NRLF
ME1
EDGAR AtLAN POE
EBMM
GIFT OF W. H. Smyth
** The beetle . . . glistened like a globe of burnished gold."
Vol. I, p. 144.
IRaven Bbition
THE WORKS OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE
IN FIVE VOLUMES
FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR FROM PAINTING
By ARTH U R E. BECHER
VOLUME ONE
NEW YORK
P. F. COLLIER & SON
M C M I V
COPYRIGHT 1903 By P. F. COLLIER & SON
\
THE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
-Po«— 1
CONTENTS
PREFACE 5
»
LIFE OF POE 15
DEATH OF POE 27
THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS
PFAALL c ... 39
THE GOLD-BUG 121
FOUR BEASTS IN ONE 178
THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE IQI
THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 248
THE BALLOON-HOAX 328
MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE 349
THE OVAL PORTRAIT 366
M101096
EDGAR ALLAN POE
AN APPRECIATION
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one bur den bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of "never — never more!"
THIS stanza from "The Raven" was recom mended by James Russell Lowell as an inscription upon the Baltimore monument which marks the rest ing place of Edgar Allan Poe, the most interesting and original figure in American letters. And, to signify that peculiar musical quality of Poe's gen ius which inthralls every reader, Mr. Lowell sug gested this additional verse, from the "Haunted Palace" :
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling ever more, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
Born in poverty at Boston, January 19, 1809, dying under painful circumstances at Baltimore, Oc tober 7, 1849, ms whole literary career of scarcely fifteen years a pitiful struggle for mere subsistence, his memory malignantly misrepresented by his ear-
A Memoir
liest:bib:grapher, Griswold, how completely has truth at! Jast : routed falsehood and how magnificently has Poe come into his own. For "The Raven," first published in 1845, and> within a few months, read, recited and parodied wherever the English language was spoken, the half -starved poet received $10! Less than a year later his brother poet, N. P. Willis, issued this touching appeal to the admirers of gen ius on behalf of the neglected author, his dying wife and her devoted mother, then living under very straitened circumstances in a little cottage at Ford- ham, N. Y. :
"Here is one of the finest scholars, one of the most original men of genius, and one of the most industrious of the literary profession of our coun try, whose temporary suspension of labor, from bodily illness, drops him immediately to a level with the common objects of public charity. There is no intermediate stopping-place, no respectful shelter, where, with the delicacy due to genius and culture, he might secure aid, till, with returning health, he would resume his labors, and his unmortified sense of independence."
And this was the tribute paid by the American public to the master who had given to it such tales of conjuring charm, of witchery and mystery as 'The Fall of the House of Usher" and "Ligea" ; such fascinating hoaxes as "The Unparalleled Ad venture of Hans Pfaall," "MSS. Found in a Bot-
A Memoir 7
tie," "A Descent Into a Maelstrom" and "The Bal loon Hoax"; such tales of conscience as "William Wilson," "The Black Cat" and "The Tell-tale Heart," wherein the retributions of remorse are por trayed with an awful fidelity; such tales of natural beauty as "The Island of the Fay" and "The Do main of Arnheim" ; such marvellous studies in ra tiocination as the "Gold-bug," "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The Purloined Letter" and "The Mystery of Marie Roget," the latter, a recital of fact, demonstrating the author's wonderful capa bility of correctly analyzing the mysteries of the hu man mind ; such tales of illusion and banter as "The Premature Burial" and "The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether"; such bits of extravaganza as "The Devil in the Belfry" and "The Angel of the Odd" ; such tales of adventure as "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym" ; such papers of keen criticism and review as won for Poe the enthusiastic admira tion of Charles Dickens, although they made him many enemies among the over-puffed minor Ameri can writers so mercilessly exposed by him; such poems of beauty and melody as "The Bells," "The Haunted Palace," "Tamerlane," "The City in the Sea" and "The Raven." What delight for the jaded senses of the reader is this enchanted domain of wonder-pieces ! What an atmosphere of beauty, mu sic, color! What resources of imagination, con struction, analysis and absolute art ! One might al-
8 A Memoir
most sympathize with Sarah Helen Whitman, who, confessing to a half faith in the old superstition of the significance of anagrams, found, in the trans posed letters of Edgar Poe's name, the words "a God-peer." His mind, she says, was indeed a "Haunted Palace," echoing to the footfalls of an gels and demons.
"No man," Poe himself wrote, "has recorded, no man has dared to record, the wonders of his inner life."
In these twentieth century, days of lavish recog nition — artistic, popular and material— of genius, what rewards might not a Poe claim!
Edgar's father, a son of General David Poe, the American revolutionary patriot and friend of La fayette, had married Mrs. Hopkins, an English actress, and, the match meeting with parental disapproval, had himself taken to the stage as a profession. Notwithstanding Mrs. Poe's beauty and talent the young couple had a sorry struggle for ex istence. When Edgar, at the age of two years, was orphaned, the family was in the utmost destitution. Apparently the future poet was to be cast upon the world homeless and friendless. But fate decreed that a few glimmers of sunshine were to illumine his life, for the little fellow was adopted by John Allan, a wealthy merchant of Richmond, Va. A brother and sister, the remaining children, were cared for by others.
A Memoir 9
In his new home Edgar found all the luxury and advantages money could provide. He was petted, spoiled and shown off to strangers. In Mrs. Allan he found all the affection a childless wife could be stow. Mr. Allan took much pride in the captivat ing, precocious lad. At the age of five the boy re cited, with fine effect, passages of English poetry to the visitors at the Allan house.
From his eighth to his thirteenth year he at tended the Manor House school, at Stoke-Newing- ton, a suburb of London. It was the Rev. Dr. Bransby, head of the school, whom Poe so quaintly portrayed in "William Wilson." Returning to Rich mond in 1820 Edgar was sent to the school of Pro fessor Joseph H. Clarke. He proved an apt pupil. Years afterward Professor Clarke thus wrote:
"While the other boys wrote mere mechanical verses, Poe wrote genuine poetry; the boy was a born poet. As a scholar he was ambitious to ex cel. He was remarkable for self-respect, without haughtiness. He had a sensitive and tender heart and would do anything for a friend. His nature was entirely free from selfishness."
At the age of seventeen Poe entered the Univer sity of Virginia at Charlottesville. He left that in stitution after one session. Official records prove that he was not expelled. On the contrary, he gained a creditable record as a student, although it is admitted that he contracted debts and had "an
io A Memoir
ungovernable passion for card-playing." These debts may have led to his quarrel with Mr. Allan which eventually compelled him to make his own way in the world.
Early in 1827 Poe made his first literary venture. He induced Calvin Thomas, a poor and youthful printer, to publish a small volume of his verses un der the title "Tamerlane and Other Poems." In 1829 we find Poe in Baltimore with another manu script volume of verses, which was soon published. Its title was "Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Other Poems." Neither of these ventures seems to have attracted much attention.
Soon after Mrs. Allan's death, which occurred in 1829, Poe, through the aid of Mr. Allan, secured admission to the United States Military Academy at West Point. Any glamour which may have at tached to cadet life in Poe's eyes was speedily lost, for discipline at West Point was never so severe nor were the accommodations ever so poor. Poe's bent was more and more toward literature. Life at the academy daily became increasingly distasteful. Soon he began to purposely neglect his studies and to disregard his duties, his aim being to secure his dismissal from the United States service. In this he succeeded. On March 7, 1831, Poe found him self free. Mr. Allan's second marriage had thrown the lad on his own resources. His literary career was to begin.
A Memoir n
Poe's first genuine victory was won in 1833, when he was the successful competitor for a prize of $100 offered by a Baltimore periodical for the best prose story. "A MSS. Found in a Bottle" was the win ning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a vol ume. "Our only difficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "was in selecting from the rich con tents of the volume."
During the fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connected with various newspapers and maga zines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New York. He was faithful, punctual, industrious, thorough. N. P. Willis, who for some time employed Poe as critic and sub-editor on the "Evening Mirror/' wrote thus :
"With the highest admiration for Poe's genius, and a willingness to let it alone for more than or dinary irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of violence and difficulty. Time went on, however, and Ke was invariably punctual and industrious. We saw but one present iment of the man — a quiet, patient, industrious and most gentlemanly person.
"We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in all mention of his lamentable ir regularities), that with a single glass of wine his whole nature was reversed, the demon became up permost, and, though none of the usual signs of in-
12 A Memoir
toxication were visible, his will was palpably insane. In this reversed character, we repeat, it was never our chance to meet him."
On September 22, 1835, Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, in Baltimore. She had barely turned thirteen years, Poe himself was but twenty- six. He then was a resident of Richmond and a regular contributor to the "Southern Literary Mes senger." It was not until a year later that the bride and her widowed mother followed him thither.
Poe's devotion to his child-wife was one of the most beautiful features of his life. Many of his famous poetic productions were inspired by her beauty and charm. Consumption had marked her for its victim, and the constant efforts of husband and mother were to secure for her all the comfort and happiness their slender means permitted. Vir ginia died January 30, 1847, when but twenty-five years of age. A friend of the family pictures the death-bed scene — mother and husband trying to im part warmth to her by chafing her hands and her feet, while her pet cat was suffered to nestle upon her bosom for the sake of added warmth.
These verses from "Annabel Lee," written by Poe in 1849, ^e last year of his life, tell of his sorrow at the loss of his child-wife :
I was a child and she was a child,
In a kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee;
A Memoir 13
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea. A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea,
Poe was connected at various times and in various capacities with the "Southern Literary Messenger" in Richmond, Va. ; "Graham's Magazine" and the "Gentleman's Magazine" in Philadelphia; the "Evening Mirror," the "Broadway Journal," and "Godey's Lady's Book" in New York. Everywhere Poe's life was one of unremitting toil. No tales and poems were ever produced at a greater cost of brain and spirit.
Poe's initial salary with the "Southern Literary Messenger," to which he contributed the first drafts of a number of his best-known tales, was $10 a week ! Two years later his salary was but $600 a year. Even in 1844, when his literary reputation was established securely, he wrote to a friend ex pressing his pleasure because a magazine to which he was to contribute had agreed to pay him $20 monthly for two pages of criticism.
Those were discouraging times in American lit erature, but Poe never lost faith. He was finally to triumph wherever pre-eminent talents win ad-
14 A Memoir
mirers. His genius has had no better description than in this stanza from William Winter's poem, read at the dedication exercises of the Actors' Mon ument to Poe, May 4, 1885, in New York:
He was the voice of beauty and of woe, Passion and mystery and the dread unknown; Pure as the mountains of perpetual snow, Cold as the icy winds that round them moan, Dark as the caves wherein earth's thunders groan, Wild as the tempests of the upper sky, Sweet as the faint, far-off celestial tone of angel whis pers, fluttering from on high, And tender as love's tear when youth and beauty die.
In the two and a half score years that have elapsed since Poe's death he has come fully into his own. For a while Griswold's malignant misrepresenta tions colored the public estimate of Poe as man and as writer. But, thanks to J. H. Ingram, W. F. Gill, Eugene Didier, Sarah Helen Whitman and others these scandals have been dispelled and Poe is seen as he actually was — not as a man without failings, it is true, but as the finest and most origi nal genius in American letters. As the years go on his fame increases. His works have been trans lated into many foreign languages. His is a house hold name in France and England — in fact, the lat ter nation has often uttered the reproach that Poe's own country has been slow to appreciate him. But that reproach, if it ever was warranted, certainly is untrue. W. H. R.
EDGAR ALLAN POE*
BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
THE situation of American literature is anoma lous. It has no centre, or, if it have, it is like that of the sphere of Hermes. It is divided into many systems, each revolving round its several suns, and often presenting to the rest only the faint glimmer of a milk-and-water way. Our capital city, unlike London or Paris, is not a great central heart from which life and vigor radiate to the extremities, but resembles more an isolated umbilicus stuck down as near as may be to the centre of the land, and seem ing rather to tell a legend of former usefulness than to serve any present need. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, each has its literature almost more dis tinct than those of the different dialects of Germany ; and the Young Queen of the West has also one of her own, of which some articulate rumor barely has reached us dwellers by the Atlantic.
Perhaps there is no task more difficult than the just criticism of contemporary literature. It is even more grateful to give praise where it is needed than where it is deserved, and friendship so often se duces the iron stylus of justice into a vague flourish, that she writes what seems rather like an epitaph
* The following notice of Mr. Poe's life and works was written at his own request, and accompanied a portrait of him, published in "Graham's Magazine" for February, 1845, under the general heading, "Our Contributors— No. XVII." It i§ here reprinted, with a few alterations and omissions.
05)
1 6 Life of Poe
than a criticism. Yet if praise be given as an alms, we could not drop so poisonous a one into any man's hat. The critic's ink may suffer equally from too large an infusion of nutgalls or of sugar. But it is easier to be generous than to be just, and we might readily put faith in that fabulous direction to the hiding place of truth, did we judge from the amount of water which we usually find mixed with it.
Remarkable experiences are usually confined to the inner life of imaginative men, but Mr. Poe's biography displays a vicissitude and peculiarity of interest such as is rarely met with. The offspring of a romantic marriage, and left an orphan at an early age, he was adopted by Mr. Allan, a wealthy Virginian, whose barren marriage-bed seemed the warranty of a large estate to the young poet.
Having received a classical education in Eng land, he returned home and entered the University of Virginia, where, after an extravagant course, fol lowed by reformation at the last extremity, he was graduated with the highest honors of his class. Then came a boyish attempt to join the fortunes of the insurgent Greeks, which ended at St. Peters burg, where he got into difficulties through want of a passport, from which he was rescued by the Ameri can consul and sent home. He now entered the military academy at West Point, from which he obtained a dismissal on hearing of the birth of a son to his adopted father, by a second marriage, an event which cut off his expectations as an heir. The death of Mr. Allan, in whose will his name was not mentioned, soon after relieved him of all doubt in this regard, and he committed himself at once to
Life of Poe 17
authorship for a support. Previously to this, how ever, he had published (in 1827) a small volume of poems, which soon ran through three editions, and excited high expectations of its author's future dis tinction in the minds of many competent judges.
That no certain augury can be drawn from a poet's earliest lispings there are instances enough to prove. Shakespeare's first poems, though brimful of vigor and youth and picturesqueness, give but a very faint promise of the directness, condensation and overflowing moral of his maturer works. Per haps, "however, Shakespeare is hardly a case in point, his "Venus and Adonis" having been pub lished, we believe, in his twenty-sixth year. Mil ton's Latin verses show tenderness, a fine eye for nature, and a delicate appreciation of classic models, but give no hint of the author of a new style in poetry. Pope's youthful pieces have all the sing song, wholly unrelieved by the glittering malignity and eloquent irreligion of his later productions. Collins' callow namby-pamby died and gave no sign of the vigorous and original genius which he after ward displayed. We have never thought that the world lost more in the "marvellous boy," Chatter- ton, than a very ingenious imitator of obscure and antiquated dulness. Where he becomes original (as it is called), the interest of ingenuity ceases and he becomes stupid. Kirke White's promises were in dorsed by the respectable name of Mr. Southey, but surely with no authority from Apollo. They have the merit of a traditional piety, which to our mind, if uttered at all, had been less objectionable in the retired closet of a diary, and in the sober raiment of prose. They do not clutch hold of the memory with
1 8 Life of Poe
the drowning pertinacity of Watts; neither have they the interest of his occasional simple, lucky beauty. Burns having fortunately been rescued by his humble station from the contaminating society of the "Best models," wrote well and naturally from the first. Had he been unfortunate enough to have had an educated faste, we should have had a series of poems from which, as from his letters, we could sift here and there a kernel from the mass of chaff. Coleridge's youthful efforts give no promise what ever of that poetical genius which produced at once the wildest, tenderest, most original and most purely imaginative poems of modern times. Byron's "Hours of Idleness" would never find a reader ex cept from an intrepid and indefatigable curiosity. In Wordsworth's first preludings there is but a dim foreboding of the creator of an era. From Southey's early poems, a safer augury might have been drawn. They show the patient investigator, the close stu dent of history, and the unwearied explorer of the beauties of predecessors, but they give no assurances of a man who should add aught to stock of house hold words, or to the rarer and more sacred delights of the fireside or the arbor. The earliest specimens of Shelley's poetic mind already, also, give tokens of that ethereal sublimation in which the spirit seems to soar above the regions of words, but leaves its body, the verse, to be entombed, without hope of resurrec tion, in a mass of them. Cowley is generally in stanced as a wonder of precocity. But his early in sipidities show only a capacity for rhyming and for the metrical arrangement of certain conventional combinations of words, a capacity wholly dependent on a delicate physical organization, and an unhappy
Life of Poe 19
memory. An early poem is only remarkable when it displays an effort of reason, and the rudest verses in which we can trace some conception of the ends of poetry, are worth all the miracles of smooth juvenile versification. A school-boy, one would say, might acquire the regular see-saw of Pope merely by an association with the motion of the play-ground tilt.
Mr. Poe's early productions show that he could see through the verse to the spirit beneath, and that he already had a feeling that all the life and grace of the one must depend on and be modulated by the will of the other. We call them the most remark able boyish poems that we have ever read. We know of none that can compare with them for ma turity of purpose, and a nice understanding of the effects of language and metre. Such pieces are only valuable when they display what we can only ex press by the contradictory phrase of innate experi ence. We copy one of the shorter poems, written when the author was only fourteen. There is a lit tle dimness in the filling up, but the grace and sym metry of the outline are such as few poets ever at tain. There is a smack of ambrosia about it.
TO HELEN Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
20 Life of Poe
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand!
The agate lamp within thy hand, Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land !
It is the tendency of the young poet that impresses us. Here is no "withering scorn," no heart "blighted" ere it has safely got into its teens, none of the drawing-room sansculottism which Byron had brought into vogue. All is limpid and serene, with a pleasant dash of the Greek Helicon in it. The melody of the whole, too, is remarkable. It is not of that kind which can be demonstrated artihmeti- cally upon the tips of the ringers. It is of that finer sort which the inner ear alone can estimate. It seems simple, like a Greek column, because of its perfection. In a poem named "Ligeia," under which title he intended to personify the music of nature, our boy-poet gives us the following exquis ite picture:
Ligeia! Ligeia! My beautiful one,
Whose harshest idea Will to melody run, Say, is it thy will, On the breezes to toss, Or, capriciously still, Like the lone albatross, Incumbent on night, As she on the air,
To keep watch with delight On the harmony there?
John Neal, himself a man of genius, and whose lyre has been too long capriciously silent, appreci ated the high merit of these and similar passages, and drew a proud horoscope for their author.
Life of Poe 21
Mr. Poe had that indescribable something which men have agreed to call genius. No man could ever tell us precisely what it is, and yet there is none who is not inevitably aware of its presence and its power. Let talent writhe and contort itself as it may, it has no such magnetism. Larger of bone and sinew it may be, but the wings are wanting. Talent sticks fast to earth, and its most perfect works have still one foot of clay. Genius claims kindred with the very workings of Nature herself, so that a sunset shall seem like a quotation from Dante, and if Shakespeare be read in the very presence of the sea itself, his verses shall but seem nobler for the sub lime criticism of ocean. Talent may make friends for itself, but only genius can give to its creations the divine power of winning love and veneration. Enthusiasm cannot cling to what itself is unenthu- siastic, nor will he ever have disciples who has not himself impulsive zeal enough to be a disciple. Great wits are allied to madness only inasmuch as they are possessed and carried away by their demon, while talent keeps him, as Paracelsus did, securely prisoned in the pommel of his sword. To the eye of genius, the veil of the spiritual world is ever rent asunder, that it may perceive the ministers of good and evil who throng continually around it. No man of mere talent ever flung his inkstand at the devil.
When we say that Mr. Poe had genius, we do not mean to say that he has produced evidence of the highest. But to say that he possesses it at all is to say that he needs only zeal, industry, and a rever ence for the trust reposed in him, to achieve the proudest triumphs and the greenest laurels. If we may believe the Longinuses and Aristotles of our
22 Life of Poe
newspapers, we have quite too many geniuses of the loftiest order to render a place among them at all desirable, whether for its hardness of attainment or its seclusion. The highest peak of our Parnassus is, according ito these gentlemen, by far the most thickly settled portion of the country, a circumstance which must make it an uncomfortable residence for individuals of a poetical temperament, if love of solitude be, as immemorial tradition asserts, a neces sary part of their idiosyncrasy.
Mr. Poe has two of the prime qualities of genius, a faculty of vigorous yet minute analysis, and a wonderful fecundity of imagination. The first of these faculties is as needful to the artist in words, as a knowledge of anatomy is to the artist in colors or in stone. This enables him to conceive truly, to maintain a proper relation of parts, and to draw a correct outline, while the second groups, fills up and colors. Both of these Mr. Poe has displayed with singular distinctness in his prose works, the last predominating in his earlier tales, and the first in his later ones. In judging of the merit of an author, and assigning him his niche among our household gods, we have a right to regard him from our own point of view, and to measure him by our own stand ard. But, in estimating the amount of power dis played in his works, we must be governed by his own design, and placing them by the side of his own ideal, find how much is wanting. We differ from Mr. Poe in his opinions of the objects of art. He esteems that object to be the creation of Beauty, and perhaps it is only in the definition of that word that we disagree with him. But in what we shall say of his writings, we shall take his own standard as our
Life of Poe 23
guide. The temple of the god of song1 is equally accessible from every side, and there is room enough in it for all who bring offerings, or seek in oracle.
In his tales, Mr. Poe has chosen to exhibit his power chiefly in that dim region which stretches from the very utmost limits of the probable into the weird confines of superstition and unreality. He combines in a very remarkable manner two faculties which are seldom found united; a power of influ encing the mind of the reader by the impalpable shadows of mystery, and a minuteness of detail which does not leave a pin or a button unnoticed. Both are, in truth, the natural results of the pre dominating quality of his mind, to which we have before alluded, analysis. It is this which distin guishes the artist. His mind at once reaches for ward to the effect to be produced. Having resolved to bring about certain emotions in the reader, he makes all subordinate parts tend strictly to the com mon centre. Even his mystery is mathematical to his own mind. To him X is a known quantity all along. In any picture that he paints he understands the chemical properties of all his colors. However vague some of his figures may seem, however form less the shadows, to him the outline is as clear and distinct as that of a geometrical diagram. For this reason Mr. Poe has no sympathy with Mysticism. The Mystic dwells in the mystery, is enveloped with it ; it colors all his thoughts ; it affects his optic nerve especially, and the commonest things get a rainbow edging from it. Mr. Poe, on the other hand, is a spectator ab extra. He analyzes, he dis sects, he watches
24 Life of Poe
"with an eye serene, The very pulse of the machine,"
for such it practically is to him, with wheels and cogs and piston-rods, all working to produce a cer tain end.
This analyzing tendency of his mind balances the |)oetical, and by giving him the patience to be mi- mute, enables him to throw a wonderful reality into his most unreal fancies. A monomania he paints with great power. He loves to dissect one of these cancers of the mind, and to trace all the subtle rami fications of its roots. In raising images of horror, also, he has strange success, conveying to us some times by a dusky hint some terrible doubt which is the secret of all horror. He leaves to imagination the 'task of finishing the picture, a task to which only she is competent.
"For much imaginary work was there; Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, That for Achilles' image stood his spear Grasped in an armed hand ; himself behind Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind."
Besides the merit of conception, Mr. Poe's writ ings have also that of form.
His style is highly finished, graceful and truly classical. It would be hard to find a living author who had displayed such varied powers. As an ex ample of his style we would refer to one of his tales, "The House of Usher," in the first volume of his "Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque." It has a singular charm for us, and we think that no one could read it without being strongly moved by its
Life of Poe 25
serene and sombre beauty. Had its author written nothing else, it would alone have been enough to stamp him as a man of genius, and the master of a classic style. In this tale occurs, perhaps, the most beautiful of his poems.
The great masters of imagination have seldom re sorted to the vague and the unreal as sources of ef fect. They have not used dread and horror alone, but only in combination with other qualities, as means of subjugating the fancies of their readers. The loftiest muse has ever a household and fireside charm about her. Mr. Poe's secret lies mainly in the skill with which he has employed the strange fascination of mystery and terror. In this his suc cess is so great and striking as to deserve the name of art, not artifice. We cannot call his materials the noblest or purest, but we must concede to him the highest merit of construction.
As a critic, w Mr. Poe was aesthetically deficient. Unerring in Ins analysis of dictions, metres and plots, he seemed wanting in the faculty of perceiv ing the profounder ethics of art. His criticisms are, however, distinguished for scientific precision and coherence of logic. They have the exactness, and at the same time, the coldness of mathematical demonstrations. Yet they stand in strikingly re freshing contrast with the vague generalisms and sharp personalities of the day. If deficient in warmth, they are also without the heat of partisan ship. They are especially valuable as illustrating the great truth, too generally overlooked, that analytic power is a subordinate quality of the critic.
On the whole, it may be considered certain that
I-Poe-2
26 Life of Poe
Mr. Poe has attained an individual eminence in our literature which he will keep. He has given proof of power and originality. He has done that which could only be done once with success or safety, and the imitation or repetition of which would produce weariness.
DEATH OF EDGAR A. POE
BY N. P. WILLIS
THE ancient fable of two antagonistic spirits im prisoned in one body, equally powerful and having the complete mastery by turns — of one man, that is to say, inhabited by both a devil and an angel — seems to have been realized, if all we hear is true, in the character of the extraordinary man whose name we have written above. Our own impression of the nature of Edgar A. Poe, differs in some important degree, however, from that which has been gen erally conveyed in the notices of his death. Let us, before telling what we personally know of him, copy a graphic and highly finished portraiture, from the pen of Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, which appeared in a recent number of the "Tribune :"*
"Edgar Allen Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore on Sunday, October 7th. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it. The poet was known, personally or by reputation, in all this country ; he had readers in England and in sev eral of the states of Continental Europe ; but he had few or no friends ; and the regrets for his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in him literary art has lost one of its most brilliant but erratic stars.
These remarks were published by Mr. Willis in the "Home Journal/' on the Saturday following Mr. Poe's death.
