as  if  to  prevent  identification.  Besides  all  this,  there 
was  a  vast  quantity  of  solid  gold  ornaments ; — nearly  two  hun 
dred  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  Bacchana 
lian  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  hun 
dred  and  ninety-seven  superb  gold  watches  ;  three  of  the  number 
being  worth  each  five  hundred  dollars,  if  one.  Many  of  them 
were  very  old,  and  as  time  keepers  valueless ;  the  works  having 
suffered,  more  or  less,  from  corrosion — but  all  were  richly  jewel 
led  and  in  cases  of  great  worth.  We  estimated  the  entire  con 
tents  of  the  chest,  that  night,  at  a  million  and  a  half  of  dollars ; 
and,  upon  the  subsequent  disposal  of  the  trinkets  and  jewels  (a 


22  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  solu 
tion  of  this  most  extraordinary  riddle,  entered  into  a  full  detail 
of  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  it. 

"  You  remember,"  said  he,  "  the  night  when  I  handed  you  the 
rough  sketch  I  had  made  of  the  scarab&us.  You  recollect  also, 
that  I  became  quite  vexed  at  you  for  insisting  that  my  drawing 
resembled  a  death's-head.  When  you  first  made  this  assertion  I 
thought  you  were  jesting ;  but  afterwards  I  called  to  mind  the 
peculiar  spots  on  the  back  of  the  insect,  and  admitted  to  myself 
that  your  remark  had  some  little  foundation  in  fact.  Still,  the 
sneer  at  my  graphic  powers  irritated  me — for  I  am  considered  a 
good  artist — and,  therefore,  when  you  handed  me  the  scrap  of 
parchment,  I  was  about  to  crumple  it  up  and  throw  it  angrily 
into  the  fire." 

"  The  scrap  of  paper,  you  mean,"  said  I. 

"  No  ;  it  had  much  of  the  appearance  of  paper,  and  at  first  I 
supposed  it  to  be  such,  but  when  I  came  to  draw  upon  it,  I  dis 
covered  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  mo 
ment  I  was  too  much  amazed  to  think  with  accuracy.  I  knew  that 
my  design  was  very  different  in  detail  from  this — although  there 
was  a  certain  similarity  in  general  outline.  Presently  I  took  a 
candle,  and  seating  myself  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  proceed 
ed  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  remark 
able  similarity  of  outline — at  the  singular  coincidence  involved  iti 
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  scaralaus,  and  that  this  skull,  not  only  in  outline,  but  in  size, 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  23 


should  so  closely  resemble  my  drawing.  I  say  the  singularity  of 
this  coincidence  absolutely  stupified  me  for  a  time.  This  is  the 
usual  effect  of  such  coincidences.  The  mind  struggles  to  estab 
lish  a  connexion — 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  grad 
ually  a  conviction  which  startled  me  even  far  more  than  the  coinci 
dence.  I  began  distinctly,  positively,  to  remember  that  there  had 
been  no  drawing  upon  the  parchment  when  I  made  my  sketch  of 
the  scarabaus.  I  became  perfectly  certain  of  this  ;  for  I  recol 
lected  turning  up  first  one  side  and  then  the  other,  in  search  of 
the  cleanest  spot.  Had  the  skull  been  then  there,  of  course  I 
could  not  have  failed  to  notice  it.  Here  was  indeed  a  mystery 
which  I  felt  it  impossible  to  explain ;  but,  even  at  that  early  mo 
ment,  there  seemed  to  glimmer,  faintly,  within  the  most  remote 
and  secret  chambers  of  my  intellect,  a  glow-worm-like  concep 
tion  of  that  truth  which  last  night's  adventure  brought  to  so  mag 
nificent  a  demonstration.  I  arose  at  once,  and  putting  the  parch 
ment  securely  away,  dismissed  all  farther  reflection  until  I  should 
be  alone. 

"  When  you  had  gone,  and  when  Jupiter  was  fast  asleep,  I  be 
took  myself  to  a  more  methodical  investigation  of  the  affair.  In 
the  first  place  I  considered  the  manner  in  which  the  parchment 
had  come  into  my  possession.  The  spot  where  we  discovered  the 
scarab&us  was  on  the  coast  of  the  main  land,  about  a  mile  east 
ward  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,  be 
fore  seizing  the  insect,  which  had  flown  towards  him,  looked  about 
him  for  a  leaf,  or  something  of  that  nature,  by  which  to  take  hold 
of  it.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  his  eyes,  and  mine  also,  fell 
upon  the  scrap  of  parchment,  which  I  then  supposed  to  be  paper. 
It  was  lying  half  buried  in  the  sand,  a  corner  sticking  up.  Near 
the  spot  where  we  found  it,  I  observed  the  remnants  of  the  hull  of 
what  appeared  to  have  been  a  ship's  long  boat.  The  wreck 
seemed  to  have  been  there  for  a  very  great  while ;  for  the  resem 
blance  to  boat  timbers  could  scarcely  be  traced. 

"  Well,  Jupiter  picked  up  the  parchment,  wrapped  the  beetle 


24  FOE'S  TALES. 


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.  Upon  my  con 
senting,  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  inspection.  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  sub 
jects  connected  with  Natural  History.  At  the  same  time,  with 
out  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  impressed  me 
with  peculiar  force. 

"  No  doubt  you  will  think  me  fanciful — but  I  had  already  es 
tablished  a  kind  of  connexion.  I  had  put  together  two  links  of  a 
great  chain.  There  was  a  boat  lying  upon  a  sea-coast,  and  not 
far  from  the  boat  was  a  parchment — not  a  paper — with  a  skull 
depicted  upon  it.  You  will,  of  course,  ask  '  where  is  the  connec 
tion  ?'  I  reply  that  the  skull,  or  death's-head,  is  the  well-known 
emblem  of  the  pirate.  The  flag  of  the  death's-head  is  hoisted  in 
all  engagements. 

"  I  have  said  that  the  scrap  was  parchment,  and  not  paper. 
Parchment  is  durable — almost  imperishable.  Matters  of  little 
moment  are  rarely  consigned  to  parchment ;  since,  for  the  mere 
ordinary  purposes  of  drawing  or  writing,  it  is  not  nearly  so  well 
adapted  as  paper.  This  reflection  suggested  some  meaning — 
some  relevancy — in  the  death's-head.  I  did  not  fail  to  observe, 
also,  the  form  of  the  parchment.  Although  one  of  its  corners  had 
been,  by  some  accident,  destroyed,  it  could  be  seen  that  the  origi 
nal  form  was  oblong.  It  was  just  such  a  slip,  indeed,  as  might 
have  been  chosen  for  a  memorandum — for  a  record  of  something 
to  be  long  remembered  and  carefully  preserved." 

"  But,"  I  interposed,  "  you  say  that  the  skull  was  not  upon  the 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  25 


parchment  when  you  made  the  drawing  of  the  beetle.  How  then 
do  you  trace  any  connexion  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  scarab&us  ?" 

"  Ah,  hereupon  turns  the  whole  mystery  ;  although  the  secret, 
at  this  point,  I  had  comparatively  little  difficulty  in  solving.  My 
steps  were  sure,  and  could  afford  but  a  single  result.  I  reasoned, 
for  example,  thus :  When  I  drew  the  scarabceus,  there  was  no 
skull  apparent  upon  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  agen 
cy.  And  nevertheless  it  was  done. 

"  At  this  stage  of  my  reflections  I  endeavored  to  remember, 
and  did  remember,  with  entire  distinctness,  every  incident  which 
occurred  about  the  period  in  question.  The  weather  was  chilly 
(oh  rare  and  happy  accident !),  and  a  fire  was  blazing  upon  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  in 
specting  it,  Wolf,  the  Newfoundland,  entered,  and  leaped  upon  your 
shoulders.  With  your  left  hand  you  caressed  him  and  kept  him 
off,  while  your  right,  holding  the  parchment,  was  permitted  to  fall 
listlessly  between  your  knees,  and  in  close  proximity  to  the  fire.  At 
one  moment  I  thought  the  blaze  had  caught  it,  and  was  about  to 
caution  you,  but,  before  I  could  speak,  you  had  withdrawn  it,  and 
were  engaged  in  its  examination.  When  I  considered  all  these 
particulars,  I  doubted  not  for  a  moment  that  heat  had  been  the  agent 
in  bringing  to  light,  upon  the  parchment,  the  skull  which  I  saw  de 
signed  upon  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  upon  either  paper  or  vellum,  so  that  the  characters 
shall  become  visible  only  when  subjected  to  the  action  of  fire. 
Z afire,  digested  in  aqua  rcgia,  and  diluted  with  four  times  its  weight 
of  water,  is  sometimes  employed  ;  a  green  tint  results.  The  reg- 
ulus  of  cobalt,  dissolved  in  spirit  of  nitre,  gives  a  red.  These 
colors  disappear  at  longer  or  shorter  intervals  after  the  material 


26  FOE'S  TALES. 


written  upon  cools,  but  again  become  apparent  upon  the  re-ap 
plication  of  heat. 

"  I  now  scrutinized  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  ac 
tion  of  the  caloric  had  been  imperfect  or  unequal.  I  immediately 
kindled  a  fire,  and  subjected  every  portion  of  the  parchment  to  a 
glowing  heat.  At  first,  the  only  effect  was  the  strengthening  of 
the  faint  lines  in  the  skull ;  but,  upon  persevering  in  the  experi 
ment,  there  became  visible,  at  the  corner  of  the  slip,  diagonally 
opposite  to  the  spot  in  which  the  death's-head  was  delineated,  the 
figure  of  what  I  at  first  supposed  to  be  a  goat.  A  closer  scrutiny, 
however,  satisfied  me  that  it  was  intended  for  a  kid." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  said  I,  "to  be  sure  I  have  no  right  to  laugh  at  you 
— a  million  and  a  half  of  money  is  too  serious  a  matter  for  mirth 
— but  you  are  not  about  to  establish  a  third  link  in  your  chain — - 
you  will  not  find  any  especial  connexion  between  your  pirates 
and  a  goat — pirates,  you  know;  have  nothing  to  do  with  goats  , 
they  appertain  to  the  farming  interest." 

"  But  I  have  just  said  that  the  figure  was  not  that  of  a  goat." 

"  Well,  a  kid  then — pretty  much  the  same  thing." 

"  Pretty  much,  but  not  altogether,"  said  Legrand.  "  You  may 
have  heard  of  one  Captain  Kidd.  I  at  once  looked  upon  the 
figure  of  the  animal  as  a  kind  of  punning  or  hieroglyphical  sig 
nature.  I  say  signature ;  because  its  position  upon  the  vellum 
suggested  this  idea.  The  death's-head  at  the  corner  diagonally 
opposite,  had,  in  the  same  manner,  the  air  of  a  stamp,  or  seal. 
But  I  was  sorely  put  out  by  the  absence  of  all  else — of  the  body 
to  my  imagined  instrument — of  the  text  for  my  context." 

"  I  presume  you  expected  to  find  a  letter  between  the  stamp 
and  the  signature." 

"  Something  of  that  kind.  The  fact  is,  I  felt  irresistibly  im 
pressed  with  a  presentiment  of  some  vast  good  fortune  impending. 
I  can  scarcely  say  why.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  rather  a  de 
sire  than  an  actual  belief; — but  do  you  know  that  Jupiter's 
silly  words,  about  the  bug  being  of  solid  gold,  had  a  remarkable 
effect  upon  my  fancy  ?  And  then  the  series  of  accidents  and 
coincidences — these  were  so  very  extraordinary.  Do  you  ob- 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  27 


serve  how  mere  an  accident  it  was  that  these  events  should  have 
occurred  upon  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  should  never  have  become  aware  of  the  death's- 
head,  and  so  never  the  possessor  of  the  treasure  ?" 

"  But  proceed — I  am  all  impatience." 

"  Well ;  you  have  heard,  of  course,  the  many  stories  current 
— the  thousand  vague  rumors  afloat  about  money  buried,  some 
where  upon  the  Atlantic  coast,  by  Kidd  and  his  associates.  These 
rumors  must  have  had  some  foundation  in  fact.  And  that  the 
rumors  have  existed  so  long  and  so  continuous,  could  have  re 
sulted,  it  appeared  to  me,  only  from  the  circumstance  of  the 
buried  treasure  still  remaining  entombed.  Had  Kidd  concealed 
his  plunder  for  a  time,  and  afterwards  reclaimed  it,  the  rumors 
would  scarcely  have  reached  us  in  their  present  unvarying  form. 
You  will  observe  that  the  stories  told  are  all  about  money-seekers, 
not  about  money-finders.  Had  the  pirate  recovered  his  money, 
there  the  affair  would  have  dropped.  It  seemed  to  me  that  some 
accident — say  the  loss  of  a  memorandum  indicating  its  locality — 
had  deprived  him  of  the  means  of  recovering  it,  and  that  this  ac 
cident  had  become  known  to  his  followers,  who  otherwise  might 
never  have  heard  that  treasure  had  been  concealed  at  all,  and 
who,  busying  themselves  in  vain,  because  unguided  attempts,  to 
regain  it,  had  given  first  birth,  and  then  universal  currency,  to 
the  reports  which  are  now  so  common.  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  any  important  treasure  being  unearthed  along  the  coast  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  But  that  Kidd's  accumulations  were  immense,  is  well  known. 
I  took  it  for  granted,  therefore,  that  the  earth  still  held  them  ;  and 
you  will  scarcely  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you  that  I  felt  a  hope, 
nearly  amounting  to  certainty,  that  the  parchment  so  strangely 
found,  involved  a  lost  record  of  the  place  of  deposit." 

"  But  how  did  you  proceed  ?" 

"  I  held  the  vellum  again  to  the  fire,  after  increasing  the  heat ; 
but  nothing  appeared.  I  now  thought  it  possible  that  the  coating 
of  dirt  might  have  something  to  do  with  the  failure  ;  so  I  care 
fully  rinsed  the  parchment  by  pouring  warm  water  over  it,  and, 


28  FOE'S  TALES. 


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. 
Upon  taking  it  off,  the  whole  was  just  as  you  see  it  now." 

Here  Legrand,  having  re-heated  the  parchment,  submitted  it  to 
my  inspection.  The  following  characters  were  rudely  traced,  in 
a  red  tint,  between  the  death's-head  and  the  goat  : 


—  4)81T8*;40692 
:  8:fl;48t85;4)485t528806*81(:j:9;48; 


"  But,"  said  I,  returning  him  the  slip,  "  I  am  as  much  in  the 
dark  as  ever.  Were  all  the  jewels  of  Golconda  awaiting  me 
upon  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  lead  to  imagine  from  the  first  hasty  in 
spection  of  the  characters.  These  characters,  as  any  one  might 
readily  guess,  form  a  cipher  —  that  is  to  say,  they  convey  a  mean 
ing  ;  but  then,  from  what  is  known  of  Kidd,  I  could  not  suppose 
him  capable  of  constructing  any  of  the  more  abstruse  crypto 
graphs.  I  made  up  my  mind,  at  once,  that  this  was  of  a  simple 
species  —  such,  however,  as  would  appear,  to  the  crude  intellect 
of  the  sailor,  absolutely  insoluble  without  the  key." 

"  And  you  really  solved  it  ?" 

"  Readily  ;  I  have  solved  others  of  an  abstruseness  ten  thou 
sand  times  greater.  Circumstances,  and  a  certain  bias  of  mind, 
have  led  me  to  take  interest  in  such  riddles,  and  it  may  well  be 
doubted  whether  human  ingenuity  can  construct  an  enigma  of  the 
kind  which  human  ingenuity  may  not,  by  proper  application,  re 
solve.  In  fact,  having  once  established  connected  and  legible 
characters,  I  scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  the  mere  difficulty  of  de 
veloping  their  import. 


THE  GOLD-BUG. 


"  In  the  present  case — indeed  in  all  cases  of  secret  writing— 
the  first  question  regards  the  language  of  the  cipher ;  for  the  prin 
ciples  of  solution,  so  far,  especially,  as  the  more  simple  ciphers 
are  concerned,  depend  upon,  and  arc  varied  by,  the  genius  of  the 
particular  idiom.  In  general,  there  is  no  alternative  but  experi 
ment  (directed  by  probabilities)  of  every  tongue  known  to  him 
who  attempts  the  solution,  until  the  true  one  be  attained.  But, 
with  the  cipher  now  before  us,  all  difficulty  was  removed  by  the 
signature.  The  pun  upon  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  English. 

"  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  let 
ter  occurred,  as  is  most  likely,  (a  or  I,  for  example,)  I  should 
have  considered  the  solution  as  assured.  But,  there  being  no  di 
vision,  my  first  step  was  to  ascertain  the  predominant  letters,  as 
well  as  the  least  frequent.  Counting  all,  I  constructed  a  table, 
thus: 


• 

u 

26. 

4 

(( 

19. 

t) 

it 

16. 

* 

it 

13. 

5 

u 

12. 

6 

u 

11. 

t  1 

u 

8. 

0 

n 

6. 

92 

ii 

5. 

:  3 

(i 

4i 

? 

(( 

3. 

IT 

u 

2. 

.. 

ft 

1. 

"  Now,  in  English,  the  letter  w 

hich  most  frequently  occurs  is 

FOE'S  TALES. 


e.  Afterwards,  the  succession  runs  thus :  aoidhnrstuyc 
fgtmwbkpqxz.  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  pre 
dominant  character  is  8,  we  will  commence  by  assuming  it  as  the 
e  of  the  natural  alphabet.  To  verify  the  supposition,  let  us  ob 
serve  if  the  8  be  seen  often  in  couples — for  e  is  doubled  with  great 
frequency  in  English — in  such  words,  for  example,  as  '  meet,' 
1  fleet/  '  speed,'  '  seen,3  been,'  *  agree,'  &c.  In  the  present  in 
stance  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  lan 
guage,  '  the'  is  most  usual ;  let  us  see,  therefore,  whether  there 
are  not  repetitions  of  any  three  characters,  in  the  same  order  of 
collocation,  the  last  of  them  being  8.  If  we  discover  repetitions 
of  such  letters,  so  arranged,  they  will  most  probably  represent 
the  word  '  the.'  Upon  inspection,  we  find  no  less  than  seven  such 
arrangements,  the  characters  being  ;48.  We  may,  therefore,  as 
sume  that ;  represents  t,  4  represents  /i,  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  es 
tablish  a  vastly  important  point ;  that  is  to  say,  several  com 
mencements  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  cognizant  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  un 
known — 

t  eeth. 

"  Here  we  are  enabled,  at  once,  to  discard  the  <  th,  'as  forming 
no  portion  of  the  word  commencing  with  the  first  t ;  since,  by  ex- 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  31 


periment  of  the  entire  alphabet  for  a  letter  adapted  to  the  vacancy, 
we  perceive  that  no  word  can  be  formed  of  which  this  th  can  be 
a  part.  We  are  thus  narrowed  into 

t  ee, 

and,  going  through  the  alphabet,  if  necessary,  as  before,  we 
arrive  at  the  word  '  tree,'  as  the  sole  possible  reading.  We  thus 
gain  another  letter,  r,  represented  by  (,  with  the  words  '  the  tree' 
in  juxtaposition. 

"  Looking  beyond  these  words,  for  a  short  distance,  we  again 
see  the  combination  ;48,  and  employ  it  by  way  of  termination  to 
what  immediately  precedes.  We  have  thus  this  arrangement : 

the  tree  ;4(^?34  the, 

or,  substituting  the  natural  letters,  where  known,  it  reads  thus : 
the  tree  thrj?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,  o,  u  and  g,  represented  by 
$  ?  and  3. 

"  Looking  now,  narrowly,  through  the  cipher  for  combinations 
of  known  characters,  we  find,  not  very  far  from  the  beginning, 
this  arrangement, 

83(88,  or  egree, 

which,  plainly,  is  the  conclusion  of  the  word  f  degree,'  and  gives 
us  another  letter,  d,  represented  by  f. 

"  Four  letters  beyond  the  word  '  degree,'  we  perceive  the  com 
bination 

;48(;88. 

"  Translating  the  known  characters,  and  representing  the  un 
known  by  dots,  as  before,  we  read  thus  : 

th  rtee. 

an  arrangement  immediately  suggestive  of  the  word  ( thirteen,' 
and  again  furnishing  us  with  two  new  characters,  i  and  w,  repre 
sented  by  6  and  *. 

"  Referring,  now,  to  the  beginning  of  the  cryptograph,  we  find 
the  combination, 


POE'S  TALES. 


"  Translating,  as  before,  we  obtain 

.  good, 

which  assures  us  that  the  first  letter  is  A,  and  that  the  first  two 
words  are  ( A  good.' 

"  It  is  now  time  that  we  arrange  our  key,  as  far  as  discovered, 
in  a  tabular  form,  to  avoid  confusion.  It  will  stand  thus : 

5  represents  a 
f          "          d 
8          "          e 

3  «          g 

4  "          h 

6  «          i 
*          "          n 
t          "          o 
(  «          r 

a          t 
?  l 

"  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  spe 
cies  of  cryptograph.  It  now  only  remains  to  give  you  the  full 
translation  of  the  characters  upon  the  parchment,  as  unriddled. 
Here  it  is : 

'  A  good  glass  in  the  bishop's  hostel  in  the  devil's  seat  forty-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  ffty  feet  out.'  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  the  enigma  seems  still  in  as  bad  a  condition 
as  ever.  How  is  it  possible  to  extort  a  meaning  from  all  this  jar 
gon  about  '  devil's  seats,'  '  death's-heads,'  and  «  bishop's  hotels  ?'  " 

"  I  confess,"  replied  Legrand,  "  that  the  matter  still  wears  a 
serious  aspect,  when  regarded'  with  a  casual  glance.  My  first 
endeavor  was  to  divide  the  sentence  into  the  natural  division  in. 
tended  by  the  cryptographist." 

"  You  mean,  to  punctuate  it  ?" 

"  Something  of  that  kind." 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  33 


"  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  overdo  the  matter.  When,  in  the 
course  of  his  composition,  he  arrived  at  a  break  in  his  subject 
which  would  naturally  require  a  pause,  or  a  point,  he  would  be 
exceedingly  apt  to  run  his  characters,  at  this  place,  more  than 
usually  close  together.  If  you  will  observe  the  MS.,  in  the  pres- 
ent  instance,  you  will  easily  detect  five  such  cases  of  unusual 
crowding.  Acting  upon  this  hint,  I  made  the  division  thus  : 

'  A  good  glass  in  the  Bishop's  hostel  in  the  Devil's  seat— forty- 
one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes — northeast  and  by  north — main 
branch  seventh  limb  east  side — shoot  from  the  left  eye  of  the 
death's-head — a  bee-line  from  the  tree  through  the  shot  fifty  feet 
out.'  " 

"  Even  this  division,"  said  I,  "  leaves  me  still  in  the  dark." 

"  It  left  me  also  in  the  dark,"  replied  Legrand,  "  for  a  few 
days ;  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 '  might  have  some  refer 
ence  to  an  old  family,  of  th«  name  of  Bessop,  which,  time  out  of 
mind,  had  held  possession  of  an  ancient  manor-house,  about  four 
miles  to  the  northward  of  the  Island.  I  accordingly  went  over  to 
the  plantation,  and  re-instituted  my  inquiries  among  the  older  ne 
groes  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  de 
mur,  she  consented  to  accompany  me  to  the  spot.  We  found  it 
without  much  difficulty,  when,  dismissing  her,  I  proceeded  to  ex 
amine  the  place.  The  <  castle'  consisted  of  an  irregular  assem 
blage  of  cliffs  and  rocks — one  of  the  latter  being  quite  remark- 

4 


34  FOE'S  TALES. 


able  for  its  height  as  well  as  for  its  insulated  and  artificial  ap 
pearance.  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  sum 
mit  upon  which  I  stood.  This  ledge  projected  about  eighteen 
inches,  and  was  not  more  than  a  foot  wide,  while  a  niphe  in  the 
cliff  just  above  it,  gave  it  a  rude  resemblance  to  one  of  the  hol 
low-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  seem 
ed  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  tele 
scope  to  be  used,  and  a  definite  point  of  view,  admitting  no  varia 
tion,  from  which  to  use  it.  Nor  did  I  hesitate  to  believe  that  the 
phrases,  "  forty-one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes,'  and  '  northeast 
and  by  north,'  were  intended  as  directions  for  the  levelling  of  the 
glass.  Greatly  excited  by  these  discoveries,  I  hurried  home,  pro 
cured  a  telescope,  and  returned  to  the  rock.. 

"  I  let  myself  down  to  the  ledge,  and  found  that  it  was  impos 
sible  to  retain  a  seat  upon  it  except  in  one  particular  position. 
This  fact  confirmed  my  preconceived  idea.  I  proceeded  to  use 
the  glass.  Of  course,  the  '  forty-one  degrees  and  thirteen  minr 
utes'  could  allude  to  nothing  but  elevation  above  the  visible  hori 
zon,  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  forty-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  \  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. 

"  Upon  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  upon  the  tree, 


THE  GOLD-BUG.  35 


while  « shoot  from  the  left  eye  of  the  death's-head'  admitted,  also, 
of  but  one  interpretation,  in  regard  to  a  search  for  buried  treas 
ure.  I  perceived  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,  would  indicate  a  definite  point— and  be 
neath  this  point  I  thought  it  at  least  possible  that  a  deposit  of 
value  lay  concealed." 

"  All  this,"  I  said,  "  is  exceedingly  clear,  and,  although  in 
genious,  still  simple  and  explicit.  When  you  left  the  Bishop's 
Hotel,  what  then  ?" 

"  Why,  having  carefully  taken  the  bearings  of  the  tree,  I 
turned  homewards.  The  instant  that  I  left  '  the  devil's  seat,'  how 
ever,  the  circular  rift  vanished  ;  nor  could  I  get  a  glimpse  of  it 
afterwards,  turn  as  I  would.  What  seems  to  me  the  chjef  inge 
nuity  in  this  whole  business,  is  the  fact  (for  repeated  experiment 
has  convinced  me  it  is  a  fact)  that  the  circular  opening  in  ques 
tion  is  visible  from  no  other  attainable  point  of  view  than  that  af 
forded  by  the  narrow  ledge  upon  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  demeanor,  and  took  especial  care  not  to  leave 
me  alone.  But,  on  the  next  day,  getting  up  very  early,  I  con 
trived  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." 

"  I  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,5 
together  with  the  nearest  point  of  the  tree,  were  merely  two 
points  tor  the  establishment  of  a  line  of  direction  j  of  course  the 
error,  however  trivial  in  the  beginning,  increased  as  we  proceed- 


36  POE'S  TALES. 


ed  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  somewhere  actually  buried,  we  might  have  had 
all  our  labor  in  vain.'* 

"  But  your  grandiloquence,  and  your  conduct  in  swinging  the 
beetle — how  excessively  odd  !  I  was  sure  you  were  mad.  And 
why  did  you  insist  upon  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 
it  from  the  tree.  An  observation  of  yours  about  its  great  weight 
suggested  the  latter  idea." 

"  Yes,  I  perceive ;  and  now  there  is  only  one  point  which  puzzles 
me.  What  are  we  to  make  of  the  skeletons  found  in  the  hole  ?" 

"  That  is  a  question  I  am  no  more  able  to  answer  than  yourself. 
There  seems,  however,  only  one  plausible  way  of  accounting 
for  them — and  yet  it  is  dreadful  to  believe  in  such  atrocity  as  my 
suggestion  would  imply.  It  is  clear  that  Kidd — if  Kidd  indeed  se 
creted  this  treasure,  which  I  doubt  not — it  is  clear  that  he  must 
have  had  assistance  in  the  labor.  But  this  labor  concluded,  he 
may  have  thought  it  expedient  to  remove  all  participants  in  his 
secret.  Perhaps  a  couple  of  blows  with  a  mattock  were  suffi 
cient,  while  his  coadjutors  were  busy  in  the  pit ;  perhaps  it  requi 
red  a  dozen — who  shall  tell  ?" 


THE  BLACK  CAT.  3? 


THE    BLACK    CAT. 


FOR  the  most  wild,  yet  most  homely  narrative  which  I  am  about 
to  pen,  I  neither  expect  nor  solicit  belief.  Mad  indeed  would  I 
be  to  expect  it,  in  a  case  where  my  very  senses  reject  their  own 
evidence.  Yet,  mad  am  I  not — and  very  surely  do  I  not  dream. 
But  to-morrow  I  die,  and  to-day  I  would  unburthen  my  soul.  My 
immediate  purpose  is  to  place  before  the  world,  plainly,  suc 
cinctly,  and  without  comment,  a  series  of  mere  household  events. 
In  their  consequences,  these  events  have  terrified — have  tor 
tured — have  destroyed  me.  Yet  I  will  not  attempt  to  expound 
them.  To  me,  they  have  presented  little  but  Horror — to  many 
they  will  seem  less  terrible  than  /barroques.  Hereafter,  perhaps, 
some  intellect  may  be  found  which  will  redupe  my  phantasm  to 
the  common-place — some  intellect  more  calm,  more  logical,  and 
far  less  excitable  than  my  own,  which  will  perceive,  in  the  cir 
cumstances  I  detail  with  awe,  nothing  more  than  an  ordinary  suc 
cession  of  very  natural  causes  and  effects. 

From  my  infancy  I  was  noted  for  the  docility  and  humanity  of 
my  disposition.  My  tenderness  of  heart  was  even  so  conspicuous 
as  to  make  me  the  jest  of  my  companions.  I  was  especially  fond 
of  animals,  and  was  indulged  by  my  parents  with  a  great  variety 
of  pets.  With  these  I  spent  most  of  my  time,  and  never  was  so 
happy  as  when  feeding  and  caressing  them.  This  peculiarity  of 
character  grew  with  my  growth,  and,  in  my  manhood,  I  derived 
from  it  one  of  my  principal  sources  of  pleasure.  To  those  who 
have  cherished  an  affection  for  a  faithful  and  sagacious  dog,  I 
need  hardly  be  at  the  trouble  of  explaining  the  nature  or  the  in 
tensity  of  the  gratification  thus  derivable.  There  is  something  in 
the  unselfish  and  self-sacrificing  love  of  a  brute,  which  goes  di 
rectly  to  the  heart  of  him  who  has  had  frequent  occasion  to  test 
the  paltry  friendship  and  gossamer  fidelity  of  mere  Man. 


38  FOE'S  TALES. 


I  married  early,  and  was  happy  to  find  in  my  wife  a  disposition 
not  uncongenial  with  my  own.  Observing  my  partiality  for  do 
mestic  pets,  she  lost  no  opportunity  of  procuring  those  of  the  most 
agreeable  kind.  We  had  birds,  gold-fish,  a  fine  dog,  rabbits,  a 
small  monkey,  and  a  cat. 

This  latter  was  a  remarkably  large  and  beautiful  animal,  en 
tirely  black,  and  sagacious  to  an  astonishing  degree.  In  speaking 
of  his  intelligence,  my  wife,  who  at  heart  was  not  a  little  tinc 
tured  with  superstition,  made  frequent  allusion  to  the  ancient 
popular  notion,  which  regarded  all  black  cats  as  witches  in  dis 
guise.  Not  that  she  was  ever  serious  upon  this  point — and  I 
mention  the  matter  at  all  for  no  better  reason  than  that  it  hap 
pens,  just  now,  to  be  remembered. 

Pluto — this  was  the  cat's  name—was  my  favorite  pet  and  play 
mate.  I  alone  fed  him,  and  he  attended  me  wherever  I  went 
about  the  house.  It  was  even  with  difficulty  that  I  could  prevent 
him  from  following  me  through  the  streets. 

Our  friendship  lasted,  in  this  manner,  for  several  years,  during 
which  my  general  temperament  and  character — through  the  in 
strumentality  of  the  Fiend  Intemperance — had  (I  blush  to  confess 
it)  experienced  a  radical  alteration  for  the  worse.  I  grew,  day 
by  day,  more  moody,  more  irritable,  more  regardless  of  the  feel 
ings  of  others.  I  suffered  myself  to  use  intemperate  language  to 
my  wife.  At  length,  I  even  offered  her  personal  violence.  My 
pets,  of  course,  were  made  to  feel  the  change  in  my  disposition. 
I  not  only  neglected,  but  ill-used  them.  For  Pluto,  however,  I 
still  retained  sufficient  regard  to  restrain  me  from  maltreating 
him,  as  I  made  no  scruple  of  maltreating  the  rabbits,  the  monkey, 
or  even  the  dog,  when  by  accident,  or  through  affection,  they 
came  in  my  way.  But  my  disease  grew  upon  me — for  what  dis 
ease  is  like  Alcohol ! — ^and  at  length  even  Pluto,  who  was  now  be 
coming  old,  and  consequently  somewhat  peevish — even  Pluto  be 
gan  to  experience  the  effects  of  my  ill  temper. 

One  night,  returning  home,  much  intoxicated,  from  one  of  my 
haunts  about  town,  I  fancied  that  the  cat  avoided  my  presence. 
I  seized  him ;  when,  in  his  fright  at  my  violence,  he  inflicted  a 
slight  wound  upon  my  hand  with  his  teeth.  The  fury  of  a  de 
mon  instantly  possessed  me.  I  knew  myself  no  longer.  My 


THE  BLACK  CAT.  39 


original  soul  seemed,  at  once,  to  take  its  flight  from  my  body ; 
and  a  more  than  fiendish  malevolence,  gin-nurtured,  thrilled 
every  fibre  of  my  frame.  I  took  from  my  waistcoat-pocket  a 
pen-knife,  opened  it,  grasped  the  poor  beast  by  the  throat,  and  de 
liberately  cut  one  of  its  eyes  from  the  socket !  I  blush,  I  burn,  I 
shudder,  while  I  pen  the  damnable  atrocity. 

When  reason  returned  with  the  morning — when  I  had  slept  off 
the  fumes  of  the  night's  debauch — I  experienced  a  sentiment  half 
of  horror,  half  of  remorse,  for  the  crime  of  which  I  had  been 
guilty ;  but  it  was,  at  best,  a  feeble  and  equivocal  feeling,  and 
the  soul  remained  untouched.  I  again  plunged  into  excess,  and 
soon  drowned  in  wine  all  memory  of  the  deed. 

In  the  meantime  the  cat  slowly  recovered.  The  socket  of  the 
lost  eye  presented,  it  is  true,  a  frightful  appearance,  but  he  no 
longer  appeared  to  suffer  any  pain.  He  went  about  the  house  as 
usual,  but,  as  might  be  expected,  fled  in  extreme  terror  at  my  ap 
proach.  I  had  iso  much  of  my  old  heart  left,  as  to  be  at  first 
grieved  by  this  evident  dislike  on  the  part  of  a  creature  which 
had  once  so  loved  me.  But  this  feeling  soon  gave  place  to  irri 
tation.  And  then  came,  as  if  to  my  final  and  irrevocable  over 
throw,  the  spirit  of  PERVERSENESS.  Of  this  spirit  philosophy 
takes  no  account.  Yet  I  am  not  more  sure  that  my  soul  lives, 
than  I  am  that  perverseness  is  one  of  the  primitive  impulses  of 
the  human  heart — one  of  the  indivisible  primary  faculties,  or  sen 
timents,  which  give  direction  to  the  character  of  Man.  Who 
has  not,  a  hundred  times,  found  himself  committing  a  vile  or  a 
silly  action,  for  no  other  reason  than  because  he  knows  he  should 
not  ?  Have  we  not  a  perpetual  inclination,  in  the  teeth  of  our 
best  judgment,  to  violate  that  which  is  Law,  merely  because  we 
understand  it  to  be  such  ?  This  spirit  of  perverseness,  I  say, 
came  to  my  final  overthrow.  It  was  this  unfathomable  longing 
of  the  soul  to  vex  itself — to  offer  violence  to  its  own  nature- — to  do 
wrong  for  the  wrong's  sake  only — that  urged  me  to  continue  and 
finally  to  consummate  the  injury  I  had  inflicted  upon  the  unoffend 
ing  brute.  One  morning,  in  cool  blood,  I  slipped  a  noose  about 
its  neck  and  hung  it  to  the  limb  of  a  tree ; — hung  it  with  the 
tears  streaming  from  my  eyes,  and  with  the  bitterest  remorse  at 
my  heart ; — hung  it  because  I  knew  that  it  had  loved  me,  and  le- 


40  FOE'S  TALES. 


cause  I  felt  it  had  given  me  no  reason  of  offence  ; — hung  it  be 
cause  I  knew  that  in  so  doing  I  was  committing  a  sin — a  deadly 
sin  that  would  so  jeopardize  my  immortal  soul  as  to  place  it — if 
such  a  thing  were  possible — even  beyond  the  reach  of  the  infinite 
mercy  of  the  Most  Merciful  and  Most  Terrible  God. 

On  the  night  of  the  day  on  which  this  cruel  deed  was  done,  I 
was  aroused  from  sleep  by  the  cry  of  fire.  The  curtains  of  my 
bed  were  in  flames.  The  whole  house  was  blazing.  It  was 
with  great  difficulty  that  my  wife,  a  servant,  and  myself,  made 
our  escape  from  the  conflagration.  The  destruction  was  com 
plete.  My  entire  worldly  wealth  was  swallowed  up,  and  I  re 
signed  myself  thenceforward  to  despair. 

I  am  above  the  weakness  of  seeking  to  establish  a  sequence  of 
cause  and  effect,  between  the  disaster  and  the  atrocity.  But  I 
am  detailing  a  chain  of  facts — and  wish  not  to  leave  even  a  possi 
ble  link  imperfect.  On  the  day  succeeding  the  fire,  I  visited  the 
ruins.  The  walls,  with  one  exception,  had  fallSi  in.  This  ex 
ception  was  found  in  a  compartment  wall,  not  very  thick,  which 
stood  about  the  middle  of  the  house,  and  against  which  had  rested 
the  head  of  my  bed.  The  plastering  had  here,  in  great  measure, 
resisted  the  action  of  the  fire — a  fact  which  I  attributed  to  its  hav 
ing  been  recently  spread.  About  this  wall  a  dense  crowd  were 
collected,  and  many  persons  seemed  to  be  examining  a  particular 
portion  of  it  with  very  minute  and  eager  attention.  The  words 
"  strange !"  "  singular !"  and  other  similar  expressions,  excited 
my  curiosity.  I  approached  and  saw,  as  if  graven  in  bas  relief 
upon  the  white  surface,  the  figure  of  a  gigantic  cat.  The  im 
pression  was  given  with  an  accuracy  truly  marvellous.  There 
was  a  rope  about  the  animal's  neck. 

When  I  first  beheld  this  apparition — for  I  could  scarcely  re 
gard  it  as  less — my  wonder  and  my  terror  were  extreme.  But 
at  length  reflection  came  to  my  aid.  The  cat,  I  remembered,  had 
been  hung  in  a  garden  adjacent  to  the  house.  Upon  the  alarm  of 
fire,  this  garden  had  been  immediately  filled  by  the  crowd — by 
some  one  of  whom  the  animal  must  have  been  cut  from  the  tree 
and  thrown,  through  an  open  window,  into  my  chamber.  This 
had  probably  been  done  with  the  view  of  arousing  me  from  sleep. 
The  falling  of  other  walls  had  compressed  the  victim  of  my  cruel- 


THE  BLACK  CAT.  41 


ty  into  the  substance  of  the  freshly-spread  plaster ;  the  lime  of 
which,  with  the  flames,  and  the  ammonia  from  the  carcass,  had 
then  accomplished  the  portraiture  as  I  saw  it. 

Although  I  thus  readily  accounted  to  my  reason,  if  not  alto 
gether  to  my  conscience,  for  the  startling  fact  just  detailed,  it  did 
not  the  less  fail  to  make  a  deep  impression  upon  my  fancy.  For 
months  I  could  not  rid  myself  of  the  phantasm  of  the  cat ;  and, 
during  this  period,  there  came  back  into  my  spirit  a  half-senti 
ment  that  seemed,  but  was  not,  remorse.  I  went  so  far  as  to  re 
gret  the  loss  of  the  animal,  and  to  look  about  me,  among  the  vile 
haunts  which  I  now  habitually  frequented,  for  another  pet  of  the 
same  species,  and  of  somewhat  similar  appearance,  with  which  to 
supply  its  place. 

One  night  as  I  sat,  half  stupified,  in  a  den  of  more  than  infa 
my,  my  attention  was  suddenly  drawn  to  some  black  object,  re 
posing  upon  the  head  of  one  of  the  immense  hogsheads  of  Gin,  or 
of  Rum,  which  constituted  the  chief  furniture  of  the  apartment. 
I  had  been  looking  steadily  at  the  top  of  this  hogshead  for  sc&ne 
minutes,  and  what  now  caused  me  surprise  was  the  fact  that  I 
had  not  sooner  perceived  the  object  thereupon.  I  approached  it, 
and  touched  it  with  my  hand.  It  was  a  black  cat — a  very  large 
one — fully  as  large  as  Pluto,  and  closely  resembling  him  in  every 
respect  but  one.  Pluto  had  not  a  white  hair  upon  any  portion  of 
his  body  •  but  this  cat  had  a  large,  although  indefinite  splotch  of 
white,  covering  nearly  the  whole  region  of  the  breast. 

Upon  my  touching  him,  he  immediately  arose,  purred  loudly, 
rubbed  against  my  hand,  and  appeared  delighted  with  my  notice. 
This,  then,  was  the  very  creature  of  which  I  was  in  search.  I 
at  once  offered  to  purchase  it  of  the  landlord ;  but  this  person 
made  no  claim  to  it — knew  nothing  of  it — had  never  seen  it  be 
fore. 

I  continued  my  caresses,  and,  when  I  prepared  to  go  home, 
the  animal  evinced  a  disposition  to  accompany  me.  I  permitted 
it  to  do  so ;  occasionally  stooping  and  patting  it  as  I  proceeded. 
When  it  reached  the  house  it  domesticated  itself  at  once,  and  be 
came  immediately  a  great  favorite  with  my  wife. 

For  my  own  part,  I  soon  found  a  dislike  to  it  arising  within 
me.  This  was  just  the  reverse  of  what  I  had  anticipated ;  but — 


42  FOE'S  TALES. 


I  know  not  how  or  why  it  was — its  evident  fondness  for  myself 
rather  disgusted  and  annoyed.  By  slow  degrees,  these  feelings 
of  disgust  and  annoyance  rose  into  the  bitterness  of  hatred.  I 
avoided  the  creature  ;  a  certain  sense  of  shame,  and  the  remem 
brance  of  my  former  deed  of  cruelty,  preventing  me  from  physi 
cally  abusing  it.  I  did  not,  for  some  weeks,  strike,  or  otherwise 
violently  ill  use  it ;  but  gradually — very  gradually — I  came  to 
look  upon  it  with  unutterable  loathing,  and  10  flee  silently  from 
its  odious  presence,  as  from  the  breath  of  a  pestilence. 

What  added,  no  doubt,  to  my  hatred  of  the  beast,  was  the  dis 
covery,  on  the  morning  after  I  brought  it  home,  that,  like  Pluto, 
it  also  had  been  deprived  of  one  of  its  eyes.  This  circumstance, 
however,  only  endeared  it  to  my  wife,  who,  as  I  have  already 
said,  possessed,  in  a  high  degree,  that  humanity  of  feeling  which 
had  once  been  my  distinguishing  trait,  and  the  source  of  many  of 
my  simplest  and  purest  pleasures.  ^ 

With  my  aversion  to  this  cat,  however,  its  partiality  for  myself 
seemed  to  increase.  It  followed  my  footsteps  with  a  pertinacity 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  the  reader  comprehend. 
Whenever  I  sat,  it  would  crouch  beneath  my  chair,  or  spring 
upon  my  knees,  covering  me  with  its  loathsome  caresses.  If  I 
arose  to  walk  it  would  get  between  my  feet  and  thus  nearly  throw 
me  down,  or,  fastening  its  long  and  sharp  claws  in  my  dress, 
clamber,  in  this  manner,  to  my  breast.  At  such  times,  although 
I  longed  to  destroy  it  with  a  blow,  I  was  yet  withheld  from  so  do 
ing,  partly  by  a  memory  of  my  former  crime,  but  chiefly — let  me 
confess  it  at  once — by  absolute  dread  of  the  beast. 

This  dread  was  not  exactly  a  dread  of  physical  evil — and  yet 
I  should  be  at  a  loss  how  otherwise  to  define  it.  I  am  almost 
ashamed  to  own — yes,  even  in  this  felon's  cell,  I  am  almost 
ashamed  to  own — that  the  terror  and  horror  with  which  the  ani 
mal  inspired  me,  had  been  heightened  by  one  of  the  merest  chi- 
mseras  it  would  be  possible  to  conceive.  My  wife  had  called  my 
attention,  more  than  once,  to  the  character  of  the  mark  of  white 
hair,  of  which  I  have  spoken,  and  which  constituted  the  sole  visi 
ble  difference  between  the  strange  beast  and  the  one  I  had  de 
stroyed.  The  reader  will  remember  that  this  mark,  although 
large,  had  been  originally  very  indefinite ;  but,  by  slow  degrees — 


THE  BLACK  CAT.  43 


degrees  nearly  imperceptible,  and  which  for  a  long  time  my  Reason 
struggled  to  reject  as  fanciful — it  had,  at  length,  assumed  a  rigor- 
ous  distinctness  of  outline.  It  was  now  the  representation  of  an 
object  that  I  shudder  to  name — and  for  this,  above  all,  I  loathed, 
and  dreaded,  and  would  have  rid  myself  of  the  monster  had  1 
dared — it  was  now,  I  say,  the  image  of  a  hideous — of  a  ghastly 
thing — of  the  GALLOWS  ! — oh,  mournful  and  terrible  engine  of 
Horror  and  of  Crime — of  Agony  and  of  Death  ! 

And  now  was  I  indeed  wretched  beyond  the  wretchedness  of 
mere  Humanity.  And  a  brute  beast — whose  fellow  I  had  con 
temptuously  destroyed — a  brute  beast  to  work  out  for  me — for  me 
a  man,  fashioned  in  the  image  of  the  High  God — so  much  of  in 
sufferable  wo !  Alas !  neither  by  day  nor  by  night  knew  I  the 
blessing  of  Rest  any  more  !  During  the  former  the  creature  left 
me  no  moment  alone ;  and,  in  the  latter,  I  started,  hourly,  from 
dreams  of  unutterable  fear,  to  find  the  hot  breath  of  the  thing  upon 
my  face,  and  its  vast  weight — an  incarnate  Night-Mare  that  I 
had  no  power  to  shake  off — incumbent  eternally  upon  my  heart ! 

Beneath  the  pressure  of  torments  such  as  these,  the  feeble  rem 
nant  of  the  good  within  me  succumbed.  Evil  thoughts  became 
my  sole  intimates — the  darkest  and  most  evil  of  thoughts. 
The  moodiness  of  my  usual  temper  increased  to  hatred  of  all 
things  and  of  all  mankkid  ;  while,  from  the  sudden,  frequent,  and 
ungovernable  outbursts  of  a  fury  to  which  I  now  blindly  aban 
doned  myself,  my  uncomplaining  wife,  alas  !  was  the  most  usual 
and  the  most  patient  of  sufferers. 

One  day  she  accompanied  me,  upon  some  household  errand, 
into  the  cellar  of  the  old  building  which  our  poverty  compelled  us 
to  inhabit.  The  cat  followed  me  down  the  steep  stairs,  and, 
nearly  throwing  me  headlong,  exasperated  me  to  madness.  Up 
lifting  an  axe,  and  forgetting,  in  my  wrath,  the  childish  dread 
which  had  hitherto  stayed  my  hand,  I  aimed  a  blow  at  the  animal 
which,  of  course,  would  have  proved  instantly  fatal  had  it  de 
scended  as  I  wished.  But  this  blow  was  arrested  by  the  hand  of 
my  wife.  Goaded,  by  the  interference,  into  a  rage  more  than 
demoniacal,  I  withdrew  my  arm  from  her  grasp  and  buried  the 
axe  in  her  brain.  She  fell  dead  upon  the  spot,  without  a  groan. 

This  hideous  murder  accomplished,  I  set  myself  forthwith,  and 


44  FOE'S  TALES. 


with  entire  deliberation,  to  the  task  of  concealing  the  body.  I 
knew  that  I  could  not  remove  it  from  the  house,  either  by  day  or 
by  night,  without  the  risk  of  being  observed  by  the  neighbors. 
Many  projects  entered  my  mind.  At  one  period  I  thought  of  cut 
ting  the  corpse  into  minute  fragments,  and  destroying  them  by 
fire.  At  another,  I  resolved  to  dig  a  grave  for  it  in  the  floor  of 
the  cellar.  Again,  I  deliberated  about  casting  it  in  the  well  in 
the  yard — about  packing  it  in  a  box,  as  if  merchandize,  with  the 
usual  arrangements,  and  so  getting  a  porter  to  take  it  from  the 
house.  Finally  I  hit  upon  what  I  considered  a  far  better  expe 
dient  than  either  of  these.  I  determined  to  wall  it  up  in  the  cel 
lar — as  the  monks  of  the  middle  ages  are  recorded  to  have  walled 
up  their  victims. 

For  a  purpose  such  as  this  the  cellar  was  well  adapted.  Its 
walls  were  loosely  constructed,  and  had  lately  been  plastered 
throughout  with  a  rough  plaster,  which  the  dampness  of  the 
atmosphere  had  prevented  from  hardening.  ]V^5reover,  in  one  of 
the  walls  was  a  projection,  caused  by  a  false  chimney,  or  fire 
place,  that  had  been  filled  up,  and  made  to  resemble  the  rest  of 
the  cellar.  I  made  no  doubt  that  I  could  readily  displace  the 
bricks  at  this  point,  insert  the  corpse,  and  wall  the  whole  up  as 
before,  so  that  no  eye  could  detect  any  thing  suspicious. 

And  in  this  calculation  I  was  not  deceived.  By  means  of  a 
crow-bar  I  easily  dislodged  the  bricks,  and,  having  carefully  de 
posited  the  body  against  the  inner  wall,  I  propped  it  in  that  posi 
tion,  while,  with  little  trouble,  I  re-laid  the  whole  structure  as  it 
originally  stood.  Having  procured  mortar,  sand,  and  hair,  with 
every  possible  precaution,  I  prepared  a  plaster  which  could  not 
be  distinguished  from  the  old,  and  with  this  I  very  carefully  went 
over  the  new  brick-work.  When  I  had  finished,  I  felt  satisfied 
that  all  was  right.  The  wall  did  not  present  the  slightest  ap 
pearance  of  having  been  disturbed.  The  rubbish  on  the  floor 
was  picked  up  with  the  minutest  care.  I  looked  around  trium 
phantly,  and  said  to  myself—"  Here  at  least,  then,  my  labor  has 
not  been  in  vain." 

My  next  step  was  to  look  for  the  beast  which  had  been  the 
cause  of  so  much  wretchedness  ;  for  I  had,  at  length,  firmly  re 
solved  to  put  it  to  death.  Had  I  been  able  to  meet  with  it,  at  the 


THE  BLACK  CAT.  45 


moment,  there  could  have  been  no  doubt  of  its  fate  ;  but  it  ap 
peared  that  the  crafty  animal  had  been  alarmed  at  the  violence  of 
my  previous  anger,  and  forebore  to  present  itself  in  my  present 
mood.  It  is  impossible  to  describe,  or  to  imagine,  the  deep,  the 
blissful  sense  of  relief  which  the  absence  of  the  detested  creature 
occasioned  in  my  bosom.  It  did  not  make  its  appearance  during 
the  night — and  thus  for  one  night  at  least,  since  its  introduction 
into  the  house,  I  soundly  and  tranquilly  slept ;  aye,  slept  even 
with  the  burden  of  murder  upon  my  soul ! 

The  second  and  the  third  day  passed,  and  still  my  tormentor 
came  not.  Once  again  I  breathed  as  a  freeman.  The  monster, 
in  terror,  had  fled  the  premises  forever  !  I  should  behold  it  no 
more  !  My  happiness  was  supreme  !  The  guilt  of  my  dark 
deed  disturbed  me  but  little.  Some  few  inquiries  had  been  made, 
but  these  had  been  readily  answered.  Even  a  search  had  been 
instituted — but  of  course  nothing  was  to  be  discovered.  I  looked 
upon  my  future  felicity  as  secured. 

Upon  the  fourth  day  of  the  assassination,  a  party  of  the  police 
came,  very  unexpectedly,  into  the  house,  and  proceeded  again  to 
make  rigorous  investigation  of  the  premises.  Secure,  however, 
in  the  inscrutability  of  my  place  of  concealment,  I  felt  no  embar 
rassment  whatever.  The  officers  bade  me  accompany  them  in 
their  search.  They  left  no  nook  or  corner  unexplored.  At 
length,  for  the  third  or  fourth  time,  they  descended  into  the  eel- 
lar.  I  quivered  not  in  a  muscle.  My  heart  beat  calmly  as  that 
of  one  who  slumbers  in  innocence.  I  walked  the  cellar  from  end 
to  end.  I  folded  my  arms  upon  my  bosom,  and  roamed  easily  to 
and  fro.  The  police  were  thoroughly  satisfied  and  prepared  to 
depart.  The  glee  at  my  heart  was  too  strong  to  be  restrained. 
I  burned  to  say  if  but  one  word,  by  way  of  triumph,  and  to  ren 
der  doubly  sure  their  assurance  of  my  guiltlessness. 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  said  at  last,  as  the  party  ascended  the  steps; 
"I  delight  to  have  allayed  your  suspicions.  I  wish  you  all 
health,  and  a  little  more  courtesy.  By  the  bye,  gentlemen,  this 
— this  is  a  very  well  constructed  house."  [In  the  rabid  desire  to 
say  something  easily,  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  uttered  at  all.]— 
"  I  may  say  an  excellently  well  constructed  house.  These  walls 
— are  you  going,  gentlemen  ? — these  walls  are  solidly  put  togeth- 


46  POE'S  TALES. 


er ;"  and  here,  through  the  mere  phrenzy  of  bravado,  I  rapped 
heavily,  with  a  cane  which  I  held  in  my  hand,  upon  that  very 
portion  of  the  brick- work  behind  which  stood  the  corpse  of  the 
wife  of  my  bosom. 

But  may  God  shield  and  deliver  me  from  the  fangs  of  the 
Arch-Fiend  !  No  sooner  had  the  reverberation  of  my  blows  sunk 
into  silence,  than  I  was  answered  by  a  voice  from  within  the 
tomb  ! — by  a  cry,  at  first  muffled  and  broken,  like  the  sobbing  of 
a  child,  and  then  quickly  swelling  into  one  long,  loud,  and  con 
tinuous  scream,  utterly  anomalous  and  inhuman — a  howl — a 
wailing  shriek,  half  of  horror  and  half  of  triumph,  such  as  might 
have  arisen  only  out  of  hell,  conjointly  from  the  throats  of  the 
damned  in  their  agony  and  of  the  demons  that  exult  in  the  dam 
nation. 

Of  my  own  thoughts  it  is  folly  to,  speak.  Swooning,  I  stagger 
ed  to  the  opposite  wall.  For  one  instant  the  party  upon  the  stairs 
remained  motionless,  through  extremity  of  terror  and  of  awe.  In 
the  next,  a  dozen  stout  arms  were  toiling  at  the  wall.  It  fell 
bodily.  The  corpse,  already  greatly  decayed  and  clotted  with 
gore,  stood  erect  before  the  eyes  of  the  spectators.  Upon  its 
head,  with  red  extended  mouth  and  solitary  eye  of  fire,  sat  the 
hideous  beast  whose  craft  had  seduced  me  into  murder,  and  whose 
informing  voice  had  consigned  me  to  the  hangman.  I  had  walled 
the  monster  up  within  the  tomb  ! 


MESMERIC  REVELATION.  47 


MESMERIC    REVELATION. 


WHATEVER  doubt  may  still  envelop  the  rationale  of  mesmerism, 
its  startling  facts  are  now  almost  universally  admitted.  Of  these 
latter,  those  who  doubt,  are  your  mere  doubters  by  profession — 
an  unprofitable  and  disreputable  tribe.  There  can  be  no  more 
absolute  waste  of  time  than  the  attempt  to  prove,  at  the  present 
day,  that  man,  by  mere  exercise  of  will,  can  so  impress  his  fel 
low,  as  to  cast  him  into  an  abnormal  condition,  of  which  the 
phenomena  resemble  very  closely  those  of  death,  or  at  least  re 
semble  them  more  nearly  than  they  do  the  phenomena  of  any 
other  normal  condition  within  our  cognizance ;  that,  while  in  this 
state,  the  person  so  impressed  employs  only  with  effort,  and  then 
feebly,  the  external  organs  of  sense,  yet  perceives,  with  keenly 
refined  perception,  and  through  channels  supposed  unknown,  mat 
ters  beyond  the  scope  of  the  physical  organs ;  that,  moreover, 
his  intellectual  faculties  are  wonderfully  exalted  and  invigorated ; 
that  his  sympathies  with  the  person  so  impressing  him  are  pro 
found  ;  and,  finally,  that  his  susceptibility  tq  the  impression  in 
creases  with  its  frequency,  while,  in  the  same  proportion,  the  pe 
culiar  phenomena  elicited  are  more  extended  and  more  pronounced. 

I  say  that  these — which  are  the  laws  of  mesmerism  in  its  gen 
eral  features— it  would  be  supererogation  to  demonstrate ;  nor  shall 
I  inflict  upon  my  readers  so  needless  a  demonstration  to-day.  My 
purpose  at  present  is  a  very  different  one  indeed.  I  am  impelled, 
even  in  the  teeth  of  a  world  of  prejudice,  to  detail  without  com. 
ment  the  very  remarkable  substance  of  a  colloquy,  occurring  be 
tween  a  sleep- waker  and  myself. 

I  had  been  long  in  the  habit  of  mesmerizing  the  person  in 


48  FOE'S  TALES. 


question,  (Mr.  Vankirk,)  and  the  usual  acute  susceptibility  and 
exaltation  of  the  mesmeric  perception  had  supervened.  For  many 
months  he  had  been  laboring  under  confirmed  phthisis,  the  more 
distressing  effects  of  which  had  been  relieved  by  my  manipula 
tions  ;  and  on  the  night  of  Wednesday,  the  fifteenth  instant,  I 
was  summoned  to  his  bedside. 

The  invalid  was  suffering  with  acute  pain  in  the  region  of  the 
heart,  and  breathed  with  great  difficulty,  having  all  the  ordinary 
symptoms  of  asthma.  In  spasms  such  as  these  he  had  usually 
found  relief  from  the  application  of  mustard  to  the  nervous  cen 
tres,  but  to-night  this  had  been  attempted  in  vain. 

As  I  entered  his  room  he  greeted  me  with  a  cheerful  smile,  and 
although  evidently  in  much  bodily  pain,  appeared  to  be,  mentally, 
quite  at  ease. 

"  I  sent  for  you  to-night,"  he  said,  "  not  so  much  to  administer 
to  my  bodily  ailment,  as  to  satisfy  me  concerning  certain  psychal 
impressions  which,  of  late,  have  occasioned  me  much  anxiety 
and  surprise.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  sceptical  I  have  hitherto 
been  on  the  topic  of  the  soul's  immortality.  I  cannot  deny  that 
there  has  always  existed,  as  if  in  that  very  soul  which  I  have 
been  denying,  a  vague  half-sentiment  of  its  own  existence.  But 
this  half-sentiment  at  no  time  amounted  to  conviction.  With  it 
my  reason  had  nothing  to  do.  All  attempts  at  logical  inquiry  re- 
suited,  indeed,  in  leaving  me  more  sceptical  than  before.  I  had 
been  advised  to  study  Cousin.  I  studied  him  in  his  own  works 
as  well  as  in  those  of  his  European  and  American  echoes.  The 
'  Charles  Elwood '  of  Mr.  Brownson,  for  example,  was  placed  in 
my  hands.  I  read  it  with  profound  attention.  Throughout  I 
found  it  logical,  but  the  portions  which  were  not  merely  logical 
were  unhappily  the  initial  arguments  of  the  disbelieving  hero  of 
the  book.  In  his  summing  up  it  seemed  evident  to  me  that  the 
reasoner  had  not  even  succeeded  in  convincing  himself.  His  end 
had  plainly  forgotten  his  beginning,  like  the  government  of  Trin- 
culo.  In  short,  I  was  not  long  in  perceiving  that  if  man  is  to  be 
intellectually  convinced  of  his  own  immortality,  he  will  never  be 
so  convinced  by  the  mere  abstractions  which  have  been  so  long 
the  fashion  of  the  moralists  of  England,  of  France,  and  of  Ger 
many.  Abstractions  may  amuse  and  exercise,  but  take  no  hold 


MESMERIC  REVELATION.  49 

on  the  mind.  Here  upon  earth,  at  least,  philosophy,  I  am  per 
suaded,  will  always  in  vain  call  upon  us  to  look  upon  qualities  as 
things.  The  will  may  assent — the  soul — the  intellect,  never. 

"  I  repeat,  then,  that  I  only  half  felt,  and  never  intellectually 
believed,  But  latterly  there  has  been  a  certain  deepening  of  the 
feeling,  until  it  has  come  so  nearly  to  resemble  the  acquiescence 
of  reason,  that  I  find  it  difficult  to  distinguish  between  the  two. 
I  am  enabled,  too,  plainly  to  trace  this  effect  to  the  mesmeric  in 
fluence.  I  cannot  better  explain  my  meaning  than  by  the  hy 
pothesis  that  the  mesmeric  exaltation  enables  me  to  perceive  a 
train  of  ratiocination  which,  in  my  abnormal  existence,  convinces, 
but  which,  in  full  accordance  with  the  mesmeric  phenomena, 
does  not  extend,  except  through  its  effect,  into  my  normal  condition. 
In  sleep- waking,  the  reasoning  and  its  conclusion — the  cause  and 
its  effect — are  present  together.  In  my  natural  state,  the  cause 
vanishing,  the  effect  only,  and  perhaps  only  partially,  remains. 

"  These  considerations  have  led  me  to  think  that  some  good  re 
sults  might  ensue  from  a  series  of  well-directed  questions  pro 
pounded  to  me  while  mesmerized.  You  have  often  observed  the 
profound  self-cognizance  evinced  by  the  sleep-waker — the  exten 
sive  knowledge  he  displays  upon  all  points  relating  to  the  mes 
meric  condition  itself;  and  from  this  self-cognizance  may  be  de 
duced  hints  for  the  proper  conduct  of  a  catechism." 

I  consented  of  course  to  make  this  experiment.  A  few  passes 
threw  Mr.  Vankirk  into  the  mesmeric  sleep.  His  breathing  be 
came  immediately  more  easy,  and  he  seemed  to  suffer  no  physical 
uneasiness.  The  following  conversation  then  ensued  : — V.  in  the 
dialogue  representing  the  patient,  and  P.  myself. 

P.  Are  you  asleep  ? 

V.  Yes — no  ;  I  would  rather  sleep  more  soundly. 

P.  [After  a  few  more  passes.']     Do  you  sleep  now  ? 

F  Yes. 

P.  How  do  you  think  your  present  illness  will  result  ? 

V.  [After  a  long  hesitation  and  speaking  as  if  with  effort.']  I 
must  die. 

P.  Does  the  idea  of  death  afflict  you  ? 

F.  [  Very  quickly,]     No — no ! 

P.  Are  you  pleased  with  the  prospect  ? 

5 


50  FOE'S  TALES. 


V.  If  I  were  awake  I  should  like  to  die,  but  now  it  is  no  mat 
ter.  The  mesmeric  condition  is  so  near  death  as  to  content  me. 

P.  I  wish  you  would  explain  yourself,  Mr.  Vankirk. 

V.  I  am  willing  to  do  so,  but  it  requires  more  effort  than  I  feel 
able  to  make.  You  do  not  question  me  properly. 

P.  What  then  shall  I  ask  ? 

V.  You  must  begin  at  the  beginning. 

P.  The  beginning  !  but  where  is  the  beginning  ? 

V.  You  know  that  the  beginning  is  GOD.  [This  was  said  in  a 
tow,  fluctuating  tone,  and  with  every  sign  of  the  most  profound 
veneration.'] 

P.  What  then  is  God  ? 

V.  [Hesitating  for  many  minutes.']     I  cannot  tell. 

P.  Is  not  God  spirit  ? 

V.  While  I  was  awake  I  knew  what  you  meant  by  "  spirit," 
but  now  it  seems  only  a  word — such  for  instance  as  truth;  beauty 
— a  quality,  I  mean. 

P.  Is  not  God  immaterial  ? 

V.  There  is  no  immateriality — it  is  a  mere  word.  That  which 
is  not  matter,  is  not  at  all — unless  qualities  are  things. 

P.  Is  God,  then,  material  ? 

V.  No.     [This  reply  startled  me  very  much.] 

P.  What  then  is  he  ? 

V.  [After  a  long  pause,  and  mutteringly.~]  I  see — but  it  is  a 
thing  difficult  to  tell.  [Another  long  pause.]  He  is  not  spirit, 
for  he  exists.  Nor  is  he  matter,  as  you  understand  it.  But  there 
are  gradations  of  matter  of  which  man  knows  nothing ;  the  grosser 
impelling  the  finer,  the  finer  pervading  the  grosser.  The  atmos 
phere,  for  example,  impels  the  electric  principle,  while  the  elec 
tric  principle  permeates  the  atmosphere.  These  gradations  of 
matter  increase  in  rarity  or  fineness,  until  we  arrive  at  a  matter 
unparticled — without  particles — indivisible — one;  and  here  the 
law  of  impulsion  and  permeation  is  modified.  The  ultimate,  or 
unparticled  matter,  not  only  permeates  all  things  but  impels  all 
things — and  thus  is  all  things  within  itself.  This  matter  is  God. 
What  men  attempt  ,o  embody  in  the  word  "  thought,"  is  this  mat 
ter  in  motion. 

P.  The  metaphysicians  maintain  that  all  action  is  reducible 


MESMERIC  REVELATION.  51 

to  motion  and  thinking,  and  that  the  latter  is  the  origin  of  the 
former. 

T.  Yes  ;  and  I  now  see  the  confusion  of  idea.  Motion  is  the 
action  of  mind — not  of  thinking.  The  unparticled  matter,  or  God, 
in  quiescence,  is  (as  nearly  as  we  can  conceive  it)  what  men  call 
mind.  And  the  power  of  self-movement  (equivalent  in  effect  to 
human  volition)  is,  in  the  unparticled  matter,  the  result  of  its 
unity  and  omniprevalence  ;  how  I  know  not,  and  now  clearly  see 
that  I  shall  never  know.  But  the  unparticled  matter,  set  in  mo 
tion  by  a  law,  or  quality,  existing  within  itself,  is  thinking. 

P.  Can  you  give  me  no  more  precise  idea  of  what  you  term 
the  unparticled  matter  ? 

V.  The  matters  of  which  man  is  cognizant,  escape  the  sepses 
in  gradation.  We  have,  for  example,  a  metal,  a  piece  of  wood, 
a  drop  of  water,  the  atmosphere,  a  gas,  caloric,  electricity,  the  lu- 
miniferous  ether.  Now  we  call  all  these  things  matter,  and  em 
brace  all  matter  in  one  general  definition  ;  but  in  spite  of  this, 
there  can  be  no  two  ideas  more  essentially  distinct  than  that 
which  we  attach  to  a  metal,  and  that  which  we  attach  to  the  lu- 
miniferous  ether.  When  we  reach  the  latter,  we  feel  an  almost 
irresistible  inclination  to  class  it  with  spirit,  or  with  nihility.  The 
only  consideration  which  restrains  us  is  our  conception  of  its 
atomic  constitution ;  and  here,  even,  we  have  to  seek  aid  from 
our  notion  of  an  atom,  as  something  possessing  in  infinite  minute 
ness,  solidity,  palpability,  weight.  Destroy  the  idea  of  the  atomic 
constitution  and  we  should  no  longer  be  able  to  regard  the  ether 
as  an  entity,  or  at  least  as  matter.  For  want  of  a  better  word 
we  might  term  it  spirit.  Take,  now,  a  step  beyond  the  luminifer- 
ous  ether — conceive  a  matter  as  much  more  rare  than  the  ether, 
as  this  ether  is  more  rare  than  the  metal,  and  we  arrive  at  once 
(in  spite  of  all  the  school  dogmas)  at  a  unique  mass— an  unparti 
cled  matter.  For  although  we  may  admit  infinite  littleness  in  the 
atoms  themselves,  the  infinitude  of  littleness,  in  the  spaces  between 
them  is  an  absurdity.  There  will  be  a  point— there  will  be  a  de 
gree  of  rarity,  at  which,  if  the  atoms  are  sufficiently  numerous, 
the  interspaces  must  vanish,  and  the  mass  absolutely  coalesce. 
But  the  consideration  of  the  atomic  constitution  being  now  taken 
away,  the  nature  of  the  mass  inevitably  glides  into  what  we  con- 


52  FOE'S  TALES. 


ceive  of  spirit.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  it  is  as  fully  matter  as 
before.  The  truth  is,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  spirit,  since  it 
is  impossible  to  imagine  what  is  not.  When  we  flatter  ourselves 
that  we  have  formed  its  conception,  we  have  merely  deceived  our 
understanding  by  the  consideration  of  infinitely  rarified  matter. 

P.  There  seems  to  me  an  insurmountable  objection  to  the  idea 
of  absolute  coalescence ;— and  that  is  the  Very  slight  resistance 
experienced  by  the  heavenly  bodies  in  their  revolutions  through 
space — a  resistance  now  ascertained,  it  is  true,  to  exist  in  some 
degree,  but  which  is,  nevertheless,  so  slight  as  to  have  been  quite 
overlooked  by  the  sagacity  even  of  Newton.  We  know  that  the 
resistance  of  bodies  is,  chiefly,  in  proportion  to  their  density. 
Absolute  coalescence  is  absolute  density.  Where  there  are  no 
interspaces,  there  can  be  no  yielding.  An  ether,  absolutely 
dense,  would  put  an  infinitely  more  effectual  stop  to  the  progress 
of  a  star  than  would  an  ether  of  adamant  or  of  iron. 

V.  Your  objection  is  answered  with  an  ease  which  is  nearly  in 
the  ratio  of  its  apparent  unanswerabilityj— As  regards  the  prog* 
ress  of  the  star,  it  can  make  no  difference  whether  the  star  passes 
through  the  ether  or  the  ether  through  it.  There  is  no  astro 
nomical  error  more  unaccountable  than  that  which  reconciles  the 
known  retardation  of  the  comets  with  the  idea  of  their  passage 
through  an  ether :  for,  however  rare  this  ether  be  supposed,  it 
would  put  a  stop  to  all  sidereal  revolution  in  a  very  far  briefer 
period  than  has  been  admitted  by  those  astronomers  who  have  en 
deavored  to  slur  over  a  point  which  they  found  it  impossible  to 
comprehend.  The  retardation  actually  experienced  is,  on  the 
other  hand,  about  that  which  might  be  expected  from  the  friction 
of  the  ether  in  the  instantaneous  passage  through  the  orb.  In 
the  one  case,  the  retarding  force  is  momentary  and  complete 
within  itself — in  the  other  it  is  endlessly  accumulative. 

P.  But  in  all  this — in  this  identification  of  mere  matter  with 
God — is  there  nothing  of  irreverence  ?  [ I  was  forced  to  repeat 
this  question  before  the  sleep-waker  fully  comprehended  my  mean 
ing.} 

V.  Can  you  say  why  matter  should  be  less  reverenced  than 
mind  ?  But  you  forget  that  the  matter  of  which  I  speak  is,  in 
all  respects,  the  very  "  mind"  or  "  spirit"  of  the  schools,  so  far  as 


MESMERIC  REVELATION.  53 

regards  its  high  capacities,  and  is,  moreover,  the  "  matter"  of  these 
schools  at  the  same  time.  God,  with  all  the  powers  attributed  to 
spirit,  is  but  the  perfection  of  matter. 

P.  You  assert,  then,  that  the  unparticled  matter,  in  motion,  is 
thought  ? 

V.  In  general,  this  motion  is  the  universal  thought  of  the  uni 
versal  mind.  This  thought  creates.  All  created  things  are 
but  the  thoughts  of  God. 

P.  You  say,  "  in  general." 

V.  Yes.  The  universal  mind  is  God.  For  new  individual, 
ities,  matter  is  necessary. 

P.  But  you  now  speak  of  "  mind"  and  "  matter"  as  do  the 
metaphysicians. 

V.  Yes — to  avoid  confusion.  When  I  say  "  mind,"  I  mean  the 
unparticled  or  ultimate  matter ;  by  "  matter,"  I  intend  all  else. 

P.  You  were  saying  that  "  for  new  individualities  matter  is 
necessary." 

V.  Yes ;  for  mind,  existing  unincorporate,  is  merely  God. 
To  create  individual,  thinking  beings,  it  was  necessary  to  incar 
nate  portions  of  the  divine  mind.  Thus  man  is  individualized. 
Divested  of  corporate  investiture,  he  were  God.  Now,  the  par 
ticular  motion  of  the  incarnated  portions  of  the  unparticled  mat 
ter  is  the  thought  of  man ;  as  the  motion  of  the  whole  is  that  of 
God. 

P.  You  say  that  divested  of  the  body  man  will  be  God  ? 

V.  [After  much  hesitation.']  I  could  not  have  said  this ;  it  is 
an  absurdity. 

P.  [Referring  to  my  notes.]  You  did  say  that  ff  divested  of 
corporate  investiture  man  were  God." 

V.  And  this  is  true.  Man  thus  divested  would  be  God — would 
be  unindividualized.  But  he  can  never  be  thus  divested — at 
least  never  will  be — else  we  must  imagine  an  action  of  God  re 
turning  upon  itself — a  purposeless  and  futile  action.  Man  is  a 
creature.  Creatures  are  thoughts  of  God.  It  is  the  nature  of 
thought  to  be  irrevocable. 

P.  I  do  not  comprehend.  You  say  that  man  will  never  put 
off  the  body  ? 

V.  I  say  that  he  will  never  be  bodiless. 


54  FOE'S  TALES. 


P.  Explain. 

V.  There  are  two  bodies — the  rudimental  and  the  complete ; 
corresponding  with  the  two  conditions  of  the  worm  and  the  butter 
fly.  What  we  call  "  death,"  is  but  the  painful  metamorphosis. 
Our  present  incarnation  is  progressive,  preparatory,  temporary. 
Our  future  is  perfected,  ultimate,  immortal.  The  ultimate  life  is 
the  full  design. 

P.  But  of  the  worm's  metamorphosis  we  are  palpably  cog 
nizant. 

V.  We,  certainly — but  not  the  worm.  The  matter  of  which 
our  rudimental  body  is  composed,  is  within  the  ken  of  the  organs 
of  that  body  ;  or,  more  distinctly,  our  rudimental  organs  are 
adapted  to  the  matter  of  which  is  formed  the  rudimental  body ; 
but  not  to  that  of  which  the  ultimate  is  composed.  The  ultimate 
body  thus  escapes  our  rudimental  senses,  and  we  perceive  only 
the  shell  which  falls,  in  decaying,  from  the  inner  form ;  not  that 
inner  form  itself;  but  this  inner  form,  as  well  as  the  shell,  is  ap 
preciable  by  those  who  have  already  acquired  the  ultimate  life. 

P.  You  have  often  said  that  the  mesmeric  state  very  nearly 
resembles  death.  How  is  this  ? 

V.  When  I  say  that  it  resembles  death,  I  mean  that  it  resem 
bles  the  ultimate  life ;  for  when  I  am  entranced  the  senses  of  my 
rudimental  life  are  in  abeyance,  and  I  perceive  external  things 
directly,  without  organs,  through  a  medium  which  I  shall  employ 
in  the  ultimate,  unorganized  life* 

P.  Unorganized  ? 

V.  Yes ;  organs  are  contrivances  by  which  the  individual  is 
brought  into  sensible  relation  with  particular  classes  and  forms  of 
matter,  to  the  exclusion  of  other  classes  and  forms.  The  organs 
of  man  are  adapted  to  his  rudimental  condition,  and  to  that  only ; 
his  ultimate  condition,  being  unorganized,  is  of  unlimited  com 
prehension  in  all  points  but  one — the  nature  of  the  volition  of  God 
— that  is  to  say,  the  motion  of  the  unparticled  matter.  You  will 
have  a  distinct  idea  of  the  ultimate  body  by  conceiving  it  to  be 
entire  brain.  This  it  is  not  ;  but  a  conception  of  this  nature  will 
bring  you  near  a  comprehension  of  what  it  is.  A  luminous  body 
imparts  vibration  to  the  luminiferous  ether.  The  vibrations  gen 
erate  similar  ones  within  the  retina ;  these  again  communicate 


MESMERIC  REVELATION.  55 

similar  ones  to  the  optic  nerve.  The  nerve  conveys  similar  ones 
to  the  brain ;  the  brain,  also,  similar  ones  to  the  unparticled  mat 
ter  which  permeates  it.  The  motion  of  this  latter  is  thought,  of 
which  perception  is  the  first  undulation.  This  is  the  mode  by 
which  the  mind  of  the  rudimental  life  communicates  with  the  ex 
ternal  world ;  and  this  external  world  is,  to  the  rudimental  life, 
limited,  through  the  idiosyncrasy  of  its  organs.  But  in  the  ul 
timate,  unorganized  life,  the  external  world  reaches  the  whole 
body,  (which  is  of  a  substance  having  affinity  to  brain,  as  I 
have  said,)  with  no  other  intervention  than  that  of  an  infinitely 
rarer  ether  than  even  the  luminiferous ;  and  to  this  ether — in 
unison  with  it — the  whole  body  vibrates,  setting  in  motion  the 
unparticled  matter  which  permeates  it.  It  is  to  the  absence  of 
idiosyncratic  organs,  therefore,  that  we  must  attribute  the  nearly 
unlimited  perception  of  the  ultimate  life.  To  rudimental  beings, 
organs  are  the  cages  necessary  to  confine  them  until  fledged. 

P.  You  speak  of  rudimental  "  beings."  Are  there  other  rudi 
mental  thinking  beings  than  man  ? 

V.  The  multitudinous  conglomeration  of  rare  matter  into 
nebulae,  planets,  suns,  and  other  bodies  which  are  neither  nebulae, 
suns,  nor  planets,  is  for  the  sole  purpose  of  supplying  pabulum 
for  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  organs  of  an  infinity  of  rudimental 
beings.  But  for  the  necessity  of  the  rudimental,  prior  to  the  ul 
timate  life,  there  would  have  been  no  bodies  such  as  these.  Each 
of  these  is  tenanted  by  a  distinct  variety  of  organic,  rudimental, 
thinking  creatures.  In  all,  the  organs  vary  with  the  features  of 
the  place  tenanted.  At  death,  or  metamorphosis,  these  creatures, 
enjoying  the  ultimate  life — immortality — and  cognizant  of  all 
secrets  but  the  one,  act  all  things  and  pass  everywhere  by  mere 
volition : — indwelling,  not  the  stars,  which  to  us  seem  the  sole 
palpabilities,  and  for  the  accommodation  of  which  we  blindly  deem 
space  created — but  that  SPACE  itself— that  infinity  of  which  the 
truly  substantive  vastness  swallows  up  the  star-shadows — blotting 
them  out  as  non-entities  from  the  perception  of  the  angels. 

P.  You  say  that  "  but  for  the  necessity  of  the  rudimental  life" 
there  would  have  been  no  stars.  But  why  this  necessity  ? 

V.  In  the  inorganic  life,  as  well  as  in  the  inorganic  matter 
generally,  there  is  nothing  to  impede  the  action  of  one  simple 


56  FOE'S  TALES. 


unique  law — the  Divine  Volition.  With  the  view  of  producing 
impediment,  the  organic  life  and  matter,  (complex,  substantial, 
and  law-encumbered,)  were  contrived. 

P.  But  again — why  need  this  impediment  have  been  produced  ? 

V.  The  result  of  law  inviolate  is  perfection — right — negative 
happiness.  The  result  of  law  violate  is  imperfection,  wrong, 
positive  pain.  Through  the  impediments  afforded  by  the  num 
ber,  complexity,  and  substantiality  of  the  laws  of  organic  life 
and  matter,  the  violation  of  law  is  rendered,  to  a  certain  extent, 
practicable.  Thus  pain,  which  in  the  inorganic  life  is  impossible, 
is  possible  in  the  organic. 

P.  But  to  what  good  end  is  pain  thus  rendered  possible  ? 

V.  All  things  are  either  good  or  bad  by  comparison.  A  suffi 
cient  analysis  will  show  that  pleasure,  in  all  cases,  is  but  the 
contrast  of  pain.  Positive  pleasure  is  a  mere  idea.  To  be 
happy  at  any  one  point  we  must  have  suffered  at  the  same. 
Never  to  suffer  would  have  been  never  to  have  been  blessed. 
But  it  has  been  shown  that,  in  the  inorganic  life,  pain  cannot  be ; 
thus  the  necessity  for  the  organic.  The  pain  of  the  primitive 
life  of  Earth,  is  the  sole  basis  of  the  bliss  of  the  ultimate  life  in 
Heaven. 

P.  Still,  there  is  one  of  your  expressions  which  I  find  it  impos 
sible  to  comprehend — "  the  truly  substantive  vastness  of  infinity." 

V.  This,  probably,  is  because  you  have  no  sufficiently  generic 
conception  of  the  term  "  substance"  itself.  We  must  not  regard 
it  as  a  quality,  but  as  a  sentiment : — it  is  the  perception,  in  think 
ing  beings,  of  the  adaptation  of  matter  to  their  organization. 
There  are  many  things  on  the  Earth,  which  would  be  nihility  to 
the  inhabitants  of  Venus — many  things  visible  and  tangible  in 
Venus,  which  we  could  not  be  brought  to  appreciate  as  exist 
ing  at  all.  But  to  the  inorganic  beings — to  the  angels — the  whole 
of  the  unparticled  matter  is  substance ;  that  is  to  say,  the  whole 
of  what  we  term  "  space"  is  to  them  the  truest  substantiality  ; — 
the  stars,  meantime,  through  what  we  consider  their  materiality, 
escaping  the  angelic  sense,  just  in  proportion  as  the  unparticled 
matter,  through  what  we  consider  its  immateriality,  eludes  the 
organic. 

As  the  sleep-waker  pronounced  these  latter  words,  in  a  feeble 


MESMERIC  REVELATION.  57 

tone,  I  observed  on  his  countenance  a  singular  expression, 
which  somewhat  alarmed  me,  and  induced  me  to  awake  him  at 
once.  No  sooner  had  I  done  this,  than,  with  a  bright  smile  irra 
diating  all  his  features,  he  fell  back  upon  his  pillow  and  expired. 
I  noticed  that  in  less  than  a  minute  afterward  his  corpse  had  all 
the  stern  rigidity  of  stone.  His  brow  was  of  the  coldness  of  ice. 
Thus,  ordinarily,  should  it  have  appeared,  only  after  long  pres 
sure  from  Azrael's  hand.  Had  the  sleep-waker,  indeed,  during 
the  latter  portion  of  his  discourse,  been  addressing  me  from  out 
the  region  of  the  shadows  ? 


58  POE'S  TALES. 


LIONIZING, 


all  people  went 

Upon  their  ten  toes  in  wild  wonderment. 

Bishop  HaWs  Satires. 

I  AM — that  is  to  say  I  was — a  great  man  ;  but  I  am  neither  the 
author  of  Junius  nor  the  man  in  the  mask ;  for  my  name,  I  be 
lieve,  is  Robert  Jones,  and  I  was  born  somewhere  in  the  city  of 
Fum-Fudge. 

The  first  action  of  my  life  was  the  taking  hold  of  my  nose  with 
both  hands.  My  mother  saw  this  and  called  me  a  genius : — my 
father  wept  for  joy  and  presented  me  with  a  treatise  on  Nosology. 
This  I  mastered  before  I  was  breeched. 

I  now  began  to  feel  my  way  in  the  science,  and  soon  came  to 
understand  that,  provided  a  man  had  a  nose  sufficiently  conspic 
uous,  he  might,  by  merely  following  it,  arrive  at  a  Lionship. 
But  my  attention  was  not  confined  to  theories  alone.  Every 
morning  I  gave  my  proboscis  a  couple  of  pulls  and  swallowed  a 
half  dozen  of  drams. 

When  I  came  of  age  my  father  asked  me,  one  day,  if  I  would 
step  with  him  into  his  study. 

"My  son,"  said  he,  when  we  were  seated,  "what  is  the  chief 
end  of  your  existence  ?" 

"  My  father,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  the  study  of  Nosology." 

"And  what,  Robert,"  he  inquired,  "  is  Nosology  ?" 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "  it  is  the  Science  of  Noses." 

"  And  can  you  tell  me,"  he  demanded,  "  what  is  the  meaning 
of  a  nose?" 

"  A  nose,  my  father,"  I  replied,  greatly  softened,  "  has  been 
variously  defined  by  about  a  thousand  different  authors."  [Here 


LIONIZING.  59 


I  pulled  out  my  watch.]  "  It  is  now  noon  or  thereabouts — we 
shall  have  time  enough  to  get  through  with  them  all  before  mid- 
night.  To  commence  then : — The  nose,  according  to  Bartholi- 
nus,  is  that  protuberance  —  that  bump  —  that  excrescence — 
that " 

"  Will  do,  Robert,"  interrupted  the  good  old  gentleman.  "  I 
am  thunderstruck  at  the  extent  of  your  information — I  am  posi 
tively — upon  my  soul."  [Here  he  closed  his  eyes  and  placed  his 
hand  upon  his  heart.]  "  Come  here !"  [Here  he  took  me  by 
the  arm.]  "Your  education  may  now  be  considered  as  finished 
— it  is  high  time  you  should  scuffle  for  yourself-— and  you  cannot 
do  a  better  thing  than  merely  follow  your  nose — so — so — so — " 
[Here  he  kicked  me  down  stairs  and  out  of  the  door] — "  so  get 
out  of  my  house,  and  God  bless  you !" 

As  I  felt  within  me  the  divine  afflatus,  I  considered  this  accident 
rather  fortunate  than  otherwise.  I  resolved  to  be  guided  by  the 
paternal  advice.  I  determined  to  follow  my  nose.  I  gave  it  a 
pull  or  two  upon  the  spot,  and  wrote  a  pamphlet  on  Nosology 
forthwith. 

All  Fum-Fudge  was  in  an  uproar. 

"  Wonderful  genius  !"  said  the  Quarterly. 

"  Superb  physiologist !"  said  the  Westminster. 

"  Clever  fellow  !"  said  the  Foreign. 

"  Fine  writer !"  said  the  Edinburgh. 

"  Profound  thinker !"  said  the  Dublin. 

"  Great  man  !"  said  Bentley. 

"  Divine  soul  !"  said  Fraser. 

"  One  of  us  !"  said  Black  wood. 

"  Who  can  he  be  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bas-Bleu. 

"  What  can  he  be  ?"  said  big  Miss  Bas-Bleu. 

"  Where  can  he  be  ?"  said  little  Miss  Bas-Bleu. — But  I  paid 
these  people  no  attention  whatever — I  just  stepped  into  the  shop 
of  an  artist. 

The  Duchess  of  Bless-my-Soul  was  sitting  for  her  portrait; 
the  Marquis  of  So-and-So  was  holding  the  Duchess'  poodle  ;  the 
Earl  of  This-and-That  was  flirting  with  her  salts  ;  and  his  Royal 
Highness  of  Touch-me-Not  was  leaning  upon  the  back  of  her 
chair. 


60  FOE'S  TALES. 


I  approached  the  artist  and  turned  up  my  nose. 

"  Oh,  beautiful !"  sighed  her  Grace. 

"  Oh  my  !"  lisped  the  Marquis. 

"  Oh,  shocking  !"  groaned  the  Earl. 

"  Oh,  abominable  !"  growled  his  Royal  Highness. 

"  What  will  you  take  for  it  ?"  asked  the  artist. 

"  For  his  nose  /"  shouted  her  Grace. 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  said  I,  sitting  down. 

"  A  thousand  pounds  ?"  inquired  the  artist,  musingly. 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  said  I. 

"  Beautiful !"  said  he,  entranced. 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  said  I. 

"  Do  you  warrant  it  ?"  he  asked,  turning  the  nose  to  the  light. 

"I  do,"  said  I,  blowing  it  well. 

"  Is  it  quite  original  ?"  he  inquired,  touching  it  with  reverence. 

"  Humph  !"  said  I,  twisting  it  to  one  side. 