O7)
28 Death of Poe
"His conversation was at times almost supra- mortal in its eloquence. His voice was modulated with astonishing skill, and his large and variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tumult into theirs who listened, while his own face glowed, or was changeless in pallor, as his imagination quick ened his blood or drew it back frozen to his heart. His imagery was from the worlds which no mortals can see but with the vision of genius. Suddenly starting from a proposition, exactly and sharply de fined, in terms of utmost simplicity and clearness, he rejected the forms of customary logic, and by a crystalline process of accretion, built up his ocular demonstrations in forms of gloomiest and ghastli est grandeur, or in those of the most airy and deli cious beauty, so minutely and distinctly, yet so rap idly, that the attention which was yielded to him was chained till it stood among his wonderful creations, till he himself dissolved the spell, and brought his hearers back to common and base existence, by vul gar fancies or exhibitions of the ignoblest passion.
"He was at all times a dreamer — dwelling in ideal realms — in heaven or hell — peopled with the creat ures and the accidents of his brain. He walked the streets, in madness or melancholy, with lips moving in indistinct curses, or with eyes upturned in passion ate prayer (never for himself, for he felt, or pro fessed to feel, that he was already damned, but) for their happiness who at the moment were objects of his idolatry; or with his glances introverted to a heart gnawed with anguish, and with a face shrouded in gloom, he would brave the wildest storms, and all night, with drenched garments and arms beating the winds and rains, would speak as if
Death of Poe 29
the spirits that at such times only could be evoked by him from the Aidenn, close by whose portals his disturbed soul sought to forget the ills to which his constitution subjected him — close by the Aidenn where were those he loved — the Aidenn which he might never see, but in fitful glimpses, as its gates opened to receive the less fiery and more happy na tures whose destiny to sin did not involve the doom of death.
"He seemed, except when some fitful pursuit sub jugated his will and engrossed his faculties, always to bear the memory of some controlling sorrow. The remarkable poem of 'The Raven' was proba bly much more nearly than has been supposed, even by those who were very intimate with him, a re flection and an echo of his own history. He was that bird's
"'unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden
bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never—never more/
"Every genuine author in a greater or less de gree leaves in his works, whatever their design, traces of his personal character : elements of his im mortal being, in which the individual survives the person. While we read the pages of the 'Fall of the House of Usher/ or of 'Mesmeric Revelations/ we see in the solemn and stately gloom which in vests one, and in the subtle metaphysical analysis of both, indications of the idiosyncrasies of what was most remarkable and peculiar in the author's intel lectual nature. But we see here only the better phases of his nature, only the symbols of his juster
30 Death of Poe
action, for his harsh experience had deprived him of all faith in man or woman. He had made up his mind upon the numberless complexities of the so cial world, and the whole system with him was an imposture. This conviction gave a direction to his shrewd and naturally unamiable character. Still, though he regarded society as composed altogether of villains, the sharpness of his intellect was not of that kind which enabled him to cope with villany, while it continually caused him by overshots to fail of the success of honesty. He was in many respects like Francis Vivian in Bulwer's novel of The Cax- tons.' Passion, in him, comprehended many of the worst emotions which militate against human hap piness. You could not contradict him, but you raised quick choler; you could not speak of wealth, but his cheek paled with gnawing envy. The aston ishing natural advantages of this poor boy — his beauty, his readiness, the daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere — had raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arrogance that turned his very claims to admiration into prejudices against him. Irascible, envious — bad enough, but not the worst, for these salient angles were all var nished over with a cold, repellant cynicism, his pas sions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed to him no moral susceptibility ; and, what was more re markable in a proud nature, little or nothing of the true point of honor. He had, to a morbid excess, that desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambition, but no wish for the esteem or the love of his species ; only the hard wish to succeed — not shine, not serve — succeed, that he might have the right to despise a world which galled his self-conceit.
Death of Poe 31
"We have suggested the influence of his aims and vicissitudes upon his literature. It was more con spicuous in his later than in his earlier writings. Nearly all that he wrote in the last two or three years — including much of his best poetry — was in some sense biographical; in draperies of his imagi nation, those who had taken the trouble to trace his steps, could perceive, but slightly concealed, the fig ure of himself."
Apropos of the disparaging portion of the above well-written sketch, let us truthfully say:
Some four or five years since, when editing a daily paper in this city, Mr. Poe was employed by us, for several months, as critic and sub-editor. This was our first personal acquaintance with him. He resided with his wife and mother at Fordham, a few miles out of town, but was at his desk in the of fice, from nine in the morning till the evening paper went to press. With the highest admiration for his genius, and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordinary irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of violence and diffi culty. Time went on, however, and he was invari ably punctual and industrious. With his pale, beau tiful, and intellectual face, as a reminder of what genius was in him, it was impossible, of course, not to treat him always with deferential courtesy, and, to our occasional request that he would not probe too deep in a criticism, or that he would erase a pas sage colored too highly with his resentments against society and mankind, he readily and courteously as sented — far more yielding than most men, we
32 Death of Poe
thought, on points so excusably sensitive. With a prospect of taking the lead in another periodical, he, at last, voluntarily gave up his employment with us, and, through all this considerable period, we had seen but one presentment of the man — a quiet, pa tient, industrious, and most gentlemanly person, commanding the utmost respect and good feeling by his unvarying deportment and ability.
Residing as he did in the country, we never met Mr. Poe in hours of leisure ; but he frequently called on us afterward at our place of business, and we met him often in the street — invariably the same sad- mannered, winning and refined gentleman, such as we had always known him. It was by rumor only, up to the day of his death, that we knew of any other development of manner or character. We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in all mention of his lamentable irregularities), that, with a single glass of wine, his whole nature was reversed, the demon became uppermost, and, though none of the usual signs of intoxication were visible, his will was palpably insane. Possessing his reason ing faculties in excited activity, at such times, and seeking his acquaintances with his wonted look and memory, he easily seemed personating only another phase of his natural character, and was accused, ac cordingly, of insulting arrogance and bad-hearted- ness. In this reversed character, we repeat, it was never our chance to see him. We know it from hearsay, and we mention it in connection with this sad infirmity of physical constitution ; which puts it upon very nearly the ground of a temporary and al most irresponsible insanity.
The arrogance, vanity, and depravity of heart, of
Death of Poe 33
which Mr. Poe was generally accused, seem to us referable altogether to this reversed phase of his character. Under that degree of intoxication which only acted upon him by demonizing his sense of truth and right, he doubtless said and did much that was wholly irreconcilable with his better nature; but, when himself, and as we knew him only, his mod esty and unaffected humility, as to his own deserv- ings, were a constant charm to his character. His letters, of which the constant application for auto graphs has taken from us, we are sorry to confess, the greater portion, exhibited this quality very strongly. In one of the carelessly written notes of which we chance still to retain possession, for in stance, he speaks of "The Raven" — that extraordi nary poem which electrified the world of imaginative readers, and has become the type of a school of poetry of its own — and, in evident earnest, attributes its success to the few words of commendation with which we had prefaced it in this paper. It will throw light on his sane character to give a literal copy of the note :
"FORDHAM, April 20, 1849.
"My DEAR WILLIS — The poem which I inclose, and which I am so vain as to hope you will like, in some respects, has been just published in a paper for which sheer necessity compels me to write, now and then. It pays well as times go — but unquestionably it ought to pay ten prices; for whatever I send it I feel I am consigning to the tomb of the Capulets. The verses accompanying this, may I beg you to take out of the tomb, and bring them to light in the 'Home Journal ?' If you can oblige me so far as to copy them, I do not think it will be necessary to
34 Death of Poe
say 'From the - — ,' that would be too bad; and, perhaps, 'From a late - - paper/ would do.
"I have not forgotten how a 'good word in sea son' from you made The Raven/ and made 'Ula- lume' (which by-the-way, people have done me the honor of attributing to you), therefore, I would ask you (if I dared) to say something of these lines if they please you.
"Truly yours ever,
"EDGAR A. POE/'
In double proof of his earnest disposition to do the best for himself, and of the trustful and grateful nature which has been denied him, we give another of the only three of his notes which we chance to retain :
"FORDHAM, January 22, 1848.
"My DEAR MR. WILLIS — I am about to make an effort at re-establishing myself in the literary world, and feel that I may depend upon your aid.
"My general aim is to start a Magazine, to be called The Stylus/ but it would be useless to me, even when established, if not entirely out of the control of a publisher. I mean, therefore, to get up a journal which shall be my own at all points. With this end in view, I must get a list of at least five hundred subscribers to begin with ; nearly two hun dred I have already. I propose, however, to go South and West, among my personal and literary friends — old college and West Point acquaintances — and see what I can do. In order to get the means of taking the first step, I propose to lecture at the Society Library, on Thursday, the 3d of February, and, that there may be no cause of squabbling, my
Death of Poe 35
subject shall not be literary at all. I have chosen a broad text: 'The Universe/
"Having thus given you the facts of the case, I leave all the rest to the suggestions of your own tact and generosity. Gratefully, most gratefully, "Your friend always,
"EDGAR A. POE."
Brief and chance-taken as these letters are, we think they sufficiently prove the existence of the very qualities denied to Mr. Poe — humility, willingness to persevere, belief in another's friendship, and capa bility of cordial and grateful friendship! Such he assuredly was when sane. Such only he has invari ably seemed to us, in all we have happened person ally to know of him, through a friendship of five or six years. And so much easier is it to believe what we have seen and known, than what we hear of only, that we remember him but with admiration and respect ; these descriptions of him, when morally insane, seeming to us like portraits, painted in sick ness, of a man we have only known in health.
But there is another, more touching, and far more forcible evidence that there was goodness in Edgar A. Poe. To reveal it, we are obliged to venture upon the lifting of the veil which sacredly covers grief and refinement in poverty ; but we think it may be excused, if so we can brighten the memory of the poet, even were there not a more needed and im mediate service which it may render to the nearest link broken by his death.
Our first knowledge of Mr. Poe's removal to this city was by a call which we received from a lady who introduced herself to us as the mother of his
36 Death of Poe
wife. She was in search of employment for him, and she excused her errand by mentioning that he was ill, that her daughter was a confirmed invalid, and that their circumstances were such as com pelled her taking it upon herself. The countenance of this lady, made beautiful and saintly with an evi dently complete giving up of her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness, her gentle and mournful voice urging its plea, her long-forgotten but habit ually and unconsciously refined manners, and her appealing and yet appreciative mention of the claims and abilities of her son, disclosed at once the pres ence of one of those angels upon earth that women in adversity can be. It was a hard fate that she was watching over. Mr. Poe wrote with fastidious difficulty, and in a style too much above the popular level to be well paid. He was always in pecuniary difficulty, and, with his sick wife, frequently in want of the merest necessaries of life. Winter after win ter, for years, the most touching sight to us, in this whole city, has been that tireless minister to genius, thinly and insufficiently clad, going from office to office with a poem, or an article on some literary subject, to sell, sometimes simply pleading in a broken voice that he was ill, and begging for him, mentioning nothing but that "he was ill," whatever might be the reason for his writing nothing, and never, amid all her tears and recitals of distress, suffering one syllable to escape her lips that could convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessen ing of pride in his genius and good intentions. Her daughter died a year and a half since, but she did not desert him. She continued his ministering angel — living with him, caring for him, guarding
Death of Poe 37
him against exposure, and when he was carried away by temptation, amid grief and the loneliness of feelings unreplied to, and awoke from his self- abandonment prostrated in destitution and suffer ing, begging for him still. If woman's devotion, born with a first love, and fed with human passion, hallow its object, as it is allowed to do, what does not a devotion like this — pure, disinterested and holy as the watch of an invisible spirit — say for him who inspired it?
We have a letter before us, written by this lady, Mrs. Clemm, on the morning in which she heard of the death of this object of her untiring care. It is merely a request that we would call upon her, but we will copy a few of its words — sacred as its pri vacy is — to warrant the truth of the picture we have drawn above, and add force to the appeal we wish to make for her :
"I have this morning heard of the death of my darling Eddie. ... Can you give me any cir cumstances or particulars ? . . . Oh ! do not desert your poor friend in his bitter affliction! . . . Ask
Mr. to come, as I must deliver a message to
him from my poor Eddie. ... I need not ask you to notice his death and to speak well of him. I know you will. But say what an affectionate son he was to me, his poor desolate mother. . . /'
To hedge round a grave with respect, what choice is there, between the relinquished wealth and hon ors of the world, and the story of such a woman's unrewarded devotion ! Risking what we do, in del icacy, by making it public, we feel— other reasons
38 Death of Poe
aside — that it betters the world to make known that there are such ministrations to its erring and gifted. What we have said will speak to some hearts. There are those who will be glad to know how the lamp, whose light of poetry has beamed on their far-away recognition, was watched over with care and pain, that they may send to her, who is more darkened than they by its extinction, some token of their sym pathy. She is destitute and alone. If any, far or near, will send to us what may aid and cheer her through the remainder of her life, we will joyfully place it in her hands.
THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS PFAALL
With a heart of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander.
— Tom o' Bedlam's Song
BY late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high state of philosophical excite ment. Indeed, phenomena have there occurred of a nature so completely unexpected — so entirely novel — so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions — as to leave no doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all physics in a fer ment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears.
It appears that on the day of (I am
not positive about the date), a vast crowd of peo ple, for purposes not specifically mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Exchange in the well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm — unusually so for the season — there was hardly a breath of air stirring; and the multitude were in no bad humor at being now and then be sprinkled with friendly showers of momentary dura tion that fell from large white masses of cloud pro fusely distributed about the blue vault of the firma-
(39)
40 Works of Edgar Allan Poe
ment. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but re markable agitation became apparent in the assembly : the clattering of ten thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an instant afterward, ten thousand faces were upturned toward the heavens, ten thousand pipes descended simultaneously from the corners of ten thousand mouths, and a shout, which could be compared to nothing but the roaring of Niagara, resounded long, loudly, and furiously, through all the city and through all the environs of Rotterdam. The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From behind the huge bulk of one of those sharply defined masses of cloud already men tioned, was seen slowly to emerge into an open area of blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but appar ently solid substance, so oddly shaped, so whimsi cally put together, as not to be in any manner com prehended, and never to be sufficiently admired, by the host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it be? In the name of all the devils in Rotterdam, what could it possibly por tend ? No one knew ; no one could imagine ; no one — not even the burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk — had the slightest clew by which to un ravel the mystery; so, as nothing more reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe carefully in the corner of his mouth, and maintain ing an eye steadily upon the phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddled about, and grunted significantly —
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 41
then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally — puffed again.
In the meantime, however, lower and still lower toward the goodly city, came the object of so much curiosity, and the cause of so much smoke. In a very few minutes it arrived near enough to be ac curately discerned. It appeared to be — yes ! it was undoubtedly a species of balloon ; but surely no such balloon had ever been seen in Rotterdam before. For who, let me ask, ever heard of a balloon manu factured entirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland certainly; yet here, under the very noses of the people, or rather at some distance above their noses, was the identical thing in question, and com posed, I have it on the best authority, of the precise material which no one had ever before known to be used for a similar purpose. It was an egregious in sult to the good sense of the burghers of Rotterdam. As to the shape of the phenomenon, it was even still more reprehensible. Being little or nothing better than a huge fool's-cap turned upside down. And this similitude was regarded as by no means less ened when, upon nearer inspection, the crowd saw a large tassel depending from its apex, and, around the upper rim or base of the cone, a circle of little instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a continual tinkling to the tune of Betty Martin. But still worse. — Suspended by blue ribbons to the end of this fantastic machine, there hung, by way of
42 Works of Edgar Allan Poe
car, an enormous drab beaver hat, with a brim su perlatively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black band and a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat remarkable that many citizens of Rotter dam swore to having seen the same hat repeatedly before; and indeed the whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes of familiarity; while the vrow Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it, uttered an exclama tion of joyful surprise, and declared it to be the identical hat of her good man himself. Now, this was a circumstance the more to be observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had actually disap peared from Rotterdam about five years before, in a very sudden and unaccountable manner, and up to the date of this narrative all attempts at obtain ing intelligence concerning them had failed. To be sure, some bones which were thought to be human, mixed up with a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had been lately discovered in a retired situation to the east of the city; and some people went so far as to imagine that in this spot a foul murder had been committed, and that the sufferers were in all probability Hans Pfaall and his associates. But to return.
The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now descended to within a hundred feet of the earth, allowing the crowd below a sufficiently distinct view of the person of its occupant. This was in truth a very singular somebody. He could not have been
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 43
more than two feet in height; but this altitude, lit tle as it was, would have been sufficient to destroy his equilibrium, and tilt him over the edge of his tiny car, but for the intervention of a circular rim reaching as high as the breast, and rigged on to tHe cords of the balloon. The body of the little man was no more than proportionally broad, giving to his entire figure a rotundity highly absurd. His feet, of course, could not be seen at all. His hands were enormously large. His hair was gray, and collected into a queue behind. His nose was pro digiously long, crooked, and inflammatory; his eyes full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks, al though wrinkled with age, were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any kind there was not a semblance to be discovered upon any portion of his head. This odd little gentleman was dressed in a loose surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breeches to match, fastened with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was of some bright yellow material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his head^| and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red silk handkerchief enveloped his throat, and fell down, in a dainty manner, upon his bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of super-eminent dimensions.
Having descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feet from the surface of the earth, the lit tle old gentleman was suddenly seized with a fit of trepidation, and appeared disinclined to make any
44 Works of Edgar Allan Poe
nearer approach to terra firma. Throwing out, therefore, a quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which he lifted with great difficulty, he became sta tionary in an instant. He then proceeded, in a hur ried and agitated manner, to extract from a side- pocket in his surtout a large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in his hand, then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise, and was evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened it, and drawing therefrom a huge letter sealed with red sealing-wax and tied carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the feet of the burgomaster, Su- perbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discom posed, and having apparently no further business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at this moment to make busy preparations for departure; and it being necessary to discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to reascend, the half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another, without taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every one of them, most unfortunately, upon the back of the burgomas ter, and rolled him over and over no less than half a dozen times, in the face of every individual in Rot terdam. It is not to be supposed, however, that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on the contrary, that during each of his half dozen circumvolutions he emitted no less than
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 45
half a dozen distinct and furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole time with all his might, and to which he intends holding fast (God willing) until the day of his decease.
In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring far away above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud similar to that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost forever to the wondering eyes of the good citizens of Rotterdam. All attention was now directed to the letter, the descent of which, and the consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally subver sive of both person and personal dignity to his Ex cellency, Von Underduk. That functionary, how ever, had not failed, during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a thought upon the impor tant object of securing the epistle, which was seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the most proper hands, being actually addressed to himself and Pro fessor Rubadub, in their official capacities of Presi dent and Vice-President of the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to contain the following extraordinary, and indeed very serious, communication :
"To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rubadub, President and Vice-President of the States9 Col lege of Astronomers, in the city of Rotterdam. "Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to re-
46 Works of Edgar Allan Poe
member a humble artisan, by name Hans Pfaall, and by occupation a mender of bellows, who, with three others, disappeared from Rotterdam, about five years ago, in a manner which must have been con sidered unaccountable. If, however, it so please your Excellencies, I, the writer of this communica tion, am the identical Hans Pfaall himself. It is well known to most of my fellow-citizens, that for the period of forty years I continued to occupy the little square brick building, at the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in which I resided at the time of my disappearance. My ancestors have also resided therein time out of mind — they, as well as myself, steadily following the respectable and indeed lucrative profession of mending of bellows: for, to speak the truth, until of late years, that the heads of all the people have been set agog with politics, no better business than my own could an honest citizen of Rotterdam either desire or deserve. Credit was good, employment was never wanting, and there was no lack of either money or goodwill. But, as I was saying, we soon began to feel the effects of liberty and long speeches, and radicalism, and all that sort of thing. People who were for merly the best customers in the world, had now not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had as much as they could do to read about the revolu tions, and keep up with the march of intellect and the spirit of the age. If a fire wanted fanning, it
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 47
could readily be fanned with a newspaper; and as the government grew weaker, I have no doubt that leather and iron acquired durability in proportion — for, in a very short time, there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam that ever stood in need of a stitch or required the assistance of a hammer. This was a state of things not to be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat, and, having a wife and children to provide for, my burdens at length became intolerable, and I spent hour after hour in reflect ing upon the most convenient method of putting an end to my life. Duns, in the meantime, left me lit tle leisure for contemplation. My house was lit erally besieged from morning till night. There were three fellows in particular who worried me beyond endurance, keeping watch continually about my door, and threatening me with the law. Upon these three I vowed the bitterest revenge, if ever I should be so happy as to get them within my clutches; and I be lieve nothing in the world but the pleasure of this anticipation prevented me from putting my plan of suicide into immediate execution, by blowing my brains out with a blunderbuss. I thought it best, however, to dissemble my wrath, and to treat them with promises and fair words, until, by some good turn of fate, an opportunity of vengeance should be afforded me.
"One day, having given them the slip, and feeling more than usually dejected, I continued for a long
48 Works of Edgar Allan Poe
time to wander about the most obscure streets with out object, until at length I chanced to stumble against the corner of a bookseller's stall. Seeing a chair close at hand, for the use of customers, I threw myself doggedly into it, and, hardly knowing why, opened the pages of the first volume which came within my reach. It proved to be a small pamphlet treatise on Speculative Astronomy, written either by Professor Encke of Berlin or by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name. I had some little tincture of information on matters of this nature, and soon became more and more absorbed in the contents of the book — reading it actually through twice before I awoke to a recollection of what was passing around me. By this time it began to grow dark, and I di rected my steps toward home. But the treatise (in conjunction with a discovery in pneumatics, lately communicated to me as an important secret, by a cousin from Nantz) had made an indelible impres sion on my mind, and, as I sauntered along the dusky streets, I revolved carefully over in my memory the wild and sometimes unintelligible reasonings of the writer. There are some particular passages which affected my imagination in an extraordinary man ner. The longer I meditated upon these, the more intense grew the interest which had been excited within me. The limited nature of my education in general, and more especially my ignorance on sub jects connected with natural philosophy, so far from
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 49
rendering me diffident of my own ability to compre hend what I had read, or inducing me to mistrust the many vague notions which had arisen in conse quence, merely served as a further stimulus to imagi nation; and I was vain enough, or perhaps reason able enough, to doubt whether those crude ideas which; arising in ill-regulated minds, have all the appearance, may not often in effect possess all the force, the reality, and other inherent properties, of instinct or intuition.
"It was late when I reached home, and I went immediately to bed. My mind, however, was too much occupied to sleep, and I lay the whole night buried in meditation. Arising early in the morn ing, I repaired eagerly to the bookseller's stall, and laid out what little ready money I possessed, in the purchase of some volumes of "Mechanics and Prac tical Astronomy." Having arrived at home safely with these, I devoted every spare moment to their perusal, and soon made such proficiency in studies of this nature as I thought sufficient for the execu tion of a certain design with which either the Devil or my better genius had inspired me. In the inter vals of this period, I made every endeavor to concili ate the three creditors who had given me so much annoyance. In this I finally succeeded — partly by selling enough of my household furniture to satisfy a moiety of their claim, and partly by a promise of paying the balance upon completion of a little project
I— Poe— 3
50 Works of Edgar Allan Poe
which I told them I had in view, and for assistance in which I solicited their services. By these means (for they were ignorant men) I found little difficulty in gaining them over to my purpose.
"Matters being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid of my wife and with the greatest secrecy and caution, to dispose of what property I had remain ing, and to borrow, in small sums, under various pretences, and without giving any attention (I am ashamed to say) to my future means of repayment, no inconsiderable quantity of ready money. With the means thus accruing I proceeded to procure at intervals, cambric muslin, very fine, in pieces of twelve yards each; twine; a lot of the varnish of caoutchouc ; a large and deep basket of wicker-work, made to order; and several other articles necessary in the construction and equipment of a balloon of extraordinary dimensions. This I directed my wife to make up as soon as possible, and gave her all requisite information as to the particular method of proceeding. In the meantime I worked up the twine into network of sufficient dimensions ; rigged it with a hoop and the necessary cords; and made purchase of numerous instruments and materials for experiment in the upper regions of the upper atmosphere.
I then took opportunities of conveying by night, to a most retired situation east of Rotterdam, five iron-bound casks, to contain about fifty gallons
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 51
each, and one of a larger size; six tin tubes, three inches in diameter, properly shaped, and ten feet in length; a quantity of a particular metallic substance, or semi-metal, which I shall not name, and a dozen demijohns of a very common acid. The gas to be formed from these latter materials is a gas never yet generated by any other person than myself — or at least never applied to any similar purpose. I can only venture to say here, that it is a constituent of azote, so long considered irreduci ble, and that its density is about 37.4 times less than that of hydrogen. It is tasteless, but not odorless; burns, when pure, with a greenish flame; and is in stantaneously fatal to animal life. Its full secret I would make no difficulty in disclosing, but that it of right belongs (as I have before hinted) to a citizen of Nantz, in France, by whom it was conditionally communicated to myself. The same individual sub mitted to me, without being at all aware of my in tentions, a method of constructing balloons from the membrane of a certain animal, through which sub stance any escape of gas was nearly an impossibil ity. I found it, however, altogether too expensive, and was not sure, upon the whole, whether cambric muslin, with a coating of gum caoutchouc, was not equally as good. I mention this circumstance, be cause I think it probable that hereafter the individ ual in question may attempt a balloon ascension with the novel gas and material I have spoken of and
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I do not wish to deprive him of the honor of a very singular invention.
"On the spot which I intended each of the smaller casks to occupy respectively during the inflation of the balloon, I privately dug a small hole; the holes forming in this manner a circle twenty-five feet in diameter. In the centre of this circle, being the station designed for the large cask, I also dug a hole of greater depth. In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited a canister containing fifty pounds, and in the larger one a keg holding one hundred and fifty pounds, of cannon powder. These — the keg and canisters — I connected in a proper manner with covered trains ; and having let into one of the canis ters the end of about four feet of slow-match, I covered up the hole, and placed the cask over it, leav ing the other end of the match protruding about an inch, and barely visible beyond the cask. I then filled up the remaining holes, and placed the barrels over them in their destined situation !
"Besides the articles above enumerated, I con veyed to the depot, and there secreted, one of M. Grimm's improvements upon the apparatus for con densation of the atmospheric air. I found this ma chine, however, to require considerable alteration before it could be adapted to the purposes to which I intended making it applicable. But, with severe labor and unremitting perseverance, I at length met with entire success in all my preparations. My
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balloon was soon completed. It would contain more than forty thousand cubic feet of gas; would take me up easily, I calculated, with all my imple ments, and, if I managed rightly, with one hun dred and seventy-five pounds of ballast into the bar gain. It had received three coats of varnish, and I found the cambric muslin to answer all the purposes of silk itself, being quite as strong and a good deal less expensive.