"Has  ?io  copy  been  taken?"  he  demanded,  surveying  it 
through  a  microscope. 

"  None,"  said  I,  turning  it  up. 

"  Admirable  /"  he  ejaculated,  thrown  qmte  off  his  guard  by 
the  beauty  of  the  manoeuvre. 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  said  I. 

"A  thousand  pounds?"  said  he. 

"  Precisely,"  said  I. 

"  A  thousand  pounds  .?"  said  he. 

"  Just  so,"  said  I. 

"  You  shall  have  them,"  said  he.  "  What  a  piece  of  virtu  /" 
So  he  drew  me  a  check  upon  the  spot,  and  took  a  sketch  of  my 
nose.  I  engaged  rooms  in  Jermyn  street,  and  sent  her  Majesty 
the  ninety -ninth  edition  of  the  "  Nosology,"  with  a  portrait  of  the 
proboscis. — That  sad  little  rake,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  invited  me 
to  dinner. 

We  were  all  lions  and  recherches. 

There  was  a  modern  Platonist.  He  quoted  Porphyry,  lambli- 
cus,  Plotinus,  Proclus,  Hierocles,  Maximus  Tyrius,  and  Syria- 
nus. 

There  was  a  human-perfectibility  man.     He  quoted  Turgot, 


LIONIZING.  61 


Price,  Priestly,  Condorcet,  De  Stael,  and  the  "  Ambitious  Student 
in  111  Health." 

There  was  Sir  Positive  Paradox.  He  observed  that  all  fools 
were  philosophers,  and  that  all  philosophers  were  fools. 

There  was  ^Estheticus  Ethix.  He  spoke  of  fire,  unity,  and 
atoms ;  bi-part  and  pre-existent  soul ;  affinity  and  discord ;  prim 
itive  intelligence  and  homoomeria. 

There  was  Theologos  Theology.  He  talked  of  Eusebius  and 
Arianus ;  heresy  and  the  Council  of  Nice ;  Puseyism  and  con- 
substantialism  ;  Homousios  and  Homouioisios. 

There  was  Fricassee  from  the  Rocher  de  Cancale.  He  men- 
tioned  Muriton  of  red  tongue ;  cauliflowers  with  veloute  sauce ; 
veal  a  la  St.  Menehoult ;  marinade  a  la  St.  Florentin ;  and 
orange  jellies  en  mosdiques. 

There  was  Bibulus  O'Bumper.  He  touched  upon  Latour  and 
Markbrunnen ;  upon  Mousseux  and  Chambertin ;  upon  Rich- 
bourg  and  St.  George ;  upon  Haubrion,  Leonville,  and  Medoc ; 
upon  Barac  and  Preignac ;  upon  Grave,  upon  Sauterne,  upon 
Lafitte,  and  upon  St.  Peray.  He  shook  his  head  at  Clos  de  Vou- 
geot,  and  told,  with  his  eyes  shut,  the  difference  between  Sherry 
and  Amontillado. 

There  was  Signer  Tintontintino  from  Florence.  He  discoursed 
of  Cimabue,  Arpino,  Carpaccio,  and  Argostino — of  the  gloom  of 
Caravaggio,  of  the  amenity  of  Albano,  of  the  colors  of  Titian,  of 
the  frows  of  Rubens,  and  of  the  waggeries  of  Jan  Steen. 

There  was  the  President  of  the  Fum-Fudge  University.  He 
was  of  opinion  that  the  moon  was  called  Bendis  in  Thrace,  Bil- 
bastis  in  Egypt,  Dian  in  Rome,  and  Artemis  in  Greece. 

There  was  a  Grand  Turk  from  Stamboul.  He  could  not  help 
thinking  that  the  angels  were  horses,  cocks,  and  bulls ;  that  some 
body  in  the  sixth  heaven  had  seventy  thousand  heads ;  and  that 
the  earth  was  supported  by  a  sky-blue  cow  with  an  incalculable 
number  of  green  horns. 

There  was  Delphinus  Polygldtt.  He  told  us  what  had  become 
of  the  eighty-three  lost  tragedies  of  jEschylus ;  of  the  fifty-four 
orations  of  Isoeus ;  of  the  three  hundred  and  ninety-one  speeches  of 
Lysias ;  of  the  hundred  and  eighty  treatises  of  Theophrastus ;  of 
the  eighth  book  of  the  conic  sections  of  Apollonius ;  of  Pindar's 


62  FOE'S  TALES. 


hymns  and  dithyrambics ;  and  of  the  five  and  forty  tragedies  of 
Homer  Junior. 

There  was  Ferdinand  Fitz-Fossillus  Feltspar.  He  informed 
us  all  about  internal  fires  and  tertiary  formations ;  about  aeri- 
forms,  fluidiforms,  and  solidiforms ;  about  quartz  and  marl ; 
about  schist  and  schorl ;  about  gypsum  and  trap  ;  about  talc  and 
calc ;  about  blende  and  horn-blende  ;  about  mica-slate  and  pud 
ding-stone  ;  about  cyanite  and  lepidolite  ;  about  haematite  and 
tremolite  ;  about  antimony  and  calcedony ;  about  manganese  and 
whatever  you  please. 

There  was  myself.  I  spoke  of  myself;— of  myself,  of  myself, 
of  myself; — of  Nosology,  of  my  pamphlet,  and  of  myself.  I 
turned  up  my  nose,  and  I  spoke  of  myself. 

"  Marvellous  clever  man  !"  said  the  Prince. 

"  Superb !"  said  his  guests  : — and  next  morning  her  Grace  of 
Bless-my-Soul  paid  me  a  visit. 

"  Will  you  go  to  Almack's,  pretty  creature  ?"  she  said,  tap 
ping  me  under  the  chin. 

"  Upon  honor,"  said  I. 

"  Nose  and  all  ?"  she  asked. 

"  As  I  live,"  I  replied. 

"Here  then  is  a  card,  my  life.  Shall  I  say  you  will  be 
there  ?" 

"  Dear  Duchess,  with  all  my  heart." 

"  Pshaw,  no ! — but  with  all  your  nose  ?" 

"  Every  bit  of  it,  my  love,"  said  I : — so  I  gave  it  a  twist  or 
two,  and  found  myself  at  Almack's. 

The  rooms  were  crowded  to  suffocation. 

"  He  is  coming !"  said  somebody  on  the  staircase. 

"  He  is  coming  !"  said  somebody  farther  up. 

"  He  is  coming  !"  said  somebody  farther  still. 

"  He  is  come  !"  exclaimed  the  Duchess.  "  He  is  come,  the 
little  love !" — and,  seizing  me  firmly  by  both  hands,  she  kissed 
me  thrice  upon  the  nose. 

A  marked  sensation  immediately  ensued. 

"  Diavolo  /"  cried  Count  Capricornutti. 

"  Dios  guarda  /"  muttered  Don  Stiletto. 

"  Mille  lonnerres  /"  ejaculated  the  Prince  de  Grenouille. 


LIONIZING.  63 


"  Tousand  teufel !"  growled  the  Elector  of  Bluddennuff. 

It  was  not  to  be  borne.  I  grew  angry.  I  turned  short  upon 
Bluddennuff. 

"  Sir !"  said  I  to  him,  "  you  are  a  baboon." 

"  Sir,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause,  "  Donner  und  Blitzen  /" 

This  was  all  that  could  be  desired.  We  exchanged  cards. 
At  Chalk-Farm,  the  next  morning,  I  shot  off  his  nose — and  then 
called  upon  my  friends. 

"  Bete  /"  said  the  first. 

"  Fool !"  said  the  second. 

"  Dolt !"  said  the  third. 

"  Ass  !"  said  the  fourth. 

"  Ninny  !"  said  the  fifth. 

"  Noodle !"  said  the  sixth. 

"  Be  off!"  said  the  seventh. 

At  all  this  I  felt  mortified,  and  so  called  upon  my  father. 

"  Father,"  I  asked,  "  what  is  the  chief  end  of  my  existence  ?" 

"  My  son,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  still  the  study  of  Nosology ;  but 
in  hitting  the  Elector  upon  the  nose  you  have  overshot  your  mark. 
You  have  a  fine  nose,  it  is  true  ;  but  then  Bluddennuff  has  none. 
You  are  damned,  and  he  has  become  the  hero  of  the  day.  I  grant 
you  that  in  Fum-Fudge  the  greatness  of  a  lion  is  in  proportion  to 
the  size  of  his  proboscis — but,  good  heavens !  there  is  no  com 
peting  with  a  lion  who  has  no  proboscis  at  all." 


64  POE'S  TALES. 


THE  FALL 

OP 

THE    HOUSE    OF    USHER 


Son  coeur  est  un  luth  suspendu  ; 
Sitot  qu'on  le  touche  il  rfesonne. 

De  Beranger. 

DURING  the  whole  of  a  dull,  dark,  and  soundless  day  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year,  when  the  clouds  hung  oppressively  low  in 
the  heavens,  I  had  been  passing  alone,  on  horseback,  through  a 
singularly  dreary  tract  of  country;  and  at  length  found  myself,  as 
the  shades  of  the  evening  drew  on,  within  view  of  the  melancholy 
House  of  Usher.  I  know  not  how  it  was — but,  with  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  building,  a  sense  of  insufferable  gloom  pervaded 
my  spirit.  I  say  insufferable ;  for  the  feeling  was  unrelieved 
by  any  of  that  half-pleasurable,  because  poetic,  sentiment,  with 
which  the  mind  usually  receives  even  the  sternest  natural  images 
of  the  desolate  or  terrible.  I  looked  upon  the  scene  before  me — 
upon  the  mere  house,  and  the  simple  landscape  features  of  the 
domain — upon  the  bleak  walls — upon  the  vacant  eye-like  win- 
dows — 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 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.        65 

pondered.  I  was  forced  to  fall  back  upon  the  unsatisfactory  con 
clusion,  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  ar 
rangement  of  the  particulars  of  the  scene,  of  the  details  of  the 
picture,  would  be  sufficient  to  modify,  or  perhaps  to  annihilate  its 
capacity  for  sorrowful  impression  ;  and,  acting  upon  this  idea,  I 
reined  my  horse  to  the  precipitous  brink  of  a  black  and  lurid  tarn 
that  lay  in  unruffled  lustre  by  the  dwelling,  and  gazed  down — but 
with  a  shudder  even  more  thrilling  than  before — upon  the  re 
modelled  and  inverted  images  of  the  gray  sedge,  and  the  ghastly 
tree-stems,  and  the  vacant  and  eye-like  windows. 

Nevertheless,  in  this  mansion  of  gloom  I  now  proposed  to  nry\ 
self  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  alle 
viation  of  his  malady.  It  was  the  manner  in  which  all  this,  and 
much  more,  was  said — it  was  the  apparent  heart  that  went  with 
his  request — which  allowed  me  no  room  for  hesitation  ;  and  I  ac 
cordingly  obeyed  forthwith  what  I  still  considered  a  very  singu- 
lar  summons. 

Although,  as  boys,  we  had  been  even  intimate  associates,  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  pecu 
liar  sensibility  of  temperament,  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 

6 


66  FOE'S  TALES. 


science.  I  had  learned,  too,  the  very  remarkable  fact,  that  the 
stem  of  the  Usher  race,  all  time-honored  as  it  was,  had  put 
forth,  at  no  period,  any  enduring  branch ;  in  other  words,  that 
the  entire  family  lay  in  the  direct  line  of  descent,  and  had  always, 
with  very  trifling  and  very  temporary  variation,  so  lain.  It  was 
this  deficiency,  I  considered,  while  running  over  in  thought  the 
perfect  keeping  of  the  character  of  the  premises  with  the  accred 
ited  character  of  the  people,  and  while  speculating  upon  the  pos 
sible  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  childish  ex 
periment — that  of  looking  down  within  the  tarn — had  been  to 
deepen  the  first  singular  impression.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  consciousness  of  the  rapid  increase  of  my  superstition — 
for  why  should  I  not  so  term  it  ? — served  mainly  to  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  op 
pressed  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  gray 
wall,  and  the  silent  tarn — a  pestilent  and  mystic  vapor,  dull,  slug 
gish,  faintly  discernible,  and  leaden-hued. 

Shaking  off  from  my  spirit  what  must  have  been  a  dream,  I 
scanned  more  narrowly  the  real  aspect  of  the  building.  Its 
principal  feature  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  excessive  antiquity. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.       67 

The  discoloration  of  ages  had  been  great.  Minute  fungi  over- 
spread  the  whole  exterior,  hanging  in  a  fine  tangled  web- work 
from  the  eaves.  Yet  all  this  was  apart  from  any  extraordinary 
dilapidation.  No  portion  of  the  masonry  had  fallen ;  and  there 
appeared  to  be  a  wild  inconsistency  between  its  still  perfect  adap 
tation  of  parts,  and  the  crumbling  condition  of  the  individual 
stones.  In  this  there  was  much  that  reminded  me  of  the  specious 
totality  of  old  wood-work  which  has  rotted  for  long  years  in  some 
neglected  vault,  with  no  disturbance  from  the  breath  of  the  ex 
ternal  air.  Beyond  this  indication  of  extensive  decay,  however, 
the  fabric  gave  little  token  of  instability.  Perhaps  the  eye  of  a 
scrutinizing  observer  might  have  discovered  a  barely  perceptible 
fissure,  which,  extending  from  the  roof  of  the  building  in  front, 
made  its  way  down  the  wall  in  a  zigzag  direction,  until  it  became 
lost  in  the  sullen  waters  of  the  tarn. 

Noticing  these  things,  I  rode  over  a  short  causeway  to  the 
house.  A  servant  in  waiting  took  my  horse,  and  I  entered  the 
Gothic  archway  of  the  hall.  A  valet,  of  stealthy  step,  thence 
conducted  me,  in  silence,  through  many  dark  and  intricate  pas 
sages  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  whiph,  I  had 
been  accustomed  from  my  infancy — while  I  hesitated  not  to  ac 
knowledge  how  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  physician  of  the  family. 
His  countenance,  I  thought,  wore  a  mingled  expression  of  low 
cunning  and  perplexity.  He  accosted  me  with  trepidation  and 
passed  on.  The  valet  now  threw  open  3,  door  and  ushered  me 
into  the  presence  of  his  master. 

The  room  in  which  \  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  inaccessi 
ble  from  within.  Feeble  gleams  of  encrimsoned  light  made  their 


POE'S  TALES. 


way  through  the  trellissed  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,  com 
fortless,  antique,  and  tattered.  Many  books  and  musical  instru 
ments  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  ennuy'e  man  of  the  world.  A 
glance,  however,  at  his  countenance,  convinced  me  of  his  perfect 
sincerity.  We  sat  down ;  and  for  some  moments,  while  he  spoke 
not,  I  gazed  upon  him  with  a  feeling  half  of  pity,  half  of  awe. 
Surely,  man  had  never  before  so  terribly  altered,  in  so  brief  a 
period,  as  had  Roderick  Usher !  It  was  with  difficulty  that  I 
could  bring  myself  to  admit  the  identity  of  the  wan  being  before 
me  with  the  companion  of  my  early  boyhood.  Yet  the  character 
of  his  face  had  been  at  all  times  remarkable.  A  cadaverousness 
of  complexion;  an  eye  large,  liquid,  and  luminous  beyond  com 
parison  ;  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  for 
gotten.  And  now  in  the  mere  exaggeration  of  the  prevailing  char 
acter  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  lus 
tre  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 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.  69 

face,  I  could  not,  even  with  effort,  connect  its  Arabesque  expres 
sion  with  any  idea  of  simple  humanity. 

In  the  manner  of  my  friend  I  was  at  once  struck  with  an  inco 
herence — an  inconsistency ;  and  I  soon  found  this  to  arise  from  a 
series  of  feeble  and  futile  struggles  to  overcome  an  habitual  trepi- 
dancy — an  excessive  nervous  agitation.  For  something  of  this 
nature  I  had  indeed  been  prepared,  no  less  by  his  letter,  than  by 
reminiscences  of  certain  boyish  traits,  and  by  conclusions  deduced 
from  his  peculiar  physical  conformation  and  temperament.  His 
action  was  alternately  vivacious  and  sullen.  His  voice  varied 
rapidly  from  a  tremulous  indecision  (when  the  animal  spirits 
seemed  utterly  in  abeyance)  to  that  species  of  energetic  concision 
— that  abrupt,  weighty,  unhurried,  and  hollow-sounding  enuncia 
tion — that  leaden,  self-balanced  and  perfectly  modulated  guttural 
utterance,  which  may  be  observed  in  the  lost  drunkard,  or  the  ir 
reclaimable  eater  of  opium,  during  the  periods  of  his  most  intense 
excitement. 

It  was  thus  that  he  spoke  of  the  object  of  my  visit,  of  his  ear 
nest  desire  to  see  me,  and  of  the  solace  he  expected  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  un 
doubtedly  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  acuteness  of  the  senses ;  the  most  insipid  food  was 
alone  endurable  ;  he  could  wear  only  garments  of  certain  texture  j 
the  odors  of  all  flowers  were  oppressive ;  his  eyes  were  tortured 
by  even  a  faint  light ;  and  there  were  but  peculiar  sounds,  and 
these  from  stringed  instruments,  which  did  not  inspire  him  with 
horror. 

To  an  anomalous  species  of  terror  I  found  him  a  bounden 
slave.  "  I  shall  perish,"  said  he,  "  I  must  perish  in  this  deplo 
rable  folly.  Thus,  thus,  and  not  otherwise,  shall  I  be  lost.  I 
dread  the  events  of  the  future,  not  in  themselves,  but  in  their  re 
sults.  I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  any,  even  the  most  trivial,  in- 


70  FOE'S  TALES. 


cident,  which  may  operate  upon  this  intolerable  agitation  of  soul. 
I  have,  indeed,  no  abhorrence  of  danger,  except  in  its  absolute  ef 
fect — in  terror.  In  this  unnerved — in  this  pitiable  condition — I 
feel  that  the  period  will  sooner  or  later  arrive  when  I  must  aban 
don  life  and  reason  together,  in  some  struggle  with  the  grim  phan 
tasm,  FEAR." 

I  learned,  moreover,  at  intervals,  and  through  broken  and 
equivocal  hints,  another  singular  feature  of  his  mental  condition. 
He  was  enchained  by  certain  superstitious  impressions  in  regard 
to  the  dwelling  which  he  tenanted,  and  whence,  for  many  years, 
he  had  never  ventured  forth — in  regard  to  an  influence  whose 
supposititious  force  was  conveyed  in  terms  too  shadowy  here  to 
be  re-stated — an  influence  which  some  peculiarities  in  the  mere 
form  and  substance  of  his  family  mansion,  had,  by  dint  of  long 
sufferance,  he  said,  obtained  over  his  spirit — an  effect  which  the 
physique  of  the  gray  walls  and  turrets,  and  of  the  dim  tarn  into 
which  they  all  looked  down,  had,  at  length,  brought  about  upon 
the  morale  of  his  existence. 

He  admitted,  however,  although  with  hesitation,  that  much  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  disso 
lution — 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  portion  of  the  apart 
ment,  and,  without  having  noticed  my  presence,  disappeared.  I 
regarded  her  with  an  utter  astonishment  not  unmingled  with 
dread — and  yet  I  found  it  impossible  to  account  for  such  feelings. 
A  sensation  of  stupor  oppressed  me,  as  my  eyes  followed  her  re 
treating  steps.  When  a  door,  at  length,  closed  upon  her,  my 
glance  sought  instinctively  and  eagerly  the  countenance  of  the 
brother — but  he  had  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  I  could  only 
perceive  that  a  far  more  than  ordinary  wanness  had  overspread 
the  emaciated  fingers  through  which  trickled  many  passionate 
tears. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.       71 

The  disease  of  the  lady  Madeline  had  long  baffled  the  skill  of 
her  physicians.  A  settled  apathy,  a  gradual  wasting  away  of 
the  person,  and  frequent  although  transient  affections  of  a  par 
tially  cataleptical  character,  were  the  unusual  diagnosis.  Hither, 
to  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  agitation)  to  the  pros 
trating  power  of  the  destroyer ;  and  I  learned  that  the  glimpse  I 
had  obtained  of  her  person  would  thus  probably  be  the  last  I 
should  obtain — that  the  lady,  at  least  while  living,  would  be  seen 
by  me  no  more. 

For  several  days  ensuing,  her  name  was  unmentioned  by  either 
Usher  or  myself:  and  during  this  period  I  was  busied  in  earnest 
endeavors  to  alleviate  the  melancholy  of  my  friend.  We  painted 
and  read  together ;  or  I  listened,  as  if  in  a  dream,  to  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  attempt  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  in 
volved  me,  or  led  me  the  way.  An  excited  and  highly  dis 
tempered  ideality  threw  a  sulphureous  lustre  over  all.  His  long 
improvised  dirges  will  ring  forever  in  my  ears.  Among  other 
things,  I  hold  painfully  in  mind  a  certain  singular  perversion  and 
amplification  of  the  wild  air  of  the  last  waltz  of  Von  Weber, 
from  the  paintings  over  which  his  elaborate  fancy  brooded,  and 
which  grew,  touch  by  touch,  into  vaguenesses  at  which  I  shud 
dered  the  more  thrillingly,  because  I  shuddered  knowing  not 
why  ; — from  these  paintings  (vivid  as  their  images  now  are  be 
fore  me)  I  would  in  vain  endeavor  to  educe  more  than  a  small 
portion  which  should  lie  within  the  compass  of  merely  written 


72  FOE'S  TALES. 


words.  By  the  utter  simplicity,  by  the  nakedness  of  his  designs, 
he  arrested  and  overawed  attention.  If  ever  mortal  painted  an 
idea,  that  mortal  was  Roderick  Usher.  For  me  at  least — in  the 
circumstances  then  surrounding  me — there  arose  out  of  the  pure 
abstractions  which  the  hypochondriac  contrived  to  throw  upon 
his  canvass,  an  intensity  of  intolerable  awe,  no  shadow  of  which 
felt  I  ever  yet  in  the  contemplation  of  the  certainly  glowing  yet 
too  concrete  reveries  of  Fuseli. 

One  of  the  phantasmagoric  conceptions  of  my  friend,  parta 
king  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  accessory  points  of  the  design  served  well  to  convey  the 
idea  that  this  excavation  lay  at  an  exceeding  depth  below  the  sur 
face  of  the  earth.  No  outlet  was  observed  in  any  portion  of  its 
vast  extent,  and  no  torch,  or  other  artificial  source  of  light  was 
discernible ;  yet  a  flood  of  intense  rays  rolled  throughout,  and 
bathed  the  whole  in  a  ghastly  and  inappropriate  splendor. 

I  have  just  spoken  of  that  morbid  condition  of  the  auditory 
nerve  which  rendered  all  music  intolerable  to  the  sufferer,  with 
the  exception  of  certain  effects  of  stringed  instruments.  It  was, 
perhaps,  the  narrow  limits  to  which  he  thus  confined  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  fan 
tasias  (for  he  not  unfrequently  accompanied  himself  with  rhym 
ed  verbal  improvisations),  the  result  of  that  intense  mental  col- 
lectedness  and  concentration  to  which  I  have  previously  alluded 
as  observable  only  in  particular  moments  of  the  highest  artificial 
excitement.  The  words  of  one  of  these  rhapsodies  I  have  easily 
remembered.  I  was,  perhaps,  the  more  forcibly  impressed  with 
it,  as  he  gave  it,  because,  in  the  under  or  mystic  current  of  its 
meaning,  I  fancied  that  I  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: 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.       73 

I. 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys, 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace — 

Radiant  palace — reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion — 

It  stood  there! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair. 

II. 

Banners  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 

On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow  ; 
(This — all  this — was  in  the  olden 

Time  long  ago) 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

III. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically 

To  a  lute's  well-tune'd  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. 

V. 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate ; 
(Ah,  let  us  mourn,  for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him,  desolate !) 


74  POE'S  TALES. 


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  forever, 

And  laugh — but  smile  no  more. 

I  well  remember  that  suggestions  arising  from  this  ballad,  led 
us  into  a  train  of  thought  wherein  there  became  manifest  an 
opinion  of  Usher's  which  I  mention  not  so  much  on  account  of  its 
novelty,  (for  other  men*  have  thought  thus,)  as  on  account  of  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  maintained  it.  This  opinion,  in  its 
general  form,  was  that  of  the  sentience  of  all  vegetable  things. 
But,  in  his  disordered  fancy,  the  idea  had  assumed  a  more  daring 
character,  and  trespassed,  under  certain  conditions,  upon  the 
kingdom  of  inorganization.  I  lack  words  to  express  the  full  ex 
tent,  or  the  earnest  abandon  of  his  persuasion.  The  belief,  how. 
ever,  was  connected  (as  I  have  previously  hinted)  with  the  gray 
stones  of  the  home  of  his  forefathers.  The  conditions  of  the  sen 
tience  had  been  here,  he  imagined,  fulfilled  in  the  method  of  col 
location  of  these  stones — in  the  order  of  their  arrangement,  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  un 
disturbed  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  terri 
ble  influence  which  for  centuries  had  moulded  the  destinies  of  his 

*  Watson,  Dr.  Percival,  Spallanzani,  and  especially  the  Bishop  of  Landaff. 
—See  "  Chemical  Essays,"  vol  v. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.        75 

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'lndagine, 
and  of  De  la  Chambre ;  the  Journey  into  the  Blue  Distance  of 
Tieck ;  and  the  City  of  the  Sun  of  Campanella.  One  favorite 
volume  was  a  small  octavo  edition  of  the  Directorium  Inquisito- 
rium,  by  the  Dominican  Eymeric  de  Gironne  ;  and  there  were 
passages  in  Pomponius  Mela,  about  the  old  African  Satyrs  and 
(Egipans,  over  which  Usher  would  sit  dreaming  for  hours.  His 
chief  delight,  however,  was  found  in  the  perusal  of  an  exceed 
ingly  rare  and  curious  book  in  quarto  Gothic — the  manual  of  a 
forgotten  church — the  Vigiliae  Mortuorum  secundum  Chorum  Ec- 
clesiae  Maguntinae. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  wild  ritual  of  this  work,  and  of 
its  probable  influence  upon  the  hypochondriac,  when,  one  even 
ing,  having  informed  me  abruptly  that  the  lady  Madeline  was  no 
more,  he  stated  his  intention  of  preserving  her  corpse  for  a  fort 
night,  (previously  to  its  final  interment,)  in  one  of  the  numerous 
vaults  within  the  main  walls  of  the  building.  The  worldly  rea 
son,  however,  assigned  for  this  singular  proceeding,  was  one 
which  I  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  dispute.  The  brother  had  been 
led  to  his  resolution  (so  he  told  me)  by  consideration  of  the  unusual 
character  of  the  malady  of  the  deceased,  of  certain  obtrusive  and 
eager  inquiries  on  the  part  of  her  medical  men,  and  of  the  remote 
and  exposed  situation  of  the  burial-ground  of  the  family.  I  will 
not  deny  that  when  I  called  to  mind  the  sinister  countenance  of 
the  person  whom  I  met  upon  the  staircase,  on  the  day  of  my  arri 
val  at  the  house,  I  had  no  desire  to  oppose  what  I  regarded  as  at 
best  but  a  harmless,  and  by  no  means  an  unnatural,  precaution. 

At  the  request  of  Usher,  I  personally  aided  him  in  the  arrange 
ments  for  the  temporary  entombment.  The  body  having  been 
encoffined,  we  two  alone  bore  it  to  its  rest.  The  vault  in  which 


76  FOE'S  TALES. 


we  placed  it  (and  which  had  been  so  long  unopened  that  our 
torches,  half  smothered  in  its  oppressive  atmosphere,  gave  us  lit 
tle  opportunity  for  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,  apparently,  in  remote 
feudal  times,  for  the  worst  purposes  of  a  donjon-keep,  and,  in 
later  days,  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  powder,  or  some  other  highly 
combustible  substance,  as  a  portion  of  its  floor,  and  the  whole 
interior  of  a  long  archway  through  which  we  reached  it,  were 
carefully  sheathed  with  copper.  The  door,  of  massive  iron,  had 
been,  also,  similarly  protected.  Its  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  intelli 
gible  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  w~ay, 
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  observa- 
ble  change  came  over  the  features  of  the  mental  disorder  of  my 
friend.  His  ordinary  manner  had  vanished.  His  ordinary  occu 
pations  were  neglected  or  forgotten.  He  roamed  from  chamber 
to  chamber  with  hurried,  unequal,  and  objectless  step.  The  pal 
lor  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 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.        77 

tremulous  quaver,  as  if  of  extreme  terror,  habitually  character, 
ized  his  utterance.  There  were  times,  indeed,  when  I  thought 
his  unceasingly  agitated  mind  was  laboring  with  some  oppressive 
secret,  to  divulge  which  he  struggled  for  the  necessary  courage. 
At  times,  again,  I  was  obliged  to  resolve  all  into  the  mere  inex 
plicable  vagaries  of  madness,  for  I  beheld  him  gazing  upon  va 
cancy  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  with 
in  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  dominion  over  me.  I  endeavored  to  believe  that  much,  if  not 
all  of  what  I  felt,  was  due  to  the  bewildering  influence  of  the 
gloomy  furniture  of  the  room — of  the  dark  and  tattered  draperies, 
which,  tortured  into  motion  by  the  breath  of  a  rising  tempest, 
swayed  fitfully  to  and  fro  upon  the  walls,  and  rustled  uneasily 
about  the  decorations  of  the  bed.  But  my  efforts  were  fruitless. 
An  irrepressible  tremor  gradually  pervaded  my  frame  ;  and,  at 
length,  there  sat  upon  my  very  heart  an  incubus  of  utterly  cause 
less  alarm.  Shaking  this  off  with  a  gasp  and  a  struggle,  I  up 
lifted  myself  upon  the  pillows,  and,  peering  earnestly  within  the 
intense  darkness  of  the  chamber,  barkened — I  know  not  why> 
except  that  an  instinctive  spirit  prompted  me — to  certain  low  and 
indefinite  sounds  which  came,  through  the  pauses  of  the  storm,  at 
long  intervals,  I  knew  not  whence.  Overpowered  by  an  intense 
sentiment  of  horror,  unaccountable  yet  unendurable,  I  threw  on 
my  clothes  with  haste  (for  I  felt  that  I  should  sleep  no  more  du 
ring  the  night),  and  endeavored  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  attention.  I  presently  recog 
nised  it  as  that  of  Usher.  In  an  instant  afterward  he  rapped, 


78  POE'S  TALES. 


with  a  gentle  touch,  at  my  door,  and  entered,  bearing  a  lamp. 
His  countenance  was,  as  usual,  cadaverously  wan — but,  more 
over,  there  was  a  species  of  mad  hilarity  in  his  eyes — an  evidently 
restrained  hysteria  in  his  whole  demeanor.  His  air  appalled  me 
— but  anything  was  preferable  to  the  solitude  which  I  had  so  long 
endured,  and  I  even  welcomed  his  presence  as  a  relief. 

"  And  you  have  not  seen  it  ?"  he  said  abruptly,  after  having 
stared  about  him  for  some  moments  in  silence — "  you  have  not 
then  seen  it  ? — but,  stay  !  you  shall."  Thus  speaking,  and  hav 
ing  carefully  shaded  his  lamp,  he  hurried  to  one  of  the  case 
ments,  and  threw  it  freely  open  to  the  storm. 

The  impetuous  fury  of  the  entering  gust  nearly  lifted  us  from 
our  feet.  It  was,  indeed,  a  tempestuous  yet  sternly  beautiful 
night,  and  one  wildly  singular  in  its  terror  and  its  beauty.  A 
whirlwind  had  apparently  collected  its  force  in  our  vicinity  ;  for 
there  were  frequent  and  violent  alterations  in  the  direction  of  the 
wind  ;  and  the  exceeding  density  of  the  clouds  (which  hung  so 
low  as  to  press  upon  the  turrets  of  the  house)  did  not  prevent  our 
perceiving  the  life-like  velocity  with  which  they  flew  careering 
from  all  points  against  each  other,  without  passing  away  into  the 
distance.  I  say  that  even  their  exceeding  density  did  not  prevent 
our  perceiving  this — yet  we  had  no  glimpse  of  the  moon  or  stars 
— nor  was  there  any  flashing  forth  of  the  lightning.  But  the  un 
der  surfaces  of  the  huge  masses  of  agitated  vapor,  as  well  as  all 
terrestrial  objects  immediately  around  us,  were  glowing  in  the 
unnatural  light  of  a  faintly  luminous  and  distinctly  visible  gaseous 
exhalation  which  hung  about  and  enshrouded  the  mansion. 

"  You  must  not — you  shall  not  behold  this  !"  said  I,  shudder- 
ingly,  to  Usher,  as  I  led  him,  with  a  gentle  violence,  from  the 
window  to  a  seat.  "  These  appearances,  which  bewilder  you, 
are  merely  electrical  phenomena  not  uncommon — or  it  may  be 
that  they  have  their  ghastly  origin  in  the  rank  miasma  of  the  tarn, 
Let  us  close  this  casement ; — the  air  is  chilling  and  dangerous  to 
your  frame.  Here  is  one  of  your  favorite  romances.  I  will  read, 
and  you  shall  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  Launcelot  Canning ;  but  I  had  called  it  a  favorite 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.  79 

of  Usher's  more  in  sad  jest  than  in  earnest ;  for,  in  truth,  there  is 
little  in  its  uncouth  and  unimaginative  prolixity  which  could  have 
had  interest  for  the  lofty  and  spiritual  ideality  of  my  friend.  It 
was,  however,  the  only  book  immediately  at  hand ;  and  I  in 
dulged  a  vague  hope  that  the  excitement  which  now  agitated  the 
hypochondriac,  might  find  relief  (for  the  history  of  mental  disor 
der  is  full  of  similar  anomalies)  even  in  the  extremeness  of  the 
folly  which  I  should  read.  Could  I  have  judged,  indeed,  by  the 
wild  overstrained  air  of  vivacity  with  which  he  harkened,  or  ap 
parently  harkened,  to  the  words  of  the  tale,  I  might  well  have 
congratulated  myself  upon  the  success  of  my  design. 

I  had  arrived  at  that  well-known  portion  of  the  story  where 
Ethelred,  the  hero  of  the  Trist,  having  sought  in  vain  for  peacea 
ble  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  ri 
sing  of  the  tempest,  uplifted  his  mace  outright,  and,  with  blows, 
made  quickly  room  in  the  plankings  of  the  door  for  his  gauntleted 
hand ;  and  now  pulling  therewith  sturdily,  he  so  cracked,  and 
ripped,  and  tore  all  asunder,  that  the  noise  of  the  dry  and  hollow- 
sounding  wood  alarummed  and  reverberated  throughout  the  for 
est." 

At  the  termination  of  this  sentence  I  started,  and  for  a  moment, 
paused ;  for  it  appeared  to  me  (although  I  at  once  concluded  that 
my  excited  fancy  had  deceived  me) — it  appeared  to  me  that,  from 
some  very  remote  portion  of  the  mansion,  there  came,  indistinct 
ly,  to  my  ears,  what  might  have  been,  in  its  exact  similarity  of 
character,  the  echo  (but  a  stifled  and  dull  one  certainly)  of  the 
V3ry  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  nothing, 


80  POE'S  TALES. 


surely,  which  should  have  interested  or  disturbed  me.  I  con- 
tinued  the  story : 

"  But  the  good  champion  Ethelred,  now  entering  within  the 
door,  was  sore  enraged  and  amazed  to  perceive  no  signal  of  the 
maliceful  hermit ;  but,  in  the  stead  thereof,  a  dragon  of  a  scaly 
and  prodigious  demeanor,  and  of  a  fiery  tongue,  which  sate  in 
guard  before  a  palace  of  gold,  with  a  floor  of  silver ;  and  upon 
the  wall  there  hung  a  shield  of  shining  brass  with  this  legend  en- 
written — 

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  Ethel- 
red  had  fain  to  close  his  ears  with  his  hands  against  the  dread 
ful  noise  of  it,  the  like  whereof  was  never  before  heard." 

Here  again  I  paused  abruptly,  and  now  with  a  feeling  of  wild 
amazement — for  there  could  be  no  doubt  whatever  that,  in  this 
instance,  I  did  actually  hear  (although  from  what  direction  it 
proceeded  I  found  it  impossible  to  say)  a  low  and  apparently  dis 
tant,  but  harsh,  protracted,  and  most  unusual  screaming  or  gra 
ting  sound — the  exact  counterpart  of  what  my  fancy  had  already 
conjured  up  for  the  dragon's  unnatural  shriek  as  described  by  the 
romancer. 

Oppressed,  as  I  certainly  was,  upon  the  occurrence  of  this 
second  and  most  extraordinary  coincidence,  by  a  thousand  con 
flicting  sensations,  in  which  wonder  and  extreme  terror  were  pre 
dominant,  I  still  retained  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  avoid  ex 
citing,  by  any  observation,  the  sensitive  nervousness  of  my  com. 
panion.  I  was  by  no  means  certain  that  he  had  noticed  the 
sounds  in  question  ;  although,  assuredly,  a  strange  alteration  had, 
during  the  last  few  minutes,  taken  place  in  his  demeanor.  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 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.  81 

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,  re 
moved  the  carcass  from  out  of  the  way  before  him,  and  ap 
proached  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.  Com 
pletely  unnerved,  I  leaped  to  my  feet ;  but  the  measured  rocking 
movement  of  Usher  was  undisturbed.  I  rushed  to  the  chair  in 
which  he  sat.  His  eyes  were  bent  fixedly  before  him,  and 
throughout  his  whole  countenance  there  reigned  a  stony  rigid 
ity.  But,  as  I  placed  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  there  came  a 
strong  shudder  over  his  whole  person  ;  a  sickly  smile  quivered 
about  his  lips ;  and  I  saw  that  he  spoke  in  a  low,  hurried,  and 
gibbering  murmur,  as  if  unconscious  of  my  presence.  Bending 
closely  over  him,  I  at  length  drank  in  the  hideous  import  of  his 
words. 

"  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 — /  dared 
not  speak  f  And  now — to-night — Ethelred — ha  !  ha ! — the  break 
ing  of  the  hermit's  door,  and  the  death-cry  of  the  dragon,  and 
the  clangor  of  the  shield  ! — say,  rather,  the  rending  of  her  coffin, 

7 


82  POE'S  TALES. 


and  the  grating  of  the  iron  hinges  of  her  prison,  and  her  strug 
gles  within  the  coppered  archway  of  the  vault !  Oh  whither  shall  I 
fly  ?  Will  she  not  be  here  anon  ?  Is  she  not  hurrying  to  upbraid 
me  for  my  haste  ?  Have  I  not  heard  her  footstep  on  the  stair  1 
Do  I  not  distinguish  that  heavy  and  horrible  beating  of  her  heart  ? 
Madman  !" — here  he  sprang  furiously  to  his  feet,  and  shrieked 
out  his  syllables,  as  if  in  the  effort  he  were  giving  up  his  soul — 
"  Madman  I  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  pannels  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  strug. 
gle  upon  every  portion  of  her  emaciated  frame.  For  a  moment 
she  remained  trembling  and  reeling  to  and  fro  upon  the  threshold 
— then,  with  a  low  moaning  cry,  fell  heavily  inward  upon  the 
person  of  her  brother,  and  in  her  violent  and  now  final  death-ago 
nies,  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  fis 
sure,  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  whirl 
wind — the  entire  orb  of  the  satellite  burst  at  once  upon  my  sight 
— my  brain  reeled  as  I  saw  the  mighty  walls  rushing  asunder — 
there  was  a  long  tumultuous  shouting  sound  like  the  voice  of  a 
thousand  waters — and  the  deep  and  dank  tarn  at  my  feet  closed 
sullenly  and  silently  over  the  fragments  of  the  "  House  of  Usher." 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM 


The  ways  of  God  in  Nature,  as  in  Providence,  are  not  as  our  ways ;  nor 
are  the  models  that  we  frame  any  way  commensurate  to  the  vastness,  profun 
dity,  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  exhausted  to  speak. 

"  Not  long  ago,"  said  he  at  length,  "  and  I  could  have  guided 
you  on  this  route  as  well  as  the  youngest  of  my  sons ;  but,  about 
three  years  past,  there  happened  to  me  an  event  such  as  never 
happened  before  to  mortal  man — or  at  least  such  as  no  man  ever 
survived  to  tell  of — and  the  six  hours  of  deadly  terror  which  I 
then  endured  have  broken  me  up  body  and  soul.  You  suppose  me 
a  very  old  man — but  I  am  not.  It  took  less  than  a  single  day  to 
change  these  hairs  from  a  jetty  black  to  white,  to  weaken  my 
limbs,  and  to  unstring  my  nerves,  so  that  I  tremble  at  the  least 
exertion,  and  am  frightened  at  a  shadow.  Do  you  know  I  can 
scarcely  look  over  this  little  cliff  without  getting  giddy  ?" 

The  "  little  cliff,"  upon  whose  edge  he  had  so  carelessly  thrown 
himself  down  to  rest  that  the  weightier  portion  of  his  body  hung 
over  it,  while  he  was  only  kept  from  falling  by  the  tenure  of  his 
elbow  on  its  extreme  and  slippery  edge— this  "  little  cliff"  arose, 
a  sheer  unobstructed  precipice  of  black  shining  rock,  some  fifteen 
or  sixteen  hundred  feet  from  the  world  of  crags  beneath  us.  No 
thing  would  have  tempted  me  to  within  half  a  dozen  yards  of  its 
brink.  In  truth  so  deeply  was  I  excited  by  the  perilous  position 
of  my  companion,  that  I  fell  at  full  length  upon  the  ground,  clung 


84  POE'S  TALES. 


to  the  shrubs  around  me,  and  dared  not  even  glance  upward  at 
the  sky — while  I  struggled  in  vain  to  divest  myself  of  the  idea 
that  the  very  foundations  of  the  mountain  were  in  danger  from 
the  fury  of  the  winds.  It  was  long  before  I  could  reason  myself 
into  sufficient  courage  to  sit  up  and  look  out  into  the  distance. 

"  You  must  get  over  these  fancies,"  said  the  guide,  "  for  I 
have  brought  you  here  that  you  might  have  the  best  possible  view 
of  the  scene  of  that  event  I  mentioned — and  to  tell  you  the  whole 
story  with  the  spot  just  under  your  eye." 

"  We  are  now,"  he  continued,  in  that  particularizing  manner 
which  distinguished  him — "  we  are  now  close  upon  the  Nor 
wegian  coast — in  the  sixty-eighth  degree  of  latitude — in  the  great 
province  of  Nordland — and  in  the  dreary  district  of  Lofoden. 
The  mountain  upon  whose  top  we  sit  is  Helseggen,  the  Cloudy. 
Now  raise  yourself  up  a  little  higher — hold  on  to  the  grass  if  you 
feel  giddy — so — and  look  out,  beyond  the  belt  of  vapor  beneath 
us,  into  the  sea." 

I  looked  dizzily,  and  beheld  a  wide  expanse  of  ocean,  whose 
waters  wore  so  inky  a  hue  as  to  bring  at  once  to  my  mind  the 
Nubian  geographer's  account  of  the  Mare  Tenelrarum.  A  pan 
orama  more  deplorably  desolate  no  human  imagination  can  con 
ceive.  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  proper 
ly,  its  position  was  discernible  through  the  wilderness  of  surge  in 
which  it  was  enveloped.  About  two  miles  nearer  the  land,  arose 
another  of  smaller  size,  hideously  craggy  and  barren,  and  en 
compassed  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 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  85 

here  nothing  like  a  regular  swell,  but  only  a  short,  quick,  angry 
cross  dashing  of  water  in  every  directiqn-^as  well  in  the  teeth 
of  the  wind  as  otherwise*  Of  foam  there  was  little  except  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  rocks. 

"  The  island  in  the  distance,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "  is  called 
by  the  Norwegians  Vurrgh.  The  one  midway  is  Moskoe,  That 
a  mile  to  the  northward  is  Ambaaren.  Yonder  are  Islesen,  Ho- 
tholm,  Keildhelm,  Suarven,  and  Buckholm.  Farther  off — between 
Moskoe  and  Vurrgh — are  Otterholm,  Flimen,  Sandflesen,  and 
Stockholm.  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  Helseg- 
gen,  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  mo 
ment  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  gazed,  this  current  ac 
quired  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  thou 
sand  conflicting  channels,  burst  suddenly  into  phrensied  convul 
sion — heaving,  boiling,  hissing — gyrating  in  gigantic  and  innu 
merable  vortices,  and  all  whirling  and  plunging  on  to  the  east 
ward  with  a  rapidity  which  water  never  elsewhere  assumes  ex 
cept  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  pro 
digious  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 


86  POE'S  TALES. 


gyratory  motion  of  the  subsided  vortices,  and  seemed  to  form  the 
germ  of  another  more  vast.  Suddenly — very  suddenly — this  as 
sumed  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  wa 
ter,  inclined  to  the  horizon  at  an  angle  of  some  forty-five  degrees, 
speeding  dizzily  round  and  round  with  a  swaying  and  sweltering 
motion,  and  sending  forth  to  the  winds  an  appalling  voice,  half 
shriek,  half  roar,  such  as  not  even  the  mighty  cataract  of  Niagara 
ever  lifts  up  in  its  agony  to  Heaven. 

The  mountain  trembled  to  its  very  base,  and  the  rock  rocked. 
I  threw  myself  upon  my  face,  and  clung  to  the  scant  herbage  in 
an  excess  of  nervous  agitation. 

"  This,"  said  I  at  length,  to  the  old  man — "  this  can  be  nothing 
else  than  the  great  whirlpool  of  the  Maelstrom." 

"  So  it  is  sometimes  termed,"  said  he.  "  We  Norwegians  call 
it  the  Moskoe-strom,  from  the  island  of  Moskoe  in  the  midway." 

The  ordinary  accounts  of  this  vortex  had  by  no  means  prepared 
me  for  what  I  saw.  That  of  Jonas  Ramus,  which  is  perhaps  the 
most  circumstantial  of  any,  cannot  impart  the  faintest  conception 
either  of  the  magnificence,  or  of  the  horror  of  the  scene — or  of 
the  wild  bewildering  sense  of  the  novel  which  confounds  the  be 
holder.  I  am  not  sure  from  what  point  of  view  the  writer  in 
question  surveyed  it,  nor  at  what  time  ;  but  it  could  neither  have 
been  from  the  summit  of  Helseggen,  nor  during  a  storm.  There 
are  some  passages  of  his  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  wa 
ter  is  between  thirty-six  and  forty  fathoms  ;  but  on  the  other  side, 
toward  Ver  (Vurrgh)  this  depth  decreases  so  as  not  to  afford  a 
convenient  passage  for  a  vessel,  without  the  risk  of  splitting  on 
the  rocks,  which  happens  even  in  the  calmest  weather.  When  it 
is  flood,  the  stream  runs  up  the  country  between  Lofoden  and 
Moskoe  with  a  boisterous  rapidity  ;  but  the  roar  of  its  impetuous 
ebb  to  the  sea  is  scarce  equalled  by  the  loudest  and  most  dreadful 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  87 

cataracts  ;  the  noise  being  heard  several  leagues  off,  and  the  vor 
tices  or  pits  are  of  such  an  extent  and  depth,  that  if  a  ship  comes 
within  its  attraction,  it  is  inevitably  absorbed  and  carried  down  to 
the  bottom,  and  there  beat  to  pieces  against  the  rocks  ;  and  when 
the  water  relaxes,  the  fragments  thereof  are  thrown  up  again. 
But  these  intervals  of  tranquillity  are  only  at  the  turn  of  the  ebb 
and  flood,  and  in  calm  weather,  and  last  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
its  violence  gradually  returning.  When  the  stream  is  most 
boisterous,  and  its  fury  heightened  by  a  storm,  it  is  dangerous  to 
come  within  a  Norway  mile  of  it.  Boats,  yachts,  and  ships  have 
been  carried  away  by  not  guarding  against  it  before  they  were 
within  its  rea*h.  It  likewise  happens  frequently,  that  whales 
come  too  near  the  stream,  and  are  overpowered  by  its  violence  ; 
and  then  it  is  impossible  to  describe  their  bowlings  and  bellowings 
in  their  fruitless  struggles  to  disengage  themselves.  A  bear 
once,  attempting  to  swim  from  Lofoden  to  Moskoe,  was  caught  by 
the  stream  and  borne  down,  while  he  roared  terribly,  so  as  to 
be  heard  on  shore.  Large  stocks  of  firs  and  pine  trees,  after 
being  absorbed  by  the  current,  rise  again  broken  and  torn  to  such 
a  degree  as  if  bristles  grew  upon  them.  This  plainly  shows  the 
bottom  to  consist  of  craggy  rocks,  among  which  they  are  whirled 
to  and  fro.  This  stream  is  regulated  by  the  flux  and  reflux  of 
the  sea — it  being  constantly  high  and  low  water  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  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  vortex.  The  "  forty  fathoms"  must  have  reference  only  to 
portions  of  the  channel  close  upon  the  shore  either  of  Moskoe  or 
Lofoden.  The  depth  in  the  centre  of  the  Moskoe-strom  must  be 
immeasurably  greater ;  and  no  better  proof  of  this  fact  is  ne 
cessary  than  can  be  obtained  from  even  the  sidelong  glance  into 
the  abyss  of  the  whirl  which  may  be  had  from  the  highest  crag 
of  Helseggen.  Looking  down  from  this  pinnacle  upon  the  howl 
ing  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  ap- 


FOE'S  TALES. 


peared  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  gen 
erally  received  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  precipitates 
itself  like  a  cataract ;  and  thus  the  higher  the  flood  rises,  the 
deeper  must  the  fall  be,  and  the  natural  result  of  all  is  a  whirl 
pool  or  vortex,  the  prodigious  suction  of  which  is  sufficiently 
known  by  lesser  experiments." — These  are  the  words  of  the  En 
cyclopaedia  Britannica.  Kircher  and  others  imagine  that  in  the 
centre  of  the  channel  of  the  Maelstrom  is  an  abyss  penetrating 
the  globe,  and  issuing  in  some  very  remote  part — the  Gulf  of 
Bothnia  being  somewhat  decidedly  named  in  one  instance.  This 
opinion,  idle  in  itself,  was  the  one  to  which,  as  I  gazed,  my  ima 
gination  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  Nor 
wegians,  it  nevertheless  was  not  his  own.  As  to  the  former  no 
tion  he  confessed  his  inability  to  comprehend  it ;  and  here  I  agreed 
with  him — for,  however  conclusive  on  paper,  it  becomes  altogether 
unintelligible,  and  even  absurd,  amid  the  thunder  of  the  abyss. 

"  You  have  had  a  good  look  at  the  whirl  now,"  said  the  old 
man,  "  and  if  you  will  creep  round  this  crag,  so  as  to  get  in  its 
lee,  and  deaden  the  roar  of  the  water,  I  will  tell  you  a  story  that 
will  convince  you  I  ought  to  know  something  of  the  Moskoe- 
strOm." 

I  placed  myself  as  desired,  and  he  proceeded. 

"  Myself  and  my  two  brothers  once  owned  a  schooner-rigged 
smack  of  about  seventy  tons  burthen,  with  which  we  were  in  the 
habit  of  fishing  among  the  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  j 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  89 

but  among  the  whole  of  the  Lofoden  coastmen,  we  three  were  the 
only  ones  who  made  a  regular  business  of  going  out  to  the  is 
lands,  as  I  tell  you.  The  usual  grounds  are  a  great  way  lower 
down  to  the  .southward.  There  fish  can  be  got  at  all  hours, 
without  much  risk,  and  therefore  these  places  are  preferred. 
The  choice  spots  over  here  among  the  rocks,  however,  not  only 
yield  the  finest  variety,  but  in  far  greater  abundance ;  so  that  we 
often  got  in  a  single  day,  what  the  more  timid  of  the  craft  could 
not  scrape  together  in  a  week.  In  fact,  we  made  it  a  matter  of 
desperate  speculation — the  risk  of  life  standing  instead  of  labor, 
and  courage  answering  for  capital. 

"  We  kept  the  smack  in  a  cove  about  five  miles  higher  up  the 
coast  than  this  ;  and  it  was  our  practice,  in  fine  weather,  to  take 
advantage  of  the  fifteen  minutes'  slack  to  push  across  the  main 
channel  of  the  Moskoe-strom,  far  above  the  pool,  and  then  drop 
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  upon  this  expe 
dition  without  a  steady  side  wind  for  going  and  coming — one  that 
we  felt  sure  would  not  fail  us  before  our  return — and  we  seldom 
made  a  mis-calculation  upon  this  point.  Twice,  during  six  years, 
we  were  forced  to  stay  all  night  at  anchor  on  account  of  a  dead 
calm,  which  is  a  rare  thing  indeed  just  about  here  ;  and  once  we 
had  to  remain  on  the  grounds  nearly  a  week,  starving  to  death, 
owing  to  a  gale  which  blew  up  shortly  after  our  arrival,  and  made 
the  channel  too  boisterous  to  be  thought  of.  Upon  this  occasion 
we  should  have  been  driven  out  to  sea  in  spite  of  everything,  (for 
the  whirlpools  threw  us  round  and  round  so  violently,  that,  at 
length,  we  fouled  our  anchor  and  dragged  it)  if  it  had  not  been 
that  we  drifted  into  one  of  the  innumerable  cross  currents — here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow — which  drove  us  under  the  lee  of 
Flimen,  where,  by  good  luck,  we  brought  up. 

"  I  could  not  tell  you  the  twentieth  part  of  the  difficulties  we 
encountered  '  on  the  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 


90  POE'S  TALES. 


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  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  occurred.  It  was  on  the  tenth  day  of  July,  18 — , 
a  day  which  the  people  of  this  part  of  the  world  will  never  forget 
— for  it  was  one  in  which  blew  the  most  terrible  hurricane  that 
ever  came  out  of  the  heavens.  And  yet  all  the  morning,  and  in 
deed  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  gentle  and  steady 
breeze  from  the  south-west,  while  the  sun  shone  brightly,  so  that 
the  oldest  seaman  among  us  could  not  have  foreseen  what  was  to 
follow. 

"  The  three  of  us — my  two  brothers  and  myself — had  crossed 
over  to  the  islands  about  two  o'clock  P.  M.,  and  had  soon  nearly 
loaded  the  smack  with  fine  fish,  which,  we  all  remarked,  were 
more  plenty  that  day  than  we  had  ever  known  them.  It  was 
just  seven,  by  my  watch,  when  we  weighed  and  started  for  home, 
so  as  to  make  the  worst  of  the  Strom  at  slack  water,  which  we 
knew  would  be  at  eight. 

"  We  set  out  with  a  fresh  wind  on  our  starboard  quarter,  and 
for  some  time  spanked  along  at  a  great  rate,  never  dreaming  of 
danger,  for  indeed  we  saw  not  the  slightest  reason  to  apprehend  it. 
All  at  once  we  were  taken  aback  by  a  breeze  from  over  Helseg- 
gen.  This  was  most  unusual — something  that  had  never  hap 
pened  to  us  before — and  I  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy,  without 
exactly  knowing  why.  We  put  the  boat  on  the  wind,  but  could 
make  no  headway  at  all  for  the  eddies,  and  I  was  upon  the  point 
of  proposing  to  return  to  the  anchorage,  when,  looking  astern,  we 
saw  the  whole  horizon  covered  with  a  singular  copper-colored 
cloud  that  rose  with  the  most  amazing  velocity. 

"  In  the  meantime  the  breeze  that  had  headed  us  off  fell  away, 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  91 

and  we  were  dead  becalmed,  drifting  about  in  every  direction. 
This  state  of  things,  however,  did  not  last  long  enough  to  give  us 
time  to  think  about  it.  In  less  than  a  minute  the  storm  was  upon 
us — in  less  than  two  the  sky  was  entirely  overcast — and  what 
with  this  and  the  driving  spray,  it  became  suddenly  so  dark  that 
we  could  not  see  each  other  in  the  smack. 

"  Such  a  hurricane  as  then  blew  it  is  folly  to  attempt  describ 
ing.  The  oldest  seaman  in  Norway  never  experienced  any  thing 
like  it.  We  had  let  our  sails  go  by  the  run  before  it  cleverly 
took  us  ;  but,  at  the  first  puff,  both  our  masts  went  by  the  board 
as  if  they  had  been  sawed  off — the  mainmast  taking  with  it  my 
youngest  brother,  who  had  lashed  himself  to  it  for  safety. 

"  Our  boat  was  the  lightest  feather  of  a  thing  that  ever  sat 
upon  water.  It  had  a  complete  flush  deck,  with  only  a  small 
hatch  near  the  bow,  and  this  hatch  it  had  always  been  our  cus 
tom  to  batten  down  when  about  to  cross  the  Strom,  by  way  of 
precaution  against  the  chopping  seas.  But  for  this  circumstance 
we  should  have  foundered  at  once — for  we  lay  entirely  buried 
for  some  moments.  How  my  elder  brother  escaped  destruction 
I  cannot  say,  for  I  never  had  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining.  For 
my  part,  as  soon  as  I  had  let  the  foresail  run,  I  threw  myself  flat 
on  deck,  with  my  feet  against  the  narrow  gunwale  of  the  bow, 
and  with  my  hands  grasping  a  ring-bolt  near  the  foot  of  the  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  myself  upon  my  knees,  still 
keeping  hold  with  my  hands,  and  thus  got  my  head  clear.  Pres 
ently  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  to  see  what  was 
to  be  done,  when  I  felt  somebody  grasp  my  arm.  It  was  my  elder 
brother,  and  my  heart  leaped  for  joy,  for  I  had  made  sure  that  he 
was  overboard — but  the  next  moment  all  this  joy  was  turned  into 


92  FOE'S  TALES. 


— for  he  put  his  mouth  close  to  my  ear,  and  screamed  out 
the  word  '  Moskoe-strom  !' 

"  No  one  ever  will  know  what  my  feelings  were  at  that  mo 
ment.  I  shook  from  head  to  foot  as  if  I  had  had  the  most  violent 
fit  of  the  ague.  I  knew  what  he  meant  by  that  one  word  well 
enough — I  knew  what  he  wished  to  make  me  understand.  With 
the  wind  that  now  drove  us  on,  we  were  bound  for  the  whirl  of 
the  Strom,  and  nothing  could  save  us  ! 

"  You  perceive  that  in  crossing  the  Strom  channel,  we  always 
went  a  long  way  up  above  the  whirl,  even  in  the  calmest  weather, 
and  then  had  to  wait  and  watch  carefully  for  the  slack — but  now 
we  were  driving  right  upon  the  pool  itself,  and  in  such  a  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  mo 
ment  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  fiat  and  frothing,  now  got  up  into  absolute  moun 
tains.  A  singular  change,  too,  had  come  over  the  heavens. 
Around  in  every  direction  it  was  still  as  black  as  pitch,  but  nearly 
overhead  there  burst  out,  all  at  once,  a  circular  rift  of  clear  sky 
— as  clear  as  I  ever  saw — and  of  a  deep  bright  blue — and  through 
it  there  blazed  forth  the  full  moon  with  a  lustre  that  I  never  before 
knew  her  to  wear.  She  lit.  up  every  thing  about  us  with  the  great 
est  distinctness — but,  oh  God,  what  a  scene  it  was  to  light  up  ! 

"  I  now  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  speak  to  my  brother — but, 
in  some  manner  which  I  could  not  understand,  the  din  had  so  in 
creased  that  I  could  not  make  him  hear  a  single  word,  although 
I  screamed  at  the  top  of  my  voice  in  his  ear.  Presently  he  shook 
his  head,  looking  as  pale  as  death,  and  held  up  one  of  his  fingers, 
as  if  to  say  « listen  /' 

"  At  first  I  could  not  make  out  what  he  meant — but  soon  a 
hideous  thought  flashed  upon  me.  I  dragged  my  watch  from  its 
fob.  It  was  not  going.  I  glanced  at  its  face  by  the  moonlight, 
and  then  burst  into  tears  as  I  flung  it  far  away  into  the  ocean. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  93 

It  had  run  down  at  seven  o'clock  !  We  were  behind  the  time  of 
the  slack,  and  the  whirl  of  the  Strom  was  in  full  fury  f 

"  When  a  boat  is  well  built,  properly  trimmed,  and  not  deep 
laden,  the  waves  in  a  strong  gale,  when  she  is  going  large,  seem 
always  to  slip  from  beneath  her — which  appears  very  strange  to 
a  landsman — and  this  is  what  is  called  riding,  in  sea  phrase. 
Well,  so  far  we  had  ridden  the  swells  very  cleverly  ;  but  pres 
ently  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  position  in  an  instant.  The  Moskoe-strom  whirl 
pool  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dead  ahead — but  no  more  like 
the  every-day  Moskoe-strom,  than  the  whirl  as  you  now  see  it  is 
like  a  mill-race.  If  I  had  not  known  where  we  were,  and  what  we 
had  to  expect,  I  should  not  have  recognised  the  place  at  all.  As 
it  was,  I  involuntarily  closed  my  eyes  in  horror.  The  lids  clenched 
themselves  together  as  if  in  a  spasm. 

"  It  could  not  have  been  more  than  two  minutes  afterward  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  mo 
ment  would  plunge  us  into  the  abyss — down  which  we  could  only- 
see  indistinctly  on  account  of  the  amazing  velocity  with  which 
we  were  borne  along.  The  boat  did  not  seem  to  sink  into  the 
water  at  all,  but  to  skim  like  an  air-bubble  upon  the  surface  of 
the  surge.  Her  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 


94  FOE'S  TALES. 


jaws  of  the  gulf,  I  felt  more  composed  than  when  we  were  only 
approaching  it.  Having  made  up  my  mind  to  hope  no  more,  I 
got  rid  of  a  great  deal  of  that  terror  which  unmanned  me  at  first. 
I  suppose  it  was  despair  that  strung  my  nerves. 

"  It  may  look  like  boasting — but  what  I  tell  you  is  truth — I 
began  to  reflect  how  magnificent  a  thing  it  was  to  die  in  such  a 
manner,  and  how  foolish  it  was  in  me  to  think  of  so  paltry  a  con 
sideration  as  my  own  individual  life,  in  view  of  so  wonderful  a 
manifestation  of  God's  power.  I  do  believe  that  I  blushed  with 
shame  when  this  idea  crossed  my  mind.  After  a  little  while  I 
became  possessed  with  the  keenest  curiosity  about  the  whirl 
itself.  I  positively  felt  a  wish  to  explore  its  depths,  even  at  the 
sacrifice  I  was  going  to  make ;  and  my  principal  grief  was  that  I 
should  never  be  able  to  tell  my  old  companions  on  shore  about  the 
mysteries  I  should  see.  These,  no  doubt,  were  singular  fancies 
to  occupy  a  man's  mind  in  such  extremity — and  I  have  often 
thought  since,  that  the  revolutions  of  the  boat  around  the  pool 
might  have  rendered  me  a  little  light-headed. 

"  There  was  another  circumstance  which  tended  to  restore  my 
self-possession ;  and  this  was  the  cessation  of  the  wind,  which 
could  not  reach  us  in  our  present  situation — for,  as  you  saw 
yourself,  the  belt  of  surf  is  considerably  lower  than  the  general 
bed  of  the  ocean,  and  this  latter  now  towered  above  us,  a  high, 
black,  mountainous  ridge.  If  you  have  never  been  at  sea  in  a 
heavy  gale,  you  can  form  no  idea  of  the  confusion  of  mind  occa 
sioned  by  the  wind  and  spray  together.  They  blind,  deafen,  and 
strangle  you,  and  take  away  all  power  of  action  or  reflection. 
But  we  were  now,  in  a  great  measure,  rid  of  these  annoyances — • 
just  as  death-condemned  felons  in  prison  are  allowed  petty  indul 
gences,  forbidden  them  while  their  doom  is  yet  uncertain. 

"  How  often  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  belt  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  We  careered  round  and  round  for  perhaps  an  hour,  flying 
rather  than  floating,  getting  gradually  more  and  more  into  the 
middle  of  the  surge,  and  then  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  horrible 
inner  edge.  All  this  time  I  had  never  let  go  of  the  ring-bolt. 
My  brother  was  at  the  stern,  holding  on  to  a  small  empty  water- 
cask  which  had  been  securely  lashed  under  the  coop  of  the  coun 
ter,  and  was  the  only  thing  on  deck  that  h^d  not  been  swept  over- 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  95 

board  when  the  gale  first  took  us.  As  we  approached  the  brink 
of  the  pit  he  let  go  his  hold  upon  this,  and  made  for  the  ring,  from 
which,  in  the  agony  of  his  terror,  he  endeavored  to  force  my 
hands,  as  it  was  not  large  enough  to  afford  us  both  a  secure 
grasp.  I  never  felt  deeper  grief  than  when  I  saw  him  attempt 
this  act — although  I  knew  he  was  a  madman  when  he  did  it — a 
raving  maniac  through  sheer  fright.  I  did  not  care,  however,  to 
contest  the  point  with  him..  I  knew  it  could  make  no  difference 
whether  either  of  us  held  on  at  all ;  so  I  let  him  have  the  bolt, 
and  went  astern  to  the  cask.  This  there  was  no  great  difficulty 
in  doing ;  for  the  smack  flew  round  steadily  enough,  and  upon  an 
even  keel — only  swaying  to  and  fro,  with  the  immense  sweeps 
and  swelters  of  the  whirl.  Scarcely  had  I  secured  myself  in  my 
new  position,  when  we  gave  a  wild  lurch  to  starboard,  and  rush 
ed  headlong  into  the  abyss,  I  muttered  a  hurried  prayer  to  God, 
and  thought  all  was  over. 

"  As  I  felt  the  sickening  sweep  of  the  descent,  I  had  instinc 
tively  tightened  my  hold  upon  the  barrel,  and  closed  my  eyes. 
For  some  seconds  I  dared  not  open  them — while  I  expected  in 
stant  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  admi 
ration  with  which  I  gazed  about  me.  The  boat  appeared  to  be 
hanging,  as  if  by  magic,  midway  down,  upon  the  interior  surface 
of  a  funnel  vast  in  circumference,  prodigious  in  depth,  and  whose 
perfectly  smooth  sides  might  have  been  mistaken  for  ebony,  but 
for  the  bewildering  rapidity  with  which  they  spun  around,  and 
for  the  gleaming  and  ghastly  radiance  they  shot  forth,  as  the  rays 
of  the  full  moon,  from  that  circular  rift  amid  the  clouds  which  I 
have  already  described,  streamed  in  a  flood  of  golden  glory  along 
the  black  walls,  and  far  away  down  into  the  inmost  recesses  of 
the  abyss. 

"  At  first  I  was  too  much  confused  to  observe  anything  accu 
rately.  The  general  burst  of  terrific  grandeur  was  all  that  1  be- 


96  FOE'S  TALES. 


held.  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  de 
grees,  so  that  we  seemed  to  be  lying  upon  our  beam-ends.  I 
could  not  help  observing,  nevertheless,  that  I  had  scarcely  more 
difficulty  in  maintaining  my  hold  and  footing  in  this  situation, 
than  if  we  had  been  upon  a  dead  level ;  and  this,  I  suppose,  was 
owing  to  the  speed  at  which  We  revolved. 

"  The  rays  of  the  moon  seemed  to  search  the  very  bottom  of 
the  profound  gulf;  but  still  I  could  make  out  nothing  distinctly, 
on  account  of  a  thick  mist  in  which  everything  there  was  en 
veloped,  and  over  which  there  hung  a  magnificent  rainbow,  like 
that  narrow  and  tottering  bridge  which  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  proportionate.  Round  and 
round  we  swept — not  with  any  uniform  movement — but  in  dizzy 
ing  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  tim 
ber  and  trunks  of  trees,  with  many  smaller  articles,  such  as  pieces 
of  house  furniture,  broken  boxes,  barrels  and  staves.  I  have 
already  described  the  unnatural  curiosity  which  had  taken  the 
place  of  my  original  terrors.  It  appeared  to  grow  upon  me  as  I 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  my  dreadful  doom.  I  now  began  to 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  97 

watch,  with  a  strange  interest,  the  numerous  things  that  floated 
in  our  company.  I  must  have  been  delirious — for  I  even  soughl 
amusement  in  speculating  upon  the  relative  velocities  of  their  sev 
eral  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  disap 
pointed  to  find  that  the  wreck  of  a  Dutch  merchant  ship  overtook 
it  and  went  down  before.  At  length,  after  making  several 
guesses  of  this  nature,  and  being  deceived  in  all — this  fact — the 
fact  of  my  invariable  miscalculation — set  me  upon  a  train  of  re 
flection  that  made  my  limbs  again  tremble,  and  my  heart  beat 
heavily  once  more. 

"  It  was  not  a  new  terror  that  thus  affected  me,  but  the  dawn  of 
a  more  exciting  hope.  This  hope  arose  partly  from  memory, 
and  partly  from  present  observation.  I  called  to  mind  the  great 
variety  of  buoyant  matter  that  strewed  the  coast  of  Lofoden,  hav 
ing  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  dis 
tinctly  recollected  that  there  were  some  of  them  which  were  not 
disfigured  at  all.  Now  I  could  not  account  for  this  difference  ex 
cept  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  rea 
son,  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  superiority  in 
speed  of  descent  was  with  the  sphere— the  third,  that,  between 
two  masses.,  of  equal  size,  the  one  cylindrical,  and  the  other  of 
any  other  shape,  the  cylinder  was  absorbed  the  more  slowly. 

8 


§8  FOE'S  TALES. 


Since  my  escape,  I  have  had  several  conversations  on  this  subject 
with  an  old  school-master  of  the  district ;  and  it  was  from  him 
that  I  learned  the  use  of  the  words  '  cylinder'  and  '  sphere.'  He 
explained  to  me — although  I  have  forgotten  the  explanation — • 
how  what  I  observed  was,  in  fact,  the  natural  consequence  of  the 
forms  of  the  floating  fragments — and  showed  me  how  it  happened 
that  a  cylinder,  swimming  in  a  vortex,  offered  more  resistance  to 
its  suction,  and  was  drawn  in  with  greater  difficulty  than  an 
equally  bulky  body,  of  any  form  whatever.* 

"  There  was  one  startling  circumstance  which  went  a  great 
way  in  enforcing  these  observations,  and  rendering  me  anxious  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  se 
curely  to  the  water  cask  upon  which  I  now  held,  to  cut  it  loose 
from  the  counter,  and  to  throw  myself  with  it  into  the  water.  I  at 
tracted  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  sta 
tion  by  the  ring-bolt.  It  was  impossible  to  reach  him  ;  the  emer 
gency  admitted  of  no  delay  ;  and  so,  with  a  bitter  struggle,  I  re 
signed  him  to  his  fate,  fastened  myself  to  the  cask  by  means  of 
the  lashings  which  secured  it  to  the  counter,  and  precipitated  my 
self  with  it  into  the  sea,  without  another  moment's  hesitation. 

"  The  result  was  precisely  what  I  had  hoped  it  might  be.  As 
it  is  myself  who  now  tell  you  this  tale — as  you  see  that  I  did 
escape — and  as  you  are  already  in  possession  of  the  mode  in 
which  this  escape  was  effected,  and  must  therefore  anticipate  all 
that  I  have  farther  to  say — I  will  bring  my  story  quickly  to  con 
clusion.  It  might  have  been  an  hour,  or  thereabout,  after  my 

*  See  Archimedes,  "  De  Incidentibus  in  Fluido."  —lib.  2. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM.  99 

quitting  the  smack,  when,  having  descended  to  a  vast  distance  be 
neath  me,  it  made  three  or  four  wild  gyrations  in  rapid  succes 
sion,  and,  bearing  my  loved  brother  with  it,  plunged  headlong,  at 
once  and  forever,  into  the  chaos  of  foam  below.  The  barrel  to 
which  I  was  attached  sunk  very  little  farther  than  half  the  dis 
tance  between  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  and  the  spot  at  which  I  leap 
ed  overboard,  before  a  great  change  took  place  in  the  character 
of  the  whirlpool.  The  slope  of  the  sides  of  the  vast  funnel  be 
came  momently  less  and  less  steep.  The  gyrations  of  the  whirl 
grew,  gradually,  less  and  less  violent.  By  degrees,  the  froth  and 
the  rainbow  disappeared,  and  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  seemed  slowly 
to  uprise.  The  sky  was  clear,  the  winds  had  gone  dqwn,  and 
the  full  moon  was  setting  radiantly  in  the  west,  when  I  found 
myself  on  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  in  full  view  of  the  shores  of 
Lofoden,  and  above  the  spot  where  the  pool  of  the  Moskoe-strom 
had  been.  It  was  the  hour  of  the  slack — but  the  sea  still  heaved 
in  mountainous  waves  from  the  effects  of  the  hurricane.  I  was 
borne  violently  into  the  channel  of  the  Strom,  and  in  a  few  min 
utes  was  hurried  down  the  coast  into  the  '  grounds'  of  the  fisher 
men.  A  boat  picked  me  up — exhausted  from  fatigue — and  (now 
that  the  danger  was  removed)  speechless  from  the  memory  qf  its 
horror.  Those  who  drew  me  on  board  were  my  old  mates  and 
daily  companions — but  they  knew  me  no  more  than  they  wpuld 
have  known  a  traveller  from  the  spirit-land.  My  hair  which  had 
been  raven-black  the  day  before,  was  as  white  as  you  see  it  now. 
They  say  too  that  the  whole  expression  of  my  countenance  had 
changed.  I  told  them  my  story — they  did  not  believe  it.  I  now 
tell  it  to  you — and  I  can  scarcely  expect  you  to  put  more  faith 
in  it  than  did  the  merry  fishermen  of  Lofoden." 


100  FOE'S  TALES. 


THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA. 


rawro* 

Sophocles — Antig  : 
These  things  are  in  the  future. 

Una.     "Born  again?" 

Monos.  Yes,  fairest  and  best  beloved  Una,  "born  again." 
These  were  the  words  upon  whose  mystical  meaning  I  had  so 
long  pondered,  rejecting  the  explanations  of  the  priesthood,  until 
Death  himself  resolved  for  me  the  secret. 

Una.     Death ! 

Monos.  How  strangely,  sweet  Una,  you  echo  my  words !  I 
observe,  too,  a  vacillation  in  your  step — a  joyous  inquietude  in 
your  eyes.  You  are  confused  and  oppressed  by  the  majestic 
novelty  of  the  Life  Eternal.  Yes,  it  was  of  Death  I  spoke.  And 
here  how  singularly  sounds  that  word  which  of  old  was  wont  to 
bring  terror  to  all  hearts — throwing  a  mildew  upon  all  pleas 
ures  ! 

Una.  Ah,  Death,  the  spectre  which  sate  at  all  feasts !  How 
often,  Monos,  did  we  lose  ourselves  in  speculations  upon  its  na- 
ture  !  How  mysteriously  did  it  act  as  a  check  to  human  bliss — 
saying  unto  it  "  thus  far,  and  no  farther !"  That  earnest  mutual 
love,  my  own  Monos,  which  burned  within  our  bosoms — how 
vainly  did  we  flatter  ourselves,  feeling  happy  in  its  first  up- 
springing,  that  our  happiness  would  strengthen  with  its  strength ! 
Alas !  as  it  grew,  so  grew  in  our  hearts  the  dread  of  that  evil 
hour  which  was  hurrying  to  separate  us  forever!  Thus,  in 
time,  it  became  painful  to  love.  Hate  would  have  been  mercy 
then. 


THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA.  101 

Monos.  Speak  not  here  of  these  griefs,  dear  Una — mine, 
mine  forever  now ! 

Una,  But  the  memory  of  past  sorrow — -is  it  not  present  joy  ? 
I  have  much  to  say  yet  of  the  things  which  have  been.  Above 
all,  1  burn  to  know  the  incidents  of  your  own  passage  through 
the  dark  Valley  and  Shadow. 

Monos.  And  when  did  the  radiant  Una  ask  anything  of  her 
Monos  in  vain  ?  I  will  be  minute  in  relating  all — but  at  what 
point  shall  the  weird  narrative  begin  ? 

Una.     At  what  point  ? 

Mono§.     You  have  said. 

Una.  Monos,  I  comprehend  you.  In  Death  we  have  both 
learned  the  propensity  of  man  to  define  the  indefinable.  I  will 
not  say,  then,  commence  with  the  moment  of  life's  cessation — 
but  commence  with  that  sad,  sad  instant  when,  the  fever  having 
abandoned  you,  you  sank  into  a  breathless  and  motionless  torpor, 
and  I  pressed  down  your  pallid  eyelids  with  the  passionate  fingers 
of  love. 

Monos.  One  word  first,  my  Una,  in  regard  to  man's  general 
condition  at  this  epoch.  You  will  remember  that  one  or  two  of 
the  wise  among  our  forefathers — wise  in  fact,  although  not  in  the 
world's  esteem— had  ventured  to  doubt  the  propriety  of  the  term 
"  improvement/'  as  applied  to  the  progress  of  our  civilization. 
There  were  periods  in  each  of  the  five  or  six  centuries  im 
mediately  preceding  our  dissolution,  when  arose  some  vigorous  in 
tellect,  boldly  contending  for  those  principles  whose  truth  appears 
now,  to  our  disenfranchised  reason,  so  utterly  obvious — principles 
which  should  have  taught  our  race  to  submit  to  the  guidance  of 
the  natural  laws,  rather  than  attempt  their  control.  At  long  in- 
tervals  some  master-minds  appeared,  looking  upon  each  advance 
in  practical  science  as  a  retro-gradation  in  the  true  utility.  Oc 
casionally  the  poetic  intellect — that  intellect  which  we  now  feel  to 
have  been  the  most  exalted  of  all — since  those  truths  which  to  us 
were  of  the  most  enduring  importance  could  only  be  reached  by 
that  analogy  which  speaks  in  proof-tones  to  the  imagination  alone, 
and  to  the  unaided  reason  bears  no  weight — occasionally  did  this 
poetic  intellect  proceed  a  step  farther  in  the  evolving  of  the  vague 
ide,a  of  the  philosophic,  and  find  in  the  mystic  parable  that  tells 


102  FOE'S  TALES. 


of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  and  of  its  forbidden  fruit,  death-pro 
ducing,  a  distinct  intimation  that  knowledge  was  not  meet  for 
man  in  the  infant  condition  of  his  soul.  And  these  men — the 
poets- — living  and  perishing  amid  the  scorn  of  the  "  utilitarians" — 
of  rough  pedants,  who  arrogated  to  themselves  a  title  which 
could  have  been  properly  applied  only  to  the  scorned — these  men, 
the  poets,  pondered  piningly,  yet  not  unwisely,  upon  the  ancient 
days  when  our  wants  were  not  more  simple  than  our  enjoyments 
were  keen — days  when  mirth  was  a  word  unknown,  so  solemnly 
deep-toned  was  happiness — holy,  august  and  blissful  days,  when 
blue  rivers  ran  undammed,  between  hills  unhewn,  into  far  forest 
solitudes,  primaeval;  bdorous,  and  unexplored. 

Yet  these  noble  exceptions  from  the  general  misrule  served  but 
to  strengthen  it  by  opposition.  Alas!  we  had  fallen  upon  the 
most  evil  of  all  our  evil  days;  The  great  "  movement" — that 
was  the  cant  term — went  on :  a  diseased  commotion,  moral  and 
physical.  Art — the  Arts — arose  supreme,  and,  once  enthroned, 
cast  chains  upon  the  intellect  which  had  elevated  them  to  power. 
Man,  because  he  could  not  but  acknowledge  the  majesty  of  Na 
ture,  fell  into  childish  exultation  at  his  acquired  and  still-in 
creasing  dominion  over  her  elements.  Even  while  he  stalked 
a  God  in  his  own  fancy,  an  infantine  imbecility  came  over  him. 
As  might  be  supposed  from  the  origin  of  his  disorder,  he  grew  in 
fected  with  system,  and  with  abstraction.  He  enwrapped  himself 
in  generalities.  Among  other  odd  ideas,  that  of  universal  equal 
ity  gained  ground ;  and  in  the  face  of  analogy  and  of  God — in 
despite  of  the  loud  warning  voice  of  the  laws  of  gradation  so 
visibly  pervading  all  things  in  Earth  and  Heaven — wild  attempts 
at  an  omni-prevalent  Democracy  were  made.  Yet  this  evil 
sprang  necessarily  from  the  leading  evil,  Knowledge.  Man 
could  not  both  know  and  succumb.  Meantime  huge  smoking 
cities  arose,  innumerable.  Green  leaves  shrank  before  the  hot 
breath  of  furnaces.  The  fair  face  of  Nature  was  deformed  as 
with  the  ravages  of  some  loathsome  disease.  And  methinks, 
sweet  Una,  even  our  slumbering  sense  of  the  forced  and  of  the- 
far-fetched  might  have  arrested  us  here.  But  now  it  appears 
that  we  had  worked  out  our  own  destruction  in  the  perversion  of 
our  taste,  or  rather  in  the  blind  neglect  of  its  culture  in  the 


THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA.  103 

schools.  For,  in  truth,  it  was  at  this  crisis  that  taste  alone — that 
faculty  which,  holding  a  middle  position  between  the  pure  intel 
lect  and  the  moral  sense,  could  never  safely  have  been  disregard 
ed — it  was  now  that  taste  alone  could  have  led  us  gently  back  to 
Beaut}r,  to  Nature,  and  to  Life.  But  alas  for  the  pure  con 
templative  spirit  and  majestic  intuition  of  Plato  !  Alas  for  the 
ftovfftur;  which  he  justly  regarded  as  an  all-sufficient  education  for 
the  soul !  Alas  for  him  and  for  it ! — since  both  were  most  des 
perately  needed  when  both  were  most  entirely  forgotten  or 
despised.* 

Pascal,  a  philosopher  whom  we  both  love,  has  said,  how  truly ! 
— "  que  tout  notre  raisonnement  se  reduit  a  ceder  au  sentiment;" 
and  it  is  not  impossible  that  the  sentiment  of  the  natural,  had  time 
permitted  it,  would  have  regained  its  old  ascendancy  over  the 
harsh  mathematical  reason  of  the  schools.  But  this  thing  was 
not  to  be.  Prematurely  induced  by  intemperance  of  knowledge, 
.the  old  age  of  the  world  drew  on.  This  the  mass  of  mankind  saw 
not,  or,  living  lustily  although  unhappily,  affected  not  to  see. 
But,  for  myself,  the  Earth's  records  had  taught  me  to  look  for 
widest  ruin  as  the  price  of  highest  civilization.  I  had  imbibed  a 
prescience  of  our  Fate  from  comparison  of  China  the  simple  and 
enduring,  with  Assyria  the  architect,  with  Egypt  the  astrologer, 
with  Nubia,  more  crafty  than  either,  the  turbulent  mother  of  all 
Arts.  In  historyf  of  these  regions  I  met  with  a  ray  from  the  Fu- 


*  "  It  will  be  hard  to  discover  a  better  [method  of  education]  than  that 
which  the  experience  of  so  many  ages  has  already  discovered  ;  and  this  may  be 
summed  up  as  consisting  in  gymnastics  for  the  body,  and  music  for  the  soul." 
— Repub.  lib.  2.  "  For  this  reason  is  a  musical  education  most  essential ;  since 
it  causes  Rhythm  and  Harmony  to  penetrate  most  intimately  into  the  soul,  ta 
king  the  strongest  hold  upon  it,  filling  it  with  beauty  and  making  the  man  beau 
tiful-minded He  will  praise  and  admire  the  beautiful;  will  receive  it 

with  joy  into  his  soul,  will  feed  upon  it,  and  assimilate  his  own  condition  with 
it." — Ibid.  lib.  3.  Music  (novaiKrj)  had,  however,  among  the  Athenians,  a  far 
more  comprehensive  signification  than  with  us.  It  included  not  only  the  har 
monies  of  time  and  of  tune,  but  the  poetic  diction,  sentiment  and  creation, 
each  in  its  widest  sense.  The  study  of  music  was  with  them,  in  fact,  the  gen 
eral  cultivation  of  the  taste— of  that  which  recognizes  the  beautiful — in  con- 
tra-distinction  from  reason,  whieh  deals  only  with  the  true. 

t  "  History,"  from  taTopeiv,  to  contemplate. 


104  FOE'S  TALES. 


ture.  The  individual  artificialities  of  the  three  latter  were  local 
diseases  of  the  Earth,  and  in  their  individual  overthrows  we  had 
seen  local  remedies  applied ;  but  for  the  infected  world  at  large  I 
could  anticipate  no  regeneration  save  in  death.  That  man,  as  a 
race,  should  not  become  extinct,  I  saw  that  he  must  be  "  born 
again." 

And  now  it  was,  fairest  and  dearest,  that  we  wrapped  our  spir 
its,  daily,  in  dreams.  Now  it  \vas  that,  in  twilight,  we  discoursed 
of  the  clays  to  come,  when  the  Art-scarred  surface  of  the  Earth, 
having  undergone  that  purification*  which  alone  could  efface  its 
rectangular  obscenities,  should  clothe  itself  anew  in  the  verdure 
and  the  mountain-slopes  and  the  smiling  waters  of  Paradise,  and 
be  rendered  at  length  a  fit  dwelling-place  for  man  : — for  man  the 
Death-purged — for  man  to  whose  now  exalted  intellect  there 
should  be  poison  in  knowledge  no  more — for  the  redeemed,  regen 
erated,  blissful,  and  now  immortal,  but  still  for  the  material,  man. 

Una.  Well  do  I  remember  these  conversations,  dear  Monos  ; 
but  the  epoch  of  the  fiery  overthrow  was  not  so  near  at  hand  as 
we  believed,  and  as  the  corruption  you  indicate  did  surely  war 
rant  us  in  believing.  Men  lived  ;  and  died  individually.  You 
yourself  sickened,  and  passed  into  the  grave  ;  and  thither  your 
constant  Una  speedily  followed  you.  And  though  the  century 
which  has  since  elapsed,  and  whose  conclusion  brings  us  thus  to 
gether  once  more,  tortured  our  slumbering  senses  with  no  impa 
tience  of  duration,  yet,  my  Monos,  it  was  a  century  still. 

Monos.  Say,  rather,  a  point  in  the  vague  infinity.  Unques 
tionably,  it  was  in  the  Earth's  dotage  that  I  died.  Wearied  at 
neart  with  anxieties  which  had  their  origin  in  the  general  turmoil 
and  decay,  I  succumbed  to  the  fierce  fever.  After  some  few  days 
of  pain,  and  many  of  dreamy  delirium  replete  with  ecstasy,  the 
manifestations  of  which  you  mistook  for  pain,  while  I  longed  but 
was  impotent  to  undeceive  you — after  some  days  there  came  upon 
me,  as  you  have  said,  a  breathless  and  motionless  torpor ;  and 
this  was  termed  Death  by  those  who  stood  around  me. 

Words  are  vague  things.     My  condition  did  not  deprive  me  of 

*  The  word  "purification"  seems  here  to  be  used  with  reference  to  its  root 
in  the  Greek  rrup,  fire. 


THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA.  105 

sentience.  It  appeared  to  me  not  greatly  dissimilar  to  the  ex- 
treme  quiescence  of  him,  who,  Having  slumbered  long  and  pro 
foundly,  lying  motionless  and  fully  prostrate  in  a  midsummer 
noon,  begins  to  steal  slowly  back  into  consciousness,  through  the 
mere  sufficiency  of  his  sleep,  and  without  being  awakened  by  ex 
ternal  disturbances. 