"Everything being now ready, I exacted from my wife an oath of secrecy in relation to all my actions from the day of my first visit to the bookseller's stall; and promising, on my part, to return as soon as circumstances would permit, I gave her what little money I had left, and bade her farewell. In deed, I had no fear on her account. She was what people call a notable woman, and could manage mat ters in the world without my assistance. I believe, to tell the truth, she always looked upon me as an idle body — a mere make-weight — good for nothing but building castles in the air — and was rather glad to get rid of me. It was a dark night when I bade her good-by, and taking with me, as aides-de-camp, the three creditors who had given me so much trouble, we carried the balloon, with the car and accoutrements, by a roundabout way, to the station where the other articles were deposited. We there found them all unmolested, and I proceeded imme diately to business.
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"It was the first of April. The night, as I said before, was dark; there was not a star to be seen; and a drizzling rain, falling at intervals, rendered us very uncomfortable. But my chief anxiety was con cerning the balloon, which, in spite of the varnish with which it was defended, began to grow rather heavy with the moisture; the powder also was li able to damage. I therefore kept my three duns working with great diligence, pounding down ice around the central cask, and stirring the acid in the others. They did not cease, however, importuning me with questions as to what I intended to do with all this apparatus, and expressed much dissatisfac tion at the terrible labor I made them undergo. They could not perceive (so they said) what good was likely to result from their getting wet to the skin, merely to take a part in such horrible incan tations. I began to get uneasy, and worked away with all my might, for I verily believe the idiots supposed that I had entered into a compact with the Devil, and that, in short, what I was now doing was nothing better than it should be. I was, therefore, in great fear of their leaving me altogether. I con trived, however, to pacify them by promises of pay ment of all scores in full, as soon as I could bring the present business to a termination. To these speeches they gave, of course, their own interpreta tion; fancying, no doubt, that at all events I should come into possession of vast quantities of ready
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money; and provided I paid them all I owed, and a trifle more, in consideration of their services, I dare say they cared very little what became of either my soul or my carcass.
"In about four hours and a half I found the bal loon sufficiently inflated. I attached the car, there fore, and put all my implements in it : a telescope, a barometer, with some important modifications; a thermometer; an electrometer; a compass; a mag netic needle; a seconds watch; a bell; a speaking- trumpet, etc., etc., etc.; also a globe of glass, ex hausted of air, and carefully closed with a stopper — not forgetting the condensing apparatus, some un- slacked lime, a stick of sealing-wax, a copious sup ply of water, and a large quantity of provisions, such as pemmican, in which much nutriment is contained in comparatively little bulk. I also secured in the car a pair of pigeons and a cat.
"It was now nearly daybreak, and I thought it high time to take my departure. Dropping a lighted cigar on the ground, as if by accident, I took the opportunity, in stooping to pick it up, of igniting privately the piece of slow-match, the end of which, as I said before, protruded a little beyond the lower rim of one of the smaller casks. This manoeuvre was totally unperceived on the part of the three duns ; and, jumping into the car, I immediately cut the single cord which held me to the earth, and was pleased to find that I shot upward with inconceiv-
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able rapidity, carrying with all ease one hundred and seventy-five pounds of leaden ballast, and able to have carried up as many more. As I left the earth, the barometer stood at thirty inches, and the centigrade thermometer at 19°.
"Scarcely, however, had I attained the height of fifty yards, when, roaring and rumbling up after me in the most tumultuous and terrible manner, came so dense a hurricane of fire, and gravel, and burn ing wood, and blazing metal, and mangled limbs, that my very heart sunk within me, and I fell down in the bottom of the car, trembling with terror. In deed, I now perceived that I had entirely overdone the business, and that the main consequences of the shock were yet to be experienced. Accordingly, in less than a second, I felt all the blood in my body rushing to my temples, and immediately thereupon, a concussion, which I shall never forget, burst abruptly through the night, and seemed to rip the very firmament asunder. When I afterward had time for reflection, I did not fail to attribute the ex treme violence of the explosion, as regarded myself, to its proper cause — my situation directly above it, and in the line of its greatest power. But at the time, I thought only of preserving my life. The bal loon at first collapsed, then furiously expanded, then whirled round and round with sickening velocity, and finally, reeling and staggering like a drunken man, hurled me over the rim of the car, and left me
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dangling, at a terrific height, with my head down ward, and my face outward, by a piece of slender cord about three feet in length, which hung acci dentally through a crevice near the bottom of the wicker-work, and in which, as I fell, my left foot be came most providentially entangled. It is impos sible — utterly impossible — to form any adequate idea of the horror of my situation. I gasped convul sively for breath — a shudder resembling a fit of the ague agitated every nerve and muscle in my frame — I felt my eyes starting from their sockets — a horri ble nausea overwhelmed me — and at length I lost all consciousness in a swoon.
"How long I remained in this state it is impossi ble to say. It must, however, have been no incon siderable time, for when I partially recovered the sense of existence, I found the day breaking, the bal loon at a prodigious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a trace of land to be discovered far and wide within the limits of the vast horizon. My sensations, however, upon thus recovering, were by no means so replete with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed, there was much of madness in the calm survey which I began to take of my situation. I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one after the other, and wondered what occurrence could have given rise to the swelling of the veins, and the horrible blackness of the finger-nails. I afterward carefully examined my head, shaking it
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repeatedly, and feeling it with minute attention, un til I succeeded in satisfying myself that it was not, as I had more than half suspected, larger than my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt in both my breeches pockets, and, missing therefrom a set of tablets and a toothpick case, endeavored to account for their disappearance, and not being able to do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. It now occurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of my left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation began to glimmer through my mind. But, strange to say ! I was neither astonished nor horror-stricken. If I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind of chuck ling satisfaction at the cleverness I was about to dis play in extricating myself from this dilemma; and never, for a moment, did I look upon my ultimate safety as a question susceptible of doubt. For a few minutes I remained wrapped in the profoundest med itation. I have a distinct recollection of frequently compressing my lips, putting my forefinger to the side of my nose, and making use -of other gesticula tions and grimaces common to men who, at ease in their armchairs, meditate upon matters of intricacy or importance. Having, as I thought, sufficiently collected my ideas, I now, with great caution and deliberation, put my hands behind my back, and un fastened the large iron buckle which belonged to the waistband of my pantaloons. This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat rusty, turned with
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great difficulty on their axis. I brought them, how ever, after some trouble, at right angles to the body of the buckle, and was glad to find them remain firm in that position. Holding within my teeth the in strument thus obtained, I now proceeded to untie the knot of my cravat. I had to rest several times be fore I could accomplish this manoeuvre ; but it was at length accomplished. To one end of the cravat I then made fast the buckle, and the other end I tied, for greater security, tightly around my wrist. Draw ing now my body upward, with a prodigious exer tion of muscular force, I succeeded, at the very first trial, in throwing the buckle over the car, and en tangling it, as I had anticipated, in the circular rim of the wicker-work.
"My body was now inclined toward the side of the car, at an angle of about forty-five degrees ; but it must not be understood that I was therefore only forty-five degrees below the perpendicular. So far from it, I still lay nearly level with the plane of the horizon; for the change of situation which I had ac quired, had forced the bottom of the car considerably outward from my position, which was accordingly one of the most imminent peril. It should be re membered, however, that when I fell, in the first in stance, from the car, if I had fallen with my face turned toward the balloon, instead of turned out wardly from it, as it actually was; or if, in the sec ond place, the cord by which I was suspended had
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chanced to hang over the upper edge, instead of through a crevice near the bottom of the car — I say it may readily be conceived that, in either of these supposed cases, I should have been unable to ac complish even as much as I had now accomplished, and the disclosures now made would have been ut terly lost to posterity. I had therefore every reason to be grateful ; although, in point of fact, I was still too stupid to be anything at all, and hung for, per haps, a quarter of an hour, in that extraordinary manner, without making the slightest further exer tion, and in a singularly tranquil state of idiotic en joyment. But this feeling did not fail to die rapidly away, and thereunto succeeded horror, and dismay, and a sense of utter helplessness and ruin. In fact, the blood so long accumulating in the vessels of my head and throat, and which had hitherto buoyed up my spirits with delirium, had now begun to retire within their proper channels, and the distinctness which was thus added to my perception of the dan ger, merely served to deprive me of the self-posses sion and courage to encounter it. But this weak ness was, luckily for me, of no very long duration. In good time came to my rescue the spirit of despair, and, with frantk cries and struggles, I jerked my way bodily upward, till at length, clutching with a vise-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my per son over it, and fell headlong and shuddering within the car.
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"It was not until some time afterward that I re covered myself sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares of the balloon. I then, however, examined it with attention, and found it, to my great relief, un injured. My implements were all safe, and, fortu nately, I had lost neither ballast nor provisions. In deed, I had so well secured them in their places, that such an accident was entirely out of the ques tion. Looking at my watch, I found it six o'clock. I was still rapidly ascending, and the barometer gave a present altitude of three and three-quarter miles. Immediately beneath me in the ocean lay a small black object, slightly oblong in shape, seemingly about the size of a domino, and in every respect bearing a great resemblance to one of those toys. Bringing my telescope to bear upon it, I plainly discerned it to be a British ninety-four-gun ship, close-hauled, and pitching heavily in the sea with her head to the W. S. W. Besides this ship, I saw nothing but the ocean and the sky, and the sun, which had long arisen.
"It is now high time that I should explain to your Excellencies the object of my voyage. Your Ex cellencies will bear in mind that distressed circum stances in Rotterdam had at length driven me to the resolution of committing suicide. It was not, how ever, that to life itself I had any positive disgust, but that I was harassed beyond endurance by the adventitious miseries attending my situation. In
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this state of mind, wishing to live, yet wearied with life, the treatise at the stall of the bookseller, backed by the opportune discovery of my cousin of Nantz, opened a resource to my imagination. I then finally made up my mind. I determined to depart, yet live — to leave the world, yet continue to exist — in short, to drop enigmas, I resolved, let what would ensue, to force a passage, if I could, to the moon. Now, lest I should be supposed more of a madman than I actually am, I will detail, as well as I am able, the considerations which led me to believe that an achievement of this nature, although without doubt difficult, and full of danger, was not absolutely, to a bold spirit, beyond the confines of the possible.
"The moon's actual distance from the earth was the first thing to be attended to. Now, the mean or average interval between the centres of the two plan ets is 59.9643 of the earth's equatorial radii, or only about 237,000 miles. I say the mean or average in terval, but it must be borne in mind that the form of the moon's orbit being an ellipse of eccentricity amounting to no less than 0.05484 of the major semi-axis of the ellipse itself, and the earth's centre being situated in its focus, if I could, in any manner, contrive to meet the moon in its perigee, the above- mentioned distance would be materially diminished. But, to say nothing at present of this possibility, it was very certain that, at all events, from the 237,000 miles I would have to deduct the radius of the earth,
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say 4,000, and the radius of the moon, say 1,080, in all 5,080, leaving an actual interval to be traversed, under average circumstances, of 231,920 miles. Now this, I reflected, was no very extraordinary dis tance. Travelling on the land has been repeatedly accomplished at the rate of sixty miles per hour ; and indeed a much greater speed may be anticipated. But even at this velocity, it would take me no more than 161 days to reach the surface of the moon. There were, however, many particulars inducing me to be lieve that my average rate of travelling might possi bly very much exceed that of sixty miles per hour, and, as these considerations did not fail to make a deep impression upon my mind, I will mention them more fully hereafter.
"The next point to be regarded was one of far greater importance. From indications afforded by the barometer, we find that, in ascensions from the surface of the earth we have, at the height of 1,000 feet, left below us about one-thirtieth of the entire mass of atmospheric air; that at 10,600 we have ascended through nearly one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not far from the elevation of Coto- paxi, we have surmounted one-half the material, or, at all events, one-half the ponderable, body of air incumbent upon our globe. It is also calculated that at an altitude not exceeding the hundreth part of the earth's diameter — that is, not exceeding eighty miles — the rarefaction would be so excessive that
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animal life could in no manner be sustained, and, moreover, that the most delicate means we possess of ascertaining the presence of the atmosphere would be inadequate to assure us of its existence. But I did not fail to perceive that these latter calculations are founded altogether on our experimental knowl edge of the properties of air, and the mechanical laws regulating its dilation and compression, in what may be called, comparatively speaking, the immedi ate vicinity of the earth itself ; and, at the same time, it is taken for granted that animal life is and must be essentially incapable of modification at any given unattainable distance from the surface. Now, all such reasoning and from such data must, of course, be simply analogical. The greatest height ever reached by man was that of 25,000 feet, attained in the aeronautic expedition of Messieurs Gay-Lussac and Biot. This is a moderate altitude, even when compared with the eighty miles in question; and I could not help thinking that the subject admitted room for doubt and great latitude for speculation. "But, in point of fact, an ascension being made to any given altitude, the ponderable quantity of air surmounted in any further ascension is by no means in proportion to the additional height ascended (as may be plainly seen from what has been stated be fore), but in a ratio constantly decreasing. It is therefore evident that, ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally speaking, arrive at a limit beyond
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which no atmosphere is to be found. It must exist, I argued ; although it may exist in a state of infinite rarefaction.
"On the other hand, I was aware that arguments have not been wanting to prove the existence of a real and definite limit to the atmosphere, beyond which there is absolutely no air whatsoever. But a circumstance which has been left out of view by those who contend for such a limit, seemed to me, although no positive refutation of their creed, still a point worthy of very serious investigation. On comparing the intervals between the successive ar rivals of Encke's comet at its perihelion, after giving credit, in the most exact manner, for all the disturb ances due to the attractions of the planets, it appears that the periods are gradually diminishing; that is to say, the major axis of the comet's ellipse is grow ing shorter, in a slow but perfectly regular decrease. Now, this is precisely what ought to be the case, if we suppose a resistance experienced from the comet from an extremely rare ethereal medium pervading the regions of its orbit. For it is evident that such a medium must, in retarding the comet's velocity, increase its centripetal, by weakening its centrifugal, force. In other words, the sun's attraction would be constantly attaining greater power, and the comet would be drawn nearer at every revolution. In deed, there is no other way of accounting for the variation in question. But again: — The real di-
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ameter of the same comet's nebulosity is observed to contract rapidly as it approaches the sun, and dilate with equal rapidity in its departure toward its aphe lion. Was I not justfiable in supposing, with M. Valz, that this apparent condensation of volume has its origin in the compression of the same ethereal medium I have spoken of before, and which is dense in proportion to its vicinity to the sun? The len ticular-shaped phenomenon, also called the zodiacal light, was a matter worthy of attention. This radi ance, so apparent in the tropics, and which cannot be mistaken for any meteoric lustre, extends from the horizon obliquely upward, and follows generally the direction of the sun's equator. It appeared to me evidently in Jie nature of a rare atmosphere ex tending from the sun outward, beyond the orbit of Venus at least, and I believed indefinitely further.* Indeed, this medium I could not suppose confined to the path of the comet's eclipse, or to the immediate neighborhood of the sun. It was easy, on the contrary, to imagine it pervading the entire regions of our planetary system, condensed into what we call atmosphere at the planets themselves, and per haps at some of them modified by considerations purely geological ; that is to say, modified, or varied in its proportions (or absolute nature) by matters volatilized from the respective orbs.
*The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes. Emicant Trabes quos docos vacant. — Pliny lib. 2, p. 26,
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"Having adopted this view of the subject, I had little further hesitation. Granting that on my pas sage I should meet with atmosphere essentially the same as at the surface of the earth, I conceived that, by means of the very ingenious apparatus of M. Grimm, I should readily be enabled to condense it in sufficient quantity for the purpose of respiration. This would remove the chief obstacle in a journey to the moon. I had indeed spent some money and great labor in adapting the apparatus to the object intended, and confidently looked forward to its suc cessful application, if I could manage to complete the voyage within any reasonable period. This brings me back to the rate at which it would be possible to travel.
"It is true that balloons, in the first stage of their ascensions from the earth, are known to rise with a velocity comparatively moderate. Now, the power of elevation lies altogether in the superior gravity of the atmospheric air compared with the gas in the balloon; and, at first sight, it does not appear prob able that, as the balloon acquires altitude, and conse quently arrives successively in atmospheric strata of densities rapidly diminishing — I say, it does not appear at all reasonable that, in this its progress up ward, the original velocity should be accelerated. On the other hand, I was not aware that, in any re corded ascension, a diminution had been proved to be apparent in the absolute rate of ascent ; although
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such should have been the case, if on account of nothing else, on account of the escape of gas through balloons ill-constructed, and varnished with no bet ter material than the ordinary varnish. It seemed, therefore, that the effect of such escape was only sufficient to counterbalance the effect of the ac celeration attained in the diminishing of the bal loon's distance from the gravitating centre. I now considered that, provided in my passage I found the medium I had imagined, and provided that it should prove to be essentially what we denominate atmospheric air, it could make comparatively little difference at what extreme state of rarefaction I should discover it — that is to say, in regard to my power of ascending — for the gas in the balloon would not only be itself subject to similar rarefaction (in proportion to the occurrence of which, I could suffer an escape of so much as would be requisite to pre vent explosion), but, being what it was, would, at all events, continue specifically lighter than any com pound whatever of mere nitrogen and oxygen. Thus there was a chance — in fact, there was a strong prob ability — that, at no epoch of my ascent, I should reach a point where the united weights of my im mense balloon, the inconceivably rare gas within it, the car, and its contents, should equal the weight of the mass of the surrounding atmosphere dis placed; and this will be readily understood as the sole condition upon which my upward flight would
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be arrested. But, if this point were even attained, I could dispense with ballast and other weight to the amount of nearly three hundred pounds. In the meantime, the force of gravitation would be con stantly diminishing, in proportion to the squares of the distances, and so, with a velocity prodigiously ac celerating, I should at length arrive in those distant regions where the force of the earth's attraction would be superseded by that of the moon.
"There was another difficulty, however, which oc casioned me some little disquietude. It has been observed that, in balloon ascensions to any consider able height, besides the pain attending respiration, great uneasiness is experienced about the head and body, often accompanied with bleeding at the nose, and other symptoms of an alarming kind, and grow ing more and more inconvenient in proportion to the altitude attained.* This was a reflection of a nature somewhat startling. Was it not probable that these symptoms would increase until terminated by death itself? I finally thought not. Their origin was to be looked for in the progressive re moval of the customary atmospheric pressure upon the surface of the body, and consequent distention of
*Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr. Green, of Nassau-balloon notoriety, and other late aero nauts, deny the assertions of Humboldt, in this respect, and speak of a decreasing inconvenience — precisely in accordance with the theory here urged.
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the superficial blood-vessels — not in any positive dis organization of the animal system, as in the case of difficulty in breathing, where the atmospheric density is chemically insufficient for the due reno vation of blood in a ventricle of the heart. Unless for default of this renovation, I could see no reason, therefore, why life could not be sustained even in a vacuum; for the expansion and compression of chest, commonly called breathing, is action purely muscular, and the cause, not the effect, of respira tion. In a word, I conceived that, as tfie body should become habituated to the want of atmos pheric pressure, the sensations of pain would grad ually diminish — and to endure them while they con tinued, I relied with confidence upon the iron hard ihood of my constitution.
"Thus, may it please your Excellencies, I have detailed some, though by no means all, the consid erations which led me to form the project of a lunar voyage. I shall now proceed to lay before you the result of an attempt so apparently audacious in con ception, and, at all events, so utterly unparalleled in the annals of mankind.
"Having attained the altitude before mentioned — that is to say, three miles and three quarters — I threw out from the car a quantity of feathers, and found that I still ascended with sufficient rapidity; there was, therefore, no necessity for discharging any bal last. I was glad of this, for I wished to retain with
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me as much weight as I could carry, for the obvious reason that I could not be positive either about the gravitation or the atmospheric density of the moon. I as yet suffered no bodily inconvenience, breath ing with great freedom, and feeling no pain what ever in the head. The cat was lying very demurely upon my coat, which I had taken off, and eying the pigeons with an air of nonchalance. These latter being tied by the leg, to prevent their escape, were busily employed in picking up some grains of rice scattered for them in the bottom of the car.
"At twenty minutes past six o'clock, the barometer showed an elevation of 26,400 feet, or five miles to a fraction. The prospect seemed unbounded. In deed, it is very easily calculated by means of spher ical geometry, how great an extent of the earth's area I beheld. The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to the entire surface of the sphere it self, as the versed sine of the segment to the diame ter of the sphere. Now, in my case, the versed sine — that is to say, the thickness of the segment be neath me — was about equal to my elevation, or the elevation of the point of sight above the surface. 'As five miles, then, to eight thousand/ would ex press the proportion of the earth's area seen by me. In other words, I beheld as much as a sixteen- hundredth part of the whole surface of the globe. The sea appeared unruffled as a mirror, although, by means of the telescope, I could perceive it to be
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in a state of violent agitation. The ship was no longer visible, having drifted away, apparently to the eastward. I now began to experience, at inter vals, severe pain in the head, especially about the ears — still, however, breathing with tolerable free dom. The cat and pigeons seemed to suffer no in convenience whatsoever.
"At twenty minutes before seven, the balloon en tered a long series of dense cloud, which put me to great trouble, by damaging my condensing appara tus, and wetting me to the skin ; this was, to be sure, a singular rencontre, for I had not believed it possible that a cloud of this nature could be sustained at so great an elevation. I thought it best, however, to throw out two five-pound pieces of ballast, reserv ing still a weight of one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Upon so doing, I soon rose above the difficulty, and perceived immediately that I had ob tained a great increase in my rate of ascent. In a few seconds after my leaving the cloud, a flash of vivid lightning shot from one end of it to the other, and caused it to kindle up, throughout its vast ex tent, like a mass of ignited charcoal. This, it must be remembered, was in the broad light of day. No fancy may picture the sublimity which might have been exhibited by a similar phenomenon taking place amid the darkness of the night. Hell itself might have been found a fitting image. Even as it was, my hair stood on end, while I gazed afar down with-
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in the yawning abysses, letting imagination descend, and stalk about in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddy gulfs, and red, ghastly chasms of the hide ous and unfathomable fire. I had indeed made a narrow escape. Had the balloon remained a very short while longer within the cloud — that is to say, had not the inconvenience of getting wet deter mined me to discharge the ballast — my destruction might, and probably would, have been the conse quence. Such perils, although little considered, are perhaps the greatest which must be encountered in balloons. I had by this time, however, attained too great an elevation to be any longer uneasy on this head.
"I was now rising rapidly, and by seven o'clock the barometer indicated an altitude of no less than nine miles and a half. I began to find great diffi culty in drawing my breath. My head, too, was excessively painful ; and, having felt for some time a moisture about my cheeks, I at length discovered it to be blood, which was oozing quite fast from the drums of my ears. My eyes, also, gave me great uneasiness. Upon passing the hand over them they seemed to have protruded from their sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all objects in the car, and even the balloon itself, appeared distorted to my vis ion. These symptoms were more than I had ex pected, and occasioned me some alarm. At this juncture, very imprudently, and without considera-
l-Poe-4
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tion, I threw out from the car three five-pound pieces of ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus ob tained, carried me too rapidly, and without suffi cient gradation, into a highly rarefied stratum of the atmosphere, and the result had nearly proved fatal to my expedition and to myself. I was sud denly seized with a spasm which lasted for more than five minutes, and even when this, in a measure, ceased, I could catch my breath only at long inter vals, and in a gasping manner — bleeding all the while copiously at the nose and ears, and even slightly at the eyes. The pigeons appeared dis tressed in the extreme, and struggled to escape; while the cat mewed piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, staggered to and fro in the car as if under the influence of poison. I now too late discovered the great rashness of which I had been guilty in discharging the ballast, and my agitation was excessive. I anticipated nothing less than death, and death in a few minutes. The physi cal suffering I underwent contributed also to render me nearly incapable of making any exertion for the preservation of my life. I had, indeed, little power of reflection left, and the violence of the pain in my head seemed to be greatly on the increase. Thus I found that my senses would shortly give way alto gether, and I had already clutched one of the valve ropes with the view of attempting a descent, when the recollection of the trick I had played the three
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creditors, and the possible consequences to myself, should I return, operated to deter me for the mo ment. I lay down in the bottom of the car, and en deavored to collect my faculties. In this I so far succeeded as to determine upon the experiment of losing blood. Having no lancet, however, I was constrained to perform the operation in the best manner I was able, and finally succeeded in opening a vein in my left arm, with the blade of my pen knife. The blood had hardly commenced flowing when I experienced a sensible relief, and by the time I had lost about half a moderate basinful, most of the worst symptoms had abandoned me entirely. I nevertheless did not think it expedient to attempt getting on my feet immediately ; but, having tied up my arm as well as I could, I lay still for about a quarter of an hour. At the end of this time I arose, and found myself freer from absolute pain of any kind than I had been during the last hour and a quarter of my ascension. The difficulty of breath ing, however, was diminished in a very slight de gree, and I found that it would soon be positively necessary to make use of my condenser. In the meantime, looking toward the cat, who was again snugly stowed away upon my coat, I discovered to my infinite surprise, that she had taken the oppor tunity of my indisposition to bring into light a litter of three little kittens. This was an addition to the number of passengers on my part altogether unex-
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pected; but I was pleased at the occurrence. It would afford me a chance of bringing to a kind of test the truth of a surmise, which, more than any thing else, had influenced me in attempting this as cension. I had imagined that the habitual endur ance of the atmospheric pressure at the surface of the earth was the cause, or nearly so, of the pain at tending animal existence at a distance above the sur face. Should the kittens be found to suffer uneasi ness in an equal degree with their mother, I must consider my theory in fault, but a failure to do so I should look upon as a strong confirmation of my idea.
"By eight o'clock I had actually attained an ele vation of seventeen miles above the surface of the earth. Thus it seemed to me evident that my rate of ascent was not only on the increase, but that the progression would have been apparent in a slight degree even had I not discharged the ballast which I did. The pains in my head and ears returned, at intervals, with violence, and I still continued to bleed occasionally at the nose; but, upon the whole, I suffered much less than might have been expected. I breathed, however, at every moment, with more and more difficulty, and each inhalation was at tended with a troublesome spasmodic action of the chest. I now unpacked the condensing apparatus, and got it ready for immediate use.
"The view of the earth, at this period of my ascen-
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sion, was beautiful indeed. To the westward, the northward, and the southward, as far as I could see, lay a boundless sheet of apparently unruffled ocean, which every moment gained a deeper and deeper tint of blue. At a vast distance to the eastward, al though perfectly discernible, extended the islands of Great Britain, the entire Atlantic coasts of France and Spain, with a small portion of the northern part of the continent of Africa. Of individual edifices not a trace could be discovered, and the proudest cities of mankind had utterly faded away from the face of the earth.
"What mainly astonished me, in the appearance of things below, was the seeming concavity of the surface of the globe. I had, thoughtlessly enough, expected to see its real convexity become evident as I ascended ; but a very little reflection sufficed to ex plain the discrepancy. A line dropped from my po sition perpendicularly to the earth, would have formed the perpendicular of a right-angled triangle, of which the base would have extended from the right-angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon to my position. But my height was lit tle or nothing in comparison with my prospect. In other words, the base and hypothenuse of the sup posed triangle would, in my case, have been so long, when compared to the perpendicular, that the two former might have been regarded as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon of the aeronaut appears
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always to be upon a level with the car. But as the point immediately beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it seems, of course, also at a great distance below the horizon. Hence the impression of concavity; and this impression must remain, until the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to the prospect, that the apparent par allelism of the base and hypothenuse disappears.
"The pigeons about this time seeming to undergo much suffering, I determined upon giving them their liberty. I first untied one of them, a beauti ful gray-mottled pigeon, and placed him upon the rim of the wicker-work. He appeared extremely uneasy, looking anxiously around him, fluttering his wings, and making a loud cooing noise, but could not be persuaded to trust himself from the car. I took him up at last, and threw him to about half a dozen yards from the balloon. He made, however, no attempt to descend as I had expected, but strug gled with great vehemence to get back, uttering at the same time very shrill and piercing cries. He at length succeeded in regaining his former station on the rim, but had hardly done so when his head dropped upon his breast, and he fell dead within the car. The other one did not prove so unfortunate. To prevent his following the example of his com panion, and accomplishing a return, I threw him downward with all my force, and was pleased to find him continue his descent, with great velocity,
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making use of his wings with ease, and in a perfectly natural manner. In a very short time he was out of sight, and I have no doubt he reached home in safety. Puss, who seemed in a great measure re covered from her illness, now made a hearty meal of the dead bird, and then went to sleep with much apparent satisfaction. Her kittens were quite lively, and so far evinced not the slightest sign of any un easiness.
"At a quarter past eight, being no longer able to draw breath without the most intolerable pain, I proceeded forthwith to adjust around the car the apparatus belonging to the condenser. This appa ratus will require some little explanation, and your Excellencies will please to bear in mind that my ob ject, in the first place, was to surround myself and car entirely with a barricade against the highly rare fied atmosphere in which I was existing, with the intention of introducing within this barricade, by means of my condenser, a quantity of this same at mosphere sufficiently condensed for the purposes of respiration. With this object in view I had pre pared a very strong, perfectly air-tight, but flexible gum-elastic bag. In this bag, which was of suffi cient dimensions, the entire car was in a manner placed. That is to say, it (the bag) was drawn over the whole bottom of the car, up its sides, and so on, along the outside of the ropes, to the upper rim or hoop where the network is attached. Having pulled
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the bag up in this way, and formed a complete en closure on all sides, and at bottom, it was now nec essary to fasten up its top or mouth, by passing its material over the hoop of the network — in other words, between the network and the hoop. But if the network were separated from the hoop to admit this passage, what was to sustain the car in the meantime? Now, the network was not perma nently fastened to the hoop, but attached by a series of running loops or nooses. I therefore undid only a few of these loops at one time, leaving the car suspended by the remainder. Having thus inserted a portion of the cloth forming the upper part of the bag, I refastened the loops — not to the hoop, for that would have been impossible, since the cloth now intervened — but to a series of large buttons, affixed to the cloth itself, about three feet below the mouth of the bag ; the intervals between the buttons having been made to correspond to the intervals between the loops. This done, a few more of the loops were unfastened from the rim, a further portion of the cloth introduced, and the disengaged loops then con nected with their proper buttons. In this way it was possible to insert the whole upper part of the bag between the network and the hoop. It is evi dent that the hoop would now drop down within the car, while the whole weight of the car itself, with all its contents, would be held up merely by the strength of the buttons. This, at first sight, would
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seem an inadequate dependence; but it was by no means so, for the buttons were not only very strong in themselves, but so close together that a very slight portion of the whole weight was supported by any one of them. Indeed, had the car and contents been three times heavier than they were, I should not have been at all uneasy. I now raised up the hoop again within the covering of gum-elastic, and proped it at nearly its former height by means of three light poles prepared for the occasion. This was done, of course, to keep the bag distended at the top, and to preserve the lower part of the network in its proper situation. All that now remained was to fasten up the mouth of the inclosure; and this was readily accomplished by gathering the folds of the material together, and twisting them up very tightly on the inside by means of a kind of stationary tourniquet.
"In the sides of the covering thus adjusted round the car, had been inserted three circular panes of thick but clear glass, through which I could see without difficulty around me in every horizontal di rection. In that portion of the cloth forming the bottom was, likewise, a fourth window, of the same kind, and corresponding with a small aperture in the floor of the car itself. This enabled me to see perpendicularly down, but having found it impos sible to place any similar contrivance overhead, on account of the peculiar manner of closing up the
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opening there, and the consequent wrinkles in the cloth, I could expect to see no objects situated di rectly in my zenith. This, of course, was a matter of little consequence; for, had I even been able to place a window at top, the balloon itself would have prevented my making any use of it.
"About a foot below one of the side windows was a circular opening, three inches in diameter, and fitted with a brass rim adapted in its inner edge to the windings of a screw. In this rim was screwed the large tube of the condenser, the body of the ma chine being, of course, within the chamber of gum- elastic. Through this tube a quantity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent being drawn by means of a vacuum created in the body of the machine, was thence discharged, in a state of condensation, to min gle with the thin air already in the chamber. This operation being repeated several times, at length filled the chamber with atmosphere proper for all the purposes of respiration; but in so confined a space it would, in a short time, necessarily become foul, and unfit for use from frequent contact with the lungs. It was then ejected by a small valve at the bottom of the car — the dense air readily sinking into the thinner atmosphere below. To avoid the inconvenience of making a total vacuum at any mo ment within the chamber, this purification was never' accomplished all at once, but in a gradual manner — the valve being opened only for a few secondss
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then closed again, until one or two strokes from the pump of the condenser had supplied the place of the atmosphere ejected. For the sake of experiment I had put the cat and kittens in a small basket, and suspended it outside the car to a button at the bot tom, close by the valve, through which I could feed them at any moment when necessary. I did this at some little risk, and before closing the mouth of the chamber, by reaching under the car with one of the poles before mentioned to which a hook had been attached. As soon as dense air was admitted in the chamber, the hoop and poles became unneces sary the expansion of the enclosed atmosphere pow erfully distending the gum-elastic.
"By the time I had fully completed these ar rangements and filled the chamber as explained, it wanted only ten minutes of nine o'clock. During the whole period of my being thus employed, I en dured the most terrible distress from difficulty of respiration, and bitterly did I repent the negligence or rather foolhardiness, of which I had been guilty, of putting off to the last moment a matter of so much importance. But having at length accom plished it, I soon began to reap the benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed with perfect freedom and ease — and indeed why should I not? I was also agreeably surprised to find myself, in a great measure, relieved from the violent pains which had hitherto tormented me. A slight head-
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ache, accompanied with a sensation of fulness or distention about the wrists, the ankles, and the throat, was nearly all of which I had now to com plain. Thus it seemed evident that a greater part of the uneasiness attending the removal of atmos pheric pressure had actually worn off, as I had ex pected, and that much of the pain endured for the last two hours should have been attributed alto gether to the effects of a deficient respiration.
"At twenty minutes before nine o'clock — that is to say, a short time prior to my closing up the mouth of the chamber, the mercury attained its limit, or ran down, in the barometer, which, as I mentioned before, was one of an extended construc tion. It then indicated an altitude, on my part, of 132,000 feet, or five-and-twenty miles, and I conse quently surveyed at that time an extent of the earth's area amounting to no less than the three- hundred-and-twentieth part of its entire superficies. At nine o'clock I had again lost sight of land to the eastward, but not before I became aware that the balloon was drifting rapidly to the N. N. W. The ocean beneath me still retained its apparent concav ity, although my view was often interrupted by the masses of cloud which floated to and fro.
"At half past nine I tried the experiment of throw ing out a handful of feathers through the valve. They did not float as I had expected; but dropped down perpendicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and
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with the greatest velocity — being out of sight in a very few seconds. I did not at first know what to make of this extraordinary phenomenon; not being able to believe that my rate of ascent had, of a sud den, met with so prodigious an acceleration. But it soon occurred to me that the atmosphere was now far too rare to sustain even the feathers; that they actually fell, as they appear to do, with great rapid ity ; and that I had been surprised by the united ve locities of their descent and my own elevation.
"By ten o'clock I found that I had very little to occupy my immediate attention. Affairs went swim mingly, and I believed the balloon to be going up ward with a speed increasing momently, although I had no longer any means of ascertaining the pro gression of the increase. I suffered no pain or un easiness of any kind, and enjoyed better spirits than I had at any period since my departure from Rot terdam ! busying myself now in examining the state of my various apparatus, and now in regenerating the atmosphere within the chamber. This latter point I determined to attend to at regular intervals of forty minutes, more on account of the preserva tion of my health, than from so frequent a renova tion being absolutely necessary. In the meanwhile I could not help making anticipations. Fancy rev elled in the wild and dreamy regions of the moon. Imagination, feeling herself for once unshackled, roamed at will among the ever-changing wonders of
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a shadowy and unstable land. Now there were hoary and time-honored forests, and craggy preci pices, and waterfalls tumbling with a loud noise into abysses without a bottom. Then I came sud denly into still noonday solitudes, where no wind of heaven ever intruded, and where vast meadows of poppies, and slender, lily-looking flowers spread themselves out a weary distance, all silent and mo tionless forever. Then again I journeyed far down away into another country where it was all one dim and vague lake, with a boundary line of clouds. But fancies such as these were not the sole pos sessors of my brain. Horrors of a nature most stern and most appalling would too frequently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and shake the innermost depths of my soul with the bare supposition of their possibility. Yet I would not suffer my thoughts for any length of time to dwell upon these latter speculations, rightly judging the real and palpable dangers of the voyage sufficient for my undivided attention.
"At five o'clock, P.M., being engaged in regener ating the atmosphere within the chamber, I took that opportunity of observing the cat and kittens through the valve. The cat herself appeared to suffer again very much, and I had no hesitation in attributing her uneasiness chiefly to a difficulty in breathing; but my experiment with the kittens had resulted very strangely. I had expected, of course, to see them
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betray a sense of pain, although in a less degree than their mother; and this would have been sufficient to confirm my opinion concerning the habitual en durance of atmospheric pressure. But I was not prepared to find them, upon close examination, evi dently enjoying a high degree of health, breathing with the greatest ease and perfect regularity, and evincing not the slightest sign of any uneasiness. I could only account for all this by extending my theory, and supposing that the highly rarefied at mosphere around might perhaps not be, as I had taken for granted, chemically insufficient for the purpose of life, and that a person born in such a medium might, possibly, be unaware of any incon venience attending its inhalation, while, upon re moval to the denser strata near the earth, he might endure tortures of a similar nature to those I had so lately experienced. It has since been to me a matter of deep regret that an awkward accident, at this time, occasioned me the loss of my little fam ily of cats, and deprived me of the insight into this matter which a continued experiment might have afforded. In passing my hand through the valve, with a cup of water for the old puss, the sleeves of my shirt became entangled in the loop which sus tained the basket, and thus, in a moment, loosened it from the bottom. Had the whole actually van ished into air, it could not have shot from my sight in a more abrupt and instantaneous manner. Posi-
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tively, there could not have intervened the tenth part of a second between the disengagement of the basket and its absolute disappearance with all that it con tained. My good wishes followed it to the earth, but, of course, I had no hope that either cat or kit tens would ever live to tell the tale of their mis fortune.
"At six o'clock, I perceived a great portion of the earth's visible area to the eastward involved in thick shadow, which continued to advance with great rapidity, until, at five minutes before seven, the whole surface in view was enveloped in the dark ness of night. It was not, however, until long after this time that the rays of the setting sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and this circumstance, al though of course fully anticipated, did not fail to give me an infinite deal of pleasure. It was evident that, in the morning, I should behold the rising lu minary many hours at least before the citizens of Rotterdam, in spite of their situation, so much further to the eastward, and thus, day after day, in proportion to the height ascended, would I enjoy the light of the sun for a longer and a longer period. I now determined to keep a journal of my passage, reckoning the days from one to twenty-four hours continuously, without taking into consideration the intervals of darkness.
"At ten o'clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie down for the rest of the night; but here a diffi-
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culty presented itself, which, obvious as it may ap pear, had escaped my attention up to the very mo ment of which I am now speaking. If I went to sleep as I proposed, how could the atmosphere in the chamber be regenerated in the interim ? To breathe it for more than an hour, at the furthest, would be a matter of impossibility ; or, if even this term could be extended to an hour and a quarter, the most ruin ous consequences might ensue. The consideration of this dilemma gave me no little disquietude; and it will hardly be believed, that, after the dangers I had undergone, I should look upon this business in so serious a light as to give up all hope of accom plishing my ultimate design, and finally make up my mind to the necessity of a descent. But this hesita tion was only momentary. I reflected that man is the veriest slave of custom, and that many points in the routine of his existence are deemed essentially important, which are only so at all by his having ren dered them habitual. It was very certain that I could not do without sleep ; but I might easily bring myself to feel no inconvenience from being awak ened at intervals of an hour during the whole period of my repose. It would require but five minutes at most to regenerate the atmosphere in the fullest manner — and the only real difficulty was to contrive a method of arousing myself at the proper moment for so doing. But this was a question which, I am willing to confess, occasioned me no little trouble in
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its solution. To be sure, I had heard of the student who, to prevent his falling asleep over his books, held in one hand a ball of copper, the din of whose descent into a basin of the same metal on the floor beside his chair, served effectually to startle him up, if, at any moment, he should be overcome with drowsiness. My own case, however, was very dif ferent indeed, and left me no room for any similar idea; for I did not wish to keep awake, but to be aroused from slumber at regular intervals of time. I at length hit upon the following expedient, which, simple as it may seem, was hailed by me, at the mo ment of discovery, as an invention fully equal to that of the telescope, the steam-engine, or the art of print ing itself.
"It is necessary to premise, that the balloon, at the elevation now attained, continued its course up ward with an even and undeviating ascent, and the car consequently followed with a steadiness so per fect that it would have been impossible to detect in it the slightest vacillation. This circumstance fa vored me greatly in the project I now determined to adopt. My supply of water had been put on board in kegs containing five gallons each, and ranged very securely around the interior of the car. I unfastened one of these, and taking two ropes, tied them tightly across the rim of the wicker-work from one side to the other; placing them about a foot apart and parallel, so as to form a kind of shelf,
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upon which I placed the keg, and steadied it in a horizontal position. About eight inches immedi ately below these ropes, and four feet from the bot tom of the car, I fastened another shelf — but made of thin plank, being the only similar piece of wood I had. Upon this latter shelf, and exactly be neath one of the rims of the keg, a small earthen pitcher was deposited. I now bored a hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher, and fitted in a plug of soft wood, cut in a tapering or conical shape. This plug I pushed in or pulled out, as might hap pen, until, after a few experiments, it arrived at that exact degree of tightness, at which the water, ooz ing from the hole, and falling into the pitcher be low, would fill the latter to the brim in the period of sixty minutes. This, of course, was a matter briefly and easily ascertained, by noticing the propor tion of the pitcher filled in any given time. Hav ing arranged all this, the rest of the plan is obvi ous. My bed was so contrived upon the floor of the car, as to bring my head, in lying down, immediately below the mouth of the pitcher. It was evident that, at the expiration of an hour, the pitcher, get ting full, would be forced to run over, and to run over at the mouth, which was somewhat lower than the rim. It was also evident, that the water thus falling from a height of more than four feet, could not do otherwise than fall upon my face, and that the sure consequences would be, to waken me up
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instantaneously, even from the soundest slumber in the world.
"It was fully eleven by the time I had completed these arrangements, and I immediately betook my self to bed, with full confidence in the efficiency of my invention. Nor in this matter was I disap pointed. Punctually every sixty minutes was I aroused by my trusty chronometer, when, having emptied the pitcher into the bung-hole of the keg, and performed the duties of the condenser, I retired again to bed. These regular interruptions to my slumber caused me even less discomfort than I had anticipated; and when I finally arose for the day, it was seven o'clock, and the sun had attained many degrees above the line of my horizon.
"April 3d. I found the balloon at an immense height indeed, and the earth's convexity had now become strikingly manifest. Below me in the ocean lay a cluster of black specks, which undoubtedly were islands. Overhead, the sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were brilliantly visible; indeed, they had been so constantly since the first day of ascent. Far away to the northward I perceived a thin, white, and exceedingly brilliant line, or strealc, on the edge of the horizon, and I had no hesitation in supposing it to be the southern disk of the ices of the Polar Sea. My curiosity was greatly ex cited, for I had hopes of passing on much further to the north, and might possibly, at some period, find
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myself placed directly above the Pole itself. I now lamented that my great elevation would, in this case, prevent my taking as accurate a survey as I could wish. Much, however, might be ascertained.
"Nothing else of an extraordinary nature oc curred during the day. My apparatus all continued in good order, and the balloon still ascended without any perceptible vacillation. The cold was intense, and obliged me to wrap up closely in an overcoat. When darkness came over the earth, I betook my self to bed, although it was for many hours after ward broad daylight all around my immediate situ ation. The water-clock was punctual in its duty, and I slept until next morning soundly, with the ex ception of the periodical interruption.
"April 4th. Arose in good health and spirits, and was astonished at the singular change which had taken place in the appearance of the sea. It had lost, in a great measure, the deep tint of blue it had hith erto worn, being now of a grayish-white, and of a lustre dazzling to the eye. The convexity of the ocean had become so evident, that the entire mass of the distant water seemed to be tumbling head long over the abyss of the horizon, and I found my self listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the mighty cataract. The islands were no longer visible; whether they had passed down the horizon to the southeast, or whether my increasing elevation had left them out of sight, it is impossible to say. I was
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inclined, however, to the latter opinion. The rim of ice to the northward was growing more and more apparent. Cold by no means so intense. Nothing of importance occurred, and I passed the day in reading, having taken care to supply myself with books.
"April 5th. Beheld the singular phenomenon of the sun rising while nearly the whole visible surface of the earth continued to be involved in darkness. In time, however, the light spread itself over all, and I again saw the line of ice to the northward. It was now very distinct, and appeared of a much darker hue than the waters of the ocean. I was evidently approaching it, and with great rapidity. Fancied I could again distinguish a strip of land to the eastward, and one also to the westward, but could not be certain. Weather moderate. Noth ing of any consequence happened during the day. Went early to bed.
"April 6th. Was surprised at finding the rim of ice at a very moderate distance, and an immense field of the same material stretching away off to the horizon in the north. It was evident that if the balloon held its present course, it would soon ar rive above the Frozen Ocean, and I had now little doubt of ultimately seeing the Pole. During the whole of the day I continued to near the ice. To ward night the limits of my horizon very suddenly and materially increased, owing undoubtedly to the
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earth's form being that of an oblate spheroid, and my arriving above the flattened regions in the vicin ity of the Arctic Circle. When darkness at length overtook me, I went to bed in great anxiety, fear ing to pass over the object of so much curiosity when I should have no opportunity of observing it.
"April 7th. Arose early, and, to my great joy. at length beheld what there could be no hesitation in supposing the northern Pole itself. It was there. beyond a doubt, and immediately beneath my feet; but, alas ! I had now ascended to so vast a distance, that nothing could with accuracy be discerned. In deed, to judge from the progression of the numbers indicating my various altitudes, respectively, at dif ferent periods, between six A. M. on the second of April, and twenty minutes before nine A. M. of the same day (at which time the barometer ran down), it might be fairly inferred that the balloon had now, at four o'clock in the morning of April the sev enth, reached a height of not less, certainly, than 7,254 miles above the surface of the sea. This ele vation may appear immense, but the estimate upon which it is calculated gave a result in all probability far inferior to the truth. At all events, I undoubt edly beheld the whole of the earth's major diameter ; the entire northern hemisphere lay beneath me like a chart orthographically projected: and the great circle of the equator itself formed the boundary line of my horizon. Your Excellencies may, however,
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readily imagine that the confined regions hitherto Unexplored within the limits of the Arctic Circle, al though situated directly beneath me, and therefore seen without any appearance of being foreshortened, were still, in themselves, comparatively too diminu tive, and at too great a distance from the point of sight, to admit of any very accurate examination. Nevertheless, what could be seen was of a nature singular and exciting. Northwardly from that iiuge rim before mentioned, and which, with slight qualification, may be called the limit of human dis covery in these regions, one unbroken, or nearly un broken, sheet of ice continues to extend. In the first few degrees of this its progress, its surface is very sensibly flattened, further on depressed into a plane, and finally, becoming not a little concave, it terminates, at the Pole itself, in a circular centre, sharply defined, whose apparent diameter subtended at the balloon an angle of about sixty-five seconds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity, was, at all times, darker than any other spot upon the visi ble hemisphere, and occasionally deepened into the most absolute blackness. Further than this, little could be ascertained. By twelve o'clock the circular centre had materially decreased in circumference. and by seven p. M. I lost sight of it entirely; the balloon passing over the western limb of the ice, and floating away rapidly in the direction of the equator. "April 8th, Found a sensible diminution in the
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earth's apparent diameter, besides a material altera tion in its general color and appearance. The whole visible area partook in different degrees of a tint of pale yellow, and in some portions had acquired a brilliancy even painful to the eye. My view down ward was also considerably impeded by the dense atmosphere in the vicinity of the surface being loaded with clouds, between whose masses I could only now and then obtain a glimpse of the earth it self. This difficulty of direct vision had troubled me more or less for the last forty-eight hours; but my present enormous elevation brought closer to gether, as it were, the floating bodies of vapor, and the inconvenience became, of course, more and more palpable in proportion to my ascent. Nevertheless, I could easily perceive that the balloon now hov ered above the range of great lakes in the continent of North America, and was holding a course, due south, which would soon bring me to the tropics. This circumstance did not fail to give me the most heartfelt satisfaction, and I hailed it as a happy omen of ultimate success. Indeed, the direction I had hitherto taken, had filled me with uneasiness ; for it was evident that, had I continued it much longer, there would have been no possibility of my arriving at the moon at all, whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at only the small angle of 5 deg. 8 min. 48 sec. Strange as it may seem, it was only at this late period that I began to understand the great
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error I had committed, in not taking my departure from earth at some point in the plane of the lunar ellipse.
"April pth. To-day the earth's diameter was greatly diminished, and the color of the surface as sumed hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The bal loon kept steadily on her course to the southward, and arrived, at nine P.M., over the northern edge of the Mexican Gulf.
"April loth. I was suddenly aroused from slum ber, about five o'clock this morning, by a loud, crackling, and terrific sound, for which I could in no manner account. It was of very brief duration, but, while it lasted, resembled nothing in the world of which I had any previous experience. It is need less to say that I became excessively alarmed, hav ing, in the first instance, attributed the noise to the bursting of the balloon. I examined all my appara tus, however, with great attention, and could dis cover nothing out of order. Spent a great part of the day in meditating upon an occurrence so ex traordinary, but could find no means whatever of accounting for it. Went to bed dissatisfied, and in a state of great anxiety and agitation.
"April i ith. Found a startling diminution in the apparent diameter of the earth, and a considerable increase, now observable for the first time, in that of the moon itself, which wanted only a few days of being full It now required long and excessive
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labor to condense within the chamber sufficient at mospheric air for the sustenance of life.
"April 1 2th. A singular alteration took place in regard to the direction of the balloon, and although fully anticipated, afforded me the most unequivocal delight. Having reached, in its former course, about the twentieth parallel of southern latitude, it turned off suddenly, at an acute angle, to the east ward, and thus proceeded throughout the day, keep ing nearly, if not altogether, in the exact plane of the lunar ellipse. What was worthy of remark, a very perceptible vacillation in the car was a conse quence of this change of route — a vacillation which prevailed, in a more or less degree, for a period of many hours.
"April 1 3th. Was again very much alarmed by a repetition of the loud, crackling noise which terri fied me on the tenth. Thought long upon the sub ject, but was unable to form any satisfactory con clusion. Great decrease in the earth's apparent di ameter, which now subtended from the balloon an angle of very little more than twenty-five degrees. The moon could not be seen at all, being nearly in my zenith. I still continued in the plane of the el lipse, but made little progress to the eastward.
"April 1 4th. Extremely rapid decrease in the diameter of the earth. To-day I became strongly impressed with the idea that the balloon was now actually running up the line of apsides to the point
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of perigee — in other words, holding the direct course which would bring it immediately to the moon in that part of its orbit the nearest to the earth. The moon itself was directly overhead, and consequently hidden from my view. Great and long-continued labor necessary for the condensation of the atmosphere.
"April 1 5th. Not even the outlines of continents and seas could now be traced upon the earth with distinctness. About twelve o'clock I became aware, for the third time, of that appalling sound which had so astonished me before. It now, however, con tinued for some moments, and gathered intensity as it continued. At length, while, stupefied and terror- stricken, I stood in expectation of I knew not what hideous destruction, the car vibrated with excessive violence, and a gigantic and flaming mass of some material which I could not distinguish came with a voice of a thousand thunders roaring and boom ing by the balloon. When my fears and astonish ment had in some degree subsided, I had little diffi culty in supposing it to be some mighty volcanic fragment ejected from that world to which I was so rapidly approaching, and, in all probability, one of that singular class of substances occasionally picked up on the earth, and termed meteoric stones for want of a better appellation.
"April 1 6th. To-day, looking upward as well as I could, through each of the side windows alter-
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nately, I beheld, to my great delight, a very small portion of the moon's disk protruding, as it were, on all sides beyond the huge circumference of the balloon. My agitation was extreme; for I had now little doubt of soon reaching the end of my perilous voyage. Indeed, the labor now required by the con denser, had increased to a most oppressive degree, and allowed me scarcely any respite from exer tion. Sleep was a matter nearly out of the ques tion. I became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaustion. It was impossible that human na ture could endure this state of intense suffering much longer. During the now brief interval of darkness a meteoric stone again passed in my vicinity, and the frequency of these phenomena began to occasion me much apprehension.