I  breathed  no  longer.  The  pulses  were  still.  The  heart  had 
ceased  to  beat.  Volition  had  not  departed,  but  was  powerless. 
The  senses  were  unusually  active,  although  eccentrically  so — as 
suming  often  each  other's  functions  at  random.  The  taste  and 
the  smell  were  inextricably  confounded,  and  became  one  senti 
ment,  abnormal  and  intense.  The  rose-water  with  which  your 
tenderness  had  moistened  my  lips  to  the  last,  affected  me  with 
sweet  fancies  of  flowers — fantastic  flowers,  far  more  lovely  than 
any  of  the  old  Earth,  but  whose  prototypes  we  have  here  bloom 
ing*  around  us.  The  eyelids,  transparent  and  bloodless,  offered 
no  complete  impediment  to  vision.  As  volition  was  in  abeyance, 
the  balls  could  not  roll  in  their  sockets — but  all  objects  within  the 
range  of  the  visual  hemisphere  were  seen  with  more  or  less  dis 
tinctness  ;  the  rays  which  fell  upon  the  external  retina,  or  into 
the  corner  of  the  eye,  producing  a  more  vivid  effect  than  those 
which  struck  the  front  or  interior  surface.  Yet,  in  the  former 
instance,  this  effect  was  so  far  anomalous  that  I  appreciated  it 
only  as  sound — sound  sweet  or  discordant  as  the  matters  present 
ing  themselves  at  my  side  were  light  or  dark  in  shade — curved 
or  angular  in  outline.  The  hearing,  at  the  same  time,  although 
excited  in  degree,  was  not  irregular  in  action — estimating  real 
sounds  with  an  extravagance  of  precision,  not  less  than  of  sensi 
bility.  Touch  had  undergone  a  modification  more  peculiar.  Its 
impressions  were  tardily  received,  but  pertinaciously  retained, 
and  resulted  always  in  the  highest  physical  pleasure.  Thus  the 
pressure  of  your  sweet  fingers  upon  my  eyelids,  at  first  only  rec 
ognised  through  vision,  at  length,  long  after  their  removal,  filled 
my  whole  being  with  a  sensual  delight  immeasurable.  I  say 
with  a  sensual  delight.  All  my  perceptions  were  purely  sensual. 
The  materials  furnished  the  passive  brain  by  the  senses  were  not 
in  the  least  degree  wrought  into  shape  by  the  deceased  under 
standing.  Of  pain  there  was  some  little  ;  of  pleasure  there  was 


106  POE'S  TALES. 


much  ;  but  of  moral  pain  or  pleasure  none  at  all.  Thus  your 
wild  sobs  floated  into  my  ear  with  all  their  mournful  cadences, 
and  were  appreciated  in  their  every  variation  of  sad  tone  ;  but 
they  were  soft  musical  sounds  and  no  more  ;  they  conveyed  to 
the  extinct  reason  no  intimation  of  the  sorrows  which  gave  them 
birth  ;  while  the  large  and  constant  tears  which  fell  upon  my 
face,  telling  the  bystanders  of  a  heart  which  broke,  thrilled  every 
fibre  of  my  frame  with  ecstasy  alone.  And  this  was  in  truth  the 
Death  of  which  these  bystanders  spoke  reverently,  in  low  whis 
pers — you,  sweet  Una,  gaspingly,  with  loud  cries. 

They  attired  me  for  the  coffin — three  or  four  dark  figures 
which  flitted  busily  to  and  fro.  As  these  crossed  the  direct  line 
of  my  vision  they  affected  me  as  forms  ;  but  upon  passing  to  my 
side  their  images  impressed  me  with  the  idea  of  shrieks,  groans, 
and  other  dismal  expressions  of  terror,  of  horror,  or  of  wo.  You 
alone,  habited  in  a  white  robe,  passed  in  all  directions  musically 
about  me. 

The  day  waned  ;  and,  as  its  light  faded  away,  I  became  pos 
sessed  by  a  vague  uneasiness — an  anxiety  such  as  the  sleeper 
feels  when  sad  real  sounds  fall  continuously  within  his  ear — low 
distant  bell-tones,  solemn,  at  long  but  equal  intervals,  and  com 
mingling  with  melancholy  dreams.  Night  arrived  ;  and  with  its 
shadows  a  heavy  discomfort.  It  oppressed  my  limbs  with  the  op 
pression  of  some  dull  weight,  and  was  palpable.  There  was  also 
a  moaning  sound,  not  unlike  the  distant  reverberation  of  surf,  but 
more  continuous,  which,  beginning  with  the  first  twilight,  had 
grown  in  strength  with  the  darkness.  Suddenly  lights  were 
brought  into  the  room,  and  this  reverberation  became  forthwith 
interrupted  into  frequent  unequal  bursts  of  the  same  sound,  but 
less  dreary  and  less  distinct.  The  ponderous  oppression  was  in 
a  great  measure  relieved ;  and,  issuing  from  the  flame  of  each 
lamp,  (for  there  were  many,)  there  flowed  unbrokenly  into  my 
ears  a  strain  of  melodious  monotone.  And  when  now,  dear  Una, 
approaching  the  bed  upon  which  I  lay  outstretched,  you  sat  gently 
by  my  side,  breathing  odor  from  your  sweet  lips,  and  pressing 
them  upon  my  brow,  there  arose  tremulously  within  my  bosom, 
and  mingling  with  the  merely  physical  sensations  which  circum 
stances  had  called  forth,  a  something  akin  to  sentiment  itself— a 


THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA.  107 

feeling  that,  half  appreciating,  half  responded  to  your  earnest  love 
and  sorrow  ;  but  this  feeling  took  no  root  in  the  pulseless  heart, 
and  seemed  indeed  rather  a  shadow  than  a  reality,  and  faded 
quickly  away,  first  into  extreme  quiescence,  and  then  into  a  purely 
sensual  pleasure  as  before. 

And  now,  from  the  wreck  and  the  chaos  of  the  usual  senses, 
there  appeared  to  have  arisen  within  me  a  sixth,  all  perfect.  In 
its  exercise  I  found  a  wild  delight — yet  a  delight  still  physical,  in 
asmuch  as  the  understanding  had  in  it  no  part.  Motion  in  the 
animal  frame  had  fully  ceased.  No  muscle  quivered ;  no  nerve 
thrilled  ;  no  artery  throbbed.  But  there  seemed  to  have  sprung 
up  in  the  brain,  that  of  which  no  words  could  convey  to  the  merely 
human  intelligence  even  an  indistinct  conception.  Let  me  term 
it  a  mental  pendulous  pulsation.  It  was  the  moral  embodiment 
of  man's  abstract  idea  of  Time.  By  the  absolute  equalization 
of  this  movement — or  of  such  as  this — had  the  cycles  of  the  fir- 
mamental  orbs  themselves,  been  adjusted.  By  its  aid  I  measured 
the  irregularities  of  the  clock  upon  the  mantel,  and  of  the  watches 
of  the  attendants.  Their  tickings  came  sonorously  to  my  ears. 
The  slightest  deviations  from  the  true  proportion — and  these  devi 
ations  were  omni-prsevalent — affected  me  just  as  violations  of  ab 
stract  truth  were  wont,  on  earth,  to  affect  the  moral  sense.  Al 
though  no  two  of  the  time-pieces  in  the  chamber  struck  the  indi 
vidual  seconds  accurately  together,  yet  I  had  no  difficulty  in  hold 
ing  steadily  in  mind  the  tones,  and  the  respective  momentary 
errors  of  each.  And  this — this  keen,  perfect,  self-existing  senti 
ment  of  duration — this  sentiment  existing  (as  man  could  not  pos 
sibly  have  conceived  it  to  exist)  independently  of  any  succession 
of  events — this  idea — this  sixth  sense,  upspringing  from  the  ashes 
of  the  rest,  was  the  first  obvious  and  certain  step  of  the  intempo- 
ral  soul  upon  the  threshold  of  the  temporal  Eternity. 

It  was  midnight ;  and  you  still  sat  by  my  side.  All  others 
had  departed  from  the  chamber  of  Death.  They  had  deposited 
me  in  the  coffin.  The  lamps  burned  flickeringly  ;  for  this  I  knew 
by  the  tremulousness  of  the  monotonous  strains.  But,  suddenly 
these  strains  diminished  in  distinctness  and  in  volume.  Finally 
they  ceased.  The  perfume  in  my  nostrils  died  away.  Forms 
affected  my  vision  no  longer.  The  oppression  of  the  Darkness 


108  FOE'S  TALES. 


uplifted  itself  from  my  bosom.  A  dull  shock  like  that  of  elec 
tricity  pervaded  my  frame,  and  was  followed  by  total  loss  of  the 
idea  of  contact.  All  of  what  man  has  termed  sense  was  merged 
in  the  sole  consciousness  of  entity,  and  in  the  one  abiding  senti 
ment  of  duration.  The  mortal  body  had  been  at  length  stricken 
with  the  hand  of  the  deadly  Decay. 

Yet  had  not  all  of  sentience  departed  ;  for  the  consciousness 
and  the  sentiment  remaining  supplied  some  of  its  functions  by  a 
lethargic  intuition.  I  appreciated  the  direful  change  now  in  ope 
ration  upon  the  flesh,  and,  as  the  dreamer  is  sometimes  aware 
of  the  bodily  presence  of  one  who  leans  over  him,  so,  sweet  Una, 
I  still  dully  felt  that  you  sat  by  my  side.  So,  too,  when  the 
noon  of  the  second  day  came,  I  was  not  unconscious  of  those 
movements  which  displaced  you  from  my  side,  which  confined 
me  within  the  coffin,  which  deposited  me  within  the  hearse,  which 
bore  me  to  the  grave,  which  lowered  me  within  it,  which  heaped 
heavily  the  mould  upon  me,  and  which  thus  left  me,  in  blackness 
and  corruption,  to  my  sad  and  solemn  slumbers  with  the  worm. 

And  here,  in  the  prison-house  which  has  few  secrets  to  disclose, 
there  rolled  away  days  and  weeks  and  months ;  and  the  soul 
watched  narrowly  each  second  as  it  flew,  and,  without  effort, 
took  record  of  its  flight — without  effort  and  without  object. 

A  year  passed.  The  consciousness  of  /being  had  grown  hour 
ly  more  indistinct,  and  that  of  mere  locality  had,  in  great  meas 
ure,  usurped  its  position.  The  idea  of  entity  was  becoming 
merged  in  that  of  place.  The  narrow  space  immediately  sur 
rounding  what  had  been  the  body,  was  now  growing  to  be  the 
body  itself.  At  length,  as  often  happens  to  the  sleeper  (by  sleep 
and  its  world  alone  is  Death  imaged) — at  length,  as  sometimes 
happened  on  Earth  to  the  deep  slumberer,  when  some  flitting 
light  half  startled  him  into  awaking,  yet  left  him  half  enveloped 
in  dreams — so  to  me,  in  the  strict  embrace  of  the  Shadoiv,  came 
that  light  which  alone  might  have  had  power  to  startle — the  light 
of  enduring  Love.  Men  toiled  at  the  grave  in  which  I  lay  darkling. 
They  upthrew  the  damp  earth.  Upon  my  mouldering  bones  there 
descended  the  coffin  of  Una. 

And  now  again  all  was  void.  That  nebulous  light  had  1>een 
extinguished.  That  feeble  thrill  had  vibrated  itself  into  quies- 


THE  COLLOQUY  OF  MONOS  AND  UNA.  109 

cence.  Many  lustra  had  supervened.  Dust  had  returned  to 
dust.  The  worm  had  food  no  more.  The  sense  of  being  had  at 
length  utterly  departed,  and  there  reigned  in  its  stead — instead  of 
all  things-— dominant  and  perpetual — the  autocrats  Place  and 
Time.  For  that  which  was  not — for  that  which  had  no  form — 
for  that  which  had  no  thought — for  that  which  had  no  sentience — 
for  that  which  was  soulless,  yet  of  which  matter  formed  no  por 
tion — for  all  this  nothingness,  yet  for  all  this  immortality,  the 
grave  was  still  a  home,  and  the  corrosive  hours,  co-mates. 


HO  POE'S  TALES. 


THE 


CONVERSATION  OF  EIROS  AND  CHARMION. 


TLvf>  (TOl 

I  will  bring  fire  to  thee. 

Euripides — Androm  : 

EIROS. 
WHY  do  you  call  me  Eiros  ? 

CHARMION. 

So  henceforward  will  you  always  be  called.  You  must  forget, 
too,  my  earthly  name,  and  speak  to  me  as  Charmion. 

EIROS. 

This  is  indeed  no  dream  ! 

CHARMION. 

Dreams  are  with  us  no  more  ; — but  of  these  mysteries  anon. 
I  rejoice  to  see  you  looking  life-like  and  rational.  The  film  of 
the  shadow  has  already  passed  from  off  your  eyes.  Be  of  heart, 
and  fear  nothing.  Your  allotted  days  of  stupor  have  expired ; 
and,  to-morrow,  I  will  myself  induct  you  into  the  full  joys  and 
wonders  of  your  novel  existence. 

EIROS. 

True — I  feel  no  stupor — none  at  all.  The  wild  sickness  and 
the  terrible  darkness  have  left  me,  and  I  hear  no  longer  that  mad, 
rushing,  horrible  sound,  like  the  "  voice  of  many  waters."  Yet 
my  senses  are  bewildered,  Charmion,  with  the  keenness  of  their 
perception  of  the  new. 

CHARMION. 

A  few  days  will  remove  all  this ; — but  I  fully  understand  you, 
and  feel  for  you.  It  is  now  ten  earthly  years  since  I  underwent 


THE  CONVERSATION  OF  EIROS  AND  CHARMION.      Ill 

what  you  undergo — yet  the  remembrance  of  it  hangs  by  me  still. 
You  have  now  suffered  all  of  pain,  however,  which  you  will 
suffer  in  Aidenn. 

EIROS. 
In  Aidenn  ? 

CHARMION. 

In  Aidenn. 

EIROS. 

Oh  God ! — pity  me,  Charmion  ! — I  am  overburthened  with  the 
majesty  of  all  things — of  the  unknown  now  known — of  the  spec 
ulative  Future  merged  in  the  august  and  certain  Present. 

CHARMION. 

Grapple  not  now  with  such  thoughts.  To-morrow  we  will 
speak  of  this.  Your  mind  wavers,  and  its  agitation  will  find  re 
lief  in  the  exercise  of  simple  memories.  Look  not  around,  nor 
forward — but  back.  I  am  burning  with  anxiety  to  hear  the  de 
tails  of  that  stupendous  event  which  threw  you  among  us.  Tell 
me  of  it.  Let  us  converse  of  familiar  things,  in  the  old  familiar 
language  of  the  world  which  has  so  fearfully  perished. 

EIROS. 
Most  fearfully,  fearfully  ! — this  is  indeed  no  dream. 

CHARMION. 
Dreams  are  no  more.     Was  I  much  mourned,  my  Eiros  ? 

EIROS. 

Mourned,  Charmion  ? — oh  deeply.  To  that  last  hour  of  all, 
there  hung  a  cloud  of  intense  gloonxand  devout  sorrow  over  your 
household. 

CHARMION. 

And  that  last  hour— speak  of  it.  Remember  that,  beyond  the 
naked  fact  of  the  catastrophe  itself,  I  know  nothing.  When, 
coming  out  from  among  mankind,  I  passed  into  Night  through 
the  Grave — at  that  period,  if  I  remember  aright,  the  calamity 
which  overwhelmed  you  was  utterly  unanticipated.  But,  in 
deed,  I  knew  little  of  the  speculative  philosophy  of  the  day, 

EIROS. 
The  individual  calamity  was,  as  you  say,  entirely  unantici- 


J12  POE'S  TALES. 


pated ;  but  analogous  misfortunes  had  been  long  a  subject  of  dis 
cussion  with  astronomers.  I  need  scarce  tell  you,  my  friend, 
that,  even  when  you  left  us,  men  had  agreed  to  understand  those 
passages  in  the  most  holy  writings  which  speak  of  the  final  de 
struction  of  all  things  by  fire,  as  having  reference  to  the  orb  of 
the  earth  alone.  But  in  regard  to  the  immediate  agency  of  the 
ruin,  speculation  had  been  at  fault  from  that  epoch  in  astronom 
ical  knowledge  in  which  the  comets  were  divested  of  the  terrors 
of  flame.  The  very  moderate  density  of  these  bodies  had  been 
well  established.  They  had  been  observed  to  pass  among  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter,  without  bringing  about  any  sensible  altera 
tion  either  in  the  masses  or  in  the  orbits  of  these  secondary 
planets.  We  had  long  regarded  the  wanderers  as  vapory  cre 
ations  of  inconceivable  tenuity,  and  as  altogether  incapable  of 
doing  injury  to  our  substantial  globe,  even  in  the  event  of  con. 
tact.  But  contact  was  not  in  any  degree  dreaded  ;  for  the  ele 
ments  of  all  the  comets  were  accurately  known.  That  among 
them  we  should  look  for  the  agency  of  the  threatened  fiery  de 
struction  had  been  for  many  years  considered  an  inadmissible 
idea.  But  wonders  and  wild  fancies  had  been,  of  late  days, 
strangely  rife  among  mankind  *  and,  although  it  was  only  with  a 
few  of  the  ignorant  that  actual  apprehension  prevailed,  upon  the 
announcement  by  astronomers  of  a  new  comet,  yet  this  announce 
ment  was  generally  received  with  I  know  not  what  of  agitation 
and  mistrust. 

The  elements  of  the  strange  orb  were  immediately  calculated, 
and  it  was  at  once  conceded  by  all  observers,  that  its  path,  at 
perihelion,  would  bring  it  into  very  close  proximity  with  the 
earth.  There  were  two  or  three  astronomers,  of  secondary  note, 
who  resolutely  maintained  that  a  contact  was  inevitable.  I  can 
not  very  well  express  to  you  the  effect  of  this  intelligence  upon 
the  people.  For  a  few  short  days  they  would  not  believe  an  as 
sertion  which  their  intellect,  so  long  employed  among  worldly  con 
siderations,  could  not  in  any  manner  grasp.  But  the  truth  of  a 
vitally  important  fact  soon  makes  its  way  into  the  understanding 
of  even  the  most  stolid.  Finally,  all  men  saw  that  astronomical 
knowledge  lied  not,  and  they  awaited  the  comet.  Its  approach 
was  not,  at  first,  seemingly  rapid ;  nor  was  its  appearance  of 


THE  CONVERSATION  OF  EIROS  AND  CHARMION.      113 


very  unusual  character.  It  was  of  a  dull  red,  and  had  little  per 
ceptible  train.  For  seven  or  eight  days  we  saw  no  material  in 
crease  in  its  apparent  diameter,  and  but  a  partial  alteration  in  its 
color.  Meantime,  the  ordinary  affairs  of  men  were  discarded, 
and  all  interests  absorbed  in  a  growing  discussion,  instituted  by 
the  philosophic,  in  respect  to  the  cometary  nature.  Even  the 
grossly  ignorant  aroused  their  sluggish  capacities  to  such  con 
siderations.  The  learned  now  gave  their  intellect — their  soul — to 
no  such  points  as  the  allaying  of  fear,  or  to  the  sustenance  of  loved 
theory.  They  sought — they  panted  for  right  views.  They  groaned 
for  perfected  knowledge.  Truth  arose  in  the  purity  of  her  strength 
and  exceeding  majesty,  and  the  wise  bowed  down  and  adored. 

That  material  injury  to  our  globe  or  to  its  inhabitants  would 
result  from  the  apprehended  contact,  was  an  opinion  which  hour 
ly  lost  ground  among  the  wise  j  and  the  wise  were  now  freely 
permitted  to  rule  the  reason  and  the  fancy  of  the  crowd.  It  was 
demonstrated,  that  the  density  of  the  comet's  nucleus  was  far  less 
than  that  of  our  rarest  gas  j  and  the  harmless  passage  of  a  similar 
visitor  among  the  satellites  of  Jupiter  was  a  point  strongly  insisted 
upon,  and  which  served  greatly  to  allay  terror.  Theologists,  with 
an  earnestness  fear-enkindled,  dwelt  upon  the  biblical  prophecies, 
and  expounded  them  to  the  people  with  a  directness  and  simplicity 
of  which  no  previous  instance  had  been  known.  That  the  final 
destruction  of  the  earth  must  be  brought  about  by  the  agency  of 
fire,  was  urged  with  a  spirit  that  enforced  every  where  conviction ; 
and  that  the  comets  were  of  no  fiery  nature  (as  all  men  now 
knew)  was  a  truth  which  relieved  all,  in  a  great  measure,  from 
the  apprehension  of  the  great  calamity  foretold.  It  is  noticeable 
that  the  popular  prejudices  and  vulgar  errors  in  regard  to  pesti 
lences  and  wars — errors  which  were  wont  to  prevail  upon  every 
appearance  of  a  comet — were  now  altogether  unknown.  As  if 
by  some  sudden  convulsive  exertion,  reason  had  at  once  hurled 
superstition  from  her  throne.  The  feeblest  intellect  had  derived 
vigor  from  excessive  interest. 

What  minor  evils  might  arise  from  the  contact  were  points  of 
elaborate  question.  The  learned  spoke  of  slight  geological  dis 
turbances,  of  probable  alterations  in  climate,  and  consequently  in 
vegetation ;  of  possible  magnetic  and  electric  influences.  Many 

9 


114  FOE'S  TALES. 


held  that  no  visible  or  perceptible  effect  would  in  any  manner  be 
produced.  While  such  discussions  were  going  on,  their  subject 
gradually  approached,  growing  larger  in  apparent  diameter,  and 
of  a  more  brilliant  lustre.  Mankind  grew  paler  as  it  came.  All 
human  operations  were  suspended . 

There  was  an  epoch  in  the  course  of  the  general  sentiment 
when  the  comet  had  attained,  at  length,  a  size  surpassing  that  of 
any  previously  recorded  visitation.  The  people  now,  dismissing 
any  lingering  hope  that  the  astronomers  were  wrong,  experienced 
all  the  certainty  of  evil.  The  chimerical  aspect  of  their  terror 
was  gone.  The  hearts  of  the  stoutest  of  our  race  beat  violently 
within  their  bosoms.  A  very  few  days  sufficed,  however,  to 
merge  even  such  feelings  in  sentiments  more  unendurable.  We 
could  no  longer  apply  to  the  strange  orb  any  accustomed  thoughts. 
Its  historical  attributes  had  disappeared.  It  oppressed  us  with  a 
hideous  novelty  of  emotion.  We  saw  it  not  as  an  astronomical 
phenomenon  in  the  heavens,  but  as  an  incubus  upon  our  hearts, 
and  a  shadow  upon  our  brains.  It  had  taken,  with  inconceivable 
rapidity,  the  character  of  a  gigantic  mantle  of  rare  flame,  extend 
ing  from  horizon  to  horizon. 

Yet  a  day,  and  men  breathed  with  greater  freedom.  It  was 
clear  that  we  were  already  within  the  influence  of  the  comet ; 
yet  we  lived.  We  even  felt  an  unusual  elasticity  of  frame  and 
vivacity  of  mind.  The  exceeding  tenuity  of  the  object  of  our 
dread  was  apparent ;  for  all  heavenly  objects  were  plainly  visible 
through  it.  Meantime,  our  vegetation  had  perceptibly  altered ; 
and  we  gained  faith,  from  this  predicted  circumstance,  in  the  fore 
sight  of  the  wise.  A  wild  luxuriance  of  foliage,  utterly  unknown 
before,  burst  out  upon  every  vegetable  thing. 

Yet  another  day — and  the  evil  was  not  altogether  upon  us.  It 
was  now  evident  that  its  nucleus  would  first  reach  us.  A  wild 
change  had  come  over  all  men  ;  and  the  first  sense  of  pain  was 
the  wild  signal  for  general  lamentation  and  horror.  This  first 
sense  of  pain  lay  in  a  rigorous  constriction  of  the  breast  and 
lungs,  and  an  insufferable  dryness  of  the  skin.  It  could  not  be 
denied  that  our  atmosphere  was  radically  affected ;  the  conforma 
tion  of  this  atmosphere  and  the  possible  modifications  to  which  it 
might  be  subjected,  were  now  the  topics  of  discussion.  The  re- 


THE  CONVERSATION  OF  EIROS  AND  CHARMION.      115 

suit  of  investigation  sent  an  electric  thrill  of  the  intensest  terror 
through  the  universal  heart  of  man. 

It  had  been  long  known  that  the  air  which  encircled  us  was  a 
compound  of  oxygen  and  nitrogen  gases,  in  the  proportion  of 
twenty-one  measures  of  oxygen,  and  seventy-nine  of  nitrogen,  in 
every  one  hundred  of  the  atmosphere.  Oxygen,  which  was  the 
principle  of  combustion,  and  the  vehicle  of  heat,  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  support  of  animal  life,  and  was  the  most  power 
ful  and  energetic  agent  in  nature.  Nitrogen,  on  the  contrary, 
was  incapable  of  supporting  either  animal  life  or  flame.  An  un 
natural  excess  of  oxygen  would  result,  it  had  been  ascertained, 
in  just  such  an  elevation  of  the  animal  spirits  as  we  had  lat 
terly  experienced.  It  was  the  pursuit,  the  extension  of  the  idea, 
which  had  engendered  awe.  What  would  be  the  result  of  a  to 
tal  exlraction  of  the  nitrogen  ?  A  combustion  irresistible,  all- 
devouring,  omni-prevalent,  immediate  ; — the  entire  fulfilment,  in 
all  their  minute  and  terrible  details,  of  the  fiery  and  horror-in 
spiring  denunciations  of  the  prophecies  of  the  Holy  Book. 

Why  need  I  paint,  Charmion,  the  now  disenchained  frenzy  of 
mankind  ?  That  tenuity  in  the  comet  which  had  previously  in 
spired  us  with  hope,  was  now  the  source  of  the  bitterness  of  de 
spair.  In  its  impalpable  gaseous  character  we  clearly  perceived 
the  consummation  of  Fate.  Meantime  a  day  again  passed — 
bearing  away  with  it  the  last  shadow  of  Hope.  We  gasped  in 
the  rapid  modification  of  the  air.  The  red  blood  bounded  tumul- 
tuously  through  its  strict  channels.  A  furious  delirium  possessed 
all  men  ;  and,  with  arms  rigidly  outstretched  towards  the  threat 
ening  heavens,  they  trembled  and  shrieked  aloud.  But  the  nu 
cleus  of  the  destroyer  was  now  upon  us ; — even  here  in  Aidenn, 
I  shudder  while  I  speak.  Let  me  be  brief — brief  as  the  ruin  that 
overwhelmed.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  wild  lurid  light  alone, 
visiting  and  penetrating  all  things.  Then — let  us  bow  down, 
Charmion,  before  the  excessive  majesty  of  the  great  God ! — then, 
there  came  a  shouting  and  pervading  sound,  as  if  from  the  mouth 
itself  of  HIM  ;  while  the  whole  incumbent  mass  of  ether  in  which 
we  existed,  burst  at  once  into  a  species  of  intense  flame,  for  whose 
surpassing  brilliancy  and  all-fervid  heat  even  the  angels  in  the 
high  Heaven  of  pure  knowledge  have  no  name.  Thus  ended  all. 


116  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  con 
jecture.  , 

Sir  TTiomas  Browne. 

THE  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  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  ordi 
nary  apprehension  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  invigorated  by 
mathematical  study,  and  especially  by  that  highest  branch  of  it 
which,  unjustly,  and  merely  on  account  of  its  retrograde  opera 
tions,  has  been  called,  as  if  par  excellence,  analysis.  Yet  to  cal 
culate  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  misun 
derstood.  I  am  not  now  writing  a  treatise,  but  simply  prefacing 
a  somewhat  peculiar  narrative  by  observations  yery  much  at  ran- 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  117 


dom ;  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  concentrative 
rather  than  the  more  acute  player  who  conquers.  In  draughts,  on 
the  contrary,  where  the  moves  are  unique  and  have  but  little  va 
riation,  the  probabilities  of  inadvertence  are  diminished,  and  the 
mere  attention  being  left  comparatively  unemployed,  what  advan 
tages  are  obtained  by  either  party  are  obtained  by  superior  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  recher 
che  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  un- 
frequently  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  im 
plies  capacity  for  success  in  all  those  more  important  undertakings 
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 


118  FOE'S  TALES. 


among  recesses  of  thought  altogether  inaccessible  to  the  ordinary 
understanding.  To  observe  attentively  is  to  remember  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  compre 
hensible.  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  beyond  the  limits  of  mere  rule 
that  the  skill  of  the  analyst  is  evinced.  He  makes,  in  silence,  a 
host  of  observations  and  inferences.  So,  perhaps,  do  his  com 
panions  ;  and  the  difference  in  the  extent  of  the  information  ob 
tained,  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  oppo 
nents.  He  considers  the  mode  of  assorting  the  cards  in  each 
hand  ;  often  counting  trump  by  trump,  and  honor  by  honor,  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  differences  in  the  expression  of  certainty,  of 
surprise,  of  triumph,  or  of  chagrin.  From  the  manner  of  gather 
ing  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 
arrangement ;  embarrassment,  hesitation,  eagerness  or  trepidation 
— 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  possession  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  in 
genuity  ;  for  while  the  analyst  is  necessarily  ingenious,  the  inge- 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  119 

nious  man  is  often  remarkably  incapable  of  analysis.  The  con 
structive  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  other 
wise  upon  idiocy,  as  to  have  attracted  general  observation  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  anal 
ogous.  It  will  be  found,  in  fact,  that  the  ingenious  are  always 
fanciful,  and  the  truly  imaginative  never  otherwise  than  ana 
lytic. 

The  narrative  which  follows  will  appear  to  the  reader  some 
what  in  the  light  of  a  commentary  upon  the  propositions  just  ad 
vanced. 

Residing  in  Paris  during  the  spring  and  part  of  the  summer  of 
18 — ,  I  there  became  acquainted  with  a  Monsieur  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  suc 
cumbed  beneath  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  neces 
saries  of  life,  without  troubling  himself  about  its  superfluities. 
Books,  indeed,  were  his  sole  luxuries,  and  in  Paris  these  are 
easily  obtained. 

Our  first  meeting  was  at  an  obscure  library  in  the  Rue  Mont- 
martre,  where  the  accident  of  our  both  being  in  search  of  the 
same  very  rare  and  very  remarkable  volume,  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  candor  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  fervor,  and  the  vivid  freshness  of  his  imagination. 
Seeking  in  Paris  the  objects  I  then  sought,  I  felt  that  the  society 


120  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  furnish, 
ing  in  a  style  which  suited  the  rather  fantastic  gloom  of  our 
common  temper,  a  time-eaten  and  grotesque  mansion,  long  de 
serted  through  superstitions  into  which  we  did  not  inquire,  and 
tottering  to  its  fall  in  a  retired  and  desolate  portion  of  the  Fau 
bourg  St.  Germain. 

Had  the  routine  of  our  life  at  this  place  been  known  to  the 
world,  we  should  have  been  regarded  as  madmen — although,  per 
haps,  as  madmen  of  a  harmless  nature.  Our  seclusion  was  per 
fect.  We  admitted  no  visitors.  Indeed  the  locality  of  our  re 
tirement  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  enamored  of  the  Night  for  her  own  sake  ;  and  into 
this  bizarrerie,  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  counter 
feit  her  presence.  At  the  first  dawn  of  the  morning  we  closed 
all  the  massy  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,  writing,  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  observation  can  afford. 

At  such  times  I  could  not  help  remarking  and  admiring  (al 
though  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  confess  the  pleasure  thus  derived.  He  boasted 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  121 

to  me,  with  a  low  chuckling  laugh,  that  most  men,  in  respect  to 
himself,  wore  windows  in  their  bosoms,  and  was  wont  to  follow 
up  such  assertions  by  direct  and  very  startling  proofs  of  his  in 
timate  knowledge  of  my  own.  His  manner  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  en 
tire  distinctness  of  the  enunciation.  Observing  hirn  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  romance.  What  I  have 
described  in  the  Frenchman,  was  merely  the  result  of  an  ex 
cited,  or  perhaps  of  a  diseased  intelligence.  But  of  the  charac 
ter  of  his  remarks  at  the  periods  in  question  an  example  will  best 
convey  the  idea. 

We  were  strolling  one  night  down  a  long  dirty  street,  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Palais  Royal.  Being  both,  apparently,  occupied 
with  thought,  neither  of  us  had  spoken  a  syllable  for  fifteen  min 
utes  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  Theatre  des  Varietes" 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,"  I  replied  unwittingly,  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  afterward  I  recollected  my 
self,  and  my  astonishment  was  profound. 

"  Dupin,"  said  I,  gravely,  "  this  is  beyond  my  comprehension. 
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  reflec 
tions.  Chantilly  was  a  quondam  cobbler  of  the  Rue  St.  Denis, 


122  POE'S  TALES. 


who,  becoming  stage-mad,  had  attempted  the  role  of  Xerxes,  in 
Crebillon's  tragedy  so  called,  and  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,  "  who  brought  you 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  mender  of  soles  was  not  of  sufficient 
height  for  Xerxes  et  id  genus  omne." 

"  The  fruiterer  ! — you  astonish  me — I  know  no  fruiterer  whom- 
soever." 

"  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  thorough 
fare  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.  "  I 
will  explain,"  he  said,  "  and  that  you  may  comprehend  all 
clearly,  we  will  first  retrace  the  course  of  your  meditations,  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  run 
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  particu 
lar  conclusions  of  their  own  minds  have  been  attained.  The  oc 
cupation  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  ac 
knowledging  that  he  had  spoken  the  truth.  He  continued : 

"  We  had  been  talking  of  horses,  if  I  remember  aright,  just 

before  leaving  the  Rue  C .  This  was  the  last  subject  we 

discussed.  As  we  crossed  into  this  street,  a  fruiterer,  with  a 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  123 

large  basket  upon  his  head,  brushing  quickly  past  us,  thrust  you 
upon  a  pile  of  paving-stones  collected  at  a  spot  where  the  cause 
way  is  undergoing  repair.  You  stepped  upon  one  of  the  loose 
fragments,  slipped,  slightly  strained  your  ankle,  appeared  vexed 
or  sulky,  muttered  a  few  words,  turned  to  look  at  the  pile,  and 
then  proceeded  in  silence.  I  was  not  particularly  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  petu 
lant  expression,  at  the  holes  and  ruts  in  the  pavement,  (so  that  I 
saw  you  were  still  thinking  of  the  stones,)  until  we  reached  the 
little  alley  called  Lamartine,  which  has  been  paved,  by  way  of 
experiment,  with  the  overlapping  and  riveted  blocks.  Here  your 
countenance  brightened  up,  and,  perceiving  your  lips  move,  I 
could  not  doubt  that  you  murmured  the  word  '  stereotomy,'  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  cast 
ing  your  eyes  upward  to  the  great  nebula  in  Orion,  and  I  cer 
tainly  expected  that  you  would  do  so.  You  did  look  up  ;  and  I 
was  now  assured  that  I  had  correctly  followed  your  steps.  But 
in  that  bitter  tirade  upon  Chantilly,  which  appeared  in  yester 
day's  '  Musee,'  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 

I  had  told  you  that  this  was  in  reference  to  Orion,  formerly  writ 
ten  Urion  ;  and,  from  certain  pungencies  connected  with  this  ex 
planation,  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 


124  FOE'S  TALES. 


thought  of  the  poor  cobbler's  immolation.  So  far,  you  had  been 
stooping  in  your  gait  j  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  Theatre  des  Va- 
rietes." 

Not  long  after  this,  we  were  looking  over  an  evening  edition 
of  the  "  Gazette  des  Tribunaux,"  when  the  following  paragraphs 
arrested  our  attention. 

"  EXTRAORDINARY  MURDERS. — 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  story  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  Morgue,  known  to  be 
in  the  sole  occupancy  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  neighbors  entered,  accompanied  by  two  gen 
darmes.  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  hurried  from  room  to 
room.  Upon  arriving  at  a  large  back  chamber  in  the  fourth 
story,  (the  door  of  which,  being  found  locked,  with  the  key  in 
side,  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  furniture 
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  ear-ring  of  topaz,  three  large  silver  spoons,  three 
smaller  of  metal  d'Alger,  and  two  bags,  containing  nearly  four 


* 

THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  125 

thousand  francs  in  gold.  The  drawers  of  a  bureau,  which  stood 
in  one  corner,  were  open,  and  had  been,  apparently,  rifled,  al 
though  many  articles  still  remained  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  fire-place,  a 
search  was  made  in  the  chimney,  and  (horrible  to  relate  !)  the 
corpse  of  the  daughter,  head  downward,  was  dragged  therefrom ; 
it  having  been  thus  forced  up  the  narrow  aperture  for  a  consider 
able  distance.  The  body  was  quite  warm.  Upon  examining 
it,  many  excoriations  were  perceived,  no  doubt  occasioned  by  the 
violence  with  which  it  had  been  thrust  up  and  disengaged.  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  of  the  house, 
without  farther  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  clew." 

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  extraordinary  and  frightful 
affair."  [The  word  i  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  mate- 
rial  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  towards  each  other.  They  were  excel 
lent  pay.  Could  not  speak  in  regard  to  their  mode  or  means  of 


126  POE'S  TALES. 


living.  Believed  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 
story. 

"  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  neighbor 
hood,  and  has  always  resided  there.  The  deceased  and  her 
daughter  had  occupied  the  house  in  which  the  corpses  were  found, 
for  more  than  six  years.  It  was  formerly  occupied  by  a  jeweller, 
who  under-let  the  upner  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  neighbors  that 
Madame  L.  told  fortunes — did  not  believe  it.  Had  never  seen 
any  person  enter  the  door  except  the  old  lady  and  her  daugh 
ter,  a  porter  once  or  twice,  and  a  physician  some  eight  or  ten 
times. 

"  Many  other  persons,  neighbors,  gave  evidence  to  the  same 
effect.  No  one  was  spoken  of  as  frequenting  the  house.  It  was 
not  known  whether  there  were  any  living  connexions  of  Madame 
L.  and  her  daughter.  The  shutters  of  the  front  windows  were 
seldom  opened.  Those  in  the  rear  were  always  closed,  with  the 
exception  of  the  large  back  room,  fourth  story.  The  house  was 
a  good  house — not  very  old. 

"  Isidore  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,  endeavoring  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 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  127 

(or  persons)  in  great  agony — were  loud  and  drawn  out,  not  short 
and  quick.  Witness  led  the  way  up  stairs.  Upon  reaching  the 
first  landing,  heard  two  voices  in  loud  and  angry  contention — the 
one  a  gruff  voice,  the  other  much  shriller — a  very  strange  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  '  sacre'  and  '(Liable.'  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  witness  as  we 
described  them  yesterday. 

"  Henri  Duval,  a  neighbor,  and  by  trade  a  silver-smith,  de 
poses  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  intonation  that  the  speaker  was 
an  Italian.  Knew  Madame  L.  and  her  daughter.  Had  con 
versed  with  both  frequently.  Was  sure  that  the  shrill  voice  was 
not  that  of  either  of  the  deceased. 

" Odenheimer,  restaurateur.  This  witness  volunteered 

his  testimony.  Not  speaking  French,  was  examined  through  an 
interpreter.  Is  a  native  of  Amsterdam.  Was  passing  the  house 
at  the  time  of  the  shrieks.  They  lasted  for  several  minutes — 
probably  ten.  They  were  long  and  loud — very  awful  and  dis 
tressing.  Was  one  of  those  who  entered  the  building.  Corrob 
orated  the  previous  evidence  in  every  respect  but  one.  Was  sure 
that  the  shrill  voice  was  that  of  a  man — of  a  Frenchman.  Could 
not  distinguish  the  words  uttered.  They  were  loud  and  quick — 
unequal — spoken  apparently  in  fear  as  well  as  in  anger.  The 
voice  was  harsh — not  so  much  shrill  as  harsh.  Could  not  call  it 
a  shrill  voice.  The  gruff  voice  said  repeatedly  (  sacre,'  '  (liable,9 
and  once  '  mon  DieuS 


128  POE'S  TALES. 


"  Jules  Mignaud,  banker,  of  the  firm  of  Mignaud  et  Fils, 
Rue  Deloraine.  Is  the  elder  Mignaud.  Madame  L'Espanaye 
had  some  property.  Had  opened  an  account  with  his  banking 

house  in  the  spring  of  the  year (eight  years  previously). 

Made  frequent  deposits  in  small  sums.  Had  checked  for  nothing 
until  the  third  day  before  her  death,  when  she  took  out  in  person 
the  sum  of  4000  francs.  This  sum  was  paid  in  gold,  and  a 
clerk  sent  home  with  the  money. 

"  Adolphe  Le  Bon,  clerk  to  Mignaud  et  Fils,  deposes  that  on  the 
day  in  question,  about  noon,  he  accompanied  Madame  L'Espanaye 
to  her  residence  with  the  4000  francs,  put  up  in  two  bags.  Upon 
the  door  being  opened,  Mademoiselle  L.  appeared  and  took  from 
his  hands  one  of  the  bags,  while  the  old  lady  relieved  him  of  the 
other.  He  then  bowed  and  departed.  Did  not  see  any  person 
in  the  street  at  the  time.  It  is  a  bye-street — very  lonely. 

"  William  Bird,  tailor,  deposes  that  he  was  one  of  the  party 
who  entered  the  house.  Is  an  Englishman.  Has  lived  in  Paris 
two  years.  Was  one  of  the  first  to  ascend  the  stairs.  Heard 
the  voices  in  contention.  The  gruff  voice  was  that  of  a  French 
man.  Could  make  out  several  words,  but  cannot  now  remember 
all.  Heard  distinctly  '  sacre?  and  '  mon  Dieu.'  There  was  a 
sound  at  the  moment  as  if  of  several  persons  struggling — a  scra 
ping  and  scuffling  sound.  The  shrill  voice  was  very  loud — louder 
than  the  gruff  one.  Is  sure  that  it  was  not  the  voice  of  an  Eng 
lishman.  Appeared  to  be  that  of  a  German.  Might  have  been 
a  woman's  voice.  Does  not  understand  German. 

"  Four  of  the  above-named  witnesses,  being  recalled,  deposed 
that  the  door  of  the  chamber  in  which  was  found  the  body  of 
Mademoiselle  L.  was  locked  on  the  inside  when  the  party  reach 
ed  it.  Every  thing  was  perfectly  silent — no  groans  or  noises  of 
any  kind.  Upon  forcing  the  door  no  person  was  seen.  The 
windows,  both  of  the  back  and  front  room,  were  down  and  firmly 
fastened  from  within.  A  door  between  the  two  rooms  was  closed, 
but  not  locked.  The  door  leading  from  the  front  room  into  the 
passage  was  locked,  with  the  key  on  the  inside.  A  small  room 
in  the  front  of  the  house,  on  the  fourth  story,  at  the  head  of  the 
passage,  was  open,  the  door  being  ajar.  This  room  was  crowded 
with  old  beds,  boxes,  and  so  forth.  These  were  carefully  remov- 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  129 

ed  and  searched.  There  was  not  an  inch  of  any  portion  of  the 
house  which  was  not  carefully  searched.  Sweeps  were  sent  up 
and  down  the  chimneys.  The  house  was  a  four  story  one,  with 
garrets  (inansardes.}  A  trap-door  on  the  roof  was  nailed  down 
very  securely — did  not  appear  to  have  been  opened  for  years. 
The  time  elapsing  between  the  hearing  of  the  voices  in  contention 
and  the  breaking  open  of  the  room  door,  was  variously  stated  by 
the  witnesses.  Some  made  it  as  short  as  three  minutes — some  as 
long  as  five.  The  door  was  opened  with  difficulty. 

"  Alfonzo  Gar  do,  undertaker,  deposes  that  he  resides  in  the 
Rue  Morgue.  Is  a  native  of  Spain.  Was  one  of  the  party  who 
entered  the  house.  Did  not  proceed  up  stairs.  Is  nervous,  and 
was  apprehensive  of  the  consequences  of  agitation.  Heard  the 
voices  in  contention.  The  gruff  voice  was  that  of  a  Frenchman. 
Could  not  distinguish  what  was  said.  The  shrill  voice  was  that 
of  an  Englishman — is  sure  of  this.  Does  not  understand  the 
English  language,  but  judges  by  the  intonation. 

"  Alberto  Montani,  confectioner,  deposes  that  he  was  among  the 
first  to  ascend  the  stairs.  Heard  the  voices  in  question.  The 
gruff*  voice  was  that  of  a  Frenchman.  Distinguished  several 
words.  The  speaker  appeared  to  be  expostulating.  Could  not 
make  out  the  words  of  the  shrill  voice.  Spoke  quick  and  une 
venly.  Thinks  it  the  voice  of  a  Russian.  Corroborates  the 
general  testimony.  Is  an  Italian.  Never  conversed  with  a  na 
tive  of  Russia. 

"  Several  witnesses,  recalled,  here  testified  that  the  chimneys 
of  all  the  rooms  on  the  fourth  story  were  too  narrow  to  admit  the 
passage  of  a  human  being.  By  '  sweeps'  were  meant  cylindrical 
sweeping-brushes,  such  as  are  employed  by  those  who  clean 
chimneys.  These  brushes  were  passed  up  and  down  every  flue 
in  the  house.  There  is  no  back  passage  by  which  any  one  could 
have  descended  while  the  party  proceeded  up  stairs.  The  body 
of  Mademoiselle  L'Espanaye  was  so  firmly  wedged  in  the  chim 
ney  that  it  could  not  be  got  down  until  four  or  five  of  the  party 
united  their  strength. 