"April 1 7th. This morning proved an epoch in my voyage. It will be remembered that, on the thirteenth, the earth subtended an angular breadth of twenty-five degrees. On the fourteenth this had greatly diminished; on the fifteenth a still more re markable decrease was observable; and, on retiring on the night of the sixteenth, I had noticed an angle of no more than about seven degrees and fifteen min utes. What, therefore, must have been my amaze ment, on awakening from a brief and disturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the seven teenth, at finding the surface beneath me so suddenly and wonderfully augmented in volume, as to sub-
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tend no less than thirty-nine degrees in apparent an gular diameter! I was thunderstruck! No words can give any adequate idea of the extreme, the ab solute horror and astonishment, with which I was seized, possessed, and altogether overwhelmed. My knees tottered beneath me — my teeth chattered — my hair started up on end. The balloon, then, had ac tually burst !' These were the first tumultuous ideas that hurried through my mind: The balloon had positively burst! — I was falling — falling with the most impetuous, the most unparalleled velocity ! To judge by the immense distance already so quickly passed over, it could not be more than ten minutes, at the furthest, before I should reach the surface of the earth, and be hurled into annihilation!' But at length reflection came to my relief. I paused; I considered ; and I began to doubt. The matter was impossible. I could not in any reason have so rap idly come down. Besides, although I was evidently approaching the surface below me, it was with a speed by no means commensurate with the velocity I had at first conceived. This consideration served to calm the perturbation of my mind, and I finally succeeded in regarding the phenomenon in its proper point of view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprived me of my senses, when I could not see the vast difference, in appearance, between the surface below me, and the surface of my mother earth. The latter was indeed over my head, and completely hid-
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den by the balloon, while the moon — the moon itself in all its glory — lay beneath me, and at my feet.
"The stupor and surprise produced in my mind by this extraordinary change in the posture of af fairs, was, perhaps, after all, that part of the ad venture least susceptible of explanation. For the bouleversement in itself was not only natural and inevitable, but had been long actually anticipated as a circumstance to be expected whenever I should ar rive at that exact point of my voyage where the at traction of the planet should be superseded by the attraction of the satellite — or, more precisely, where the gravitation of the balloon toward the earth should be less powerful than its gravitation toward the moon. To be sure, I arose from a sound slum ber, with all my senses in confusion, to the contem plation of a very startling phenomenon, and one which, although expected, was not expected at the moment. The revolution itself must, of course, have taken place in an easy and gradual manner, and it is by no means clear that, had I even been awake at the time of the occurrence, I should have been made aware of it by an internal evidence of an inversion — that is to say, by any inconvenience or disarrangement, either about my person or about my apparatus.
"It is almost needless to say that, upon coming to a due sense of my situation, and emerging from the terror which had absorbed every faculty of my
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soul, my attention was, in the first place, wholly di rected to the contemplation of the general physical appearance of the moon. It lay beneath me like a chart — and although I judged it to be still at no in considerable distance, the indentures of its surface were defined to my vision with a most striking and altogether unaccountable distinctness. The entire absence of ocean or sea, and indeed of any lake or river, or body of water whatsoever, struck me, at first glance, as the most extraordinary feature in its geological condition. Yet, strange to say, I beheld vast level regions of a character decidedly alluvial, although by far the greater portion of the hemi sphere in sight was covered with innumerable vol canic mountains, conical in shape, and having more the appearance of artificial than of natural protuber ances. The highest among them does not exceed three and three-quarter miles in perpendicular ele vation; but a map of the volcanic districts of the Campi Phlegrsei would afford to your Excellencies a better idea of their general surface than any un worthy description I might think proper to attempt. The greater part of them were in a state of evident eruption, and gave me fearfully to understand their fury and their power, by the repeated thunders of the miscalled meteoric stones, which now rushed up ward by the balloon with a frequency more and more appalling.
"April 1 8th. To-day I found an enormous in-
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crease in the moon's apparent bulk — and the evi dently accelerated velocity of my descent began to fill me with alarm. It will be remembered, that, in the earliest stage of my speculations upon the possibil ity of a passage to the moon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an atmosphere, dense in proportion to the bulk of the planet, had entered largely into my calculations; this, too, in spite of many theories to the contrary, and, it may be added, in spite of a gen eral disbelief in the existence of any lunar atmos phere at all. But, in addition to what I have al ready urged in regard to Encke's comet and the zodiacal light, I had been strengthened in my opin ion by certain observations of Mr. Schroter, of Lilienthal. He observed the moon when two days and a half old, in the evening soon after sunset, be fore the dark part was visible, and continued to watch it until it became visible. The two cusps ap peared tapering in a very sharp, faint prolongation, each exhibiting its furthest extremity faintly illu minated by the solar rays, before any part of the dark hemisphere was visible. Soon afterward, the whole dark limb became illuminated. This pro longation of the cusps beyond the semicircle, I thought, must have arisen from the refraction of the sun's rays by the moon's atmosphere. I computed, also, the height of the atmosphere (which could re fract light enough into its dark hemisphere to pro duce a twilight more luminous than the light re-
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fleeted from the earth when the moon is about 32° from the new) to be 1,356 Paris feet; in this view, I supposed the greatest height capable of refracting the solar ray, to be 5,376 feet. My ideas on this topic had also received confirmation by a passage in the eighty-second volume of the 'Philosophical Transactions/ in which it is stated, that, at an oc- cultation of Jupiter's satellites, the third disappeared after having been about i sec. or 2 sec. of time indis tinct, and the fourth became indiscernible near the limb.*
"Upon the resistance, or, more properly, upon the support of an atmosphere, existing in the state of density imagined, I had, of course, entirely depended for the safety of my ultimate descent. Should I
*Hevelius writes that he has several times found, in skies perfectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh mag nitude were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the moon, at the same elongation from the earth, and with one and the same excellent telescope, the moon and its maculae did not appear equally lucid at all times. From the circumstances of the observation, it is evident that the cause of this phenomenon is not either in our air, in the tube, in the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be looked for in something (an atmosphere?) existing about the moon.
Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and the fixed stars, when approaching the moon to occultation, to have their circular figure changed into an oval one ; and, in other occulta- tions, he found no alteration of figure at all. Hence it might be supposed, that at some times, and not at others, there is a dense matter encompassing the moon wherein the rays of the stars are refracted.
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then, after all, prove to have been mistaken, I had in consequence nothing better to expect, as a finale to my adventure, than being dashed into atoms against the rugged surface of the satellite. And, indeed, I had now every reason to be terrified. My dis tance from the moon was comparatively trifling, while the labor required by the condenser was di minished not at all, and I could discover no indica tion whatever of a decreasing rarity in the air.
"April iQth. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o'clock, the surface of the moon being frightfully near, and my apprehension excited to the utmost, the pump of my condenser at length gave evident tokens of an alteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had reason to believe its density consider ably increased. By eleven, very little labor was necessary at the apparatus; and at twelve o'clock, with some hesitation, I ventured to unscrew the tourniquet, when, finding no inconvenience from having done so, I finally threw open the gum-elastic chamber, and unrigged it from around the car. As might have been expected, spasms and violent head ache were the immediate consequences of an ex periment so precipitate and full of danger. But these and other difficulties attending respiration, as they were by no means so great as to put me in peril of my life, I determined to endure as I best could, in consideration of my leaving them behind me momently in my approach to the denser strata near
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the moon. This approach, however, was still im petuous in the extreme; and it soon became alarm ingly certain that, although I had probably not been deceived in the expectation of an atmosphere dense in proportion to the mass of the satellite, still I had been wrong in supposing this density, even at the surface, at all adequate to the support of the great weight contained in the car of my balloon. Yet this should have been the case, and in an equal degree as at the surface of the earth, the actual grav ity of bodies at either planet supposed in the ratio of the atmospheric condensation. That it was not the case, however, my precipitous downfall gave testimony enough; why it was not so, can only be explained by a reference to those possible geological disturbances to which I have formerly alluded. At all events, I was now close upon the planet, and com ing down with the most terrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throwing overboard first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my con densing apparatus and gum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within the car. But it was all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible rapidity, and was now not more than half a mile from the sur face. As a last resource, therefore, having got rid of my coat, hat, and boots, I cut loose from the bal loon the car itself, which was of no inconsiderable weight, and thus, clinging with both hands to the network, I had barely time to observe that the
Adventure of Hans Pfaall 109
whole country, as far as the eye could reach, was thickly interspersed with diminutive habitations, ere I tumbled headlong into the very heart of a fantas tical-looking city, and into the middle of a vast crowd of ugly little people, who none of them ut tered a single syllable, or gave themselves the least trouble to render me assistance, but stood, like a parcel of idiots, grinning in a ludicrous manner, and eying me and my balloon askant, with their arms set a-kimbo. I turned from them in contempt, and, gazing upward at the earth so lately left, and left perhaps forever, beheld it like a huge, dull, copper shield, about two degrees in diameter, fixed immov ably in the heavens overhead, and tipped on one of its edges with a crescent border of the most brilliant gold. No traces of land or water could be discov ered, and the whole was clouded with variable spots, and belted with tropical and equatorial zones.
"Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series of great anxieties, unheard-of dangers, and unparalleled escapes, I had, at length, on the nine teenth day of my departure from Rotterdam, arrived in safety at the conclusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most extraordinary, and the most momentous, ever accomplished, undertaken, or conceived by any denizen of earth. But my adventures yet remain to be related. And indeed your Excellencies may well imagine that, after a residence of five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting in its own pecul-
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iar character, but rendered doubly so by its intimate connection, in capacity of satellite, with the world inhabited by man, I may have intelligence for the private ear of the States' College of Astronomers of far more importance than the details, however won derful, of the mere voyage which so happily con cluded. This is, in fact, the case. I have much — very much which it would give me the greatest pleas ure to communicate. I have much to say of the climate of the planet; of its wonderful alternations of heat and cold; of unmitigated and burning sun shine for one fortnight, and more than polar frigid ity for the next; of a constant transfer of moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo, from the point be neath the sun to the point the furthest from it ; of a variable zone of running water ; of the people them selves ; of their manners, customs, and political in stitutions; of their peculiar physical construction; of their ugliness ; of their want of ears, those useless appendages in an atmosphere so peculiarly modified ; of their consequent ignorance of the use and proper ties of speech; of their substitute for speech in a singular method of inter-communication; of the in comprehensible connection between each particular individual in the moon with some particular indi vidual on the earth — a connection analogous with, and depending upon, that of the orbs of the planet and the satellite, and by means of which the lives and destinies of the inhabitants of the one are interwoven
Adventure of Hans Pfaall in
with the lives and destinies of the inhabitants of the other; and above all, if it so please your Excellen cies — above all, of those dark and hideous mysteries which lie in the outer regions of the moon — regions which, owing to the almost miraculous accordance of the satellite's rotation on its own axis with its sidereal revolution about the earth, have never yet been turned, and, by God's mercy, never shall be turned, to the scrutiny of the telescopes of man. All this, and more — much more — would 1 most will ingly detail. But, to be brief, I must have my re ward. I am pining for a return to my family and to my home; and as the price of any further com munication on my part — in consideration of the light which I have it in my power to throw upon many very important branches of physical and meta physical science — I must solicit, through the influ ence of your honorable body, a pardon for the crime of which I have been guilty in the death of the cred itors upon my departure from Rotterdam. This, then, is the object of the present paper. Its bearer, an inhabitant of the moon, whom I have prevailed upon, and properly instructed, to be my messenger to the earth, will await your Excellencies' pleasure, and return to me with the pardon in question, if it can, in any manner, be obtained.
"I have the honor to be, etc., your Excellencies' very humble servant,
"HANS PFAALL."
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Upon finishing the perusal of this very extra ordinary document, Professor Rubadub, it is said, dropped his pipe upon the ground in the extremity of his surprise, and Mynheer Superbus Von Under- duk having taken off his spectacles, wiped them, and deposited them in his pocket, so far forgot both him self and his dignity, as to turn round three times jupon his heel in the quintessence of astonishment and admiration. There was no doubt about the mat ter — the pardon should be obtained. So at least swore, with a round oath, Professor Rubadub, and so finally thought the illustrious Von Underduk, as he took the arm of his brother in science, and with out saying a word, began to make the best of his way home to deliberate upon the measures to be adopted. Having reached the door, however, of the burgomaster's dwelling, the professor ventured to suggest that as the messenger had thought proper to disappear — no doubt frightened to death by the sav age appearance of the burghers of Rotterdam — the pardon would be of little use, as no one but a man of the moon would undertake a voyage to so vast a distance. To the truth of this observation the bur gomaster assented, and the matter was therefore at an end. Not so, however, rumors and speculations. The letter, having been published, gave rise to a variety of gossip and opinion. Some of the over- wise even made themselves ridiculous by decrying the whole business as nothing better than a hoax.
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But hoax, with these sort of people, is, I believe, a general term for all matters above their compre hension. For my part, I cannot conceive upon what data they have founded such an accusation. Let us see what they say :
Imprimis. That certain wags in Rotterdam have certain especial antipathies to certain burgomasters and astronomers.
Secondly. That an odd little dwarf and bottle conjurer, both of whose ears, for some misde meanor, have been cut off close to his head, had been missing for several days from the neighboring city of Bruges.
Thirdly. That the newspapers which were stuck all over the little balloon were newspapers of Hol land, and therefore could not have been made in the moon. They were dirty papers — very dirty — and Gluck, the printer, would take his bible oath to their having been printed in Rotterdam.
Fourthly. That Hans Pfaall himself, the drunken villain, and the three very idle gentlemen styled his creditors, were all seen, no longer than two or three days ago, in a tippling house in the suburbs, 'having just returned, with money in their pockets, from a trip beyond the sea.
Lastly. That it is an opinion very generally re ceived, or which ought to be generally received, that the College of Astronomers in the city of Rotter dam, as well as all other colleges in all other parts
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of the world — not to mention colleges and astrono mers in general — are, to say the least of the matter, not a whit better, nor greater, nor wiser than they ought to be.
NOTE — Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity be tween the above sketchy trifle and the celebrated "Moon- Story" of Mr. Locke ; but as both have the character of hoaxes (although the one is in a tone of banter, the other of down right earnest), and as both hoaxes are on the same subject, the moon— moreover, as both attempt to give plausibility by scientific detail — the author of "Hans Pfaall" thinks it neces sary to say, in self-defence, that his own jeu d'esprit was published in the "Southern Literary Messenger" about three weeks before the commencement of Mr. L.'s in the "New York Sun." Fancying a likeness which, perhaps, does not exist, some of the New York papers copied "Hans Pfaall," and collated it with the "Moon-Hoax," by way of detecting the writer of the one in the writer of the other.
As many more persons were actually gulled by the "Moon- Hoax" than would be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may here afford some little amusement to show why no one should have been deceived — to point out those particulars of the story which should have been sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed, however rich the imagination dis played in this ingenious fiction, it wanted much of the force which might have been given it by a more scrupulous attention to facts and to general analogy. That the public were misled, even for an instant, merely proves the gross ignorance which is so generally prevalent upon subjects of an astronomical nature.
The moon's distance from the earth is, in round numbers, 240,000 miles. If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a lens would bring the satellite (or any distant object), we, of course, have but to divide the distance by the magnifying or, more strictly, by the space-penetrating power of the glass. Mr. L. makes his lens have a power of 42,000 times. By this divide 240,000 (the moon's real distance), and we have five
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miles and five sevenths, as the apparent distance. No animal at all could be seen so far; much less the minute points par ticularized in the story. Mr. L. speaks about Sir John Her- schel's perceiving flowers (the Papaver rheas, etc.), and even detecting the color and the shape of the eyes of small birds. Shortly before, too, he has himself observed that the lens would not render perceptible objects of less than eighteen inches in diameter; but even this, as I have said, is giving the glass by far too great power. It may be observed, in pass ing, that this prodigious glass is said to have been molded at the glasshouse of Messrs. Hartley and Grant, in Dumbar ton; but Messrs. H. and G.'s establishment had ceased opera tions for many years previous to the publication of the hoax.
On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of "a hairy veil" over the eyes of a species of bison, the author says: "It im mediately occurred to the acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a providential contrivance to protect the eyes of the ani mal from the great extremes of light and darkness to which all the inhabitants of our side of the moon are periodically subjected." But this cannot be thought a very "acute" ob servation of the Doctor's. The inhabitants of our side of the moon have, evidently, no darkness at all, so there can be noth ing of the "extremes" mentioned. In the absence of the sun they have a light from the earth equal to that of thirteen full unclouded moons.
The topography throughout, even when professing to ac cord with Blunt's Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or any other lunar chart, and even grossly at variance with itself. The points of the compass, too, are in inextricable confusion; the writer appearing to be ignorant that, on a lunar map, these are not in accordance with terrestrial points ; the east being to the left, etc.
Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, Mare Tranquillitatis, Mare Fsecunditatis, etc., given to the dark spots by former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details re garding oceans and other large bodies of water in the moon; whereas there is no astronomical point more positively ascer tained than that no such bodies exist there. In examining the boundary between light and darkness (in the crescent or gib bous moon) where this boundary crosses any of the, dark
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places, the line of division is found to be rough and jagged; but, were these dark places liquid, it would evidently be even.
The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is but a literal copy of Peter Wilkins' account of the wings of his flying islanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at least, it might be thought.
On page 23, we have the following: "What a prodigious in fluence must our thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon this satellite when an embryo in the womb of time, the passive subject of chemical affinity!" This is very fine; but it should be observed that no astronomer would have made such remark, especially to any Journal of Science; for the earth, in the sense intended, is not only thirteen, but forty-nine times larger than the moon. A similar objection applies to the whole of the concluding pages, where, by way of introduction to some discoveries in Saturn, the philosophical correspond ent enters into a minute schoolboy account of that planet — this to the "Edinburgh Journal of Science!"
But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayed the fiction. Let us imagine the power actually pos sessed of seeing animals upon the moon's surface — what would •first arrest the attention of an observer from the earth? Cer tainly neither their shape, size, nor any other such peculiarity, so soon as their remarkable situation. They would appear to be walking, with heels up and head down, in the manner of flies on a ceiling. The real observer would have uttered an instant ejaculation of surprise (however prepared by pre vious knowledge) at the singularity of their position; the •fictitious observer has not even mentioned the subject, but speaks of seeing the entire bodies of such creatures, when it is demonstrable that he could have seen only the diameter of their heads!
It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the size, and particularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their ability to fly in so rare an atmosphere— if, indeed, the moon have any), with most of the other fancies in regard to animal and vegetable existence, are at variance, generally, with all analogical reasoning on these themes; and that analogy here will often amount to conclusive demonstration. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add, that all the suggestions at-
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tributed to Brewster and Herschel, in the beginning of the article, about "a transfusion of artificial light through the focal object of vision," etc., etc., belong to that species of figurative writing which comes, most properly, under the de nomination of rigmarole.
There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery among the stars — a limit whose nature need only be stated to be understood. If, indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that is required, man's ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the task, and we might have them of any size de manded. But, unhappily, in proportion to the increase of size in the lens, and consequently of space-penetrating power, is the diminution of light from the object, by diffusion of its rays. And for this evil there is no remedy within human ability ; for an object is seen by means of that light alone which proceeds from itself, whether direct or reflected. Thus the only "arti ficial" light which could avail Mr. Locke, would be some artificial light which he should be able to throw — not upon the "focal object of vision," but upon the real object to be viewed — to wit : upon the moon. It has been easily calculated that, when the light proceeding from a star becomes so dif fused as to be as weak as the natural light proceeding from the whole of the stars, in a clear and moonless night, then the star is no longer visible for any practical purpose.
The Earl of Ross's telescope, lately constructed in England, has a speculum with a reflecting surface of 4,071 square inches; the Herschel telescope having one of only 1,811. The metal of the Earl of Ross's is 6 feet diameter; it is 5^ inches thick at the edges, and 5 at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal length is 50 feet.
I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book, whose title-page runs thus: "L'Homme dans la Ivne, ou le Voyage Chimerique fait au Monde de la Lvne, nouuelle- ment decouuert par Dominique Gonzales, Aduanturier Es- pagnol, autremet dit le Courier volant. Mis en notre langve par J. B. D. A. Paris, chez Francois Piot, pres la Fontaine de Saint Benoist. Et chez J. Goignard, au premier pilier de la grand'salle du Palais, proche les Consultations, MDCXLVII." Pp. 176.
The writer professes to have translated his work from the
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English of one Mr. D'Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a terrible ambiguity in the statement. "I* en ai eu," says he 'Toriginal de Monsieur D'Avisson, medecin des mieux versez qui soient aujourd'huy dans la conoissance des Belles Lettres, et sur tout de la Philosophic Naturelle. Je lui ai cette obligation entre les autres, de m' auoir non seulement mis en main ce Livre en anglois, mais encore le Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D'Anan, gentilhomme Eccossois, recommand- able pour sa vertu, sur la version duquel j' advoue que j' ay tire le plan de la mienne."
After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil Bias, and which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates that, being ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, together with a negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To increase the chances of obtaining food, the two separate, and live as far apart as possible. This brings about a training of birds, to serve the purpose of carrier-pigeons be tween them. By and by these are taught to carry parcels of some weight — and this weight is gradually increased. At length the idea is entertained of uniting the force of a great number of the birds, with a view to raising the author him self. A machine is contrived for the purpose, and we have a minute description of it, which is materially helped out by a steel engraving. Here we perceive the Signer Gonzales, with point ruffles and a huge periwig, seated astride something which resembles very closely a broomstick, and borne aloft by a multitude of wild swans (ganzas) who had strings reaching from their tails to the machine.
The main event detailed in the Signer's narrative depends upon a very important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance until near the end of the book. The ganzas, with whom he had become so familiar, were not really denizens of St. Helena, but of the moon. Thence it had been their cus tom, time out of mind, to migrate annually to some portion of the earth. In proper season, of course, they would return home; and the author, happening, one day, to require their services for a short voyage, is unexpectedly carried straight up, and in a very brief period arrives at the satellite. Here he finds, among other odd things, that the people enjoy extreme happiness; that they have no law; that they die without pain;
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that they are from ten to thirty feet in height; that they live five thousand years; that they have an emperor called Irdono- zur; and that they can jump sixty feet high, when, being out of the gravitating influence, they fly about with fans.
I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general philoso phy of the volume.
"I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it the larger they seemed. I have also me and the earth. As to the stars, since there was no night where I was, they always had the same appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearly like the moon of a morning. But few of them were visible, and these ten times larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem to the inhabitants of the earth. The moon, which wanted two days of being full, was of a terrible bigness.
"I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whether it was calm weather or stormy, I found myself always immediately between the moon and the earth. I was convinced of this for two reasons — because my birds always flew in a straight line; and because whenever we attempted to rest, we were carried insensibly around the globe of the earth. For I admit the opinion of Copernicus, who maintains that it never ceases to revolve from the east to the west, not upon the poles of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of the world, but upon those of the Zodiac, a question of which I propose to speak more at length here after, when I shall have leisure to refresh my memory in re gard to the astrology which I learned at Salamanca when young, and have since forgotten."
Notwithstanding the blunders italicized, the book is not without some claim to attention, as affording a naive speci men of the current astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed, that the "gravitating power" extended but a short distance from the earth's surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager "carried insensibly around the globe," etc.
There have been other "voyages to the moon," but none of higher merit than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac
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as utterly meaningless. In the third volume of the "Ameri can Quarterly Review" will be found quite an elaborate criti cism upon a certain "journey" of the kind in question — a criti cism in which it is difficult to say whether the critic most exposes the stupidity of the book, or his own absurd igno rance of astronomy. I forget the title of the work; but the means of the voyage are more deplorably ill conceived than are even the ganzas of our friend the Signer Gonzales. The adventurer, in digging the earth, happens to discover a pecul iar metal for which the moon has a strong attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box, which, when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with him, forthwith, to the satellite. The "Flight of Thomas O'Rourke," is a jeu d' esprit not altogether contemptible, and has been translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the game keeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to the tale. The "flight" is made on an eagle's back, from Hungry Hill, a lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.
In these various brochures the aim is always satirical; the theme being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours. In none is there any effort at plausibility in the details of the voyage itself. The writers seem, in each in stance, to be utterly uninformed in respect to astronomy. In "Hans Pfaall" the design is original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at verisimilitude, in the application of scientific princi ples (so far as the whimsical nature of the subject would permit), to the actual passage between the earth and the moon.
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 an cient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy ; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent upon his dis asters, he left New Orleans, the city of his fore fathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's Isl and, 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 mainland by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be sup posed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, dur ing summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly pal metto; but the whole island, with the exception of
I-Poe-6 (I21)
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this western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle so much prized by the horti culturists of England. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance.
In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship — for there was much in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with un usual powers of mind, but infected with misan thropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological specimens — his collection of the latter might have been envied by a Swammer- damm. In these excursions he was usually ac companied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." It is not improbable that the rela-
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lives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil this ob stinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.
The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a fire is considered neces sary. About the middle of October, 18 — , there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks — my residence being, at that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh-hens for sup per. Legrand was in one of his fits — how else shall I term them ? — of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, and,
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more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with Jupiter's assistance, a scarabaeus which he be lieved 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 scardbaei at the devil.
"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so long since I saw you ; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a visit this very night, of all others? As I was coming home
I met Lieutenant G , from the fort, and, very
foolishly, I lent him the bug ; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here to night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing in creation !"
"What?— sunrise?"
"Nonsense! no! — the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color — about the size of a large hickory-nut — with two jet-black spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The antennae are — "
"Dey ain't no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin' on you," here interrupted Jupiter ; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing — neber feel half so hebby a bug in my life."
"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, some what more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case
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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 meantime I can give you some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.
"Never mind," he said at length, "this will an swer;" and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a loud growl was heard, 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 previ ous 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 scar abacus, I must con fess; new to me; never saw anything like it before — unless it was a skull, or a death's-head, which it
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more nearly resembles than anything else that has come under my observation.
"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand. "Oh— yes well, it has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth — and then the shape of the whole is oval."
"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle it self, if I am to form any idea of its personal appear ance."
"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw tolerably — should do it at least — have had good masters, and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead."
"But, my dear fellow, you are joking, then," said I ; "this is a very passable skull — indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of physiology — and your scarabaeus must be the queerest scara- baeus 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 scarabaeus caput hominis, or something of that kind — there are many similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennae you spoke of ?"