"  Paul  Dumas,  physician,  deposes  that  he  was  called  to  view 
the  bodies  about  day-break.  They  were  both  then  lying  on  the 
sacking  of  the  bedstead  in  the  chamber  where  Mademoiselle  L. 

10 


130  FOE'S  TALES. 


was  found.  The  corpse  of  the  young  lady  was  much  bruised 
and  excoriated.  The  fact  that  it  had  been  thrust  up  the  chimney 
would  sufficiently  account  for  these  appearances.  The  throat 
was  greatly  chafed.  There  were  several  deep  scratches  just  below 
the  chin,  together  with  a  series  of  livid  spots  which  were  evi. 
dently  the  impression  of  fingers.  The  face  was  fearfully  discol 
ored,  and  the  eye-balls  protruded.  The  tongue  had  been  partial 
ly  bitten  through.  A  large  bruise  was  discovered  upon  the  pit 
of  the  stomach,  produced,  apparently,  by  the  pressure  of  a  knee. 
In  the  opinion  of  M.  Dumas,  Mademoiselle  L'Espanaye  had  been 
throttled  to  death  by  some  person  or  persons  unknown.  The 
corpse  of  the  mother  was  horribly  mutilated.  All  the  bones  of 
the  right  leg  and  arm  were  more  or  less  shattered.  The  left  tibia 
much  splintered,  as  well  as  all  the  ribs  of  the  left  side.  Whole 
body  dreadfully  bruised  and  discolored.  It  was  not  possible  to 
say  how  the  injuries  had  been  inflicted.  A  heavy  club  of  wood, 
or  a  broad  bar  of  iron — a  chair — any  large,  heavy,  and  obtuse 
weapon  would  have  produced  such  results,  if  wielded  by  the  hands 
of  a  very  powerful  man.  No  woman  could  have  inflicted  the 
blows  with  any  weapon.  The  head  of  the  deceased,  when  afcen 
by  witness,  was  entirely  separated  from  the  body,  and  was  also 
greatly  shattered.  The  throat  had  evidently  been  cut  with  some 
very  sharp  instrument — probably  with  a  razor. 

"  Alexandre  Etienne,  surgeon,  was  called  with  M.  Dumas  to 
view  the  bodies.  Corroborated  the  testimony,  and  the  opinions 
of  M.  Dumas. 

"  Nothing  farther  of  importance  was  elicited,  although  several 
other  persons  were  examined.  A  murder  so  mysterious,  and  so 
perplexing  in  all  its  particulars,  was  never  before  committed  in 
Paris — if  indeed  a  murder  has  been  committed  at  all.  The  po 
lice  are  entirely  at  fault — an  unusual  occurrence  in  affairs  of  this 
nature.  There  is  not,  however,  the  shadow  of  a  clew  apparent." 

The  evening  edition  of  the  paper  stated  that  the  greatest  ex 
citement  still  continued  in  the  Quartier  St.  Roch — that  the  prem 
ises  in  question  had  been  carefully  re-searched,  and  fresh  exam 
inations  of  witnesses  instituted,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  A  post 
script,  however,  mentioned  that  Adolphe  Le  Bon  had  been  arrested 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  131 

and  imprisoned — although  nothing  appeared  to  criminate  him,  be 
yond  the  facts  already  detailed. 

Dupin  seemed  singularly  interested  in  the  progress  of  this  affair 
— at  least  so  I  judged  from  his  manner,  for  he  made  no  comments. 
It  was  only  after  the  announcement  that  Le  Bon  had  been  im 
prisoned,  that  he  asked  me  my  opinion  respecting  the  murders. 

I  could  merely  agree  with  all  Paris  in  considering  them  an  in 
soluble  mystery.  I  saw  no  means  by  which  it  would  be  possible 
to  trace  the  murderer. 

"  We  must  not  judge  of  the  means,"  said  Dupin,  "  by  this  shell 
of  an  examination.  The  Parisian  police,  so  much  extolled  for 
acumen,  are  cunning,  but  no  more.  There  is  no  method  in  their 
proceedings,  beyond  the  method  of  the  moment.  They  make  a 
vast  parade  of  measures ;  but,  not  unfrequently,  these  are  so  ill 
adapted  to  the  objects  proposed,  as  to  put  us  in  mind  of  Monsieur 
Jourdain's  calling  for  his  role-de-chambre — pour  mieux  entendre 
la  musique.  The  results  attained  by  them  are  not  unfrequently 
surprising,  but,  for  the  most  part,  are  brought  about  by  simple 
diligence  and  activity.  When  these  qualities  are  unavailing, 
tKeir  schemes  fail.  Vidocq,  for  example,  was  a  good  guesser, 
and  a  persevering  man.  But,  without  educated  thought,  he  erred 
continually  by  the  very  intensity  of  his  investigations.  He  im 
paired  his  vision  by  holding  the  object  too  close.  He  might  see, 
perhaps,  one  or  two  points  with  unusual  clearness,  but  in  so  do 
ing  he,  necessarily,  lost  sight  of  the  matter  as  a  whole.  Thus 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  profound.  Truth  is  not  always 
in  a  well.  In  fact,  as  regards  the  more  important  knowledge,  I 
do  believe  that  she  is  invariably  superficial.  The  depth  lies  in  the 
valleys  where  we  seek  her,  and  not  upon  the  mountain-tops  where 
she  is  found.  The  modes  and  sources  of  this  kind  of  error  are 
well  typified  in  the  contemplation  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  To 
look  at  a  star  by  glances — to  view  it  in  a  side-long  way,  by  turn 
ing  toward  it  the  exterior  portions  of  the  retina  (more  susceptible 
of  feeble  impressions  of  light  than  the  interior),  is  to  behold  the 
star  distinctly — is  to  have  the  best  appreciation  of  its  lustre — a 
lustre  which  grows  dim  just  in  proportion  as  we  turn  our  vision 
fully  upon  it.  A  greater  number  of  rays  actually  fall  upon  the 
eye  in  the  latter  case,  but,  in  the  former,  there  is  the  more  refined 


132  FOE'S  TALES. 


capacity  for  comprehension.  By  undue  profundity  we  perplex 
and  enfeeble  thought ;  and  it  is  possible  to  make  even  Venus  her 
self  vanish  from  the  firmament  by  a  scrutiny  too  sustained,  too 
concentrated,  or  too  direct. 

"  As  for  these  murders,  let  us  enter  into  some  examinations  for 
ourselves,  before  we  make  up  an  opinion  respecting  them.  An 
inquiry  will  afford  us  amusement,"  [I  thought  this  an  odd  term, 
so  applied,  but  said  nothing]  "  and,  besides,  Le  Bon  once  ren 
dered  me  a  service  for  which  I  am  not  ungrateful.  We  will  go 

and  see  the  premises  with  our  own  eyes.  I  know  G ,  the 

Prefect  of  Police,  and  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  ne 
cessary  permission." 

The  permission  was  obtained,  and  we  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
Rue  Morgue.  This  is  one  of  those  miserable  thoroughfares 
which  intervene  between  the  Rue  Richelieu  and  the  Rue  St. 
Roch.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached  it ;  as  this 
quarter  is  at  a  great  distance  from  that  in  which  we  resided. 
The  house  was  readily  found  ;  for  there  were  still  many  persons 
gazing  up  at  the  closed  shutters,  with  an  objectless  curiosity,  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  way.  It  was  an  ordinary  Parisian  house, 
with  a  gateway,  on  one  side  of  which  was  a  glazed  watch-box, 
with  a  sliding  panel  in  the  window,  indicating  a  loge  de  concierge. 
Before  going  in  we  walked  up  the  street,  turned  down  an  alley, 
and  then,  again  turning,  passed  in  the  rear  of  the  building — Du- 
pin,  meanwhile,  examining  the  whole  neighborhood,  as  well  as 
the  house,  with  a  minuteness  of  attention  for  which  I  could  see 
no  possible  object. 

Retracing  our  steps,  we  came  again  to  the  front  of  the  dwell 
ing,  rang,  and,  having  shown  our  credentials,  were  admitted  by 
the  agents  in  charge.  We  went  up  stairs — into  the  chamber 
where  the  body  of  Mademoiselle  L'Espanaye  had  been  found, 
and  where  both  the  deceased  still  lay.  The  disorders  of  the  room 
had,  as  usual,  been  suffered  to  exist.  I  saw  nothing  beyond  what 
had  been  stated  in  the  "  Gazette  des  Tribunaux."  Dupin  scru 
tinized  every  thing — not  excepting  the  bodies  of  the  victims.  We 
then  went  into  the  other  rooms,  and  into  the  yard ;  a  gendarme 
accompanying  us  throughout.  The  examination  occupied  us  un 
til  dark,  when  we  took  our  departure.  On  our  way  home  my 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  133 

companion  stepped  in  for  a  moment  at  the  office  of  one  of  the 
daily  papers. 

I  have  said  that  the  whims  of  my  friend  were  manifold,  and 
that  Je  Us  menagais  : — for  this  phrase  there  is  no  English  equiv 
alent.  It  was  his  humor,  now,  to  decline  all  conversation  on  the 
subject  of  the  murder,  until  about  noon  the  next  day.  He  then 
asked  me,  suddenly,  if  I  had  observed  any  thing  peculiar  at  the 
scene  of  the  atrocity. 

There  was  something  in  his  manner  of  emphasizing  the  word 
"  peculiar,"  which  caused  me  to  shudder,  without  knowing  why. 

"  No,  nothing  peculiar,"  I  said ;  "  nothing  more,  at  least,  than 
we  both  saw  stated  in  the  paper." 

"  The  '  Gazette,'  "  he  replied,  "  has  not  entered,  I  fear,  into 
the  unusual  horror  of  the  thing.  But  dismiss  the  idle  opinions  of 
this  print.  It  appears  to  me  that  this  mystery  is  considered  in 
soluble,  for  the  very  reason  which  should  cause  it  to  be  regarded 
as  easy  of  solution — I  mean  for  the  outre  character  of  its  features. 
The  police  are  confounded  by  the  seeming  absence  of  motive — 
not  for  the  murder  itself — but  for  the  atrocity  of  the  murder. 
They  are  puzzled,  too,  by  the  seeming  impossibility  of  reconciling 
the  voices  heard  in  contention,  with  the  facts  that  no  one  was  dis 
covered  up  stairs  but  the  assassinated  Mademoiselle  L'Espanaye, 
and  that  there  were  no  means  of  egress  without  the  notice  of  the 
party  ascending.  The  wild  disorder  of  the  room  j  the  corpse 
thrust,  with  the  head  downward,  up  the  chimney  ;  the  frightful 
mutilation  of  the  body  of  the  old  lady  ;  these  considerations,  with 
those  just  mentioned,  and  others  which  I  need  not  mention,  have 
sufficed  to  paralyze  the  powers,  by  putting  completely  at  fault  the 
boasted  acumen,  of  the  government  agents.  They  have  fallen 
into  the  gross  but  common  error  of  confounding  the  unusual  with 
the  abstruse.  But  it  is  by  these  deviations  from  the  plane  of  the 
ordinary,  that  reason  feels  its  way,  if  at  all,  in  its  search  for  the 
true.  In  investigations  such  as  we  are  now  pursuing,  it  should 
not  be  so  much  Loked  l  what  has  occurred,'  as  '  what  has  oc 
curred  that  lias  never  occurred  before.'  In  fact,  the  facility  with 
which  I  shall  arrive,  or  have  arrived,  at  the  solution  of  this  mys 
tery,  is  in  the  direct  ratio  of  its  apparent  insolubility  in  the  eyes 
of  the  police." 


134  POE'S  TALES. 


I  stared  at  the  speaker  in  mute  astonishment. 

"  I  am  now  awaiting,"  continued  he,  looking  toward  the  door 
of  our  apartment — "  I  am  now  awaiting  a  person  who,  although 
perhaps  not  the  perpetrator  of  these  butcheries,  must  have  been 
in  some  measure  implicated  in  their  perpetration.  Of  the  worst 
portion  of  the  crimes  committed,  it  is  probable  that  he  is  innocent. 
I  hope  that  I  am  right  in  this  supposition ;  for  upon  it  I  build  my 
expectation  of  reading  the  entire  riddle.  I  look  for  the  man  here 
— in  this  room — every  moment.  It  is  true  that  he  may  not  ar 
rive ;  but  the  probability  is  that  he  will.  Should  he  come,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  detain  him.  Here  are  pistols ;  and  we  both 
know  how  to  use  them  when  occasion  demands  their  use." 

I  took  the  pistols,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  did,  or  believing 
what  I  heard,  while  Dupin  went  on,  very  much  as  if  in  a  solilo 
quy.  I  have  already  spoken  of  his  abstract  manner  at  such 
times.  His  discourse  was  addressed  to  myself;  but  his  voice, 
although  by  no  means  loud,  had  that  intonation  which  is  com- 
monly  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  afterward  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  chimney  as  it  was 
found ;  and  the  nature  of  the  wounds  upon  her  own  person  en 
tirely  preclude  the  idea  of  self-destruction.  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  V 

I  remarked  that,  while  all  the  witnesses  agreed  in  supposing 
the  gruff  voice  to  be  that  of  a  Frenchman,  there  was  much  dis 
agreement  in  regard  to  the  shrill,  or,  as  one  individual  termed  it, 
the  harsh  voice. 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  135 

"  That  was  the  evidence  itself,"  said  Dupin,  "  but  it  was  not 
the  peculiarity  of  the  evidence.  You  have  observed  nothing  dis 
tinctive.  Yet  there  was  something  to  be  observed.  The  wit 
nesses,  as  you  remark,  agreed  about  the  gruff  voice  ;  they  were 
here  unanimous.  But  in  regard  to  the  shrill  voice,  the  peculiar 
ity  is — not  that  they  disagreed — but  that,  while  an  Italian,  an 
Englishman,  a  Spaniard,  a  Hollander,  and  a  Frenchman  at 
tempted  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  country 
men.  Each  likens  it— not  to  the  voice  of  an  individual  of  any 
nation  with  whose  language  he  is  conversant — 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  j  but  we  find  it  stated  that  *  not  understanding  French 
this  witness  was  examined  through  an  interpreter.'  The  Eng 
lishman  thinks  it  the  voice  of  a  German,  and  '  does  not  under 
stand  German.'  The  Spaniard  cis  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  posi 
tive  that  the  voice  was  that  of  an  Italian  ;  but,  not  being  cognizant 
of  that  tongue,  is,  like  the  Spaniard,  '  convinced  by  the  intona 
tion.'  Now,  how  strangely  unusual  must  that  voice  have  really 
been,  about  which  such  testimony  as  this  could  have  been  elicit 
ed  ! — 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.  Nei 
ther  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  represented  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  I  may 
have  made,  so  far,  upon  your  own  understanding ;  but  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  legitimate  deductions  even  from  this  portion  of 


186  FOE'S  TALES. 


the  testimony — the  portion  respecting  the  gruff  and  shrill  voices 
— are  in  themselves  sufficient  to  engender  a  suspicion  which 
should  give  direction  to  all  farther  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  deduc 
tions  are  the  sole  proper  ones,  and  that  the  suspicion  arises  inevi 
tably  from  them  as  the  single  result.  What  the  suspicion  is, 
however,  I  will  not  say  just  yet.  1  merely  wish  you  to  bear  in 
mind  that,  with  myself,  it  was  sufficiently  forcible  to  give  a  defi 
nite  form — a  certain  tendency — to  rny  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 
believe  in  prseternatural  events.  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
L'Espanaye  were  not  destroyed  by  spirits.  The  doers  of  the 
deed  were  material,  and  escaped  materially.  Then  how  ?  For 
tunately,  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  trust 
ing  to  their  eyes,  I  examined  with  my  own.  There  were,  then, 
no  secret  issues.  Both  doors  leading  from  the  rooms  into  the  pas 
sage  were  securely  locked,  with  the  keys  inside.  Let  us  turn 
to  the  chimneys.  These,  although  of  ordinary  width  for  some 
eight  or  ten  feet  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  man 
ner  as  we  are,  it  is  not  our  part,  as  reasoners,  to  reject  it  on  ac- 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  137 

count  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  un 
obstructed  by  furniture,  and  is  wholly  visible.  The  lower  por 
tion  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  endeavored  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  examining  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,  therefore,  it  was  thought  a  matter  of  superer 
ogation  to  withdraw  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  murderers  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  consideration  which  put  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  nail  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  discovery,  forbore  to  upraise  the  sash. 

"  I  now  replaced  the  nail  and  regarded  it  attentively.  A  per 
son  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 


138  POE'S  TALES. 


field  of  my  investigations.  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  look 
ed  over  the  head-board  minutely  at  the  second  casement.  Pass 
ing  my  hand  down  behind  the  board,  I  readily  discovered  and 
pressed  the  spring,  which  was,  as  I  had  supposed,  identical  in 
character  with  its  neighbor.  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  inductions.  To  use  a 
sporting  phrase,  I  had  not  been  once  '  at  fault.'  The  scent  had 
never  for  an  instant  been  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  ap 
pearance  of  its  fellow  in  the  other  window ;  but  this  fact  was  an 
absolute  nullity  (conclusive  as  it  might  seem  to  be)  when  com 
pared  with  the  consideration  that  here,  at  this  point,  terminated 
the  clew.  '  There  must  be  something  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  re 
semblance  to  a  perfect  nail  was  complete — the  fissure  was  in 
visible.  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.  Drop- 
ing  of  its  own  accord  upon  his  exit  (or  perhaps  purposely  closed), 
it  had  become  fastened  by  the  spring ;  and  it  was  the  retention  of 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  139 

this  spring  which  had  been  mistaken  by  the  police  for  that  of  the 
nail, — farther  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  build 
ing.  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  entering  it.  I  observed,  however,  that  the  shutters  of  the  fourth 
story  were  of  the  peculiar  kind  called  by  Parisian  carpenters  fer- 
rades — 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 — 
1  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,  ex 
amined  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  themselves  that  no  egress  could  have  been  made  in  this 
quarter,  they  would  naturally  bestow  here  a  very  cursory  exami 
nation.  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  hav^ 
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. 

"  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 


140  FOE'S  TALES. 


hazardous  and  so  difficult  a  feat.  It  is  my  design  to  show  you, 
first,  that  the  thing  might  possibly  have  been  accomplished  :— 
but,  secondly  and  chiefly,  I  wish  to  impress  upon  your  under 
standing  the  very  extraordinary — the  almost  preternatural  char 
acter  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  undervalue,  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  juxta-position,  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  con- 
vey  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  re 
mained  within  them.  The  conclusion  here  is  absurd.  It  is  a 
mere  guess — a  very  silly  one— and  no  more.  How  are  we  to 
know  that  the  articles  found  in  the  drawers  were  not  all  these 
drawers  had  originally  contained  ?  Madame  L'Espanaye  and 
her  daughter  lived  an  exceedingly  retired  life — saw  no  company 
— seldom  went  out — had  little  use  for  numerous  changes  of  habil 
iment.  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  encum 
ber  himself  with  a  bundle  of  linen  ?  The  gold  was  abandoned. 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  141 

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  blundering  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  de 
livery  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.  Coinci 
dences,  in  general,  are  great  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  that 
class  of  thinkers  who  have  been  educated  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 
illustration.  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  corrob 
orative  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  which  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  something  excessively 
outre — -something  altogether  irreconcilable  with  our  common  no 
tions  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  vigor  of  several  persons  was  found 
barely  sufficient  to  drag  it  down! 

"  Turn,  now,  to  other  indications  of  the  employment  of  a  vigor 
most  marvellous.  On  the  hearth  were  thick  tresses — very  thick 
tresses — of  grey  human  hair.  These  had  been  torn  out  by  the 


142  POE'S  TALES. 


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  ex 
erted  in  uprooting  perhaps  half  a  million  of  hairs  at  a  time.  The 
throat  of  the  old  lady  was  not  merely  cut,  but  the  head  absolute 
ly  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. 
Monsieur  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  instru 
ment  was  clearly  the  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  her 
metically  sealed  against  the  possibility  of  the  windows  having 
ever  been  opened  at  all. 

"  If  now,  in  addition  to  all  these  things,  you  have  properly  re 
flected  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  gro- 
tesquerie  in  horror  absolutely  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  neighboring  Maison  de  Sante" 

"  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,  how. 
ever  incoherent  in  its  words,  has  always  the  coherence  of  syllab 
ification.  Besides,  the  hair  of  a  madman  is  not  such  as  I  now 
hold  in  my  hand.  I  disentangled  this  little  tuft  from  the  rigidly 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  143 

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." 

"  I  have  not  asserted  that  it  is,"  said  he  ;  "  but,  before  we  de 
cide  this  point,  I  wish  you  to  glance  at  the  little  sketch  I  have 
here  traced  upon  this  paper.  It  is  a  fac-simile  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 
Mademoiselle  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  drawing  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  imbedded  itself.  Attempt, 
now,  to  place  all  your  fingers,  at  the  same  time,  in  the  respective 
impressions  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  surface  ;  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. 

"  The  description  of  the  digits,"  said  I,  as  I  made  an  end  of 
reading,  "  is  in  exact  accordance  with  this  drawing.  1  see  that 
no  animal  but  an  Ourang-Outang,  of  the  species  here  mentioned, 
could  have  impressed  the  indentations  as  you  have  traced  them. 


144  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  wrill  remember  an  expression  attributed  al 
most  unanimously,  by  the  evidence,  to  this  voice, — the  expression, 
1  mon  Dieu  /'  This,  under  the  circumstances,  has  been  justly 
characterized  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  so 
lution  of  the  riddle.  A  Frenchman  was  cognizant  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  re-captured  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  appre 
ciable  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  French 
man  in  question  is  indeed,  as  I  suppose,  innocent  of  this  atrocity, 
this  advertisement,  which  I  left  last  night,  upon  our  return  home, 
at  the  office  of  '  Le  Monde,'  (a  paper  devoted  to  the  shipping  in 
terest,  and  much  sought  by  sailors,)  will  bring  him  to  our  resi 
dence." 

He  handed  me  a  paper,  and  I  read  thus  : 

CAUGHT — In  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  early  in  the  morning  of 

ithe inst.,  (the  morning  of  the  murder,)  a  very  large,  tawny 

Ourang-Outang  of  the  Bornese  species.  The  owner,  (who  is  as 
certained  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  No. 
,  Rue ,  Faubourg  St.  Germain — au  troisieme. 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  145 

"  How  was  it  possible,"  I  asked,  "  that  you  should  know  the 
man  to  be  a  sailor,  and  belonging  to  a  Maltese  vessel  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  it,"  said  Dupin.  "  I  am  not  sure  of  it.  Here, 
however,  is  a  small  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.  More 
over,  this  knot  is  one  which  few  besides  sailors  can  tie,  and  is  pe 
culiar  to  the  Maltese.  I  picked  the  ribbon  up  at  the  foot  of  the 
lightning-rod.  It  could  not  have  belonged  to  either  of  the  deceas 
ed.  Now  if,  after  all,  I  am  Wrong  in  my  induction  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.  Cognizant  although  innocent  of  the  murder,  the  French 
man  will  naturally  hesitate  about  replying  to  the  advertisement — 
about  demanding  the  Ourang-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  itself — 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  dis 
tance  from  the  scene  of  that  butchery.  How  can  it  ever  be  sus 
pected  that  a  brute  beast  should  have  done  the  deed  ?  The  po 
lice  are  at  fault — they  have  failed  to  procure  the  slightest  clew. 
Should  they  even  trace  the  animal,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
prove  me  cognizant  of  the  murder,  or  to  implicate  me  in  guilt  on 
account  of  that  cognizance.  Above  all,  /  am  known.  The  ad 
vertiser  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  over.' ' 

At  this  moment  we  heard  a  step  upon  the  stairs. 

"  Be  ready,"  said  Dupin,  "  with  your  pistols,  but  neither  use 
them  nor  show  them  until  at  a  signal  from  myself." 

11 


146  POE'S  TALES. 


The  front  door  of  the  house  had  been  left  open,  and  the  visiter 
had  entered,  without  ringing,  and  advanced  several  steps  upon  the 
staircase.  Now,  however,  he  seemed  to  hesitate.  Presently  we 
heard  him  descending.  Dupin  was  moving  quickly  to  the  door, 
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,  stout, 
and  muscular-looking  person,  with  a  certain  dare-devil  expression 
of  countenance,  not  altogether  unprepossessing.  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  other 
wise  unarmed.  He  bowed  awkwardly,  and  bade  us  "  good  even 
ing,"  in  French  accents,  which,  although  somewhat  Neufchatel- 
ish,  were  still  sufficiently  indicative  of  a  Parisian  origin. 

"Sit  down,  my  freind,"  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 : 

"  I  have  no  way  of  telling — but  he  can't  be  more  than  four  or 
five  years  old.  Have  you  got  him  here  1" 

"  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  am,  sir." 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  part  with  him,"  said  Dupin. 

"I  don't  mean  that  you  should  be  at  all  this  trouble  for  no 
thing,  sir,"  said  the  man.  "Couldn't  expect  it.  Am  very  will 
ing  to  pay  a  reward  for  the  finding  of  the  animal — that  is  to  say, 
any  thing  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." 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  147 

Dupin  said  the  last  words  in  a  very  low  tone,  and  very  qui 
etly.  Just  as  quietly,  too,  he  walked  toward  the  door,  locked  it, 
and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  He  then  drew  a  pistol  from  his 
bosom  and  placed  it,  without  the  least  flurry,  upon  the  table. 

The  sailor's  face  flushed  up  as  if  he  were  struggling  with  suf 
focation.  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.  He  spoke  not  a  word.  I 
pitied  him  from  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.  I  pledge  you  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  and  of 
a  Frenchman,  that  we  intend  you  no  injury.  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 
implicated  in  them.  From  what  I  have  already  said,  you  must 
know  that  I  have  had  means  of  information  about  this  matter- 
means  of  which  you  could  never  have  dreamed.  Now  the  thing 
stands  thus.  You  have  done  nothing  which  you  could  have 
avoided — nothing,  certainly,  which  renders  you  culpable.  You 
were  not  even  guilty  of  robbery,  when  you  might  have  robbed 
with  impunity.  You  have  nothing  to  conceal.  You  have  no 
reason  for  concealment.  On  the  other  hand,  you  are  bound  by 
every  principle  of  honor  to  confess  all  you  know.  An  innocent 
man  is  now  imprisoned,  charged  with  that  crime  of  which  you 
can  point  out  the  perpetrator." 

The  sailor  had  recovered  his  presence  of  mind,  in  a  great 
measure,  while  Dupin  uttered  these  words ;  but  his  original  bold 
ness  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  I  do  not  expect  you  to  be 
lieve  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  excur 
sion  of  pleasure.  Himself  and  a  companion  had  captured  the 
Ourang-Outang.  This  companion  dying,  the  animal  fell  into  h'_ 


148  FOE'S   TALES. 


own  exclusive  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  toward  himself  the  unpleasant  curiosity  of 
his  neighbors,  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  sailors'  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  in 
hand,  and  fully  lathered,  it  was  sitting  before  a  looking-glass,  at 
tempting  the  operation  of  shaving,  in  which  it  had  no  doubt  pre 
viously  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  accus 
tomed,  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,  unfor 
tunately  open,  into  the  street. 

The  Frenchman  followed  in  despair ;  the  ape,  razor  still  in 
hand,  occasionally  stopping  to  look  back  and  gesticulate  at  its 
pursuer,  until  the  latter  had  nearly  come  up  with  it;  It  then 
again  made  off.  In  this  manner  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  story  of  her  house.  Rushing  to  the  building,  it  per 
ceived  the  lightning-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 


THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE.  149 

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  diffi 
culty,  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'Es- 
panaye  and  her  daughter,  habited  in  their  night  clothes,  had  ap 
parently  been  occupied  in  arranging  some  papers  in  the  iron  chest 
already  mentioned,  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  toward  the 
window  ;  and,  from  the  time  elapsing  between  the  ingress  of  the 
beast  and  the  screams,  it  seems  probable  that  it  was  not  immedi 
ately  perceived.  The  flapping-to  of  the  shutter  would  naturally 
have  been  attributed  to  the  wind. 

As  the  sailor  looked  in,  the  gigantic  animal  had  seized  Ma 
dame  L'Espanaye  by  the  hair,  (which  was  loose,  as  she  had  been 
combing  it,)  and  was  flourishing  the  razor  about  her  face,  in  im 
itation  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  phrenzy.  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.  Jts  wandering  and  wild  glances  fell 
at  this  moment  upon  the  head  of  the  bed,  oyer  which  the  face  of 
its  master,  rigid  with  horror,  was  just  discernible.  The  fury  of 
the  beast,  who  no  doubt  bore  still  in  mind  the  dreade4  whip,  was 
instantly  converted  into  fear.  Conscious  of  having  deserved  pun. 


150  FOE'S   TALES. 


ishment,  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  of  the  old  lady,  which  it  immediately 
hurled  through  the  window  headlong. 

As  the  ape  approached  the  casement  with  its  mutilated  burden, 
the  sailor  shrank  aghast  to  the  rod,  and,  rather  gliding  than  clam 
bering  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  exclamations  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  break 
ing  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. 
Le  Bon  was  instantly  released,  upon  our  narration  of  the  circum 
stances  (with  some  comments  from  Dupin)  at  the  bureau  of  the 
Prefect  of  Police.  This  functionary,  however  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.  Never 
theless,  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  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'exptiquer  ce  quin'est  pas.'  "* 

*  Rousseau-^Nouvelle  Heloise. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  151 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.' 


A  8EQUEL  TO  "  THE  MURDERS  IN  THE  RUE  MORGUE. 


Es  giebt  eine  Reihe  idealischer  Begebenheiten,  die  der  Wirklichkeit  parallel 
lauft.  Selten  fallen  sie  zusammen.  Menschen  und  zufalle  modificireri  gewo- 
hulich  die  idealische  Begebenheit,  so  dass  sie  unvollkommen  erscheint,  und 
ihre  Folgen  gleichfalls  unvollkommen  sind.  So  bei  der  Reformation ;  statt 
des  Protestantismus  kam  das  Lutherthum  hervor. 

There  are  ideal  series  o^  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  imper 
fect.  Thus  with  the  Reformation ;  instead  of  Protestantism  came  Lutheran- 
ism. — Novalis.t  Moral  Ansichten. 

THERE  are  few  persons,  even  among  the  calmest  thinkers,  who 
have  not  occasionally  been  startled  into  a  vague  yet  thrilling  half- 
credence  in  the  supernatural,  by  coincidences  of  so  seemingly 
marvellous  a  character  that,  as  mere  coincidences,  the  intellect 
has  been  unable  to  receive  them.  Such  sentiments — for  the  half- 

*  Upon  the  original  publication  of  "  Marie  Roget,"  the  foot-notes  now  ap 
pended  were  considered  unnecessary ;  but  the  lapse  of  several  years  since  the 
tragedy  upon  which  the  tale  is  based,  renders  it  expedient  to  give  them,  and 
also  to  say  a  few  words  in  explanation  of  the  general  design.  A  young  girl, 
Mary  Cecilia  Rogers,  was  murdered  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  ;  and,  al 
though  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  appli 
cable  to  the  truth :  and  the  investigation  of  the  truth  was  the  object. 

The  "  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget"  was  composed  at  a  distance  from  the  scene 
of  the  atrocity,  and  with  no  other  means  of  investigation  than  the  newspapers 

t  The  nom  de  plume  of  Von  Hardenburg. 


152  FOE'S   TALES. 


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  Cal 
culus  of  Probabilities.  Now  this  Calculus  is,  in  its  essence, 
purely  mathematical ;  and  thus  we  have  the  anomaly  of  the 
most  rigidly  exact  in  science  applied  to  the  shadow  and  spiritu 
ality  of  the  most  intangible  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  coinci 
dences,  whose  secondary  or  concluding  branch  will  be  recognized 
by  all  readers  in  the  late  murder  of  MARY  CECILIA  ROGERS,  at 
New  York. 

When,  in  an  article  entitled  "  The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Mor 
gue,"  I  endeavored,  about  a  year  ago,  to  depict  some  very  re 
markable  features  in  the  mental  character  of  my  friend,  the  Chev 
alier  C.  Auguste  Dupin,  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  I  should  ever 
resume  the  subject.  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  proven 
no  more.  Late  events,  however,  in  their  surprising  development, 
have  startled  me  into  some  farther  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. 

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  attention,  and  relapsed  into  his  old 
habits  of  moody  reverie.  Prone,  at  all  times,  to  abstraction,  I 
readily  fell  in  with  his  humor ;  and,  continuing  to  occupy  our 

afforded.  Thus  much  escaped  the  writer  of  which  he  could  have  availed  him 
self  had  he  been  upon  the  spot,  and  visited  the  localities.  It  may  not  be  im 
proper  to  record,  nevertheless,  that  the  confessions  of  two  persons,  (one  of 
them  the  Madame  Deluc  of  the  narrative)  made,  at  different  periods,  long  sub 
sequent  to  the  publication,  confirmed,  in  full,  not  only  the  general  conclusion, 
but  absolutely  all  the  chief  hypothetical  details  by  which  that  conclusion  was 
attained. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  153 

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  charac 
ter  of  those  inductions  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  surprising  that  the  affair 
was  regarded  as  little  less  than  miraculous,  or  that  the  Cheva 
lier'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  humor  forbade  all  farther  agita 
tion  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  remark 
able  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  unfor 
tunate  "  cigar-girl,"  was  the  only  daughter  of  the  widow  Estelle 
Roget.  The  father  had  died  during  the  child's  infancy,  and 
from  the  period  of  his  death,  until  within  eighteen  months  before 
the  assassination  which  forms  the  subject  of  our  narrative,  the 
mother  and  daughter  had  dwelt  together  in  the  Rue  Pavee  Saint 
Andree  ;*  Madame  there  keeping  a  pension,  assisted  by  Marie. 
Affairs  went  on  thus  until  the  latter  had  attained  her  twenty-sec 
ond  year,  when  her  great  beauty  attracted  the  notice  of  a  perfu 
mer,  who  occupied  one  of  the  shops  in  the  basement  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  whose  custom  lay  chiefly  among  the  desperate  adven 
turers  infesting  that  neighborhood.  Monsieur  Le  Blancf  was  not 
unaware  of  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  the  attendance  of 
the  fair  Marie  in  his  perfumery ;  and  his  liberal  proposals  were 
*  Nassau  Street.  t  Anderson. 


154  FOE'S   TALES. 


accepted  eagerly  by  the  girl,  although  with  somewhat  more  of 
hesitation  by  Madame. 

The  anticipations  of  the  shopkeeper  were  realized,  and  his 
rooms  soon  became  notorious  through  the  charms  of  the  sprightly 
grisette.  She  had  been  in  his  employ  about  a  year,  when  her  ad 
mirers  were  thrown  into  confusion  by  her  sudden  disappearance 
from  the  shop.  Monsieur  Le  Blanc  was  unable  to  account  for 
her  absence,  and  Madame  Roget  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  somewhat  saddened  air,  made  her  re-appear 
ance  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  the  country.  Thus  the 
affair  died  away,  and  was  generally  forgotten ;  for  the  girl,  osten 
sibly  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  Pavee  Saint  Andree. 

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  floating  in  the  Seine,*  near  the  shore 
which  is  opposite  the  Quartier  of  the  Rue  Saint  Andree,  and  at  a 
point  not  very  far  distant  from  the  secluded  neighborhood  of  the 
Barriere  du  Roule.f 

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  in 
tense  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  absorbing  theme,  even  the  momentous  political  topics  of  the 
day  were  forgotten.  The  Prefect  made  unusual  exertions ;  and 

*  The  Hudson.  t  Weehawken. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  155 

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  supposed  that 
the  murderer  would  be  able  to  elude,  for  more  than  a  very  brief 
period,  the  inquisition  which  was  immediately  set  on  foot.  It 
was  not  until  the  expiration  of  a  week  that  it  was  deemed  neces 
sary  to  offer  a  reward  ;  and  even  then  this  reward  was  limited  to 
a  thousand  francs.  In  the  mean  time  the  investigation  proceeded 
with  vigor,  if  not  always  with  judgment,  and  numerous  individu 
als  were  examined  to  no  purpose  ;  while,  owing  to  the  continual 
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  ententes,  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  par 
don  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  citi 
zens,  offering  ten  thousand  francs,  in  addition  to  the  amount  pro 
posed  by  the  Prefecture.  The  entire  reward  thus  stood  at  no  less 
than  thirty  thousand  francs,  which  will  be  regarded  as  an  extra 
ordinary  sum  when  we  consider  the  humble  condition  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  in 
stances,  arrests  were  made  which  promised  elucidation,  yet  no 
thing  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  rumor  of  the  events  which  had  so  agitated  the  public 
mind,  reached  the  ears  of  Dupin  and  myself.  Engaged  in  re- 


156  POE'S   TALES. 


searches  which  had  absorbed  our  whole  attention,  it  had  been 
nearly  a  month  since  either  of  us  had  gone  abroad,  or  received  a 
visiter,  or  more  than  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  endeavors  to  ferret  out  the  assassins.  His  reputation — so  he 
said  with  a  peculiarly  Parisian  air — was  at  stake.  Even  his 
honor  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  mystery.  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  cer 
tainly  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  being  settled,  the  Prefect  broke 
forth  at  once  into  explanations  of  his  own  views,  interspersing 
them  with  long  comments  upon  the  evidence  ;  pf  which  latter  we 
were  not  yet  in  possession.  He  discoursed  much,  and  beyond 
doubt,  learnedly ;  while  I  hazarded  an  occasional  suggestion  as 
the  night  wore  drowsily  away.  Dupin,  sitting  steadily  in  his  ac 
customed  arm-chair,  was  the  embodiment  of  respectful  attention. 
He  wore  spectacles,  during  the  whole  interview ;  and  an  occa 
sional  glance  beneath  their  green  glasses,  sufficed  to  convince  me 
that  he  slept  not  the  less  soundly,  because  silently,  throughout  the 
seven  or  eight  leaden-footed  hours  which  immediately  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  various  newspaper  offices,  a 
copy  of  every  paper  in  which,  from  first  to  last,  had  been  pub 
lished  any  decisive  information  in  regard  to  this  sad  affair. 
Freed  from  all  that  was  positively  disproved,  this  mass  of  infor 
mation  stood  thus : 

Marie  Roget  left  the  residence  of  her  mother,  in  the  Rue  Pa- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  157 

vee  St.  Andree,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  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  inten 
tion  to  spend  the  day  with  an  aunt  who  resided  in  the  Rue  des 
Dromes.  The  Rue  des  Dromes  is  a  short  and  narrow  but  popu 
lous  thoroughfare,  not  far  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  at  a 
distance  of  some  two  miles,  in  the  most  direct  course  possible, 
from  the  pension  of  Madame  Roget.  St.  Eustache  was  the  ac 
cepted  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  promise.  As 
night  drew  on,  Madame  Roget  (who  was  an  infirm  old  lady,  sev 
enty  years  of  age,)  was  heard  to  express  a  fear  "that  she  should 
never  see  Marie  again ;"  but  this  observation  attracted  little  at 
tention  at  the  time* 

On  Monday,  it  was  ascertained  that  the  girl  had  not  been  to 
the  Rue  des  Drdmes ;  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  disappearance  that  arty  thing  satisfactory  was 
ascertained  respecting  her.  On  this  day,  (Wednesday,  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  June,)  a  Monsieur  Beauvais,f  who,  with  a  friend^  had  been 
making  inquiries  for  Marie  near  the  Barriere  du  Roule,  on  the 
shore  of  the  Seine  which  is  opposite  the  Rue  Pavee  St.  Andree, 
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  recognized  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  discoloration  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 

*  Payne.  t  Crommelin. 


158  FOE'S  TALES. 


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  excoriations  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  subjected,  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. 

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  superfluous,)  but  hastily  in 
terred  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  be 
fore  any  public  emotion  resulted.  A  weekly  paper,*  however, 
at  length  took  up  the  theme ;  the  corpse  was  disinterred,  and  a 

»  The  "N.Y.Mercury." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  159 

re-examination  instituted  ;  but  nothing  was  elicited  beyond  what 
has  been  already  noted.  The  clothes,  however,  were  now  sub 
mitted  to  the  mother  and  friends  of  the  deceased,  and  fully  identi 
fied  as  those  worn  by  the  girl  upon  leaving  home. 

Meantime,  the  excitement  increased  hourly.  Several  individ 
uals  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  which  Marie 
left  home.  Subsequently,  however,  he  submitted  to  Monsieur 

G ,  affidavits,  accounting  satisfactorily  for  every  hour  of  the 

day  in  question.  As  time  passed  and  no  discovery  ensued,  a 
thousand  contradictory  rumors  were  circulated,  and  journalists 
busied  themselves  in  suggestions.  Among  these,  the  one  which 
attracted  the  most  notice,  was  the  idea  that  Marie  Roget  still  lived 
— that  the  corpse  found  in  the  Seine  was  that  of  some  other  un 
fortunate.  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  Rogdt  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  connexion,  in  the  Ruo  des  Dr&mes.  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  RogSt  was  in  the  land  of  the  living  after  nine 
o'clock  on  Sunday,  June  the  twenty-second,  we  have  proof  that,  up  to  that 
hour,  she  was  alive.     On  Wednesday  noon,  at  twelve,  a  female  body  was  dis 
covered  afloat  on  the  shore  of  the  Barriere  du  Roule.     This  was,  even  if  we 
presume  that  Marie  Roget  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  the  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  Roget,  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 

*  The  «  N.  Y.  Brother  Jonathan,"  edited  by  II.  Hastings  Weld,  Esq. 


160  FOE'S  TALES. 


days  for  sufficient  decomposition  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  ordinary  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  after  having  been  dead  two  days.  And,  furthermore,  it  is  exceed 
ingly  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  decomposed  that  Beauvais  had 
great  difficulty  in  recognizing  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  Roget  ?  He  ripped  up  the  gown  sleeve,  and 
says  he  found  marks  which  satisfied  him  of  the  identity.  The  public  general 
ly  supposed  those  marks  to  have  consisted  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  Roget,  at 
seven  o'clock,  on  Wednesday  evening,  that  an  investigation  was  still  in  pro 
gress  respecting  her  daughter.  If  We  allow  that  Madame  Roget,  from  her 
age  and  grief,  could  not  go  over,  (which  is  allowing  a  great  deal,)  there  cer 
tainly  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  Pavee  St.  Andree,  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  cham 
ber  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  endeavored  to  create  the  impression  of 
an  apathy  on  the  part  of  the  relatives  of  Marie,  inconsistent  with 
the  supposition  that  these  relatives  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  in 
volving  a  charge  against  her  chastity ;  and  that  these  friends, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  161 

upon  the  discovery  of  a  corpse  in  the  Seine,  somewhat  resembling 
that  of  the  girl,  had  availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to  im 
press  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 
feeble,  and  so  agitated  as  to  be  unable  to  attend  to  any  duty ;  that 
St.  Eustache,  so  far  from  receiving  the  news  coolly,  was  dis 
tracted  with  grief,  and  bore  himself  so  frantically,  that  M.  Beau- 
vais  prevailed  upon  a  friend  and  relative  to  take  charge  of  him, 
and  prevent  his  attending  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  Roget's  house,  M.  Beau 
vais,  who  was  going  out,  told  her  that  a  gendarme  was  expected  there,  sard 
that  she,  Madame  B.,  must  not  say  anything  to  the  gendarme  until  he  re 
turned,  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  any  thing  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  color  was  given  to  the  suspicion 
thus  thrown  upon  Beauvais.  A  visiter  at  his  office,  a  few  days 
prior  to  the  girl's  disappearance,  and  during  the  absence  of  its 
occupant,  had  observed  a  rose  in  the  key-hole  of  the  door,  and 
the  name  "  Marie  "  inscribed  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  vic- 

12 


162  FOE'S  TALES. 


tim  of  a  gang  of  desperadoes — that  by  these  she  had  been  borne 
across  the  river,  maltreated  and  murdered.  Le  Commerciel,* 
however,  a  print  of  extensive  influence,  was  earnest  in  combating 
this  popular  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  Barriere  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,  when  she  went  out.  *  *  *  It  is  impossible 
that  she  could  have  gone  to  the  Barriere  du  Roule,  or  to  the  Rue  des  Dr&mes, 
without  being  recognized  by  a  dozen  persons  ;  yet  no  one  has  come  forward 
who  saw  her  outside  of  her  mother's  door,  and  there  is  no  evidence,  except  the 
testimony  concerning  her  expressed  intentions,  that  she  did  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  Barriere  da 
Roule,  there  would  have  been  no  necessity  for  any  such  arrangement.  The 
fact  that  the  body  was  found  floating  near  the  Barriere,  is  no  proof  as  to  where 
it  was  thrown  into  the  water.  *****  A  piece  of  one  of  the  unfortu 
nate  girl's  petticoats,  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-handkerchief." 

A  day  or  two  before  the  Prefect  called  upon  us,  however,  some 
important  information  reached  the  police,  which  seemed  to  over 
throw,  at  least,  the  chief  portion  of  Le  Commerciel 's  argument. 
Two  small  boys,  sons  of  a  Madame  Deluc,  while  roaming  among 
the  woods  near  the  Barriere  du  Roule,  chanced  to  penetrate  a 
close  thicket,  within  which  were  three  or  four  large  stones,  form 
ing  a  kind  of  seat,  with  a  back  and  footstool.  On  the  upper  stone 
lay  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  Roget."  Fragments  of 
dress  were  discovered  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. 

*  N  Y.  "  Journal  of  Commerce." 


THE  MYSTERY  TF  MARIE  ROGET  163 

A  weekly  paper,  Le  Soleil,*  had  the  following  comments  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  double.d  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  appeared.  Ma 
dame  Deluc  testified  that  she  keeps  a  roadside  inn  not  far  from 
the  bank  of  the  river,  opposite  the  Barriere  du  Roule.  The 
neighborhood  is  secluded — particularly  so.  It  is  the  usual  Sun 
day  resort  of  blackguards  from  the  city,  who  cross  the  river  in 
boats.  About  three  o'clock,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  Sunday  in 
questiqn,  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  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  particular^  noticed. 
3oon  after  the  departure  of  the  couple,  a  gang  qf  miscreants 
made  their  appearance,  behaved  boisterously,  ate  and  drank  with 
out  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.  recognized  not  only  the  scarf  which  was  found  in 
the  thicket,  but  the  dress  which  was  discovered  upon  the  corpse, 

*  Phil.  "  Sat.  Evening  Post,"  edited  by  C.  I.  Peterson,  Esq. 


164  FOE'S  TALES. 


An  omnibus-driver,  Valence,*  now  also  testified  that  he  saw 
Marie  Roget  cross  a  ferry  on  the  Seine,  on  the  Sunday  in  ques 
tion,  in  company  with  a  young  man  of  dark  complexion.  He, 
Valence,  knew  Marie,  and  could  not  be  mistaken  in  her  identity. 
The  articles  found  in  the  thicket  were  fully  identified  by  the  rel 
atives  of  Marie. 

The  items  of  evidence  and  information  thus  collected  by  my 
self,  from  the  newspapers,  at  the  suggestion  of  Dupin,  embraced 
only  one  more  point — but  this  was  a  point  of  seemingly  vast  con 
sequence.  It  appears  that,  immediately  after  the  discovery  of  the 
clothes  as  above  described,  the  lifeless,  or  nearly  lifeless  body  of 
St.  Eustache,  Mane's  betrothed,  was  found  in  the  vicinity  of 
what  all  now  supposed  the  scene  of  the  outrage.  A  phial  label 
led  "  laudanum,"  and  emptied,  was  found  near  him.  His  breath 
gave  evidence  of  the  poison.  He  died  without  speaking.  Upon 
his  person  was  found  a  letter,  briefly  stating  his  love  for  Marie, 
with  his  design  of  self-destruction. 

"  I  need  scarcely  tell  you,"  said  Dupin,  as  he  finished  the  pe» 
f  iisal  of  my  notes,  "  that  this  is  a  far  more  intricate  case  thari 
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  peculiarly  outre  about  it.  You  will  ob 
serve  that,  for  this  reason,  the  mystery  has  been  considered  easy, 
when,  for  this  reason,  it  should  have  been  considered  difficult,  of 
solution.  Thus,  at  first,  it  was  thought  unnecessary  to  offer  a1 
reward.  The  myrmidons  of  G were  able  at  once  to  com 
prehend  how  and  why  such  an  atrocity  might  have  been  commit 
ted.  They  could  picture  to  their  imaginations  a  mode — many 
modes' — and  a  motive — many  motives  ;  and  because  it  was  not  im 
possible  that  either  of  these  numerous  modes  and  motives  could  have 
been1  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  ordi- 

*  Adam. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  165 

nary,  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  unusualness  which,  to  a  properly  reg 
ulated  intellect,  would  have  afforded  the  surest  omen  of  success  ; 
while  this  same  intellect  might  have  been  plunged  in  despair  at 
the  ordinary  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  daughter,  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  Barriere 
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 
Roget  for  the  conviction  of  whose  assassin,  or  assassins,  the  re 
ward  is  offered,  and  respecting  whom,  solely,  our  agreement  has 
been  arranged  with  the  Prefect.  We  both  know  this  gentleman 
well.  It  will  not  do  to  trust  him  too  far.  If,  dating  our  inqui 
ries  from  the  body  found,  and  thence  tracing  a  murderer,  we  yet 
discover  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  labor ;  since  it  is  Mon 
sieur  G with  whom  we  have  to  deal.  For  our  own  purpose, 

therefore,  if  not  for  the  purpose  of  justice,  it  is  indispensable  that 
our  first  step  should  be  the  determination  of  the  identity  of  the 
corpse  with  the  Marie  Roget  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  Etoile.' 

*  See  "  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue." 


166  POE'S  TALES. 


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  sensation — to  make  a 
point — than  to  further  the  cause  of  truth.  The  latter  end  is  only 
pursued  when  it  seems  coincident  with  the  former.  The  print 
which  merely  falls  in  with  ordinary  opinion  (however  well  found 
ed  this  opinion  may  be)  earns  for  itself  no  credit  with  the  mob. 
The  mass  of  the  people  regard  as  profound  only  him  who  sug 
gests  pungent  contradictions  of  the  general  idea.  In  ratiocination, 
not  less  than  in  literature,  it  is  the  epigram  which  is  the  most  im 
mediately  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  Roget  still  lives,  rather  than 
any  true  plausibility  in  this  idea,  which  have  suggested  it  to 
L'Etoile,  and  secured  it  a  favorable  reception  with  the  public. 
Let  us  examine  the  heads  of  this  journal's  argument ;  endeavor 
ing  to  avoid  the  incoherence  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,  be 
comes  thus,  at  once,  an  object  with  the  reasoner.  In  the  rash 
pursuit  of  this  object,  he  rushes  into  mere  assumption  at  the  out 
set.  '  It  is  folly  to  suppose,'  he  says,  '  that  the  murder,  if  murder 
was  committed  on  her  body,  could  have  been  consummated  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  com 
mitted  within  jive  minutes  after  the  girl's  quitting  her  moth 
er's  house  ?  Why  is  it  folly  to  suppose  that  the  murder  was 
committed  at  any  given  period  of  the  day  ?  There  have  been  as 
sassinations  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  assump 
tion,  then,  amounts  precisely  to  this — that  the  murder  was  not 
committed  on  Sunday  at  all — and,  if  we  allow  L'Etoile  to  as- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  167 

sume  this,  we  may  permit  it  any  liberties  whatever.  The  par 
agraph  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  midnight ;  it  is 
folly,  we  say,  to  suppose  all  this,  and  to  suppose  at  the  same  time, 
(as  we  are  resolved  to  suppose,)  that  the  body  was  not  thrown  in 
until  after  midnight' — 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  argument,  I  might  safe 
ly  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  became  necessary.  Now,  the  as 
sassination  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  day  or  night,  as 
the  most  obvious  and  most  immediate  mode  of  disposal.  You  will 
understand  that  I  suggest  nothing  here  as  probable,  or  as  coin 
cident  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  preconceived 
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  : 


168  FOE'S  TALES. 


'  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  suf 
ficient  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 
endeavors  to  combat  that  portion  of  the  paragraph  which  has  ref 
erence  to  '  drowned  bodies'  only,  by  citing  some  five  or  six  in 
stances  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  unphilo- 
sophical  in  the  attempt  on  the  part  of  Le  Moniteur,  to  rebut  the 
general  assertion  of  L'Etoile,  by  a  citation  of  particular  in 
stances  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,  un 
til  such  time  as  the  rule  itself  should  be  confuted.  Admitting  the 
rule,  (and  this  Le  Moniteur  does  not  deny,  insisting  merely  upon 
its  exceptions,)  the  argument  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 
favor  of  L'Etoile's  position  until  the  instances  so  childishly  ad 
duced  shall  be  sufficient  in  number  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  hu 
man  body,  in  its  natural  condition,  is  about  equal  to  the  bulk  of 
fresh  water  which  it  displaces.  The  bodies  of  fat  and  fleshy  per 
sons,  with  small  bones,  and  of  women  generally,  are  lighter  thau 
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 

*  The  "  N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser,"  edited  by  Col.  Stone. 


THE  MYSTERY"  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  169 

presence  of  the  tide  from  sea.  But,  leaving  this  tide  out  of  ques 
tion,  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  difficulty  and  without  exertion. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  gravities  of  the  body,  and  of  the 
bulk  of  water  displaced,  are  very  nicely  balanced,  and  that  a  trifle 
will  cause  either  to  preponderate.  An  arm,  for  instance,  uplifted 
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  swimming,  the  arms  are  invariably  thrown  upwards,  while  an 
attempt  is  made  to  keep  the  head  in  its  usual  perpendicular  posi 
tion.  The  result  is  the  immersion  of  the  mouth  and  nostrils,  and 
the  inception,  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  difference  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  quan 
tity  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  a'gain  be 
comes  less  than  that  of  the  bulk  of  water  which  it  displaces. 
This  effect  is  brought  about  by  decomposition,  or  otherwise.  The 
result  of  decomposition  is  the  generation  of  gas,  distending  the  cel 
lular  tissues  and  all  the  cavities,  and  giving  the  puffed  appear 
ance  which  is  to  horrible.  When  this  distension  has  so  far  pro 
gressed  that  the  bulk  of  the  corpse  is  materially  increased  with- 


170  FOE'S  TALES. 


out  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  modi 
fied  by  innumerable  circumstances — is  hastened  or  retarded  by 
innumerable  agencies ;  for  example,  by  the  heat  or  cold  of  the 
season,  by  the  mineral  impregnation  or  purity  of  the  water,  by  its 
depth  or  shallowness,  by  its  currency  or  stagnation,  by  the  tem 
perament  of  the  body,  by  its  infection  or  freedom  from  disease  be 
fore  death.  Thus  it  is  evident  that  we  can  assign  no  period,  with 
any  thing  like  accuracy,  at  which  the  corpse  shall  rise  through 
decomposition.  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  forever  from  corruption  ;  the  Bi-chloride 
of  Mercury  is  one.  But,  apart  from  decomposition,  there  may 
be,  and  very  usually  is,  a  generation  of  gas  within  the  stomach, 
from  the  acetous  fermentation  of  vegetable  matter  (or  within  other 
cavities  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  imbed 
ded,  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  influence  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  expe 
rience  shows,'  says  this  paper,  *  that  drowned  bodies,  or  bodies 
thrown  into  the  water  immediately  after  death  by  violence,  re 
quire  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  in 
consequence  and  incoherence.  All  experience  does  not  show  that 
1  drowned  bodies '  require  from  six  to  ten  days  for  sufficient  de 
composition  to  take  place  to  bring  them  to  the  surface.  Both 
science  and  experience  show  that  the  period  of  their  rising  is,  and 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  171 

necessarily  must  be,  indeterminate.  If,  moreover,  a  body  ha* 
risen  to  the  surface  through  firing  of  cannon,  it  will  not  '  sink 
again  if  let  alone,'  until  decomposition  has  so  far  progressed  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  includes  them  all  in  the  same  category.  I  have  shown 
how  it  is  that  the  body  of  a  drowning  man  becomes  specifically 
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  breath  while  beneath  the  surface — 
gasps  which  supply  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  vio 
lence.'  Thus,  in  the  latter  instance,  the  body,  as  a  general  rule, 
would  not  sink  at  all — a  fact  of  which  L'Etoile  is  evidently  igno 
rant.  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  Roget,  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  re-appeared  in  twenty-four  hours,  or  less.  But  no  one  sup 
poses  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  its  man 
gled  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  supposes  that, 
had  this  been  the  case,  it  might  have  appeared  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 


172  POE'S   TALES. 


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  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.'  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  any 
thing  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  a  moment  before.  '  We  are  perfectly  con 
vinced,'  it  says,  '  that  the  body  found  was  that  of  a  murdered  fe 
male.' 

"  Nor  is  this  the  sole  instance,  even  in  this  division  of  his  sub 
ject,  where  our  reasoner  unwittingly  reasons  against  himself. 
His  evident  object,  I  have  already  said,  is  to  reduce,  as  much  as 
possible,  the  interval  between  Marie's  disappearance  and  the  find 
ing  of  the  corpse.  Yet  we  find  him  urging  the  point  that  no 
person  saw  the  girl  from  the  moment  of  her  leaving  her  mother's 
house.  '  We  have  no  evidence,'  he  says,  'that  Marie  Roget  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 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  173 

observe  that  L'Etoile  insists  upon  its  point  in  the  full  belief  of  its 
furthering  its  general  argument. 

"  Reperuse  now  that  portion  of  this  argument  which  has  refer 
ence  to  the  identification  of  the  corpse  by  Beauvais.  In  regard 
lo  the  hair  upon  the  arm,  L'Etoile  has  been  obviously  disingen 
uous.  M.  Beauvais,  not  being  an  idiot,  could  never  have  urged, 
in  identification  of  the  corpse,  simply  hair  upon  its  arm.  No  arm 
is  ivitliout  hair.  The  generality  of  the  expression  of  L'Etoile  is 
a  mere  perversion  of  the  witness'  phraseology.  He  must  have 
spoken  of  some  peculiarity  in  this  hair.  It  must  have  been  a 
peculiarity  of  color,  of  quantity,  of  length,  or  of  situation. 

"  '  Her  foot,3  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.  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  foundj  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 
(without  reference  to  the  question  of  habiliment  at  all)  in  forming 
an  opinion  that  his  search  had  been  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  accumulative.  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  aug 
ment  the  probability  as  to  verge  upon  the  certain.  What,  of 


174  FOE'S   TALES. 


itself,  would  be  no  evidence  of  identity,  becomes  through  its  cor 
roborative  position,  proof  most  sure.  Give  us,  then,  flowers  in 
the  hat  corresponding  to  those  worn  by  the  missing  girl,  and  we 
seek  for  nothing  farther.  If  only  one  flower,  we  seek  for  nothing 
farther — what  then  if  two  or  three,  or  more  ?  Each  successive 
one  is  multiple  evidence — proof  not  added  to  proof,  but  multiplied 
by  hundreds  or  thousands.  Let  us  now  discover,  upon  the  de 
ceased,  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  garter's  being  an  usual  oc 
currence,  shows  nothing  beyond  its  own  pertinacity  in  error.  The 
elastic  nature  of  the  clasp-garter  is  self-demonstration  of  the  un- 
usualness  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  described.  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  appear 
ance — 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  circumstances,  there  would  be  no  need,  in  his  case,  of 
a  commission  de  lunatico  inq-uirendo.  He  has  thought  it  sagacious 
to  echo  the  small  talk  of  the  lawyers,  who,  for  the  most  part,  con 
tent  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  of  evidence  to  the  intellect. 
For  the  court,  guiding  itself  by  the  general  principles  of  evidence 
— the  recognized  and  looked  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  practice,  in  mass,  is  therefore  philosoph- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  175 

ical ;  but  it  is  not  the  less  certain  that  it  engenders  vast  individ 
ual  error.* 

"  In  respect  to  the  insinuations  levelled  at  Beauvais,  you  will 
be  willing  to  dismiss  them  in  a  breath.  You  have  already  fa 
thomed  the  true  character  of  this  good  gentleman.  He  is  a  busy 
body,  with  much  of  romance  and  little  of  wit.  Any  one  so  con 
stituted  will  readily  so  conduct  himself,  upon  occasion  of  real  ex 
citement,  as  to  render  himself  liable  to  suspicion  on  the  part  of 
the  over-acute,  or  the  ill-disposed.  M.  Beauvais  (as  it  appears 
from  your  notes)  had  some  personal  interviews  with  the  editor  of 
L'Etoile,  and  offended  him  by  venturing  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  evi 
dence  '  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  recog 
nizes  his  neighbor,  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. 

"  The  suspicious  circumstances  which  invest  him,  will  be  found 
to  tally  much  better  with  my  hypothesis  of  romantic  busy-body- 
ism,  than  with  the  reasoner's  suggestion  of  guilt.  Once  adopting 
the  more  charitable  interpretation,  we  shall  find  no  difficulty  in 
comprehending  the  rose  in  the  key-hole ;  the  *  Marie'  upon  the 

*  "  A  theory  based  on  the  qualities  of  an  object,  will  prevent  its  being  un 
folded  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. 


176  FOE'S   TALES. 


slate;  the  'ejbowing  the  male  relatives  out  of  the  way;'  the 
1  aversion  to  permitting  them  to  see  the  body  ;'  the  caution  given 

to  Madame  B ,  that  she  must  hold  no  conversation  with  the 

gendarme  until  his  return  (Beauvais')  ;  and,  lastly,  his  apparent 
determination  '  that  nobody  should  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
proceedings  except  himself.7  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  shal1 
now  proceed  as  if  the  question  of  identity  were  settled  to  our  per- 
feet  satisfaction." 

"  And  what,"  I  here  demanded,  "  do  you  think  of  the  opinions 
of  Le  Commerciel  ?" 

"  That,  in  spirit,  they  are  far  more  worthy  of  attention  than 
any  which  have  been  promulgated  upon  the  subject.  The  de 
ductions  from  the  premises  are  philosophical  and  acute  ;  but  the 
premises,  in  two  instances,  at  least,  are  founded  in  imperfect 
observation.  Le  Commerciel  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  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  lie  seldom  passes  so  far  as 
a  dozen  blocks  from  his  own  bureau,  without  being  recognized 
and  accosted.  And,  knowing  the  extent  of  his  personal  acquaint 
ance  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, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  177 

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 
Commerciel  would  only  be  sustained  in  the  event  of  the  two  indi 
viduals'  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  pro 
ceeded,  at  any  given  period,  by  any  one  of  the  many  routes  be 
tween  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  between  the  personal  ac 
quaintances  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  sug 
gestion  of  Le  Commerciel,  will  be  much  diminished  when  we  take 
into  consideration  the  hour  at  which  the  girl  went  abroad.  '  It 
was  when  the  streets  were  full  of  people/  says  Le  Commerciel, 
1  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  peculiarly  deserted  air  of  the  town, 
from  about  eight  until  ten  on  the  morning  of  every  Sabbath.  Be 
tween  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  deficiency  of 
observation  on  the  part  of  Le  Commerciel.  '  A  piece,'  it  says, 
'  of  one  of  the  unfortunate  girl's  petticoats,  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 

13 


178  POE'S   TALES 


by  fellows  who  had  no  pocket-handkerchiefs.'  Whether  this  idea 
is,  or  is  not  well  founded,  we  will  endeavor  to  see  hereafter  ;  but 
by  '  fellows  who  have  no  pocket-handkerchiefs,'  the  editor  intends 
the  lowest  class  of  ruffians.  These,  however,  are  the  very  de 
scription  of  people  who  will  always  be  found  to  have  handker 
chiefs  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-handkerchief." 

"  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  alrea 
dy  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  fhis  appalling  outrage  has  been  dis 
covered.'  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  connexion  with 
another  division  of  the  theme. 

"  At  present  we  must  occupy  ourselves  with  other  investiga 
tions.  You  cannot  fail  to  have  remarked  the  extreme  laxity  of 
the  examination  of  the  corpse.  To  be  sure,  the  question  of  iden 
tity  was  readily  determined,  or  should  have  been ;  hut  there  were 
other  points  to  b3  ascertained.  Had  the  body  been  in  any  respect 
despoiled  ?  H  id  the  deceased  any  articles  of  jewelry  about  her 
person  upon  '  eaving  home  ?  if  so,  ha4  she  any  when  found  ? 
These  are  in  portant  questions  utterly  untouched  by  the  evidence  ; 
and  there  are  others  of  equal  moment,  which  have  met  with  no 
attention.  We  must  endeavor  to  satisfy  ourselves  by  personal  in 
quiry.  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,  however,  we  will  dismiss  St.  Eu 
stache  from  our  investigations.  His  suicide,  however  corrobora- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  170 

live  of  suspicion,  were  there  found  to  be  deceit  in  the  affidavits, 
is,  without  such  deceit,  in  no  respect  an  unaccountable  circum 
stance,  or  one  which  need  cause  us  to  deflect  from  the  line  of  or 
dinary  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  appa 
rent  relevancy.  Yet  experience  has  shown,  and  a  true  philoso 
phy  will  always  show,  that  a  vast,  perhaps  the  larger  portion  of 
truth,  arises  from  the  seemingly  irrelevant.  It  is  through  the 
spirit  of  this  principle,  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  in 
cidental,  or  accidental  events  we  are  indebted  for  the  most  nume 
rous  and  most  valuable  discoveries,  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  expecta 
tion.  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  calcu 
lation.  We  subject  the  unlocked  for  and  unimagined,  to  the 
mathematical  formulae  of  the  schools. 

"  I  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  accord 
ance  with  the  spirit  of  the  principle  involved  in  this  fact,  that  I 
would  divert  inquiry,  in  the  present  case,  from  the  trodden  and 
hitherto  unfruitful  ground  of  the  event  itself,  to  the  cotemporary 
circumstances  which  surround  it.  While  you  ascertain  the  va 
lidity  of  the  affidavits,  I  will  examine  the  newspapers  more  gene 
rally  than  you  have  as  yet  done.  So  far,  we  have  only  recon 
noitred  the  field  of  investigation ;  but  it  will  be  strange  indeed  if 
a  comprehensive  survey,  such  as  I  propose,  of  the  public  prints, 


180  POE'S  TALES. 


will  not  afford  us  some  minute  points  which  shall  establish  a  di 
rection  for  inquiry." 

In  pursuance  of  Dupin's  suggestion,  I  made  scrupulous  exam 
ination  of  the  affair  of  the  affidavits.  The  result  was  a  firm  con 
viction  of  their  validity,  and  of  the  consequent  innocence  of  St. 
Eustache.  In  the  mean  time  my  friend  occupied  himself,  with 
what  seemed  to  me  a  minuteness  altogether  objectless,  in  a  scru 
tiny  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  pres 
ent,  was  caused  by  the  disappearance  of  this  same  Marie  Roget,  from  the 
parfumerie  of  Monsieur  Le  Blanc,  in  the  Palais  Royal.  At  the  end  of  a  week, 
however,  she  re-appeared  at  her  customary  comptoir,  as  well  as  ever,  with  the 
exception  of  a  slight  paleness  not  altogether  usual.  It  was  given  out  by  Mon 
sieur  Le  Blanc  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  expi 
ration  of  a  week,  or  perhaps  of  a  month,  we  shall  have  her  among  us  again." 
— Evening  Paper — Monday,  June  23.* 

"  An  evening  journal  of  yesterday,  refers  to  a  former  mysterious  disappear 
ance  of  Mademoiselle  RogSt.  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^  provi 
dentially  led  to  her  return  home.  We  have  the  name  of  the  Lothario  in  ques 
tion,  who  is,  at  present,  stationed  in  Paris,  but,  for  obvious  reasons,  forbear  to 
make  it  public." — Le  Mercuric — Tuesday  Morning,  June  24.t 

"  An  outrage  of  the  most  atrocious  character  was  perpetrated  near  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-  reach 
ing  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 
254 

"  We  have  received  one  or  two  communications,  the  object  of  which  is  to 

*  «  N.  Y.  Express."  t  "  N.  Y.  Herald." 

t  «  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Inquirer." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  181 

fasten  the  crime  of  the  late  atrocity  upon  Mennais  ;*  but  as  this  gentleman 
has  been  fully  exonerated  by  a  legal  inquiry,  and  as  the  arguments  of  our  sev 
eral  correspondents  appear  to  be  more  zealous  than  profound,  we  do  not  think 
it  advisable  to  make  them  public." — Morning  Paper — June  28.t 

"  We  have  received  several  forcibly  written  communications,  apparently 
from  various  sources,  and  which  go  far  to  render  it  a  matter  of  certainty  that 
the  unfortunate  Marie  Roget  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  favor  of  this  supposition.  We  shall  endeavor  to 
make  room  for  some  of  these  arguments  hereafter." — Evening  Paper — Tues 
day,  June  31.t 

"  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  morn 
ing  it  was  taken  from  thence,  without  the  knowledge  of  any  of  the  officers. 
The  rudder  is  now  at  the  barge  office." — Le  Diligence — Thursday,  June  26.§ 

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  wait 
ed  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  them  chiefly  to  show 
you  the  extreme  remissness  of  the  police,  who,  as  far  as  I  can 
understand  from  the  Prefect,  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  disap 
pearance  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  elopement  (if  we  know  that  an  elope 
ment  has  again  taken  place)  as  indicating  a  renewal  of  the  be 
trayer's  advances,  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  commencement  of  a  new 
one.  The  chances  are  ten  to  one,  that  he  who  had  once  eloped 

*  Mennais  was  one  of  the  parties  originally  suspected  and  arrested,  but  dis 
charged  through  total  lack  of  evidence. 
t  "  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Inquirer." 
t  "  N.  Y.  Evening  Post." 
§  «  N,  Y.  Standard." 


182  FOE'S   TALES. 


with  Marie,  would  again  propose  an  elopement,  rather  than  that 
she  to  whom  proposals  of  elopement  had  been  made  by  one  indi 
vidual,  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  villany  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  accom 
plished — or  not  yet  altogether  accomplished  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  frustrated  design  ?  Beyond  St. 
Eustache,  and  perhaps  Beauvais,  we  find  no  recognized,  no  open, 
no  honorable  suitors  of  Marie.  Of  none  other  is  there  any  thing 
said.  Who,  then,  is  the  secret  lover,  of  whom  the  relatives  (at 
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  Barriere  du 
Roule  ?  Who  is  that  secret  lover,  I  ask,  of  whom,  at  least,  most 
of  the  relatives  know  nothing  ?  And  what  means  the  singular 
prophecy  of  Madame  Roget  on  the  morning  of  Marie's  departure  ? 
— '  I  fear  that  I  shall  never  see  Marie  again.' 

"  But  if  we  cannot  imagine  Madame  Roget  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-  Dromes,  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  Barriere  du  Roule  at  so 
late  an  hour  as  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  is  known.  But  in 
consenting  so  to  accompany  this  individual,  (for  whatever  pur 
pose — 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. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  183 

Eustache,  when,  calling  for  her,  at  the  hour  appointed,  in  the 
Rue  des  Dromes,  he  should  find  that  she  had  not  been  there,  and 
when,  moreover,  upon  returning  to  the  pension  with  this  alarming 
intelligence,  he  should  become  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  suspi 
cion  ;  but  the  suspicion  becomes  a  point  of  trivial  importance  to 
her,  if  we  suppose  her  not  intending  to  return. 

"  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  pur 
suit — I  will  give  it  to  be  understood  that  I  shall  visit  and  spend 
the  day  with  my  aunt  at  the  Rue  des  Dromes — I  well  tell  St.  Eu 
stache  not  to  call  for  me  until  dark — in  this  way,  my  absence 
from  home  for  the  longest  possible  period,  without  causing  suspi 
cion  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  contemplation  merely  a  stroll  with  the  individ 
ual  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  igno 
rance,  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  conceal 
ments  are  effected — the  gaining  of  time  is  the  only  point  about 
which  I  need  give  myself  any  concern.7 

"  You  have  observed,  in  your  notes,  that  the  most  general  opin 
ion  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  arising  of  itself— when  manifesting  itself  in  a  strictly 


184  FOE'S   TALES. 


spontaneous  manner — we  should  look  upon  it  as  analogous  with 
that  intuition  which  is  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  individual  man  of 
genius.  In  ninety-nine  cases  from  the  hundred  I  would  abide  by 
its  decision.  But  it  is  important  that  we  find  no  palpable  traces 
of  suggestion.  The  opinion  must  be  rigorously  the  public  '5  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  atro 
city  should  influence  the  popular  judgment  in  regard  to  the  other 
unknown  ?  This  judgment  awaited  direction,  and  the  known  out 
rage  seemed  so  opportunely  to  afford  it !  Marie,  too,  was  found 
in  the  river ;  and  upon  this  very  river  was  this  known  outrage 
committed.  The  connexion  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  any  thing, 
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-of  wrong,  there  should  have  been  another  similar 
gang,  in  a  similar  locality,  in  the  same  city,  under  the  same  cir 
cumstances,  with  the  same  means  and  appliances,  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  coinci 
dence,  does  the  accidentally  suggested  opinion  of  the  populace 
call  upon  us  to  believe  ? 

"  Before  proceeding  farther,  let  us  consider  the  supposed  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. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  185 


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  hand 
kerchief  bore  the  name, '  Marie  Roget.'  Fragments  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  Commerciel  suggested,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Rue 
Pavee  St.  Andree,  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  Barriere  du 
Roule  having  been  already  suspected,  the  idea  of  placing  the  arti 
cles  where  they  were  found,  might  have  been  naturally  enter 
tained.  There  is  no  real  evidence,  although  Le  Soleil  so  supposes, 
that  the  articles  discovered  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  after 
noon  upon  which  they  were  found  by  the  boys.  '  They  were  all 
mildewed  down  hard,'  says  Le  Soleil,  adopting  the  opinions  of  its 
predecessors,  '  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  recollections,  of  two  small  boys  j 


186  FOE'S   TALES. 


for  these  boys  removed  the  articles  and  took  them  home  before 
they  had  been  seen  by  a  third  party.  But  grass  will  grow,  es 
pecially  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  upspririging 
grass.  And  touching  that  mildew  upon  which  the  editor  of  Le 
Soleil  so  pertinaciously  insists,  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  trium 
phantly  adduced  in  support  of  the  idea  that  the  articles  had  been 
4  for  at  least  three  or  four  weeks'  in  the  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  sin 
gle  week — for  a  longer  period  than  from  one  Sunday  to  the  next. 
Those  who  know  any  thing  of  the  vicinity  of  Paris,  know  the  ex 
treme  difficulty  of  finding  seclusion,  unless  at  a  great  distance 
from  its  suburbs.  Such  a  thing  as  an  unexplored,  or  even  an  un- 
frequently  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  growing  charm  dispelled  by  the  voice  and  per 
sonal  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  wan 
derer  will  flee  back  to  the  polluted  Paris  as  to  a  less  odious  because 
less  incongruous  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  labor,  or  deprived  of  the  customary  opportunities  of 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  187 

crime,  the  town  blackguard  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  companions,  in  all  the  mad  excess  of  a  counter 
feit  hilarity — the  joint  offspring  of  liberty  and  of  rum.  I  say  no 
thing  more  than  what  must  be  obvious  to  every  dispassionate  ob 
server,  when  I  repeat  that  the  circumstance  of  the  articles  in 
question  having  remained  undiscovered,  for  a  longer  period  than 
from  one  Sunday  to  another,  in  any  thicket  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood  of  Paris,  is  to  be  looked  upon  as  little  less  than 
miraculous. 

"  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  followed,  al 
most  immediately,  the  urgent  communications  sent  to  the  evening 
paper.  These  communications,  although  various,  and  apparently 
from  various  sources,  tended  all  to  the  same  point — viz.,  the  di 
recting  of  attention  to  a  gang  as  the  perpetrators  of  the  outrage, 
and  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  Barriere  du  Roule  as  its  scene. 
Now  here,  of  course,  the  suspicion  is  not  that,  in  consequence  of 
these  communications,  or  of  the  public  attention  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  communications3 
by  the  guilty  authors  of  these  communications  themselves. 

"  This  thicket  was  a  singular — an  exceedingly  singular  one. 
It  was  unusually  dense.  Within  its  naturally  walled  enclosure 
were  three  extraordinary  stones,  forming  a  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 


188  FOE'S   TALES. 


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  en- 
throned  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 
comprehend  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  suspicion,  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,  '  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  tram 
pled  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  the  earth  was  trampled, 
the  bushes  were  broken,' — but  the  petticoat  and  the  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 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  189 


nail  becoming  entangled  in  them,  tears  them  rectangularly — di 
vides  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  ex 
ample,  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 
presented,  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  distinct  directions,  and  the  other  in  one.  And  this  in 
the  supposition  that  the  edge  is  unhemmed.  If  hemmed,  the  mat 
ter  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  required  to  believe  not 
only  that  one  piece  but  that  many  have  been  so  torn.  '  And  one 
part,'  too,  '  was  the  hem  of  the  frock  /'  Another  piece  was  'part 
of  the  skirt,  not  the  he?n,' — 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  circum 
stance  of  the  articles'  having  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  pos 
sibly,  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  produce  the  perpetrators  of  the  mur 
der.  What  I  have  adduced,  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 


190  FOE'S   TALES. 


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  revolt 
ing  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  ruffians,  have  been  properly  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  to  demonstrate.  A 
gang.  But  do  they  not  rather  demonstrate  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  direc 
tions — between  a  weak  and  defenceless  girl  and  the  gang  of  ruffians 
imagined  ?  The  silent  grasp  of  a  few  rough  arms  and  all  would 
have  been  over.  The  victim  must  have  been  absolutely  passive 
at  their  will.  You  will  here  bear  in  mind  that  the  arguments  urg 
ed  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  individual.  If  we  imagine  but  one  violator,  we  can  con 
ceive,  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  discovered.  It  seems  almost 
impossible  that  these  evidences  of  guilt  should  have  been  acciden 
tally  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  conspicuously  in 
the  scene  of  the  outrage — I  allude  to  the  handkerchief  with  the 
name  of  the  deceased.  If  this  was  accident,  it  was  not  the  acci 
dent  of  a  gang.  We  can  imagine  it  only  the  accident  of  an  indi 
vidual.  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, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  191 

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  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  encompass  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  1  He  returns  not,  let  the  consequences  be  what 
they  may.  He  could  not  return  if  he  would.  His  sole  thought 
is  immediate  escape.  He  turns  his  back  forever  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  paralyze  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  the  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 


192  FOE'S  TALES. 


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 
it !'  But  would  a  number  of  men  have  put  themselves  to  the  su 
perfluous  trouble  of  taking  down  a  fence,  for  the  purpose  of  drag, 
ging  through  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  1 

"  And  here  we  must  refer  to  an  observation  of  Le  Commerciel ; 
an  observation  upon  which  I  have  already,  in  some  measure,  com 
mented.  '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  no  pocket-handkerchiefs.' 

"  I  have  before  suggested  that  a  genuine  blackguard  is  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  hand 
kerchief  for  the  purpose  imagined  by  Le  Commerciel,  that  this 
bandage  was  employed,  is  rendered  apparent  by  the  handker 
chief  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 
question  as  '  found  around  the  neck,  fitting  loosely,  and  secured 
with  a  hard  knot.'  These  words  are  sufficiently  vague,  but  differ 
Materially  from  those  of  Le  Commerciel.  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  evi 
dence  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  tht 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  193 

head  would  prevent  its  slipping  off.  And,  now,  the  murderer  be 
thought  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 
1  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  '  ban 
dage,'  only  attainable  with  trouble  and  delay,  and  but  imperfectly 
answering  its  purpose — that  this  bandage  was  employed  at  all,  de 
monstrates  that  the  necessity  for  its  employment  sprang  from  cir 
cumstances  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  a  dozen  gangs,  such  as  described  by  Madame  Deluc, 
in  and  about  the  vicinity  of  the  Barriere  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  put 
ting  themselves  to  the  trouble  of  making  her  payment.  Et  hinc 
ill(R  ir&  ? 

"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  re- 
crossed  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  entertained  a  faint  hope  of  compen 
sation.  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, 

14 


194  FOE'S  TALES. 


when  a  wide  river  is  to  be  crossed  in  small  boats,  when  storm  im 
pends,  and  when  night  approaches. 

"  I  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,  at 
least,  dark  ;  and  '  about  dusk'  is  as  certainly  daylight.  Thus  it 
is  abundantly  clear  that  the  gang  quitted  the  Barriere  du  Roule 
prior  to  the  screams  overheard  (?)  by  Madame  Deluc.  And 
although,  in  all  the  many  reports  of  the  evidence,  the  relative  ex 
pressions  in  question  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. 

"  I  shall  add  but  one  to  the  arguments  against  a  gang ;  but 
this  one  has,  to  my  own  understanding  at  least,  a  weight  alto 
gether  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  betray 
ed  his  accomplices.  Each  one  of  a  gang  so  placed,  is  not  so 
much  greedy  of  reward,  or  anxious  for  escape,  as  fearful  of  be 
trayal.  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  Deluc,  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 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  195 

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  the  well  written  and  urgent 
communications  to  the  journals  are  much  in  the  way  of  cor- 
roboration.  The  circumstance  of  the  first  elopement,  as  men 
tioned  by  Le  Mercuric,  tends  to  blend  the  idea  of  this  seaman 
with  that  of  the  l  naval  officer'  who  is  first  known  to  have  led  the 
unfortunate  into  crime. 

"  And  here,  most  fitly,  comes  the  consideration  of  the  con- 
tinued  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  consider 
ation  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  an 
nounce  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  himself  from  sus 
picion.  We  cannot  suppose  him,  on  the  night  of  the  fatal  Sun 
day,  both  innocent  himself  and  incognizant  of  an  outrage  com 
mitted.  Yet  only  under  such  circumstances  is  it  possible  to 
imagine  that  he  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  elope 


196  FOE'S  TALES 


ment.  Let  us  know  the  full  history  of  l  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  compare  these 
communications,  both  as  regards  style  and  MS.,  with  those  sent 
to  the  morning  paper,  at  a  previous  period,  and  insisting  so  vehe 
mently  upon  the  guilt  of  Mennais.  And,  all  this  done,  let  us 
again  compare  these  various  communications  with  the  known 
MSS.  of  the  officer.  Let  us  endeavor  to  ascertain,  by  repeated 
questionings  of  Madame  Deluc  and  her  boys,  as  well  as  of  the 
omnibus-driver,  Valence,  something  more  of  the  personal  appear 
ance  and  bearing  of  the  l  man  of  dark  complexion.'  Queries, 
skilfully  directed,  will  not  fail  to  elicit,  from  some  of  these  par 
ties,  information  on  this  particular  point  (or  upon  others) — infor 
mation  which  the  parties  themselves  may  not  even  be  aware  of 
possessing.  And  let  us  now  trace  the  boat  picked  up  by  the  barge 
man  on  the  morning  of  Monday  the  twenty-third  of  June,  and 
which  was  removed  from  the  barge-office,  without  the  cognizance 
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  abandon 
ed,  without  inquiry,  by  one  altogether  at  ease  in  heart.  And 
here  let  me  pause  to  insinuate  a  question.  There  was  no  adver 
tisement  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  happened  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  connexion  with  the  navy — some  personal  permanent  n^r. 
nexion  leading  to  cognizance  of  its  minute  in'  ,iests — its  petty 
local  news  ? 

"  In  speaking  of  the  lonely  assassin  draf  -ing  his  burden  to  the 
shore,  I  have  already  suggested  the  p  ^ability  of  his  availing 
himself  of  a  boat.  Now  we  are  to  ir  uerstand  that  Marie  Roget 
was  precipitated  from  a  boat.  Thic<  would  naturally  have  been 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  197 

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  at 
tached.  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  unquestionably  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.  Having 
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  fastening  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  have  fled 
from  the  wharf,  but  he  would  not  have  permitted  the  boat  to  re 
main.  Assuredly  he  would  have  cast  it  adrift.  Let  us  pursue 
our  fancies. — In  the  morning,  the  wretch  is  stricken  with  unutter 
able  horror  at  finding  that  the  boat  has  been  picked  up  and  de 
tained  at  a  locality  which  he  is  in  the  daily  habit  of  frequenting — 
at  a  locality,  perhaps,  which  his  duty  compels  him  to  frequent. 
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.  Corroboration 
will  rise  upon  corroboration,  and  the  murderer  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  clew  obtained  by 
Dupin.  We  feel  it  advisable  only  to  state,  in  brief,  that  the  re 
sult  desired  was  brought  to  pass ;  and  that  the  Prefect  fulfilled 


198  POE'S   TALES. 


punctually,  although  with  reluctance,  the  terms  of  his  compact 
with  the  Chevalier.  Mr.  Poe's  article  concludes  with  the  follow, 
ing  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  prseter-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  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  farther :  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  Roget  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  sup 
posed  that,  in  proceeding  with  the  sad  narrative  of  Marie  from  the 
epoch  just  mentioned,  and  in  tracing  to  its  denouement  the  myste 
ry  which  enshrouded  her,  it  is  my  covert  design  to  hint  at  an  ex 
tension  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  in 
appreciable,  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 

*  Of  the  Magazine  in  which  the  article  was  originally  published 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MARIE  ROGET.  199 

view  that  the  very  Calculus  of  Probabilities  to  which  I  have  re 
ferred,  forbids  all  idea  of  the  extension  of  the  parallel : — forbids  it 
with  a  positiveness  strong  and  decided  just  in  proportion  as  this 
parallel  has  already  been  long-drawn  and  exact*  This  is  one  of 
those  anomalous  propositions  which^  seemingly  appealing  to 
thought  altogether  apart  from  the  mathematical,  is  yet  one  which 
only  the  mathematician  can  fully  entertain^  Nothing,  for  exam 
ple,  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  throw 
ing  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  mistakes  which  arise  in  the  path  01 
Reason  through  her  propensity  for  seeking  truth  in  detail. 


200  FOE'S  TALES. 


THE   PURLOINED   LETTER. 


Nil  sapient!  ae  odiosius  acumine  nimio. 

Seneca. 

AT  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  troisieme,  No.  33,  Rue 
Dunot,  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  For  one  hour  at  least  we  had 
maintained  a  profound  silence ;  while  each,  to  any  casual  ob 
server,  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  discuss 
ing  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  Roget.  I  looked  upon  it,  therefore,  as  something  of  a 
coincidence,  when  the  door  of  our  apartment  was  thrown  open 

and  admitted  our  old  acquaintance,  Monsieur  G ,  the  Prefect 

of  the  Parisian  police. 

We  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome ;  for  there  was  nearly  half  as 
much  of  the  entertaining  as  of  the  contemptible  about  the  man, 
and  we  had  not  seen  him  for  several  years.  We  had  been 
sitting  in  the  dark,  and  Dupin  now  arose  for  the  purpose  of 
lighting  a  lamp,  but  sat  down  again,  without  doing  so,  upon  G.'s 
saying  that  he  had  called  to  consult  us,  or  rather  to  ask  the 
opinion  of  my  friend,  about  some  official  business  which  had  oc 
casioned  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  201 

"  If  it  is  any  point  requiring  reflection,"  observed  Dupin,  as  he 
forebore  to  enkindle  the  wick,  "  we  shall  examine  it  to  better  pur 
pose  in  the  dark.5' 

"  That  is  another  of  your  odd  notions,"  said  the  Prefect,  who 
had  a  fashion  of  calling  every  thing  "  odd  "  that  was  beyond  his 
comprehension,  and  thus  lived  amid  an  absolute  legion  of  "  oddi 
ties." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Dupin,  as  he  supplied  his  visiter  with  a 
pipe,  and  rolled  towards  him  a  comfortable  chair. 

"  And  what  is  the  difficulty  now  ?"  I  asked.  "  Nothing  more 
in  the  assassination  way,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Oh  no ;  nothing  of  that  nature.  The  fact  is,  the  business  is 
very  simple  indeed,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  we  can  manage  it 
sufficiently  well  ourselves ;  but  then  I  thought  Dupin  would  like 
to  hear  the  details  of  it,  because  it  is  so  excessively  odd." 

11  Simple  and  odd,"  said  Dupin. 

"  Why,  yes ;  and  not  exactly  that,  either.  The  fact  is,  we 
have  all  been  a  good  deal  puzzled  because  the  affair  is  so  simple, 
and  yet  baffles  us  altogether." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  very  simplicity  of  the  thing  which  puts  you 
at  fault,"  said  my  friend. 