"The antennae 7" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the antennae. I made them
The Gold-Bug 127
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 with out additional remark, not wishing to ruffle his tem per; 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 antennae visible, and the whole did bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head.
He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the design seemed sud denly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face grew violently red — in another 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 furthest corner of the room. Here again he made an anxious exami nation of the paper ; turning it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly as tonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to ex acerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he took from his coat- pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared.
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Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in revery, from which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done be fore, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did not press me to re main, 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 re ceived a visit, at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dis pirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend.
"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? — how is your master?"
"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be."
"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"
"Dar! dat's it! — him neber 'plain of notin' — but him berry sick for all dat."
"Very sick, Jupiter! — why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined to bed?"
"No, dat he aint! — he aint 'fin'd 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
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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 matter — Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him — but den what make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a goose? 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 arter all — he looked so berry poorly."
"Eh ? — what ? — ah yes ! — upon the whole I think you had better not be too severe with the poor fel low — don't flog him, Jupiter — he can't very well stand it — but can you form no idea of what has oc casioned this illness, or rather this change of con duct? 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?"
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"Why, massa, I mean de bug — dare now."
"The what?"
"De bug — I'm berry sartin dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere 'bout de head by dat goole-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 kick 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 didn't like de look ob de bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff a piece of it in he mouff — dat was de way."
"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"
"I don't think nofrm about it— I nose it. What make him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'taint cause he bit by the goole-bug ? Ise heered '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 circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?"
The Gold-Bug 131
"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 en durance, by his well-meant attentions. Would you believe it ? — he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day, solus, among the hills on the 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.
"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/'
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There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet pos sessed his excitable brain? What "business of the highest importance," could he possibly have to trans act? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.
Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all apparently new, lying in the bot tom of the boat in which we were to embark.
"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I irr- quired.
"Him syfe, massa, and spade."
"Very true; but what are they doing here?"
"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for 'em."
"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will' going to do with scythes and spades?"
"Dat's more dan / know, and debbil take me if I don't b'lieve '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 ab-
The Gold-Bug 133
sorbed 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 enter tained. His countenance was pale even to ghastli- ness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say, if he had yet obtained the scarabaeus from Lieutenant
"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that scarabaeus. 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 art air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.
"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant smile; "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly, and I
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shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, bring me that scarabaeus !"
"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug; you mus' 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 inclosed. It was a beautiful scarabaeus, 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 extrem ity 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 Jupi ter 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 certainly unwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go to bed, and I will remain with you a few days, until you get over this. You are feverish and — "
"Feel my pulse," said he.
The Gold-Bug 135
I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slight est indication of fever.
"But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Al low 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 expedition 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 allayed."
"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I re plied; "but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition into the hills?"
"It has."
"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding."
"I am sorry — very sorry — for we shall have to try it by ourselves."
"Try it by yourselves ! The man is surely mad ! — but stay! — how long do you propose to be ab sent?"
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"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 busi ness (good God!) settled to your satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice im plicitly, as that of your physician?"
"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to lose."
With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades — the whole of which he insisted upon carrying — more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the implements within reach of his master, than from any excess of industry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and "dat deuced bug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during the journey. For my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with the scarabaeus, which he carried attached to the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a conjurer, as he went. When I observed this last, plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some more ener getic measures with a chance of success. In the
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meantime I endeavored, 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, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other reply than "we shall see!"
We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the main land, proceeded in a north westerly direction, through a tract of country ex cessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a hu man footstep was to be seen- Legrand led the way with decision ; pausing only for an instant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be certain land marks of his own contrivance upon a former occa sion.
In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was just setting when we entered a re gion infinitely more dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of tableland, near the summit 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 so lemnity to the scene.
The natural platform to which we had clambered
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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 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 ap proached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it and examined it with minute attention. When he had completed his scrutiny, he merely said:
"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he eber see in he life."
"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark to see what we are about."
"How far mus' go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter.
"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way to go — and here — stop! take this beetle with you."
"De bug, Massa Will ! — de goole-bug !" cried the negro, drawing back in dismay — "what for mus tote de bug way up de tree? — d — n if I do!"
"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like
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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, anyhow. Me f eered 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 Tulipi- ferum, the most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, and often rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in its riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short limbs make their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, in the present case, lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible with his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and resting his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the whole busi ness as virtually accomplished. The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over, although the
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climber was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.
"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked.
"Keep up the largest branch — the one on this side," said Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but little trouble; ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his squat figure could be obtained through the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of halloo.
"How much fudder is got for go?"
"How high up are you ?" asked Legrand.
"Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob de tree."
"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have you passed ?"
"One, two, tree, four, fibe — I done pass fibe big limb, massa, 'pon dis side."
"Then go one limb higher."
In a few minutes the voice was heard again, an nouncing that the seventh limb was attained.
"Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much ex cited, "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 en-
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tertained of my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. While I was pon dering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's voice was again heard.
"Mos feered for to ventur pon dis limb berry far — 'tis dead limb putty much all de way."
"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a quavering voice.
"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail — done up for sartin — done departed dis here life."
"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in the greatest distress.
"Do !" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, "why, come home and go to bed. Come now! — that's a fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remember your promise."
"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me ?"
"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."
"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it very rotten."
"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought venture 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.
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Spose I drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight of one nigger."
"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, appar ently 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 the eend, massa — o-o-o-o-oh! Lor- gol-a-mercy! what is dis here pon de tree?"
"Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?"
"Why, 'taint noffin but a skull — somebody bin lef him head up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off."
"A skull, you say ! — very well — how is it fastened to the limb? — what holds it on?"
"Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry curious sarcumstance, pon mv word — dare's a great
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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 dey ain't no eye lef at all."
"Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your left?"
"Yes, I knows dat — knows all about dat — 'tis my lef hand what I chops de wood wid."
"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find the left eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you found it?"
Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked.
"Is de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de skull, too? — cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all — nebber mind ! I got de lef eye now — here de lef eye ! what mus do wid it ?"
"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach — but be careful and not let go your hold of the string."
"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru de hole — look out for him dare below!"
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During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's per son could be seen ; but the beetle, which he had suf fered to descend, was now visible at the end of the string, and glistened, like a globe of burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood. The scarabaeus 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, hav ing accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down from the tree.
Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocket a tape-measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of the trunk of the tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reached the peg and thence further 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 cir cle, about four feet in diameter, described. Taking now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand begged us to set about digging as quickly as possible.
To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for
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such amusement at any time, and, at that particular moment, would 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 innumerable South ern superstitions about money buried, and that his phantasy had received confirmation by the finding of the scarabaeuSj 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 fa vorite preconceived ideas — and then I called to mind the poor fellow's speech about the beetle's being "the index of his fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at length, I concluded to make a virtue of necessity — to dig with a good will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by ocular demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinion he entertained.
The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal worthy a more rational cause; and, as
I— Poe— 7
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the glare fell upon our persons and implements, I could not help thinking how picturesque a group we composed, and how strange and suspicious our la bors must have appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon our whereabout.
We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chief embarrassment lay in the yelp ings of the dog, who took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, became so obstreper ous that we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity — or, rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand ; — for myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption which might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole with a dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task.
When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A general pause en sued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully and re commenced. We had excavated trie entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to the further depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I
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sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning of his labor. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, be gan to gather up his tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned in profound si lence toward home.
We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direc tion, when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the collar. The aston ished 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 clinched teeth — "you in fernal 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 sartain?" roared the terrified Jupiter, plac ing 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 caracols, much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked, mute-
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ly, 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 outward, 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 dropped 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 west ward 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
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we again set to work with the spade. I was dread fully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion from the labor imposed. I had become most unaccountably interested — nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagant demeanor of Legrand — some air of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught my self actually looking, with something that very much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of which had demented my unfortunate com panion. At a period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and a half, we were again in terrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently, but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to muzzle him, he made furious re sistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and what appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug further, three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light.
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At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to continue our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I stumbled and fell 'for ward, having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth.
We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of more intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and wonderful hardness, had plainly been 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 impossibil ity of removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back — trembling and pant ing with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of in calculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed
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upward 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, pre dominant. Legrand appeared exhausted with ex citement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied — thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, and burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy :
"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug ! de putty goole- bug! de poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in that sabage kind ob style! Aint you shamed ob your self, nigger? — answer me dat!"
It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master and valet to the expediency of remov ing the treasure. It was growing late, and it be hooved us to make exertion, that we might get everything housed before daylight. It was diffi cult 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 so'me trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited among the bram-
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bles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict or ders from Jupiter neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our re turn. 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 afterward, armed with three stout sacks, which, by good luck, wrere upon the premises. A little before four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited our golden bur dens, 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 excitement of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make examination of our treasure.
The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day, and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its contents. There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Everything had been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted all with care, we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than we had at first supposed. In
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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 German money, with a few English guineas, and some counters, of which we had never seen specimens before. There were sev eral very large and heavy coins, so worn that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. There was no American money. The value of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. There were diamonds — some of them exceedingly large and fine — a hundred and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable brilliancy; — three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal. These stones had all been broken from their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings themselves, which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared to have been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments; nearly two hundred massive finger and earrings; rich chains — thirty of these, if I remember; eighty- three very large and heavy crucifixes ; five gold cen sers of great value; a prodigious golden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-leaves and Bac chanalian figures; with two sword-handles exqui-
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sitely embossed, and many other smaller articles which I can not recollect. The weight of these val uables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois; and in this estimate I have not in cluded one hundred 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 timekeepers, valueless ; the works having suffered, more or less, from corrosion — but all were richly jewelled and in cases of great worth. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a million and a half of dollars; and upon the subsequent disposal of the trinkets and jewels (a few being retained for our own use), it was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure.
When, at length, we had concluded our examina tion, and the intense excitement of the time had, in some measure, subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the circumstances connected with it.
"You remember," said he, "the night when I handed you the rough sketch I had made of the scarabaeus. You recollect, also, that I became quite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resem bled a death's-head. When you first made this as sertion I thought you were jesting; but afterward I called to mind the peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark
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had some little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers irritated me — for I am con sidered a good artist — and, therefore, when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into the fire."
"The scrap of paper, you mean," said I.
"No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I discovered it at once to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you re member. Well, as I was in the very act of crum pling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had been looking, and you may imagine my as tonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death's-head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. I knew that my design was very different in detail from this — although there was a certain similarity in general outline. Presently I took a candle, and seating myself at the other end of the room, pro ceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really remarkable similarity of outline — at the singular coincidence involved in the fact that, unknown to me, there should have been a skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately beneath my figure of the scarabaeus,
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and that this skull, not only in outline, but in size should so closely resemble my drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of such coin cidences. The mind struggles to establish a con nection — a sequence of cause and effect — and, being unable to do so, suffers a species of temporary pa ralysis. But, when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually a conviction which startled me even far more than the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there had been no drawing upon the parchment when I made my sketch of the scarabaeus. I became perfectly certain of this ; for I recollected turning up first one side and then the other, in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of course I could not have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there seemed to glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a glow-worm- like conception of that truth which last night's ad venture brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and, putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all further reflection until I should be alone.
"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook myself to a more methodical investi gation of the affair. In the first place, I considered
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the manner in which the parchment had come into my possession. The spot where we discovered the scarabaeus was on the coast of the mainland, about a mile eastward of the island, and but a short dis tance above high-water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had flown toward 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 cor ner sticking up. Near the spot where we found it, I observed the remnants of the hull of what ap peared to have been a ship's long-boat, The wreck seemed to have been there for a very great while; for the resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced.
"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterward we turned to go home, and on the way met Lieuten ant 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
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sure of the prize at once — you know how enthu siastic he is on all subjects connected with Natural History. At the same time, without being con scious of it, I must have deposited the parchment in my own pocket.
"You remember that when I went to the table for the purpose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper where it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand fell upon the parchment. I thus de tail the precise mode in which it came into my pos session; for the circumstances impressed me with peculiar force.
"No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had already established a kind of connection. I had put together two links of a great chain. There was a boat lying upon a seacoast, 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 connection?' I reply that the skull, or death's- head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of the death's-head is hoisted in all engage ments.
"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parchment is durable — almost imperish able. 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
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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 parch ment. Although one of its corners had been, by some accident, destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong. It was just such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for a memo randum — for a record of something to be long re membered and carefully preserved."
"But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was not upon the parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How then do you trace any connec tion between the boat and the skull — since this lat ter, according to your own admission, must have been designed (God only knows how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your sketching the scarabaem?"
"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 scarabaeus, there was no skull apparent upon the parchment. When I had completed the drawing I gave it to you, and ob served 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 hu man agency. And nevertheless it was done.
"At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to
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remember, and did remember, with entire distinct ness, 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 inspect ing 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 list lessly 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 en gaged 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 designed 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. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia, and diluted with four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed ; a green tint results. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear
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at longer or shorter intervals after the material writ ten upon cools, but again become apparent upon the reapplication 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 action of the ca loric 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 experiment, there became visible, at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which the death's-head was delineated, the figure of what I at first supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was intended for a kid."
"Ha ! ha !" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at you — a million and a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth — but you are not about to establish a third link in your chain — you will not find any especial connection between your pirates and a goat — pirates, you know, have noth ing 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.
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"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 signature. I say sig nature, because its position upon the vellum sug gested 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 ir resistibly impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than an actual belief; — but do you know that Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, had a re markable effect upon my fancy ? And then the series of accidents and coincidents — these were so very ex traordinary. Do you observe 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
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stories current — the thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, somewhere 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 ly, could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from the circumstance of the buried treasures still remain ing entombed. Had Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterward reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their present unvary ing form. You will observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about money-find ers. Had the pirate recovered his money, there the affair would have dropped. It seemed to me that some accident — say the loss of a memorandum in dicating its locality — had deprived him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident had become known to his followers, who otherwise might never have heard that the 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 thern ; and you will scarcely
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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 increas ing the heat, but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating of dirt might have some thing to do with the failure : so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over it, and, hav ing done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull downward, 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 reheated the parchment, submitted it to my inspection. The following char acters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the death's-head and the goat:
;46(;88*96*?;8)n( J485) ;5*t2:*t(;4956*2(5*-4)8f 8* 14069285);) 6f8)4tt ;i (ft :48o8i ;8 :8Ji ^BfSS ;4)485t5288o6*Si (ft ;48 ;(88 ;4(t?3 4J48)4$;i6i;:i88#?;"
"But," said I, returning him the slip, 'T am as much in the dark as ever. Were all the jewels of
The Gold-Bug 165
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 led to imagine from the first hasty inspection of the characters. These characters, as any one might readily guess, form a cipher — that is to say, they 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 cryptographs. I made up my mind, at once, that this was of a simple species — such, however, as would appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, absolutely insoluble without the key."
"And you really solved it?"
"Readily ; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind which human ingenuity may not, by proper ap plication, resolve. In fact, having once established connected and legible characters, I scarcely gave a thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import.
"In the present case — indeed, in all cases of se cret writing — the first question regards the language of the cipher; for the principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple ciphers are concerned,
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depend upon, and are varied by, the genius of the particular idiom. In general, there is no alterna tive but experiment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to him who attempts the solu tion, 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 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 cases I should have commenced with a collation and analy sis of the shorter words, and, had a word of a single letter occurred, as is most likely (a or /, for exam ple), I should have considered the solution as as sured. But, there being no division, my first step was to ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent. Counting all, I constructed a table thus:
Of the characters 8 there are 33.
26.
4
6
12. II.
The Gold-Bug 167
o 6.
92 5-
4- 3-
2. I.
"Now, in English, the letter which most fre quently occurs is e. Afterward, the succession runs thus :aoidhnrstuycfglmwbkpqxz. E predominates so remarkably, that an individual sen tence of any length is rarely seen, in which it is not the prevailing character.
"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the groundwork for something more than a mere guess. The general use which may be made of the table is obvious — but, in this particular cipher, we shall only very partially require its aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will commence by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet. To verify the sup position, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in couples — for e is doubled with great frequency in English — in such words, for example, as 'meet/ 'fleet/ 'speed/ 'seen/ 'been/ 'agree/ etc. In the present instance we see it doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph is brief.
"Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now, of all words in the language, 'the' is most usual ; let us see, there fore, 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 repre-
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sent the word 'the.' Upon inspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements, the characters being 548. We may, therefore, assume that ; repre sents t, 4 represents &,.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 en abled to establish a vastly important point; that is to say, several commencements and terminations of other words. Let us refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in which the combination 548 oc curs — not far from the end of the cipher. We know that the; immediately ensuing is the commencement of a word, and, of 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— teeth
"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the fth' as forming no portion of the word commencing with the first t; since, by experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be formed of which this th can be a part. We are thus narrowed into
tee,
and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as be fore, we arrive at the word 'tree/ as the sole possi ble reading. We thus gain another letter, r, repre-
The Gold-Bug 169
sented by (, with the words 'the tree' in juxtaposi tion.
"Looking beyond these words, for a short dis tance, we again see the combination 548, and employ it by way of termination to what immediately pre cedes. We have thus this arrangement: the tree ^(t?34 the,
or, substituting the natural letters, where known,
it reads thus :
the tree thrj:?3h the.
"Now, if, in the place of the unknown characters, we leave blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read
t"us ' the tree thr...h the,
when the word 'through' makes itself evident at once. But this discovery gives us three new let ters, o, u, and gf represented by J, ?, and 3.
"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of known characters, we find, not very far irom the beginning, this arrangement, 83(88, or egree,
which plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree/ and gives us another letter, df represented by f .
"Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we per ceive .the combination
;46(;88
"Translating the known characters, and repre senting the unknown by dots, as before, we read thus:
I— Poe— 8
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th.rtee,
an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 'thirteen/ and again furnishing us with two new characters, i and n, represented by 6 and *.
"Referring, now, to the beginning of the crypto graph, we find the combination,
"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 |
|
|
t |
d |
|
8 |
e |
|
3 |
g |
|
4 |
h |
|
6 |
i |
|
* |
n |
|
I |
0 r |
|
I |
t |
|
? |
u |
"We have, therefore, no less than eleven of the most important letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with the details of the solu tion. I have said enough to convince you that ci phers of this nature are readily soluble, and to give you some insight into the rationale of their develop ment. But be assured that the specimen before us
The Gold-Bug 171
appertains to the very simplest species of crypto graph. It now only remains to give you the full translation of the characters upon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is :
' 1A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes north east and by north main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the death's-head a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.' "
"But," said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this jargon about 'devil's seats/ 'death's-head/ 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 sen tence into the natural division intended by the cryp- tographist."
"You mean, to punctuate it?"
"Something of that kind."
"But how was it possible to effect this?"
"I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run his words together without division3 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
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a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to run his characters, at this place, more than usually close together. If you will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will easily detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting 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 in quiry in the neighborhood of Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by 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 sud denly, that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might have some reference to an old family, of the name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held possession of an ancient manor-house, about four miles to the north ward of the island. I accordingly went over to the
The Gold-Bug 173
plantation, and reinstituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the place. At length one of the most aged of the women said that she had heard of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she could guide me to it, but that it was not a castle, nor a tavern, but a high rock.
"I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We found it without much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I proceeded to examine the place. The 'castle' consisted of an irregular assem blage of cliffs and rocks — one of the latter being quite remarkable for its height as well as for its in sulated and artificial appearance. I clambered to its apex, and then felt much at a loss as to what should be next done.
"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrow ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff just above it gave it a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed chairs used by our ances tors. I made no doubt that here was the 'devfl's- seaf alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to grasp the full secret of the riddle.
"The 'good glass/ I knew, could have reference to nothing but a telescope; for the word 'glass* is rarely employed in any other sense by seamen. Now
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here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, and a definite point of view, admitting no variation, from which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrases, 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes/ and 'northeast and by north/ were intended as di rections for the levelling of the glass. Greatly ex cited by these discoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to the rock.
"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible to retain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This fact confirmed my pre conceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could allude to nothing but elevation above the visi ble horizon, since the horizontal direction was clearly indicated by the words, 'northeast and by north/ This latter direction I at once established by means of a pocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of 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 cen tre of this rift I perceived a white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked, and now made it out to be a human skull.
"Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to con sider the enigma solved ; for the phrase 'main branch,
The Gold-Bug 175
seventh limb, east side/ could refer only to the posi tion of the skull upon the tree, while 'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' admitted, also, of but one interpretation, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I perceived that the design was to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a bee-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 ex tended to a distance of fifty feet, would indicate a definite point — and beneath this point I thought it at least possible that a deposit of value lay con cealed."
"All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, al though ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's Hotel, what then?"
"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turned homeward. The instant that I left 'the devil's-seat,' however, the circular rift vanished ; nor could I get a glimpse of it afterward, turn as I would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact (for repeated experi ment has convinced me it is a fact) that the circular opening in question is visible from no other attain able point of view than that afforded 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, ob served, for some weeks past, the abstraction of my
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demeanor, and took especial care not to leave me alone. But, on the next day, getting up very early, I contrived to give him the slip, and went into the hills in search of the tree. After much toil I found it. When I came home at night my valet proposed to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adven ture I believe you are as well acquainted as my self."
"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/ together with the nearest point of the tree, were merely two points for the establishment of a line of direction ; of course, the error, however triv ial in the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, and by the time we had gone fifty feet threw us quite off the scent. But for my deep-seated impressions that treasure was here somewhere ac tually 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
The Gold-Bug 177
letting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from the skull?"
"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall from the tree. An observation of yours about its great weight suggested the latter idea."
"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which puzzles me. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?"
"That is a question I am no more able to answer than yourself. There seems, however, only one plausible way of accounting for them — and yet it is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my sugges tion would imply. It is clear that Kidd — if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which I doubt not — it is clear that he must have had assistance in the labor. But 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 sufficient, while his coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it required a dozen — who shall tell?"
FOUR BEASTS IN ONE
THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD
Chacun a ses vertus.
— Crebillon's Xerxes.
A NTIOCHUS EPIPHANES is very generally /* looked upon as the Gog of the prophet Eze- kiel. This honor is, however, more properly attrib utable to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, in deed, the character of the Syrian monarch does 15y no means stand in need of any adventitious embel lishment. His accession to the throne, or rather his usurpation of the sovereignty, a hundred and sev enty-one years before the coming of Christ ; his at tempt to plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus; his implacable hostility to the Jews ; his pollution of the Holy of Holies; and his miserable death at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of eleven years, are circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore more generally noticed by the historians of his time than the impious, dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsi cal achievements which make up the sum total of his private life and reputation.
Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the world three thousand eight hundred and
Four Beasts in One 179
thirty, and let us, for a few minutes, imagine our selves at that most grotesque habitation of man, the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in Syria and other countries, sixteen cities of that appellation, besides the one to which I more partic ularly allude. But ours is that which went by the name of Antiochia "Epidaphne, from its vicinity to the little village of Daphne, where stood a temple to that divinity. It was built (although about this matter there is some dispute) by Seleucus Nicanor, the first king of the country after Alexander the Great, in memory of his father, Antiochus, and be came immediately the residence of the Syrian mon archy. In the flourishing times of the Roman Em pire it was the ordinary station of the prefect of the eastern provinces ; and many of the emperors of the Queen city (among whom may be mentioned, espe cially, Verus and Valens) spent here the greater part of their time. But I perceive we have arrived at the city itself. Let us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes upon the town and neighboring country.
"What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way, with innumerable falls, through the moun tainous wilderness, and finally through the wilder ness of buildings?"
That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the exception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad mirror, about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has seen the
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Mediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who have had a peep at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and me, have had, at the same time, the advantages of a modern education. There fore cease to regard that sea, and give your whole attention to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You will remember that it is now the year of the world three thousand eight hundred and thirty. Were it later — for example, were it the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five — we should be deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth century Antioch is — that is to say, An tioch will be — in a lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time, totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three successive earth quakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of its former self may then remain, will be found in so desolate and ruinous a state that the patriarch shall have removed his residence to Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my advice, and are mak ing the most of your time in inspecting the premises — in
satisfying your eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame That most renown this city.
I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish for seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?
Four Beasts in One 181
"It is well fortified ; and in this respect is as much indebted to nature as to art."
Very true.
"There are a prodigious number of stately pal aces/'
There are.
"And the numerous temples, sumptuous and mag nificent, may bear comparison with the most lauded of antiquity."
All this I must acknowledge. Still, there is an infinity of mud huts, and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance of filth in every kennel, and, were it not for the overpowering fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so insufferably narrow, or houses so miracu lously tall ? What a gloom their shadows cast upon the ground ! It is well the swinging lamps in those endless colonnades are kept burning throughout the day; we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her desolation.
"It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder singular building ? See ! it tow ers above all others, and lies to the eastward of what I take to be the royal palace !"
That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman emperor will institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a cognomen,
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Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peep at the divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the heavens ; his Sunship is not there — at least not the Sunship adored by the Syrians. That deity will be found in the interior of yonder building. He is worshipped under the figure of a large stone pillar terminating at the summit in a cone or pyra mid, whereby is denoted Fire.
"Hark! — behold! — who can those ridiculous be ings be, half naked, with their faces painted, shout ing and gesticulating to the rabble?"
Some few are mountebanks. Others more par ticularly belong to the race of philosophers. The greatest portion, however — those especially who be labor the populace with clubs — are the principal courtiers of the palace, executing, as in duty bound, some laudable comicality of the king's.
"But what have we here ? Heavens I the town is swarming with wild beasts! How terrible a spec tacle! — how dangerous a peculiarity!"
Terrible if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous. Each animal, if you will take the pains to observe, is following, very quietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure, are led with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the lesser or timid species. The lion, the tiger, and the leop ard are entirely without restraint. They have been trained without difficulty to their present profession, and attend upon their respective owners in the capac-
Four Beasts in One 183
ity of valets-de-chambre. It is true, there are occa sions when Nature asserts her violated dominion; — but then the devouring of a man-at-arms, or the throttling of a consecrated bull, is a circumstance of too little moment to be more than hinted at in Epidaphne.
"But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud noise even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual interest."