"  What  nonsense  you  do  talk !"  replied  the  Prefect,  laughing 
heartily. 

"  Perhaps  the  mystery  is  a  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 
visiter,  profoundly  amused,  "  oh,  Dupin,  you  will  be  the  death  of 
me  yet !" 

"  And  what,  after  all,  is  the  matter  on  hand  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  Prefect,  as  he  gave  a  long, 
steady,  and  contemplative  puff,  and  settled  himself  in  his  chair. 
"  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words ;  but,  before  I  begin,  let  me 
caution  you  that  this  is  an  affair  demanding  the  greatest  secrecy, 
and  that  I  should  most  probably  lose  the  position  I  now  hold, 
were  it  known  that  I  confided  it  to  any  one." 

"  Proceed,"  said  I. 

"  Or  not,"  said  Dupin. 


FOE'S   TALES. 


"  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  apartments.  The  individual 
who  purloined  it  is  known ;  this  beyond  a  doubt ;  he  was  seen 
to  take  it.  It  is  known,  also,  that  it  still  remains  in  his  posses 
sion." 

"  How  is  this  known  ?"  asked  Dupin. 

"  It  is  clearly  inferred,"  replied  the  Prefect,  "  from  the  nature 
of  the  document,  and  from  the  non-appearance  of  certain  results 
which  would  at  once  arise  from  its  passing  out  of  the  robber's 
possession  ; — that  is  to  say,  from  his  employing  it  as  he  must 
design  in  the  end  to  employ  it." 

"  Be  a  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  question  the  honor  of  a 
personage  of  most  exalted  station ;  and  this  fact  gives  the  holder 
of  the  document  an  ascendancy  over  the  illustrious  personage 
whose  honor  and  peace  are  so  jeopardized." 

"  But  this  ascendancy,"  I  interposed,  "  would  depend  upon 
the  robber's  knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowledge  of  the  robber. 
Who  would  dare—" 

"  The  thief,"    said  G.,  "  is  the  Minister  D ,  who  dares 

all  things,  those  unbecoming  as  well  as  those  becoming  a  man. 
The  method  of  the  theft  was  not  less  ingenious  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  endeavor 
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  unexposed,  the  letter  escaped  notice.  At  this  junc 
ture  enters  the  Minister  D .  His  lynx  eye  immediately  per- 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  203 

ceives  the  paper,  recognises  the  handwriting  of  the  address,  ob 
serves  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  converses,  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  at 
tention  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  ascendancy  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  thorough 
ly  convinced,  every  day,  of  the  necessity  of  reclaiming  her  letter. 
But  this,  of  course,  cannot  be  done  openly.  In  fine,  driven  to 
despair,  she  has  committed  the  matter  to  me." 

"  Than  whom,"  said  Dupin,  amid  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  smoke, 
"  no  more  sagacious  agent  could,  I  suppose,  be  desired,  or  even 
imagined." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  replied  the  Prefect ;  "  but  it  is  possible  that 
some  such  opinion  may  have  been  entertained." 

"  It  is  clear,"  said  I,  "  as  you  observe,  that  the  letter  is  still  in 
possession  of  the  minister  \  since  it  is  this  possession,  and  not  any 
employment  of  the  letter,  which  bestows  the  power.  With  the 
employment  the  power  departs." 

"  True,"  said  G. ;  "  and  upon  this  conviction  I  proceeded. 
My  first  care  was  to  make  thorough  search  of  the  minister's 
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  aufait  in  these  investigations. 
The  Parisian  police  have  done  this  thing  often  before." 


204  FOE'S   TALES. 


"  O  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  apart 
ment,  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,  per 
sonally,  in  ransacking  the  D Hotel.  My  honor  is  interest 
ed,  and,  to  mention  a  great  secret,  the  reward  is  enormous.  So  I 
did  not  abandon  the  search  until  I  had  become  fully  satisfied  that 
the  thief  is  a  more  astute  man  than  myself.  I  fancy  that  I  have 
investigated  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  premises  in  which  it  is 
possible  that  the  paper  can  be  concealed." 

"  But  is  it  not  possible,"  I  suggested,  "that  although  the  letter 
may  be  in  possession  of  the  minister,  as  it  unquestionably  is,  he 
may  have  concealed  it  elsewhere  than  upon  his  own  premises  ?" 

"  This  is  barely  possible,"  said  Dupin.  "  The  present  pecu 
liar  condition  of  affairs  at  court,  and  especially  of  those  intrigues 
in  which  D is  known  to  be  involved,  would  render  the  in 
stant  availability  of  the  document — its  susceptibility  of  being 
produced  at  a  moment's  notice — a  point  of  nearly  equal  impor 
tance  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 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  205 

his  meerschaum,  "  although  I  have  been  guilty  of  certain  doggrel 
myself." 

"  Suppose  you  detail,"  said  I,  "the  particulars  of  your  search." 

"  Why  the  fact  is,  we  took  our  time,  and  we  searched  every 
where.  I  have  had  long  experience  in  these  affairs.  I  took  the 
entire  building,  room  by  room ;  devoting  the  nights  of  a  whole 
week  to  each.  We  examined,  first,  the  furniture  of  each  apart 
ment.  We  opened  every  possible  drawer  j  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  50  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  replaced.  The  bottoms  and  tops  of  bed 
posts  are  employed  in  the  same  way." 

"  But  could  not  the  cavity  be  detected  by  sounding  ?"  I  asked. 

"  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 
iiiife__.  v=  inserted  into  the  rung  of  a  chair,  for  example.  You  did 
not  take  to  pieuc.  :1]  the  chairs  ?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  We.  /^  better — we  examined  the  rungs  of 
every  chair  in  the  hotel,  and,  iriuv-  J-.  the  jointings  of  every  de 
scription  of  furniture,  by  the  aid  of  a  moo.  "owerful  microscope. 
Had  there  been  any  traces  of  recent  disturbance  ~VQ  should  not 


206  POE'S  TALES. 


have  failed  to  detect  it  instantly.  A  single  grain  of  gimlet-dust, 
for  example,  would  have  been  as  obvious  as  an  apple.  Any  dis 
order  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  bed-clothes,  as  well 
as  the  curtains  and  carpets." 

"  That  of  course  ;  and  when  we  had  absolutely  completed 
every  particle  of  the  furniture  in  this  way,  then  we  examined  the 
house  itself.  We  divided  its  entire  surface  into  compartments, 
which  we  numbered,  so  that  none  might  be  missed  ;  then  we 
scrutinized  each  individual  square  inch  throughout  the  premises, 
including  the  two  houses  immediately  adjoining,  with  the  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  com 
paratively  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  ad 
measurement,  and  applied  to  each  the  most  jealous  scrutiny  of 
the  microscope.  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  ?" 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER  207 

«  Yes." 

"  You  looked  into  the  cellars  ?" 

"  We  did." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "you  have  been  making  a  miscalculation,  and 
the  letter  is  not  upon  the  premises,  as  you  suppose." 

"  I  fear  you  are  right  there,"  said  the  Prefect.  "  And  now, 
Dupin,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ?" 

"  To  make  a  thorough  re-search  of  the  premises." 

"  That  is  absolutely  needless,"   replied  G .     "  I  am  not 

more  sure  that  I  breathe  than  I  am  that  the  letter  is  not  at  the 
Hotel." 

"  I  have  no  better  advice  to  give  you,"  said  Dupin.  "  You 
have,  of  course,  an  accurate  description  of  the  letter  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  !" — And  here  the  Prefect,  producing  a  memorandum- 
book,  proceeded  to  read  aloud  a  minute  account  of  the  internal, 
and  especially  of  the  external  appearance  of  the  missing  docu 
ment.  Soon  after  finishing  the  perusal  of  this  description,  he 
took  his  departure,  more  entirely  depressed  in  spirits  than  I  had 
ever  known  the  good  gentleman  before. 

In  about  a  month  afterwards  he  paid  us  another  visit,  and 
found  us  occupied  very  nearly  as  before.  He  took  a  pipe  and  a 
chair  and  entered  into  some  ordinary  conversation.  At  length  I 
said, — 

"  Well,  but  G ,  what  of  the  purloined  letter  ?     I  presume 

you  have  at  last  made  up  your  mind  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  overreaching  the  Minister  ?" 

"  Confound  him,  say  I — yes ;  I  made  the  re-examination,  how 
ever,  as  Dupin  suggested — but  it  was  all  labor  lost,  as  I  knew  it 
would  be." 

"  How  much  was  the  reward  offered,  did  you  say  ?"  asked 
Dupin. 

"  Why,  a  very  great  deal — a  very  liberal  reward — I  don't  like 
to  say  how  much,  precisely ;  but  one  thing  I  will  say,  that  I 
wouldn't  mind  giving  my  individual  check  for  fifty  thousand 
francs  to  any  one  who  could  obtain  me  that  letter.  The  fact  is, 
it  is  becoming  of  more  and  more  importance  every  day ;  and  the 
reward  has  been  lately  doubled.  If  it  were  trebled,  however,  I 
could  do  no  more  than  I  have  done." 


208  FOE'S  TALES. 


"  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  spunging  upon 
this  Abernethy  for  a  medical  opinion.  Getting  up,  for  this  pur- 
pose,  an  ordinary  conversation  in  a  private  company,  he  insinu 
ated  his  case  to  the  physician,  as  that  of  an  imaginary  individual. 

"  '  We  will  suppose,'  said  the  miser,  '  that  his  symptoms  are 
such  and  such ;  now,  doctor,  what  would  you  have  directed  him 
to  take  V 

"  '  Take  !'  said  Abernethy,  '  why,  take  advice,  to  be  sure.'  ' 

"  But,"  said  the  Prefect,  a  little  discomposed,  "  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  take  advice,  and  to  pay  for  it.  I  would  really  give 
fifty  thousand  francs  to  any  one  who  would  aid  me  in  the  matter." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  Dupin,  opening  a  drawer,  and  pro- 
ducing  a  check-book,  "  you  may  as  well  fill  me  up  a  check  for 
the  amount  mentioned.  When  you  have  signed  it,  I  will  hand 
you  the  letter." 

I  was  astounded.  The  Prefect  appeared  absolutely  thunder- 
stricken.  For  some  minutes  he  remained  speechless  and  mo 
tionless,  looking  incredulously  at  my  friend  with  open  mouth, 
and  eyes  that  seemed  starting  from  their  sockets ;  then,  appa 
rently  recovering  himself  in  some  measure,  he  seized  a  pen,  and 
after  several  pauses  and  vacant  stares,  finally  filled  up  and  sign 
ed  a  check  for  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  handed  it  across  the 
table  to  Dupin.  The  latter  examined  it  carefully  and  deposited  it 
in  his  pocket-book ;  then,  unlocking  an  escritoire,  took  thence  a 
letter  and  gave  it  to  the  Prefect.  This  functionary  grasped  it  in 
a  perfect  agony  of  joy,  opened  it  with  a  trembling  hand,  cast  a 
rapid  glance  at  its  contents,  and  then,  scrambling  and  struggling 
to  the  door,  rushed  at  length  unceremoniously  from  the  room  and 


I 

THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  209 


from  the  house,  without  having  uttered  a  syllable  since  Dupin 
had  requested  him  to  fill  up  the  check. 

When  he  had  gone,  my  friend  entered  into  some  explanations. 

"  The  Parisian  police,"  he  said,  "  are  exceedingly  able  in 
their  way.  They  are  persevering,  ingenious,  cunning,  and  thor 
oughly  versed  in  the  knowledge  which  their  duties  seem  chiefly 

to  demand.  Thus,  when  G detailed  to  us  his  mode  of 

searching  the  premises  at  the  Hotel  D ,  I  felt  entire  confi 
dence  in  his  having  made  a  satisfactory  investigation — so  far  as 
his  labors  extended." 

"  So  far  as  his  labors  extended  ?"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dupin.  "  The  measures  adopted  were  not  only 
the  best  of  their  kind,  but  carried  out  to  absolute  perfection. 
Had  the  letter  been  deposited  within  the  range  of  their  search, 
these  fellows  would,  beyond  a  question,  have  found  it." 

I  merely  laughed — but  he  seemed  quite  serious  in  all  that  he 
said. 

"  The  measures,  then,"  he  continued,  "  were  good  in  their 
kind,  and  well  executed ;  their  defect  lay  in  their  being  inappli 
cable  to  the  case,  and  to  the  man.  A  certain  set  of  highly  inge 
nious  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  guessing ;  and  this  lay  in  mere  observation  and  ad 
measurement  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  V  Our  schoolboy  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  cunning  is  just  sufficient  to  make  him  have  them 

15 


210  POE'S   TALES. 


odd  upon  the  second;  I  will  therefore  guess  odd;' — he  guesses 
odd,  and  wins.  Now,  with  a  simpleton  a  degree  above  the  first, 
he  would  have  reasoned  thus :  '  This  fellow  finds  that  in  the  first 
instance  I  guessed  odd,  and,  in  the  second,  he  will  propose  to 
himself,  upon  the  first  impulse,  a  simple  variation  from  even  to 
odd,  as  did  the  first  simpleton ;  but  then  a  second  thought  will 
suggest  that  this  is  too  simple  a  variation,  and  finally  he  will  de 
cide  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  reasoners 
intellect  with  that  of  his  opponent." 

"  It  is,"  said  Dupin  ;  "  and,  upon  inquiring  of  the  boy  by 
what  means  he  effected  the  thorough  identification  in  which  his 
success  consisted,  I  received  answer  as  follows :  '  When  I  wish 
to  find  out  how  wise,  or  how  stupid,  or  how  good,  or  how  wicked 
is  any  one,  or  what  are  his  thoughts  at  the  moment,  I  fashion  the 
expression  of  rny  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  corres 
pond  with  the  expression.'  This  reponse  of  the  schoolboy  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  all  the  spurious  profundity  which  has  been  at 
tributed  to  Rochefoucault,  to  La  Bougive,  to  Machiavelli,  and  to 
Campanella." 

"  And  the  identification,"  I  said,  "  of  the  reasoner's  intellect 
with  that  of  his  opponent,  depends,  if  I  understand  you  aright, 
upon  the  accuracy  with  which  the  opponent's  intellect  is  admeas 
ured." 

"  For  its  practical  value  it  depends  upon  this,"  replied  Dupin ; 
"  and  the  Prefect  and  his  cohort  fail  so  frequently,  first,  by  de 
fault  of  this  identification,  and,  secondly,  by  ill-admeasurement, 
or  rather  through  non-admeasurement,  of  the  intellect  with  which 
they  are  engaged.  They  consider  only  their  awn  ideas  of  inge 
nuity  ;  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 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  211 

is  diverse  in  character  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  prin 
ciple  in  their  investigations ;  at  best,  when  urged  by  some  un, 
usual  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 ,  h'as  been 

done  to  vary  the  principle  of  action  ?  What  is  all  this  boring, 
and  probing,  and  sounding,  and  scrutinizing  with  the  microscope, 
and  dividing  the  surface  of  the  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  suggest 
ed  by  the  same  tenor  of  thought  which  would  urge  a  man  'to  se 
crete  a  letter  in  a  gimlet-hole  bored  in  a  chair-leg  ?  And  do  you 
not  see  also,  that  such  recherches  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  recherche  manner, 
— is,  in  the  very  first  instance,  presumable  and  presumed ;  and 
thus  its  discovery  depends,  not  at  all  upon  the  acumen,  but  alto 
gether  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  mag 
nitude, — 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  any  where  within  the  limits  of  the 
Prefect's  examination — in  other  words,  had  the  principle  of  its  con 
cealment  been  comprehended  within  the  principles  of  the  Prefect 
— its  discovery  would  have  been  a  matter  altogether  beyond  ques 
tion.  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 


212  FOE'S  TALES. 


fools  are  poets ;  this  the  Prefect  feels  ;  and  he  is  merely  guilty  of 
a  non  disiributio  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  ;  1  know  him  well ;  he  is  both.  As  poet 
and  mathematician,  he  would  reason  well ;  as  mere  mathemati 
cian,  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  mathe 
matical  reason  has  long  been  regarded  as  the  reason  par  excel 
lence." 

"  '  II  y  a  a  parier?  "  replied  Dupin,  quoting  from  Chamfort, 
"  '  que  toute  idee  publique,  toute  convention  re^ue,  est  une  sot- 
tise,  car  elle  a  convenue  au  plus  grand  nombre.'  The  mathema 
ticians,  I  grant  you,  have  done  their  best  to  promulgate  the 
popular  error  to  which  you  allude,  and  which  is  none  the  less  an 
error  for  its  promulgation  as  truth.  With  an  art  worthy  a  better 
cause,  for  example,  they  have  insinuated  the  term  '  analysis'  into 
application  to  algebra.  The  French  are  the  originators  of  this 
particular  deception ;  but  if  a  term  is  of  any  importance — if 
words  derive  any  value  from  applicability— then  f  analysis'  con 
veys  '  algebra '  about  as  much  as,  in  Latin,  '  ambitus '  implies 
'  ambition,'  '  religio '  '  religion/  or  '  homines  honesti,'  a  set  of 
honorable  men." 

"  You  have  a  quarrel  on  hand,  I  see,"  said  I,  "  with  some  of 
the  algebraists  of  Paris ;  but  proceed." 

"  I  dispute  the  availability,  and  thus  the  value,  of  that  reason 
which  is  cultivated  in  any  especial  form  other  than  the  abstractly 
logical.  I  dispute,  in  particular,  the  reason  educed  by  mathe 
matical  study.  The  mathematics  are  the  science  of  form  and 
quantity ;  mathematical  reasoning  is  merely  logic  applied  to  ob 
servation  upon  form  and  quantity.  The  great  error  lies  in  sup 
posing  that  even  the  truths  of  what  is  called  pure  algebra,  are 
abstract  or  general  truths.  And  this  error  is  so  egregious  that  I 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  213 

am  confounded  at  the  universality  with  which  it  has  been  receiv 
ed.  Mathematical  axioms  are  not  axioms,  of  general  truth. 
What  is  true  of  relation — of  form  and  quantity — is  often  grossly 
false  in  regard  to  morals,  for  example.  In  this  latter  science  it 
is  very  usually  tmtrue  that  the  aggregated  parts  are  equal  to  the 
whole.  In  chemistry  also  the  axiom  fails.  In  the  consideration 
of  motive  it  fails  ;  for  two  motives,  each  of  a  given  value,  have 
not,  necessarily,  a  value  when  united,  equal  to  the  sum  of  their 
values  apart.  There  are  numerous  other  mathematical  truths 
which  are  only  truths  within  the  limits  of  relation.  But  the 
mathematician  argues,  from  his  finite  truths,  through  habit,  as 
if  they  were  of  an  absolutely  general  applicability— as  the  world 
indeed  imagines  them  to  be.  Bryant,  in  his  very  learned  *  My 
thology,'  mentions  an  analogous  source  of  error,  when  he  says 
that  *  although  the  Pagan  fables  are  not  believed,  yet  we  forget 
ourselves  continually,  and  make  inferences  from  them  as  existing 
realities.5  With  the  algebraists,  however,  who  are  Pagans  them 
selves,  the  '  Pagan  fables '  are  believed,  and  the  inferences  are 
made,  not  so  much  through  lapse  of  memory,  as  through  an 
unaccountable  addling  of  the  brains.  In  short,  I  never  yet 
encountered  the  mere  mathematician  who  could  be  trusted  out  of 
equal  roots,  or  one  who  did  not  clandestinely  hold  it  as  a  point  of 
his  faith  that  xz-\-  px  was  absolutely  and  unconditionally  equal  to 
q.  Say  to  one  of  these  gentlemen,  by  way  of  experiment,  if  you 
please,  that  you  believe  occasions  may  occur  where  yP+px  is  not 
altogether  equal  to  q,  and,  having  made  him  understand  what  you 
mean,  get  out  of  his  reach  as  speedily  as  convenient,  for,  beyond 
doubt,  he  will  endeavor  to  knock  you  down. 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  continued  Dupin,  while  I  merely  laughed  at 
his  last  observations,  "  that  if  the  Minister  had  been  no  more  than 
a  mathematician,  the  Prefect  would  have  been  under  no  necessity 
of  giving  me  this  check.  I  knew  him,  however,  as  both  mathe 
matician  and  poet,  and  my  measures  were  adapted  to  his  capacity, 
with  reference  to  the  circumstances  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 
I  knew  him  as  a  courtier,  too,  and  as  a  bold  intriguant.  Such  a 
man,  I  considered,  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  of  the  ordinary  po- 
licial  modes  of  action.  He  could  not  have  failed  to  anticipate — 
and  events  have  proved  that  he  did  not  fail  to  anticipate — the 


214  POE'S   TALES. 


waylayings  to  which  he  was  subjected.  He  must  have  foreseen, 
I  reflected,  the  secret  investigations  of  his  premises.  His  fre 
quent  absences  from  home  at  night,  which  were  hailed  by  the 
Prefect  as  certain  aids  to  his  success,  I  regarded  only  as  ruses, 
to  afford  opportunity  for  thorough  search  to  the  police,  and  thus 

the  sooner  to  impress  them  with  the  conviction  to  which  G ,  in 

fact,  did  finally  arrive — the  conviction  that  the  letter  was  not  upon 
the  premises.  I  felt,  also,  that  the  whole  train  of  thought,  which 
I  was  at  some  pains  in  detailing  to  you  just  now,  concerning  the 
invariable  principle  of  policial  action  in  searches  for  articles  con- 
cealed — I  felt  that  this  whole  train  of  thought  would  necessarily 
pass  through  the  mind  of  the  Minister.  It  would  imperatively 
lead  him  to  despise  all  the  ordinary  nooks  of  concealment.  He 
could  not,  I  reflected,  be  so  weak  as  not  to  see  that  the  most  in 
tricate  and  remote  recess  of  his  hotel  would  be  as  open  as  his 
commonest  closets  to  the  eyes,  to  the  probes,  to  the  gimlets,  and 
to  the  microscopes  of  the  Prefect.  I  saw,  in  fine,  that  he  would 
be  driven,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  simplicity,  if  not  deliberately 
induced  to  it  as  a  matter  of  choice.  You  will  remember,  per 
haps,  how  desperately  the  Prefect  laughed  when  I  suggestedj 
upon  our  first  interview,  that  it  was  just  possible  this  mystery 
troubled  him  so  much  on  account  of  its  being  so  very  self-ev- 
ident." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  remember  his  merriment  well.  I  really 
thought  he  would  have  fallen  into  convulsions." 

"  The  material  world,"  continued  Dupin,  "  abounds  with  very 
strict  analogies  to  the  immaterial ;  and  thus  some  color  of  truth 
has  been  given  to  the  rhetorical  dogma,  that  metaphor,  or  simile^ 
may  be  made  to  strengthen  an  argument,  as  well  as  to  embellish 
a  description.  The  principle  of  the  vis  inertia,  for  example, 
seems  to  be  identical  in  physics  and  metaphysics.  It  is  not  more 
true  in  the  former,  that  a  large  body  is  with  more  difficulty  set 
in  motion  than  a  smaller  one,  and  that  its  subsequent  momentum 
is  commensurate  with  this  difficulty,  than  it  is,  in  the  latter,  that 
intellects  of  the  vaster  capacity,  while  more  forcible,  more  con 
stant,  and  more  eventful  in  their  movements  than  those  of  inferior 
grade,  are  yet  the  less  readily  moved,  and  more  embarrassed  and 
full  of  hesitation  in  the  first  few  steps  9f  their  progress.  Again : 


I 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  215 

have  you  ever  noticed  which  of  the  street  signs,  over  the  shop- 
doors,  are  the  most  attractive  of  attention  ?" 

"  I  have  never  given  the  matter  a  thought,"  I  said. 

"  There  is  a  game  of  puzzles,"  he  resumed,  "  which  is  played 
upon  a  map.  One  party  playing  requires  another  to  find  a  given 
word — the  name  of  town,  river,  state  or  empire — any  word,  in 
short,  upon  the  motley  and  perplexed  surface  of  the  chart.  A 
novice  in  the  game  generally  seeks  to  embarrass  his  opponents  hy 
giving  them  the  most  minutely  lettered  names ;  but  the  adept 
selects  such  words  as  stretch,  in  large  characters,  from  one  end 
of  the  chart  to  the  other.  These,  like  the  over-largely  lettered 
signs  and  placards  of  the  street,  escape  observation  by  dint  of  be 
ing  excessively  obvious ;  and  here  the  physical  oversight  is  pre 
cisely  analogous  with  the  moral  inapprehension  by  which  the  in 
tellect  suffers  to  pass  unnoticed  those  considerations  which  are  too 
obtrusively  and  too  palpably  self-evident.  But  this  is  a  point,  it 
appears,  somewhat  above  or  beneath  the  understanding  of  the 
Prefect.  He  never  once  thought  it  probable,  or  possible,  that  the 
Minister  had  deposited  the  letter  immediately  beneath  the  nose  of 
the  whole  world,  by  way  of  best  preventing  any  portion  of  that 
world  from  perceiving  it. 

"  But  the  more  I  reflected  upon  the  daring,  dashing,  and  dis 
criminating  ingenuity  of  D •- ;  upon  the  fact  that  the  document 

must  always  have  been  at  hand,  if  he  intended  to  use  it  to  good 
purpose ;  and  upon  the  decisive  evidence,  obtained  by  the  Prefect, 
that  it  was  not  hidden  within  the  limits  of  that  dignitary's  ordi 
nary  search — the  more  satisfied  I  became  that,  to  conceal  this 
letter,  the  Minister  had  resorted  to  the  comprehensive  and  saga 
cious  expedient  of  not  attempting  to  conceal  it  at  all. 

"  Full  of  these  ideas,  I  prepared  myself  with,  a  pair  of  green 
spectacles,  and  called  one  fine  morning,  quite  by  accident,  at  the 

Ministerial  hotel.  I  found  D at  home,  yawning,  lounging, 

and  dawdling,  as  usual,  and  pretending  to  be  in  the  last  extremity 
of  ennui.  He  is,  perhaps,  the  most  really  energetic  human  being 
now  alive — but  that  is  only  when  nobody  sees  him. 

"  To  be  even  with  him,  I  complained  of  my  weak  eyes,  and 
lamented  the  necessity  of  the  spectacles,  under  cover  of  which 


216  POE'S   TALES. 


I  cautiously  and  thoroughly  surveyed  the  whole  apartment,  while 
seemingly  intent  only  upon  the  conversation  of  my  host. 

"  I  paid  especial  attention  to  a  large  writing-table  near  which 
he  sat,  and  upon  which  lay  confusedly,  some  miscellaneous  letters 
and  other  papers,  with  one  or  two  musical  instruments  and  a  few 
books.  Here,  however,  after  a  long  and  very  deliberate  scrutiny, 
I  saw  nothing  to  excite  particular  suspicion. 

"  At  length  my  eyes,  in  going  the  circuit  of  the  room,  fell  upon 
a  trumpery  fillagree  card-rack  of  pasteboard,  that  hung  dangling 
by  a  dirty  blue  ribbon,  from  a  little  brass  knob  just  beneath  the 
middle  of  the  mantel-piece.  In  this  rack,  which  had  three  or 
four  compartments,  were  five  or  six  visiting  cards  and  a  solitary 
letter.  This  last  was  much  soiled  and  crumpled.  It  was  torn 
nearly  in  two,  across  the  middle — as  if  a  design,  in  the  first  in- 
stance,  to  tear  it  entirely  up  as  worthless,  had  been  altered,  or 
stayed,  in  the  second.  It  had  a  large  black  seal,  bearing  the 
D cipher  very  conspicuously,  and  was  addressed,  in  a  dimin 
utive  female  hand,  to  D ,  the  minister,  himself.  It  was  thrust 

carelessly,  and  even,  as  it  seemed,  contemptuously,  into  one  of 
the  uppermost  divisions  of  the  rack. 

"  No  sooner  had  I  glanced  at  this  letter,  than  I  concluded  it 
to  be  that  of  which  I  was  in  search.  To  be  sure,  it  was,  to  all 
appearance,  radically  different  from  the  one  of  which  the  Prefect 
had  read  us  so  minute  a  description.  Here  the  seal  was  large 

and  black,  with  the  D —  cipher ;  there  it  was  small  and  red, 

with  the  ducal  arms  of  the  S family.  Here,  the  address, 

to  the  Minister,  was  diminutive  and  feminine ;  there  the  super 
scription,  to  a  certain  royal  personage,  was  markedly  bold  and 
decided  ;  the  size  alone  formed  a  point  of  correspondence.  But, 
then,  the  radicalness  of  these  differences,  which  was  excessive ; 
the  dirt ;  the  soiled  and  torn  condition  of  the  paper,  so  inconsist 
ent  with  the  true  methodical  habits  of  D ,  and  so  suggestive 

of  a  design  to  delude  the  beholder  into  an  idea  of  the  worthless- 
ness  of  the  document ;  these  things,  together  with  the  hyper- 
obtrusive  situation  of  this  document,  full  in  the  view  of  every 
visitor,  and  thus  exactly  in  accordance  with  the  conclusions  to 
which  I  had  previously  arrived  ;  these  things,  I  say,  were  strongly 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  217 

corroborative  of  suspicion,  in  one  who  came  with  the  intention  to 
suspect. 

"  I  protracted  my  visit  as  long  as  possible,  and,  while  I  main 
tained  a  most  animated  discussion  with  the  Minister,  upon  a  topic 
whicli  I  knew  well  had  never  failed  to  interest  and  excite  him,  I 
kept  my  attention  really  riveted  upon  the  letter.  In  this  exami 
nation,  I  committed  to  memory  its  external  appearance  and  ar 
rangement  in  the  rack ;  and  also  fell,  at  length,  upon  a  discovery 
which  set  at  rest  whatever  trivial  doubt  I  might  have  entertained. 
In  scrutinizing  the  edges  of  the  paper,  I  observed  them  to  be  more 
chafed  than  seemed  necessary.  They  presented  the  broken  ap 
pearance  which  is  manifested  when  a  stiff  paper,  having  been 
once  folded  and  pressed  with  a  folder,  is  refolded  in  a  reversed 
direction,  in  the  same  creases  or  edges  which  had  formed  the 
original  fold.  This  discovery  was  sufficient.  It  was  clear  to  me 
that  the  letter  had  been  turned,  as  a  glove,  inside  out,  re-directed, 
and  re-sealed.  I  bade  the  Minister  good  morning,  and  took  my 
departure  at  once,  leaving  a  gold  snuff-box  upon  the  table. 

"  The  next  morning  I  called  for  the  snuff-box,  when  we 
resumed,  quite  eagerly,  the  conversation  of  the  preceding  day, 
While  thus  engaged,  however,  a  loud  report,  as  if  of  a  pistol, 
was  heard  immediately  beneath  the  windows  of  the  hotel,  and 
was  succeeded  by  a  series  of  fearful  screams,  and  the  shoutings 

of  a  terrified  mob.  D rushed  to  a  casement,  threw  it  open, 

and  looked  out.  In  the  meantime,  I  stepped  to  the  card-rack, 
took  the  letter,  put  it  in  my  pocket,  and  replaced  it  by  a  fac 
simile,  (so  far  as  regards  externals,)  which  I  had  carefully  pre 
pared  at  my  lodgings — imitating  the  D cipher,  very  readily, 

by  means  of  a  seal  formed  of  bread. 

"  The  disturbance  in  the  street  had  been  occasioned  by  the 
frantic  behavior  of  a  man  with  a  musket.  He  had  fired  it 
among  a  crowd  of  women  and  children.  It  proved,  however,  to 
have  been  without  ball,  and  the  fellow  was  suffered  to  go  his 

way  as  a  lunatic  or  a  drunkard.  When  he  had  gone,  D 

came  from  the  window,  whither  1  had  followed  him  immediately 
upon  securing  the  object  in  view.  Soon  afterwards  I  bade  him 
farewell.  The  pretended  lunatic  was  a  man  in  my  own  pay." 

"  But  what  purpose  had  you,"  I  asked,  "  in  replacing  the  letter 


218  POE'S   TALES. 


by  afac-simile  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better,  at  the  first  visit, 
to  have  seized  it  openly,  and  departed  ?" 

"  D ,"  replied  Dupin,  "  is  a  desperate  man,  and  a  man  of 

nerve.  His  hotel,  too,  is  not  without  attendants  devoted  to  his 
interests.  Had  I  made  the  wild  attempt  you  suggest,  I  might 
never  have  left  the  Ministerial  presence  alive.  The  good  people 
of  Paris  might  have  heard  of  me  no  more.  But  I  had  an  object 
apart  from  these  considerations.  You  know  my  political  pre 
possessions.  In  this  matter,  I  act  as  a  partisan  of  the  lady  con 
cerned.  For  eighteen  months  the  Minister  has  had  her  in  his 
power.  She  has  now  him  in  hers — since,  being  unaware  that 
the  letter  is  not  in  his  possession,  he  will  proceed  with  his  ex 
actions  as  if  it  was.  Thus  will  he  inevitably  commit  himself,  at 
once,  to  his  political  destruction.  His  downfall,  too,  will  not  be 
more  precipitate  than  awkward.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about 
the  facilis  descensus  Averni ;  but  in  all  kinds  of  climbing,  as 
Catalani  said  of  singing,  it  is  far  more  easy  to  get  up  than  to 
come  'down.  In  the  present  instance  I  have  no  sympathy — at 
least  no  pity — for  him  who  descends.  He  is  that  monstrum 
horrendum,  an  unprincipled  man  of  genius.  I  confess,  however, 
that  I  should  like  very  well  to  know  the  precise  character  of  his 
thoughts,  when,  being  defied  by  her  whom  the  Prefect  terms  '  a 
certain  personage,'  he  is  reduced  to  opening  the  letter  which  I 
left  for  him  in  the  card-rack." 

"  How  ?  did  you  put  any  thing  particular  in  it  ?" 

"  Why — it  did  not  seem  altogether  right  to  leave  the  interior 

blank — that  would  have  been  insulting.     D ,  at  Vienna  once, 

did  me  an  evil  turn,  which  I  told  him,  quite  good-humoredly,  that 
I  should  remember.  So,  as  I  knew  he  would  feel  some  curiosity 
in  regard  to  the  identity  of  the  person  who  had  outwitted  him,  I 
thought  it  a  pity  not  to  give  him  a  clue.  He  is  well  acquainted 
with  my  MS.,  and  I  just  copied  into  the  middle  of  the  blank 
^heet  the  words — 

" ' Un  deseein  si  funeste, 

S'il  n'est  digne  d'Atr^e,  est  digne  de  Thyeste. 

They  are  to  be  found  in  Crebillon's  <  Atree.'  " 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  CROWD.  219 


THE  MAN  OF  THE   CROWD. 


Ce  grand  malheur,  de  ne  pouvoir  etre  seul. 

La  Bruyere. 

IT  was  well  said  of  a  certain  German  book  that  "  er  lasst  sich 
niclit  lesen" — it  does  not  permit  itself  to  be  read.  There  are 
some  secrets  which  do  not  permit  themselves  to  be  told.  Men  die 
nightly  in  their  beds,  wringing  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  myste 
ries  which  will  not  suffer  themselves  to  be  revealed.  Now  and 
then,  alas,  the  conscience  of  man  takes  up  a  burthen  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  Lon 
don.  For  some  months  I  had  been  ill  in  health,  but  was  now 
convalescent,  and,  with  returning  strength,  found  myself  in  one 
of  those  happy  moods  which  are  so  precisely  the  converse  of  en 
nui — moods  of  the  keenest  appetency,  when  the  film  from  the 
mental  vision  departs — the  a^Xuj  oj  irpiv  crrricv — 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  I  de 
rived  positive  pleasure  even  from  many  of  the  legitimate  sources  of 
pain.  I  felt  a  calm  but  inquisitive  interest  in  every  thing.  With 
a  cigar  in  my  mouth  and  a  newspaper  in  my  lap,  I  had  beeu 
amusing  myself  for  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon,  now  in 


220  FOE'S  TALES. 


poring  over  advertisements,  now  in  observing  the  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  population  were  rushing  past  the  door.  At  this  particu 
lar  period  of  the  evening  I  had  never  before  been  in  a  similar  sit 
uation,  and  the  tumultuous  sea  of  human  heads  filled  me,  there 
fore,  with  a  delicious  novelty  of  emotion.  I  gave  up,  at  length, 
all  care  of  things  within  the  hotel,  and  became  absorbed  in  con 
templation  of  the  scene  without. 

At  first  my  observations  took  an  abstract  and  generalizing 
turn.  I  looked  at  the  passengers  in  'masses,  and  thought  of  them 
in  their  aggregate  relations.  Soon,  however,  I  descended  to  de 
tails,  and  regarded  with  minute  interest  the  innumerable  varie 
ties  of  figure,  dress,  air,  gait,  visage,  and  expression  of  counte 
nance. 

By  far  the  greater  number  of  those  who  went  by  had  a  satis 
fied  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,  b.ut  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  re 
doubled  their  gesticulations,  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,  and  ap 
peared  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  term 
ed  the  decent.  They  were  undoubtedly  noblemen,  merchants, 
attorneys,  tradesmen,  stock-jobbers — the  Eupatrids  and  the  com 
mon-places  of  society — men  of  leisure  and  men  actively  engaged 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  CROWD.  221 

in  affairs  of  their  own — conducting  business  upon  their  own  re 
sponsibility.     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  fac 
simile  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  staunch  firms,  or  of  the 
"  steady  old  fellows,"  it  was  not  possible  to  mistake.  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  pen- 
holding,  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  a  substantial  and 
ancient  pattern.  Theirs  was  the  affectation  of  respectability ; — 
if  indeed  there  be  an  affectation  so  honorable. 

There  were  many  individuals  of  dashing  appearance,  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  inquisitiveness,  and  found  it  difficult  to  imagine  how 
they  should  ever  be  mistaken  for  gentlemen  by  gentlemen  them 
selves.  Their  voluminousness  of  wristband,  with  an  air  of  ex 
cessive  frankness,  should  betray  them  at  once. 

The  gamblersj  of  whom  I  descried  not  a  few,  were  still  more 
easily  recognisable;  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  cer 
tain  sodden  swarthiness  of  complexion,  a  filmy  dimness  of  eye, 
and  pallor  and  compression  of  lip*  There  were  two  other  traits, 


222  FOE'S   TALES. 


moreover,  by  which  I  could  always  detect  them ; — a  guarded 
lowness  of  tone  in  conversation,  and  a  more  than  ordinary  exten 
sion  of  the  thumb  in  a  direction  at  right  angles  with  the  fingers. 
— Very  often,  in  company  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  countenances  whose  every  other 
feature  wore  only  an  expression  of  abject  humility  ;  sturdy  pro 
fessional  street  beggars  scowling  upon  mendicants  of  a  better 
stamp,  whom  despair  alone  had  driven  forth  into  the  night  for 
charity ;  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 ;  wo 
men  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,  ma 
king  a  last  effort  at  youth — the  mere  child  of  immature  form,  yet, 
from  long  association,  an  adept  in  the  dreadful  coquetries  of  her 
trade,  and  burning  with  a  rabid  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  scrupu 
lously  well  brushed — men  who  walked  with  a  more  than  natu- 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  CROWD.  223 

rally  firm  and  springy  step,  but  whose  countenances  were  fearful 
ly  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 ;  beside  these,  pie-men, 
porters,  coal-heavers,  sweeps;  organ-grinders,  monkey-exhibiters 
and  ballad  mongers,  those  who  vended  with  those  who  sang ; 
ragged  artizans  and  exhausted  laborers  of  every  description,  and 
all  full  of  a  noisy  and  inordinate  vivacity  which  jarred  discord 
antly  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  ma 
terially  alter  (its  gentler  features  retiring  in  the  gradual  with 
drawal  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  ascendancy,  and  threw  over  every  thing  a  fitful 
and  garish  lustre.  All  was,  dark  yet  splendid — 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  rapidity  with  which  the  world 
of  light  flitted  before  the  window,  prevented  me  from  casting 
more  than  a  glance  upon  each  visage,  still  it  seemed  that,  in  my 
then  peculiar  mental  state,  I  coined  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  decrepid  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  idiosyncracy  of  its 
expression.  Any  thing  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  of  vast  men 
tal  power,  of  caution,  of  penuriousness,  of  avarice,  of  coolness, 


224  FOE'S  TALE 


of  malice,  of  blood-thirstiness,  of  triumph,  of  merriment,  of  ex 
cessive  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.  Hurri 
edly  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  dis 
appeared.  With  some  little  difficulty  I  at  length  came  within 
sight  of  him,  approached,  and  followed  him  closely,  yet  cautious 
ly,  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  the  strong  glare  of  a  lamp,  I  perceived  that  his 
linen,  although  dirty,  was  of  beautiful  texture  ;  and  my  vision  de 
ceived  me,  or,  through  a  rent  in  a  closely-buttoned  and  evidently 
second-handed  roquelaire  which  enveloped  him,  I  caught  a  glimpse 
both  of  a  diamond  and  of  a  dagger.  These  observations  height 
ened  my  curiosity,  and  I  resolved  to  follow  the  stranger  whither 
soever  he  should  go. 

It  was  now  fully  night-fall,  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  in 
creased  in  a  tenfold  degree.  For  my  own  part  I  did  not  much 
regard  the  rain— the  lurking  of  an  old  fever  in  my  system  ren 
dering  the  moisture  somewhat  too  dangerously  pleasant.  Tying 
a  handkerchief  about  my  mouth,  I  kept  on.  For  half  an  hour 
the  old  man  held  his  way  with  difficulty  along  the  great  thor 
oughfare  ;  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  bye  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  v/ith  less  object  than  before — more  hesitatingly.  He  crossed 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  CROWD.  225 

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  re-appeared.  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  turn 
ed  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  bye-street  comparatively  deserted.  Down  this,  some  quai- 
ter  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  with 
in  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  en 
tered  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  behaviour,  and  firmly  resolved  that  we  should  not 
part  until  I  had  satisfied  myself  in  some  measure  respecting  him. 
16 


POE'S  TALES. 


A  loud-toned  clock  struck  eleven,  and  the  company  were  fast 
deserting  the  bazaar.  A  shop-keeper,  in  putting  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  anx 
iously  around  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  ran  with  incredible 
swiftness  through  many  crooked  and  people-less  lanes,  until  we 
emerged  once  more  upon  the  great  thoroughfare  whence  we  had 
started — the  street  of  the  D Hotel.  It  no  longer  wore,  how 
ever,  the  same  aspect.  It  was  still  brilliant  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,  came  out,  at  length,  in  view  of  one  of  the  principal  thea 
tres.  It  was  about  being  closed,  and  the  audience  were  throng 
ing  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  ac 
tions. 

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  remain 
ed  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  semblance  of  a  passage 
was  discernible  between  them.  The  paving-stones  lay  at  ran- 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  CROWD.  227 

dom,  displaced  from  their  beds  by  the  rankly-growing  grass. 
Horrible  filth  festered  in  the  dammed-up  gutters.  The  whole  at 
mosphere  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  of  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  day-break  ;  but  a  number  of  wretched  ine 
briates  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  to 
ken  that  the  host  was  closing  them  for  the  night.  It  was  some 
thing  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  pro 
ceeded,  and,  when  we  had  once  again  reached  that  most  thronged 
mart  of  the  populous  town,  the  street  of  the  D Hotel,  it  pre 
sented  an  appearance  of  human  bustle  and  activity  scarcely  infe 
rior  to  what  I  had  seen  on  the  evening  be.  ,e.  And  here,  long, 
amid  the  momently  increasing  confusion,  did  I  persist  in  my  pur 
suit  of  the  stranger.  But,  as  usual,  he  v/alked  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  wea 
ried  unto  death,  and,  stopping  fully  in  front  of  the  wanderer, 
gazed  at  him  steadfastly  in  the  face.  He  noticed  me  not,  but  re 
sumed  his  solemn  walk,  while  I,  ceasing  to  follow,  remained  ab 
sorbed  in  contemplation.  "  This  old  man,"  I  said  at  length,  "  is 
the  type  and  the  genius  of  deep  crime.  He  refuses  to  be  alone. 


228  FOE'S   TALES. 


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  'Hortulus  Animse/*  and 
perhaps  it  is  but  one  of  the  great  mercies  of  God  that  '  er  lasst 
sich  nicht  lesen.'  " 

*  The  "  Hortulus  Anima  cum  Oratiunculis  Aliquibm  Superadditis "  of 
Griinninger 


THE  END. 


Al