Yes — undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle — some gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome — or perhaps the massacre of the Scyth ian prisoners — or the conflagration of his new palace — or the tearing down of a handsome temple — or, indeed, a bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar in creases. Shouts of laughter ascend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind instruments, and horrible with the clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, for the love of fun, and see what is go ing on! This way — be careful! Here we are in the principal street, which is called the street of Ti- marchus. The sea of people is coming this way, and we shall find a difficulty in stemming the tide. They are pouring through the alley of Heraclides, which leads directly from the palace — therefore the king is most probably among the rioters. Yes — I Hear the shouts of the herald proclaiming his approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We shall have a glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of
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Ashimah. Let us ensconce ourselves in the vesti bule of the sanctuary ; he will be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What is it? Oh ! it is the god Ashimah in proper person. You perceive, however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr; neither has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet all these appear ances have been given — I beg pardon — will be given — by the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is it?
"Bless me! it is an ape!"
True — a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is a derivation of the Greek Simia — what great fools are antiquarians! But see ! — see ! — yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is he going? What is he bawling about? What does he say ? Oh ! he says the king is coming in triumph ; that he is dressed in state ; that he has just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a thousand chained Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the ragamuffin is lauding him to the skies ! Hark ! here comes a troop of a similar description. They have made a Latin hymn upon the valor of the king, and are singing it as they go :
Mille, mille, mille,
Mille, mille, mille,
Decollavimus, unus homo!
Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus !
Four Beasts in One 185
Mille, mille, mille, Vivat qui mille mille occidit! Tantum vini habet nemo Quantum sanguinis effudit!*
Which may be thus paraphrased:
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, We, with one warrior, have slain ! A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand. Sing a thousand over again !
Soho! — let us sing
Long life to our king, Who knocked over a thousand so fine !
Soho ! — let us roar,
He has given us more
Red gallons of gore Than all Syria can furnish of wine !
"Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"
Yes — the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with admiration, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence! He comes! — he is coming! — there he is!
"Who? — where? — the king? — I do not behold him; — cannot say that I perceive him."
Then you must be blind.
"Very possible. Still, I see nothing but a tumul tuous mob of idiots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic camelo-
*Flavius Vospicus says, that the hymn here introduced was sung by the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war, having slain, with his own hand, nine hundred and fifty of the enemy.
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pard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs ! See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabble over — and another — and another — and another. Indeed, I can not help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of his feet."
Rabble, indeed ! — why, these are the noble and free citizens of Epidaphne ! Beast, did you say ? — take care that you are not overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of a man? Why, my dear sir, that camelopard is no other than Antiochus Epiphanes — Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and the most potent of all the auto crats of the East! It is true, that he is entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes — Antiochus the madman — but that is because all people have not the capacity to appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at present ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play the part of a camelopard ; but this is done for the better sustaining his dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neither unbecoming nor over large. We may, however, presume he would not have adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such, you will allow, is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With how superior a dignity the monarch perambulates on all fours! His tail, you perceive, is held aloft by his two principal concu bines, Elline and Argelais ; and his whole appearance would be infinitely prepossessing, were it not for the
Four Beasts in One 187
protuberance of his eyes, which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of wine he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome, whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which he is commencing :
Who is king but Epiphanes?
Say — do you know? Who is king but Epiphanes?
Bravo ! — bravo ! There is none but Epiphanes,
No — there is none : *
So tear down the temples,
And put out the sun!
Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him "Prince of Poets," as well as "Glory of the East," "Delight of the Universe," and "Most Remarkable of Camelopards." They have encored his effusion, and — do you hear? — he is singing it over again. When he arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with the poetic wreath, in antici pation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.
"But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?"
Behind us, did you say? — oh! ah! — I perceive. My friend, it is well that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as soon as possible. Here! — let us conceal ourselves in the arch of this aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the commotion. It has turned out as I
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have been anticipating. The singular appearance of the camelopard with the head of a man, has, it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety en tertained in general by the wild animals domesti cated in the city. A mutiny has been the result; and, as is usual upon such occasions, all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the mob. Sev eral of the Syrians have already been devoured ; but the general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the camelopard. "The Prince of Poets," therefore, is upon his hinder legs run ning for his life. His courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubines have followed so excellent an example. "Delight of the Universe," thou art in a sad predicament! "Glory of the East," thou art in danger of mastication! Therefore never re gard so piteously thy tail; it will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degra dation; but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the hippodrome ! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus the Illustri ous!— also "Prince of Poets," "Glory of the East," "Delight of the Universe," and "Most Remarkable of Camelopards !" Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince! — Bravo, Epiphanes ! — Well done, Camelopard ! — Glorious Antiochus! — He runs! — he leaps! — he
Four Beasts in One 189
flies ! Like an arrow from a catapult he approaches the hippodrome! He leaps! — he shrieks! — he is there ! This is well ; for hadst thou, "Glory of the East," been half a second longer in reaching the gates of the amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub in Epidaphne that would not have had a nibble at thy carcass. Let us be off — let us take our depart ure ! — for we shall find our delicate modern ears un able to endure the vast uproar which is about to com mence in celebration of the king's escape! Listen! it has already commenced. See! — the whole town is topsy-turvy.
"Surely this is the most populous city of the East ! What a wilderness of people ! What a jum ble of all ranks and ages! What a multiplicity of sects and nations ! what a variety of costumes ! what a Babel of languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a tinkling of instruments! what a parcel of philosophers !"
Come, let us be off.
"Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is the meaning of it, I besee'ch you?"
That ? — oh, nothing ! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne being, as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, and divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been eye-witnesses of his late superhuman agility, do think it no more than their duty to invest his brows (in addition to
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the poetic crown) with the wreath of victory in the foot-race — a wreath which it is evident he must ob tain at the celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, therefore, they now give him in advance.
THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles as sumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.
— Sir Thomas Browne
HPHE mental features discoursed of as the analyti- •l cal, 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 pos sessed, 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, hiero glyphics ; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehen sion preternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.
The faculty of resolution is possibly much invig orated by mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has been called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet to calculate is
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not in itself to analyze. A chess-player, for exam ple, does the one, without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective in tellect 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 pro found. The attention is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is com mitted, resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being not only manifold, but involute, the chances of such oversights are multiplied; 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 variation, the probabili ties of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed, what advantages are obtained by either party are ob tained 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
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 193
oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some recherche movement, the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or hurry into miscalculation.
Whist has long been known 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 Christ endom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in all these more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind. When I say pro ficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whence legitimate advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold, but multiform, and lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concen- trative chess-player will do very well at whist;
I— Poe— 9
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while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally comprehensible. Thus to have a reten tive memory, and proceed by "the book," are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good play ing. 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 infer ences. So, perhaps, do his companions ; and the dif ference in the extent of the information obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the observation. The necessary knowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confines himself not at all ; nor, because the game is the object, does he reject deductions from things external to the game. He examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully with that of each of his opponents. He 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 tri umph, or chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make another in the suit. He recognizes what is played through feint, by the manner with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvert-
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 195
ent 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; embar rassment, hesitation, eagerness, or trepidation — all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indica tions of the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been played, he is in full pos session of the contents of each hand, and thencefor ward puts down his cards with as absolute a pre cision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their own.
The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is nec essarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often re markably incapable of analysis. The constructive or combining power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the phrenologists (I be lieve erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so fre quently seen in those whose intellect bordered other wise upon idiocy, as to have attracted general obser vation among writers on morals. Between ingenu ity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy, and the imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the in genious are always fanciful, and the truly imagina tive never otherwise than analytic.
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The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.
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 gen tleman was of an excellent, indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to be stir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the income arising from this, he managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of life, without troubling himself about its superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily ob tained.
Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our both be ing in search of the same very rare and very re markable volume, brought us into closer communion. We saw each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little family history which he de tailed to me with all that candor which a French man indulges whenever mere self is the theme. I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his read ing; and, above all, I felt my soul enkindled within'
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 197
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 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 some what less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.
Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen — although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed, the locality of our retirement had been carefully kept a secret from my own former associates ; and it had been many years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed within ourselves alone.
It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it ?) to be 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
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would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the massy shutters of our old building; lighted 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 convers ing, 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 (although from his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight in its exercise — if not exactly in its display — and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure thus derived. He boasted 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 as sertions by direct and very startling proofs of his intimate 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 petulant but for the deliberateness and entire dis-
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 199
tinctness of the enunciation. Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused my self 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 French man was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of a diseased, intelligence. But of the character 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 minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forth with these words :
"He is a very little fellow, that' s true, and would do better for the Theatre Varietes."
"There can be no doubt of that," I replied, unwit tingly, and not at first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary man ner in which the speaker had chimed in with my meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my astonishment was profound.
"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my com prehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How
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was it possible you should know I was thinking of — ?" Here I paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.
" of Chantilly," said he, "why do you
pause? You were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."
This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cob bler of the Rue St. Dennis, who, becoming stage- mad, had attempted the role of Xerxes, in Crebil- lon's tragedy so called, and been notoriously Pas- quinaded 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 whomsoever."
"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street — it may have been fifteen minutes ago."
I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carry ing upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C into the thoroughfare where we
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 201
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 fruit
erer."
There are few persons who have not, at some pe riod of their lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is often full of interest ; and he who attempts it for the first time is astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been my amazement, when I heard the Frenchman spc^l,- what he had just spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken the truth. He continued :
"We had been talking of horses, if I remember
aright, just before leaving the Rue C . This
was the last subject we discussed. As we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a spot where the
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causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped upon one df 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 petulant 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 ex periment, with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenance brightened up, and, perceiv ing your lips move, I could not doubt that you mur mured 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 confirma tion in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula in Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up ; and I was now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which ap-
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 203
peared in yesterday'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 written Urion; and, from certain pungen cies connected with this explanation, I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by the character of the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait ; but now I saw you draw your self up to your full height. I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chan tilly. 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 The atre des Varietes."
Not long after this, we were looking over an even ing 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 roused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth
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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'Espa naye. 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 gendarmes. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices, in angry con tention, 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 inside, was forced open), a spectacle pre sented 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 gray human hair, also dabbled with blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons,
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 205
an earring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of metal d'Alger, and two bags, contain ing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The draw ers of a bureau, which stood in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although 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 fireplace, 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 con siderable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were per ceived, 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 further discovery, the party made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an at tempt to raise her, the head fell off. The body, as
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well as the head, was fearfully mutilated — the for mer 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 particu lars:
"The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. — Many indi viduals have been examined in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful affair" [the word 'af faire' has not yet, in France, that levity of import which it conveys with us], "but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light upon it. We give below all the material testimony elicited.
"Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has known both the deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period. The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms — very af fectionate toward each other. They were excel lent pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed that Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Never met any person 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 build ing except in the fourth story.
"Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit of selling small quantities of to-
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 207
bacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, 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 upper rooms to various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life — were re puted 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 daughter, 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 fre quenting the house. It was not known whether there were any living connections of Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear were al ways 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
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called to the house about three o'clock in the morn ing, 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 crow bar. 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 sud denly ceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony — were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way upstairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry contention — the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller — a very 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 'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them yesterday.
"Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silver smith, deposes that he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates the testimony of Muset in general. As soon as they forced an en trance, they reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd,
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 209
which collected very fast, notwithstanding the late ness 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 conversed 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 aw ful and distressing. Was one of those who entered the building. Corroborated 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 ^nd 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,' 'diable,' and once 'mon Dieu!
"Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud.
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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 4,000 francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk sent home with the money.
"Adolphe Le Bonf clerk to Mignaud et Fils, de poses that on the day in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her residence with the 4,000 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 by-street — very lonely.
"William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of the party who entered the house. Is an English man. 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 DieuJ There was a sound at the moment as if of several persons struggling — a scraping and scuffling sound. The shrill voice was very loud — louder than the gruff one. Is sure that it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 211
of a German. Might have been a woman's voice. Does not understand German.
"Four of the above-named witnesses being re called, deposed that the door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside when the party reached 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 witEin. 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 care fully removed 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 (mansardes). 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.
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(e Alfonso Gar cof undertaker, deposes that he re sides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party who entered the house. Did not proceed upstairs. Is nervous, and was appre hensive 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.
"Alfonso Gar do, undertaker, 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 unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never conversed with a native 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 sweep ing-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 upstairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 213
the chimney 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 daybreak. They were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. 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 appear ances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid spots which were evidently the impression of ringers. The face was fearfully dis colored, and the eyeballs protruded. The tongue had been partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the pit of the stomach, pro duced, 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 per sons unknown. The corpse of the mother was hor ribly 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 discol ored. 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
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woman could have inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had evi dently 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 testi mony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.
"Nothing further of importance was elicited, al though 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 police 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 excitement still continued in the Quartier St. Roch — that the premises in question had been carefully researched, and fresh examinations of wit nesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A post script, however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned — although noth ing appeared to criminate him beyond the facts al ready detailed.
Dupin seemed singularly interested in the prog ress of this affair — at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was only
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 215
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 consider ing them an insoluble 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 po lice, 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 unf requently, these are so ill-adapted to the objects proposed, as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his robe-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 qual ities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for example, was a good guesser, and a persevering man. But, without educated thought, he erred contin ually by the very intensity at his investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the object too close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with un usual clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is sucK 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 super-
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facial. 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 sidelong way, by turning toward it the exterior portions of the retina (more susceptible of feeble im pressions 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 propor tion as we turn our vision fully upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye in the lat ter case, but in the former, there is the more refined capacity for comprehension. By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanish from the firma ment by a scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.
"As for these murders, let us enter into some ex aminations for ourselves, before we make up an opin ion 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 necessary permission."
The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of those
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 217
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 op posite 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 win dow, 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 — Dupin, meanwhile, examining the whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a minute ness of attention for which I could see no possible object.
Retracing our steps we came again to the front of the dwelling, rang, and, having shown our creden tials, were admitted by the agents in charge. We went upstairs — 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 scrutinized 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 ex-
I-Poe-10
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amination occupied us until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my 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 les menagais : — for this phrase there is no English equivalent. 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 anything pe culiar at the scene of the atrocity.
There was something in his manner of empha sizing 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 dis miss the idle opinions of this print. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble, 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 it self — but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too, by the seeming impossibility of recon ciling the voices heard in contention, with the facts that no one was discovered upstairs but the assassi nated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there were
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 219
no means of egress without the notice of the party ascending. The wild disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up the chim ney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady; these considerations, with those just men tioned, and others which I need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting com pletely at fault the boasted acumen, of the govern ment 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 asked 'what has occurred/ as 'what has oc curred that has never occurred before/ In fact, the facility with which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the police."
I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.
"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking to ward the door of our apartment — "I am now await ing a person who, although perhaps not the perpe trator of these butcheries, must have been in some measure implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of the crimes committed, it is prob able 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
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here — in this room — every moment. It is true that he may not arrive ; 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 soliloquy. 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 commonly employed in speaking to some one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in ex pression, 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 evi dence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the ques tion 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 entirely precludes the idea of self-destruction. Mur der, 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
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 221
testimony respecting these voices — but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did you observe any thing peculiar about it?"
I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the gruff voice to be that of a French man, there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh voice.
"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive. Yet there was some thing to be observed. The witnesses, as you re mark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is — not that they disagreed — but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hol lander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it — not to the voice of an individual of any nation with whose language he is 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; but we find it stated that 'not understanding French this witness was examined through an interpreter.' The En glishman thinks it the voice of a German, and 'does
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not understand German/ The Spaniard 'is sure* that it was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by the intonation' altogether, 'as he has no knowledge of the English/ The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but 'has never conversed with a native of Russia/ A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian; but, not being cognizant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, 'convinced by the in tonation/ Now, how strangely unusual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony as this could have been elicited! — in whose tones, even, denizens of the five great divisions of Europe could recognize nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic — of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness 'harsh rather than shrill/ It is represented by two others to have been 'quick and unequal/ No words— no sounds re sembling words — were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.
"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so far, upon your own under standing; but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony — the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices — are in themselves sufficient to engender a suspi-
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 223
cion which should give direction to all further prog ress in the investigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimate deductions' ; but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed to imply that the de ductions are the sole proper ones, and that the sus picion arises inevitably from them as the single re sult. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form — a certain tendency — to my inquiries in the chamber.
"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believes in preternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L/Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material and escaped mate rially. Then how? Fortunately there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision. Let us ex amine, 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 ceiling, and the masonry of the walls, in every direction. No secret issues could
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have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, through out their extent, the body of a large cat. The im possibility 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 con clusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.
"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of those who 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 examin-
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 225
ing the other window, a similar nail was seen simi larly 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 supere rogation to withdraw the nails and open the win dows.
"My own examination was somewhat more par ticular, 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 refastened 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
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spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discov ery, forbore to upraise the sash.
"I now replaced the nail and regarded it atten tively. A person passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the spring would have caught — but the nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my 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 be tween the nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the bed stead, I looked over the head-board minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed, indentical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was as stout as the other, and appar ently 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 appearance of its
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 227
fellow in the other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive as it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at this point, terminated the clew. There must be some thing wrong/ I said, 'about the nail/ I touched it; and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had appar ently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had partially imbedded, in the top of the bot tom sash, the head portion of the nail. I now care fully replaced this head portion in the indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect nail was complete — the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash for a few inches ; the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again perfect.
"This riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become fastened by the spring; and it was the re tention of this spring which had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail — further inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.
"The next question is that of the mode of de-
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scent. Upon this point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About five feet and a half from the casement in question there runs a lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters ferrades — a kind rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary door (a single, not a folding door), ex cept that the lower half is latticed or worked in open trellis — thus affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house, they were both about half open — that is to say, they stood off at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well as* myself, examined the back of the tenement ; but, if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they must have done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it into due considera tion. In fact, having once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory exam ination. It was clear to me, however, that the shut ter belonging to the window at the head of the bed,
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 229
would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an entrance into the window, from the rod, might have been thus effected. By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to close it, and, if we imagine the win dow open at the time, might even have swung him self into the room.
"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a very unusual degree of activity as re quisite to success in so 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 understanding the very extraordinary — the almost preternatural character of that agility which could have accomplished it.
"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that 'to make out my case/ I should rather 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 immedi-
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ate purpose is to lead you to place in juxtaposi tion, 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 de tected."
At these words a vague and half-formed concep tion of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension, without power to comprehend — as men, at times, find themselves upon the brink of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.
"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the idea that both were effected in the same manner, at the same point. Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them. The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess — a very silly one — and no more. 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 habiliment.
The Murders in the Rue JMorgue 231
Those found were at least of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why did he not take the best — why did he not take all ? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen? The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur Mig- naud, 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 evi dence which speaks of money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder com mitted within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of our lives, with out attracting even momentary notice. Coinci dences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been edu cated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities — that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of 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 corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the real circum stances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine the
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perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have aban doned 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 ab sence 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 mode of murder as this. Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the corpse up the chim ney, you will admit that there was something ex cessively outre — something altogether irreconcilable with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been that strength which could have thrust the body up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor of sev eral persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!
"Turn, now, to other indications of the employ ment of a vigor most marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses — very thick tresses — of gray hu man hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in tear ing 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
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 233
with fragments of the flesh of the scalp — sure token of the prodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body: the in strument 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 coadju tor Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them — because, by the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened at all.
"If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the cham ber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a fe rocity 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 intelli-
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gible syllabification. What result, then, has en sued? 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 neigh boring 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. Mad men are of some nation, and their language, how ever incoherent in its words, has always the coher ence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a mad man is not such as I now hold in my hand. I dis entangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it."
"Dupin !" I said, completely unnerved ; "this hair is most unusual — this is no human hair."
"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, be fore we decide 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 de scribed in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises and deep indentations of finger nails' upon the throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in an other (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne) as a 'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 235
"You will perceive," continued my friend, spread ing 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 re tained — 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 de scriptive account of the large fulvious Orang-Ou- tang 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 un derstood the full horrors of the murder at once.
"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of the reading, "is in exact accordance with
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his drawing. I see that no animal but an Orang- Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in char acter with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I can not possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contention, and one of them was unques tionably the voice of a Frenchman."
"True; and you will remember an expression at tributed almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice — the expression, '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 solution of the riddle. A Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible — in deed it is far more than probable — that he was in nocent of all participation in the bloody transac tions which took place. The Orang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber ; but, under the agitating circumstances which ensued, he could never have recaptured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses — for I have no right to call them more — since the shades of reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend to make
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 237
them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will call them guesses, then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this adver tisement, which I left last night, upon our return home, at the office of 'Le Monde' (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and much sought by sail ors), will bring him to our residence." He handed me a paper, and I read thus :
CAUGHT — In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the inst. (the morning of the mur der), a very large, tawny Orang-Outang of the Bor- nese species. The owner (who is ascertained to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel) may have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from its capture and
keeping. Call at No. Rue , Faubourg St.
Germain — au troisieme"
"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 rib bon, which from its form, and from its greasy ap pearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few be sides sailors can tie, and it is peculiar to the Mai-
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tese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all, I am wrong in my 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 ad vertisement. If I am in error, he will merely sup pose 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. Cog nizant although innocent of the murder, the French man will naturally hesitate about replying to the advertisement — about demanding the Orang-Ou- tang. He will reason thus : — 'I am innocent ; I am poor; my Orang-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 distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police are at fault — they have failed to procure the slightest 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, I am known. The advertiser designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 239
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 my self or to the beast. I will answer the advertise ment, get the Orang-Outang, and keep it close un til 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."
The front door of the house had been left open, and the visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him 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 al together unprepossessing. His face, greatly sun burned, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good-evening," in French
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accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin. "Sit down, my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about the Orang-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?"
"Oh, no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Du- bourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the prop erty?"
"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 nothing, sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal — that is to say, anything in reason."
"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me think! — what should I have? Oh ! I will tell you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue."
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 241
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. 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 strug gling with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself. 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 al ready 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 cul pable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for con cealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess all you know.
I— Poe— 11
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An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpetra tor."
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all gone.
"So help me God!" said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all I know about this affair; — but I do not expect you to believe one half I say — I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die for it."
What he -stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleas ure. Himself and a companion had captured the Orang-Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After a great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive during the home voyage, he at length suc ceeded in lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the un pleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it care fully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailor's frolic on the night, or rather in the morning, of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bedroom, into
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 243
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, attempting the operation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its mas ter through the keyhole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Orang-Outang sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window, unfortunately open, into the street.
The Frenchman followed in despair ; the ape, razor still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at his pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off. In this 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 win dow 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 incon ceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was
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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 shut ter was kicked open again by the Orang-Outang as it entered the room.
The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A light ning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had apparently 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;
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 245
and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The flapping to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to the wind.
As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair (which was loose, as she had been combing it), and was flourish ing the razor about her face, in imitation of the mo tions 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 Orang-Outang into those of wrath. With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into frenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl and im bedded its fearful talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was in stantly converted into fear. Conscious of having de served punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing down and
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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 chim ney, 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 muti lated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering down it, hur ried at once home — dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Orang-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 Orang- Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon our narration of the circumstances (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 trun which affairs had taken, and was fain to in dulge in a sarcasm or two about the propriety of every person minding his own business.
The Murders in the Rue Morgue 247
"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 de feated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it ; for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cun ning 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 shoul ders, 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 in genuity ; I mean the way he has 'de nier ce qui est, et d'expliquer ce qui riest pas.' "*
* Rousseau — Nouvelle Heloise.
THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET *
A SEQUEL TO "THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE"
Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirk- lichkeit parallel lauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen. Men- schen und zufalle modificiren gewohnlich die idealische Begenbenheit, so dass sie unvollkommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen sind. So bei der Ref ormation; statt des Protestantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.
There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Reformation; instead of Protestantism came Lu- theranism. — Novalis.\ "Moral Ansichten"
THERE are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not occasionally been star tled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly mar vellous a character that, as mere coincidences, the in tellect has been unable to receive them. Such senti ments — for the half -credences of which I speak have
* Upon the original publication of "Marie Roget," the foot notes now appended were considered unnecessary ; but the lapse of several years since the tragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it 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
f The nom de plume of Von Hardenburg.
The Mystery of Marie Roget 249
never the full force of thought — such sentiments are seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the doctrine of chance, or, as it is technically termed, the Calculus of Probabilities. Now, this Calculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical; and thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in science ap plied to the shadow and spirituality of the most in tangible in speculation.
The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to make public, will be found to form, as re gards sequence of time, the primary branch of a series of scarcely intelligible coincidences, whose sec ondary or concluding branch will be recognized by
York; and although her death occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery attending it had re mained 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 ap plicable 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 in vestigation than the newspapers afforded. Thus much escaped the writer of which he could have availed himself had he been upon the spot and visited the localities. It may not be 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 subsequent to the publica tion, confirmed, in full, not only the general conclusion, but absolutely all the chief hypothetical details by which that conclusion was attained.
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all readers in the late murder of MARIE CECILIA ROGERS, at New York.
When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," I endeavored, about a year ago, to depict some very remarkable features in the mental character of my friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin, it did not occur to me that I should ever re sume the subject. This depicting of character con stituted my design; and this design was thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances brought to instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have ad duced other examples, but I should have proved no more. Late events, however, in their surprising de velopment, have startled me into some further details, which will carry with them the air of extorted con fession. 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 revery. Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I read ily fell in with his humor ; and continuing to occupy our chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tran quilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.
But these dreams were not altogether uninter-
The Mystery of Marie Roget 251
rupted. It may readily be supposed that the part played by my friend in the drama at the Rue Morgue had not failed of its impression upon the fancies of the Parisian police. With its emissaries, the name of Dupin had grown into a household word. The simple character of those 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 miracu lous, or that the Chevalier's analytical abilities ac quired for him the credit of intuition. His frank ness would have led him to disabuse every inquirer of such prejudice; but his indolent humor forbade all further agitation of a topic whose interest to him self had long ceased. It thus happened that he found himself the cynosure of the political eyes ; and the cases were not few in which attempt was made to engage his services at the Prefecture. One of the most remarkable instances was that of the murder of a young girl named Marie Roget.
This event occurred about two years after the atrocity in the Rue Morgue. Marie, whose Chris tian and family name will at once arrest attention from their resemblance to those of the unfortunate "cigar girl," was the only daughter of the widow Estelle Roget. The father had died during the child's infancy, and from the period of his death, until within eighteen months before the assassination
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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, as sisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the lat ter had attained her twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted the notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of the shops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and whose custom lay chiefly among the desperate adventurers infesting that neighbor hood. Monsieur Le Blanc t was not unaware of the advantages to be derived from the attendance of the fair Marie in his perfumery ; and his liberal proposals were accepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more of hesitation by Madame.
The anticipations of the shopkeeper were 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 admirers 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 dis tracted 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 sad dened air, made her reappearance at her usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry, except that
* Nassau Street. f Anderson.
The Mystery of Marie Roget 253
of a private character, was, of course, immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc professed total igno rance, 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, ostensibly to relieve herself from the im pertinence 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 disap pearance 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.t
The atrocity of this murder (for it was at once evident that murder had been committed), the youth and beauty of the victim, and, above all, her previous notoriety, conspired to produce intense excitement in the minds of the sensitive Parisians. I can call to mind no similar occurrence producing so general and so intense an effect. For several weeks, in the dis cussion of this one absorbing theme, even the mo mentous political topics of the day were forgotten. The prefect made unusual exertions ; and the powers * The Hudson. fWeehawken.
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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 meantime the investigation proceeded with vigor, if not always with judgment, and numerous individuals were ex amined to no purpose ; while, owing to the continual absence of all clew to the mystery, the popular ex citement greatly increased. At the end of the tenth day it was thought advisable to double the sum origi nally proposed ; and, at length, the second week hav ing 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 emeutes, 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 assassins." In the proclamation setting forth this reward, a full pardon was promised to any accomplice who should come forward in evidence against his fellow; and to the whole was appended, wherever it appeared, the private placard of a com mittee of citizens, offering ten thousand francs, in
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addition to the amount proposed by the Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood at no less than thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as an ex traordinary sum when we consider the humble con dition of the girl, and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocities as the one described.
No one doubted now that the mystery of this mur der would be immediately brought to light. But al though, in one or two instances, arrests were made which promised elucidation, yet nothing was elicited which could implicate the parties suspected ; and they were discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear, the third week from the discovery of the body had passed, and passed without any light being thrown upon the subject, before even a rumor of the events which had so agitated the public mind reached the ears of Dupin and myself. Engaged in researches which had absorbed our whole attention, it had been nearly a month since either of us had gone abroad, or received a visitor, 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 re mained 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
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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, al though its advantages were altogether provisional. This point being settled, the Prefect broke forth at once into explanations of his own views, interspers ing them with long comments upon the evidence; of which latter we were not yet in possession. He dis coursed much, and, beyond doubt, learnedly ; while I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsily away. Dupin, sitting steadily in his accus tomed armchair, was the embodiment of respectful attention. He wore spectacles during the whole in terview ; and an occasional 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 pre ceded the departure of the Prefect.
In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of all the evidence elicited, and, at the va rious newspaper offices, a copy of every paper in
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which, from first to last, had been published any de cisive information in regard to this sad affair. Freed from all that was positively disproved, this mass of information stood thus :
Marie Roget left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavee 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 intention to spend the day with an aunt, who resided in the Rue des Dromes. The Rue des Dromes is a short and narrow but populous 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 accepted suitor of Marie, and lodged, as well as took his meals, at the pension. He was to have gone for his betrothed at dusk, and to have escorted her home. In the afternoon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and, supposing that she would remain all night at her aunt's (as she had done under similar circumstances before), he did not think it necessary to keep his promise. As night drew on, Madame Roget (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of age) was heard to express a fear "that she should never see Marie again"; but this observation at tracted little attention at the time.
On Monday it was ascertained that the girl had
* Payne.
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not been to the Rue des Dromes ; and when the day elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy search was instituted at several points in the city and its en virons. It was not, however, until the fourth day from the period of her disappearance that anything satisfactory was ascertained respecting her. On this day (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June) a Mon sieur Beauvais,* who, with a friend, had been mak ing 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 hand was clenched ; the left partially open. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations, appar ently 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 ex-
* Crommelin.
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tent, but more especially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing the body to the shore the fishermen had at tached 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 con fidently of the virtuous character of the deceased. She had been subjected, it is 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 disor dered. 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 eigh teen 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 be ing appended. The knot by which the strings of
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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 su perfluous), but hastily interred not far from the spot at which it was brought ashore. Through the exer tions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously hushed up, as far as possible; and several days had elapsed before any public emotion resulted. A weekly paper,* however, at length took up the theme; the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination insti tuted ; 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 identified as those worn by the girl upon leav ing home.
Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Sev eral individuals were arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell especially under suspicion; and he failed, at first, to give an intelligible account of his whereabout during the Sunday on which Marie left home. Subsequently, however, he submitted to Mon sieur G , affidavits, accounting satisfactorily for
every hour of the day in question. As time passed no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory ru mors were circulated, and journalists busied them selves in suggestions. Among these, the one which attracted the most notice was the idea that Marie * The New York "Mercury."
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Roget still lived — that the corpse found in the Seine was that of some other unfortunate. It will be proper that I submit to the reader some passages which embody the suggestion alluded to. These passages are literal translations from "L'Etoile,"* a paper conducted, in general, with much ability.
"Mademoiselle Roget left her mother's house on Sunday morning, June the twenty-second, 18 — , with the ostensible purpose of going to see her aunt, or some other connection, in the Rue des Dromes. From that hour nobody is proved to have seen her. There is no trace or tidings of her at all. . . . There has no person, whatever, come forward, so far, who saw her at all on that day, after she left her mother's door. . . . Now, though we have no evidence that Marie Roget 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 consum-
* The New York "Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Has tings Weld, Esq.
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mated 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 days for sufficient decompo sition 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' immer sion, it sinks again, if left 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 exceedingly improbable that any villains who had committed such a murder as is here supposed, would have thrown the body in without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken."
The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have been in the water "not three days merely,
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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 generally supposed those marks to have con sisted of some description of scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair upon it — something as indefi nite, we think, as can readily be imagined — as little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beau vais did not return that night, but sent word to Ma dame Roget, at seven o'clock, on Wednesday even ing, that an investigation was still in progress re specting her daughter. If we allow that Madame Roget, from her age and grief, could not go over (which is allowing a great deal), there certainly must have been some one who would have thought it worth while to go over and attend the investiga tion, 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
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his intended until the next morning, when M. Beau- vais came into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of news like this, it strikes us it was very coolly received."
In this way the journal 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 insinua tions amount to this: that Marie, with the con nivance of her friends, had absented herself from the city for reasons involving a charge against her chas tity; and that these friends upon the discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the girl, had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress the public with the belief of her death. But "L'Etoile" was again over-hasty. It was distinctly proved that no apathy, such as was imagined, ex isted ; 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 distracted with grief, and bore himself so frantically, that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and relative to take charge of him, and prevent his attending the examination at the dis- interment. Moreover, although it was stated by "L'Etoile" that the corpse was reinterred at the public expense, that an advantageous offer of private sepulture was absolutely declined by the family, and
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that no member of the family attended the cere monial; — although, I say, all this was asserted by "L'Etoile" in furtherance of the impression it de signed to convey — yet all this was satisfactorily dis proved. 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. Beauvais,
who was going out, told her that a gendarme was expected there, and that she, Madame B., must not say anything to the gendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for him. ... In the present pos ture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the whole matter locked up in his head. A single step can not 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, ac cording 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 visitor at his office, a few days prior to the girl's disappear ance, and during the absence of its occupant, had ob-
I-Poe-12
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served a rose in the keyhole 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 victim 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 Dromes, without being recognized by a dozen persons; yet no one has come forward who saw her outside 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
* New York "Journal of Commerce."
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that the body was carried as a bundle. If the mur der had been committed at the Barriere du Roule, there would have been no necessity for any such ar rangement. The fact that the body was found float ing near the Barriere is no proof as to where it was thrown into the water. ... A piece of one of the unfortunate 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 overthrow, at least, the chief portion of "Le Commerciers" 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, forming 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 discov ered on the brambles around. The earth was tram pled, 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
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ground bore evidence of some heavy burden having been dragged along it.
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 with in. The upper part, where it had been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on its being opened. . . . The pieces of her frock torn out by the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of the frock, and it had been mended ; the other piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips torn off, and were on the thorn bush, about a foot from the ground. . . . There can be no doubt, there fore, that the spot of this appalling outrage has been discovered."
Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence ap peared. Madame Deluc testified that she keeps a roadside inn not far from the bank of the river, op-
* Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I Peterson, Esq.
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posite the Barriere du Roule. The neighborhood is secluded — particularly so. It is the usual Sunday resort of blackguards from the city, who cross the river in boats. About three o'clock, in the afternoon of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at the inn, accompanied by a young man of dark com plexion. 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 its resemblance to one worn by a deceased relative. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after the de parture of the couple, a gang of miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed 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. An omnibus driver, Valence,* now also tes tified that he saw Marie Roget cross a ferry on the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a young man of dark complexion. He, Valence, * Adam.
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knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her iden tity. The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by the relatives of Marie.
The items of evidence and information thus col lected by myself, from the newspapers, at the sugges tion of Dupin, embraced only one more point — but this was a point of seemingly vast consequence. It appears that, immediately after the discovery of the clothes as above described, the lifeless or nearly life less body of St. • Eustache, Marie's betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supposed the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled "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-destruc tion.
"I need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he fin ished the perusal of my notes, "that this is a far more intricate case than that of the Rue Morgue; from which it differs in one important respect. This is an ordinary, although an atrocious, instance of crime. There is nothing peculiarly outre about it. You will observe 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 a
reward. The myrmidons of G were able at
once to comprehend how and why such an atrocity
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might have been committed. 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 been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that one of them must. But the ease with which these variable fancies were enter tained, and the very plausibility which each assumed, should have been understood as indicative rather of the difficulties than of the facilities which must at tend elucidation. I have, therefore, observed that it is by prominences above the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels her way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that the proper question in cases such as this, is not so much 'what has occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred before?' In the investigations at the house of Madame L'Es-
panaye,* the agents of G were discouraged and
confounded by that very unusualness which, to a properly regulated 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 tri umph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.
"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, there was, even at the beginning of our
* See "Murders in the Rue Morgue."
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investigation, no doubt that murder had been com mitted. 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 cir cumstances as to leave us no room for embarrass ment 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 as sassin, or assassins, the reward is offered, and re specting whom, solely, our agreement has been ar ranged with the Prefect. We both know this gen tleman well. It will not do to trust him too far. If, dating our inquiries from the body found, and then tracing a murderer, we yet 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 la bor ; since it is Monsieur 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
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"Etoile." To me, this article appears conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We should bear in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather to create a sensation — to make a point — than to further the cause of truth. The lat ter end is only pursued when it seems coincident with the former. The print which merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well founded this opinion may be) earns for itself no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard as profound only Rim who suggests pungent contradictions of the general idea. In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram which is the most immediately and the most universally appreciated. In both, it is of the lowest order of merit.
"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrame of the idea, that Marie 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 ; en deavoring 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 disappear ance 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.
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In the rash pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption at the outset. 'It is folly to suppose/ he says, 'that the murder, if murder was committed on her body, could have been 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 committed within five minutes after the girl's quitting her mother's house ? Why is it folly to suppose that the murder was com mitted at any given period of the day ? There have been assassinations at all hours. But, had the mur der taken place at any moment between nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday and a quarter before mid night, there would still have been time enough 'to throw the body into the river before midnight/ This assumption, then, amounts precisely to this — that the murder was not committed on Sunday at all — and, if we allow 'L'Etoile' to assume this, we may permit it any liberties whatever. The paragraph beginning 'It is folly to suppose that the murder, etc./ however it appears as printed in 'L'Etoile/ may be imagined to have existed actually thus in the brain of its inditer: 'It is folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed on the body, could have been committed soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river be fore midnight ; it is folly, we say, to suppose all this, and to suppose at the same time (as we are resolved
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to suppose), that the body was not thrown in until after midnight' — a sentence sufficiently inconsequen tial 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'EtoileV argument, I might safely leave it where it is. It is not, however, with 'L'Etoile' that we have to do, but with the truth. The sentence in question has but one meaning, as it stands ; and this meaning I have fairly stated; but it is material that we go behind the mere words, for an idea which these words have obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the design of the journalists 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 as sumption 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 assassination might have taken place upon the river's brink, or on the river itself ; and, thus, the throwing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to at any period of the 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 co-in cident with my opinion. My design, so far, has no
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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:
" 'All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if let alone/
"These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in Paris, with the exception of 'Le Moniteur.'* This latter print endeavors to combat that portion of the paragraph which has reference to 'drowned bodies' only, by citing some five or six instances in which the bodies of individuals known to be drowned were found floating after the lapse of less time than is insisted upon by 'L'Etoile.' But there is something excessively unphilosophical in the attempt, on the part of 'Le Moniteur/ to rebut the
* The New York "Commercial Advertiser," edited by Colonel Stone.
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general assertion of 'L'Etoile/ by a citation of par ticular instances militating against that assertion. Had it been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of bodies found floating at the end of two or three days, these fifty examples could still have been properly regarded only as exceptions to 'L'EtoileV rule, until such time as the rule itself should be confuted. Admitting the rule (and this 'Le Moniteur5 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'EtoileV position until the instances so childishly adduced 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 human body, in its natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water which it displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, and of women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and large-boned, and of men ; and the specific gravity of the water of a river is some-
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what influenced by the presence of the tide from the sea. But, leaving this tide out of the question, it may be said that very few human bodies will sink at all, even in fresh water, of their own accord. Almost any one, falling 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 posi tion for one who can not swim is the upright position of the walker on land, with the head thrown fully back, and immersed; the mouth and nostrils alone remaining about 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 dis placed, are very nicely balanced, and that a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for in stance, uplifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support, is an additional weight sufficient to im merse 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 upward, while an attempt is made to keep the head in its usual perpendicular position. The re sult 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
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received into the stomach, and the whole body be comes heavier by the difference between the weight of the air originally distending these cavities, and that of the fluid which now fills them. This differ ence is sufficient to cause the body to sink, as a gen eral rule ; but is insufficient in the case of individuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flac cid or fatty matter. Such individuals float even af ter drowning.
"The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will there remain until, by some means, its specific gravity again becomes less than that of the bulk of water which it displaces. This effect is brought about by decomposition, or otherwise. The result of decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the cellular tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffed appearance which is so horri ble. When this distension has so far progressed that the bulk of the corpse is materially increased without a corresponding increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than that of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearance at the surface. But decomposition is modified by in numerable circumstances — is hastened or retarded by 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 temperament of the body, by its infection or freedom from disease
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before death. Thus it is evident that we can assign no period, with anything like accuracy, at which the corpse shall rise through decomposition. Under cer tain conditions this result would be brought about within an hourt; under others it might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by which the animal frame can be preserved forever from cor ruption; 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), suffi cient 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 imbedded, 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, al lowing 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 experience shows/ says this paper, 'that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the top of the water.
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Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if let alone.'
"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of inconsequence and incoherence. All experi ence does not show that 'drowned bodies' require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the surface. Both science and experience show that the period of their rising is, and necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen to the surface through firing of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let alone/ until decomposition has so far progressed as to per mit 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.' Al though the writer admits the distinction, he yet in cludes them all in the same category. I have shown how it is that the body of a drowning man becomes specifically heavier than its bulk of water, and that he would not sink at all, except for the struggle 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 imme diately after death by violence/ Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rule, would not sink
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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 supposes her to have been drowned ; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she might have been found floating at any period afterward whatever.
" 'But/ says 'L'Etoile/ 'if the body had been kept in its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of the mur derers/ Here it is at first difficult to perceive the intention of the reasoner. He means to antici pate what he imagines would be an objection to his theory — viz. : that the body was kept on shore two days, suffering rapid decomposition — more rapid than if immersed in water. He supposes that, had this been the case, it might have appeared at the sur face on the Wednesday, and thinks that only under such circumstances it could have so appeared. He is accordingly in haste to show that it was not kept on shore; for, if so, 'some trace would be found on
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shore of the murderers.' I presume you smile at the sequltur. You can not 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 ob ject 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 with out 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 convinced,' it says, 'that the body found was that of a murdered female.'
"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his subject, where our reasoner unwittingly rea sons against himself. His evident object, I have al-
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ready said, is to reduce, as much as possible, the in terval between Marie's disappearance and the finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urging the point that no person saw the girl from the moment of her leav ing 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 ra tiocination, the probability much diminished of the corpse being that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to observe that 'L'Etoile' insists upon its point in the full belief of its furthering its general argument.
"Re-peruse now that portion of this argument which has reference to the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In regard to the hair upon the arm, 'L'Etoile' has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beau vais, not being an idiot, could never have urged in identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is without hair. The generality of the ex pression of 'L'Etoile' is a mere perversion of the wit ness's phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity in this hair. It must have been a pe culiarity of color, of quantity, of length, or of situa tion.
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" 'Her foot/ says the journal, 'was small' — so are thousands of feet. Her garter is no proof whatever — nor is her shoe — for shoes and garters are sold in packages. The same may be said of the flowers in her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly insists is, that the clasp on the garter found had been set back to take it in. This amounts to nothing ; for most women find it proper to take a pair of garters home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to encircle, rather than to try them in the store where they purchase/ Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest. Had M. Beauvais, in his search for the body of Marie, discovered a corpse corresponding in general size and appearance to the missing girl, he would have been warranted (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 pe culiar 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 un- usualness, 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 accu mulative. Add to all this shoes such as she had been
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known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and, although these shoes may be 'sold in packages/ you so far augment the probability as to verge upon the certain. What, of itself, would be no evidence of identity, becomes through its corroborative position, proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat corresponding to those worn by the missing girl, and we seek for nothing further. If only one flower, we seek for nothing further — what then if two or three, or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence — proof not added to proof, but multiplied by hun dreds or thousands. Let us now discover, upon the deceased, garters such as the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed. But these garters are found to be tightened, by the setting back of a clasp, in just such a manner as her own had been tightened by Marie shortly previous to her leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. What 'L'Etoile* says in respect to this abbreviation of the garters be ing an unusual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter is self -demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What is made to adjust itself, must of necessity require foreign adjustment but rarely. It must have been by an accident, in its strictest sense, that these garters of Marie needed the tightening 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,
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or found to have her shoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet, or her feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size and appearance — it is that the corpse had each, and all collectively. Could it be proved that the editor of 'L'Etoile' really entertained a doubt, under the circumstances, there would be no need, in his case, of a commission de lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the small talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part, content themselves with echoing the rec tangular precepts of the courts. I would here ob serve that very much of what is rejected as evidence by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For the court, guided itself by the general principles of evidence — the recognized and booked principles — is averse from swerving at particular instances. And this steadfast adherence to principle, with rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception, is a sure mode of attaining the maximum of attainable truth, in any long sequence of time. The practice, in mass, is therefore philosophical ; but it is not the less certain that it engenders vast individual error.*
* "A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its being unfolded according to its objects; and he who ar ranges 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 com mon law will be seen by observing how often the legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity its scheme had lost."— Lanctor.
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"In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beau- vais, you will be willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomed the true character of this good gentleman. He is a busybody, with much of romance and little of wit. Any one so constituted will readily so conduct himself, upon occasion of real excitement, as to render himself liable to suspi cion 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 can not give a circumstance, in addition to those which we have commented upon, to make others believe/ Now, without re-adverting to the fact that stronger evidence 'to make others believe/ could never have been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very well be understood to believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to advance a single reason for the belief of a second party. Nothing is more vague than impressions of individ ual identity. Each man recognizes 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. Beau- vais's unreasoning belief.
"The suspicious circumstances which invest him,
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will be found to tally much better with my hypothe sis of romantic busybodyism, than with the reason- er'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 slate; the 'elbowing the male rela tives out of the way'; the '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 (Beauvais') return; and, lastly, his apparent determination 'that nobody should have anything to do with the proceedings except himself.' It seems to me unquestionable that Beauvais was a suitor of Marie's; that she coquetted with him; and that he was ambitious of being thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say nothing more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully re buts the assertion of 'L'Etoile,' touching the matter of apathy on the part of the mother and other rela tives — an apathy inconsistent with the supposition of their believing the corpse to be that of the per fumery girl — we shall now proceed as if the question of identity were settled to our perfect satisfaction."
"And what," I here demanded, "do you think of the opinions of 'Le Commerciel ?' '
"That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of at tention than any which have been promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from the premises are philosophical and acute ; but the premises, in two in-
I— Poe-13
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stances, at least, are founded in imperfect observa tion. '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 he seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau, without being recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent of his personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him, he compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery- girl, finds no great difference between them, and reaches at once the conclusion that she, in her walks, would be equally liable to recognition with himself in his. This could only be the case were her walks of the same unvarying, methodical character, and within the same species of limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular intervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individ uals 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 pro ceeded upon a route of more than average diversity
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from her accustomed ones. The parallel which we imagine to have existed in the mind of *Le Commer- ciel' would only be sustained in the event of the two individuals traversing the whole city. In this case, granting the personal acquaintance to be equal, the chances would be also equal that an equal number of personal rencountres would be made. For my own part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as far more than probable, that Marie might have pro ceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known. In viewing this question in its full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind the great disproportion between the personal acquaintances of even the most noted indi vidual in Paris, and the entire population of Paris itself.
"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion 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/ '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 ob-
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serving person can have failed to notice the pe culiarly deserted air of the town, from about eight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so early a period as that designated.
"There is another point at which there seems a de ficiency of observation on the part of 'Le Commer- ciel/ '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 by fellows who had no pocket-handker chiefs/ 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 in tends the lowest class of ruffians. These, however, are the very description of people who will always be found to have handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts. You must have had occasion to observe how absolutely indispensable, of late years, to the thorough blackguard, has become the pocket-hand kerchief."
"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the arti cle 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 re peated the individual items of the already published opinion*; collecting them, with a laudable industry,
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from this paper and from that. The things had all evidently been there/ he says, 'at least three or four weeks, and there can be no doubt that the spot of this appalling outrage has been discovered.' The facts here re-stated by 'Le Soleil' are very far in deed from removing my own doubts upon this sub ject, and we will examine them more particularly hereafter in connection with another division of the theme.
"At present we must occupy ourselves with other investigations. You can not have failed to remark the extreme laxity of the examination of the corpse. To be sure, the question of identity was readily de termined, or should have been ; but there were other points to be ascertained. Had the body been in any respect despoiled? Had the deceased any articles of jewelry about her person upon leaving home? If so, had she any when found? These are important questions utterly untouched by the evidence; and there are others of equal moment, which have met with no attention. We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by personal inquiry. The case of St. Eu- stache 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 whereabout on the Sun day. Affidavits of this character are readily made matter of mystification. Should there be nothing wrong here, however, we will dismiss St. Eustache
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from our investigations. His suicide, however cor roborative of suspicion, were there found to be de ceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respect an unaccountable circumstance, or one which need cause us to deflect from the line of ordinary analysis.
"In that which I now propose, we will discard the interior points of this tragedy, and concentrate our attention upon its outskirts. Not the least usual error in investigations such as this is the limiting of inquiry to the immediate, with total disregard of the collateral or circumstantial events. It is the mal practice of the courts to confine evidence and discus sion to the bounds of apparent relevancy. Yet ex perience has shown, and a true philosophy will al ways 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 col lateral, or incidental, or accidental events we are in debted for the most numerous and most valuable dis coveries, that it has at length become necessary, in 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 expectation. It is no longer philosophical
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to base upon what has been a vision of what is to be. Accident is admitted as a portion of the substructure. We make chance a matter of absolute calculation. We subject the 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 col lateral; and it is but in accordance 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 contemporary circumstances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity of the affidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than you have as yet done. So far, we have only recon noitred the field of investigation; but it will be strange, indeed, if a comprehensive survey, such as I propose, of the public prints will not afford us some minute points which shall establish a direction for in quiry."
In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scru pulous examination of the affair of the affidavits. The result was a firm conviction of their validity, and of the consequent innocence of St. Eustache. In the meantime my friend occupied himself, with what seemed to me a minuteness altogether objectless, in a scrutiny of the various newspaper files. At the end of a week he placed before me the following ex tracts :
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"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very similar to the present was caused by the disap pearance of this same Marie Roget from the par- fumerie 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 ex ception of a slight paleness not altogether usual. It was given out by Monsieur 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 expiration 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 for mer mysterious disappearance of Mademoiselle Ro get. 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, providen tially, led to her return home. We have the name of the Lothario in question, who is at present stationed in Paris, but for obvious reasons forbear to make it public." — "Le 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, * New York "Express." t New York "Herald."
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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 25.*
"We have received one or two communications, the object of which is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity upon Mennaisf; but as this gentleman has been fully exonerated by a legal inquiry, and as the arguments of our several correspondents appear to be more zealous than profound, we do not think it ad visable to make them public." — Morning Paper, June 284
"We have received several forcibly written com munications, 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
* New York "Courier and Inquirer."
f Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested, but discharged through total lack of evidence. \ New York "Courier and Inquirer."
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one of the numerous bands of blackguards which in fest 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, Tuesday, June 3 1.*
"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the revenue service saw an empty boat floating down the Seine. Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The bargeman towed it under the barge office. The next morning it was taken from thence without the knowledge of any of the officers. The rudder is now at the barge office." — 'Le Diligence/ Thursday, June 26. f
Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemed to me irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which any one of them could be brought to bear upon the matter in hand. I waited for some explanation from Dupin.
"It is not my present design," he said, "to dwell upon the first and second of these extracts. I have copied them chiefly to show you the extreme remiss- ness 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 disappearance of Marie there is no supposable connection. Let us admit the first
* New York "Evening Post" f New York "Standard."
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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 elopement has again taken place) as indicating a renewal of the betrayer's advances, rather than as the result of new proposals by a sec ond 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 with Marie would again propose an elopement, rather than that she to whom proposals of an elopement had been made by one individual should have them made to her by another. And here let me call your attention to the fact, that the time elapsing between the first ascertained and the second supposed elopement is a few months more than the general period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the lover been in terrupted in his first villany by the necessity of de parture to sea, and had he seized the first moment of his return to renew the base designs not yet alto gether accomplished — or not yet altogether accom plished by him? Of all these things we know noth ing.
"You will say, however, that, in the second in stance, there was no elopement as imagined. Cer tainly 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
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open, no honorable suitors of Marie. Of none other is there anything 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 can not imagine Madame Roget privy to the design of elopement, may we not at least sup pose this design entertained by the girl ? Upon quit ting 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 in dividual (for whatever purpose — to her mother known or unknown), she must have thought of her expressed intention when leaving home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused in the bosom of her
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affianced suitor, St. 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 fore seen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returning to brave this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial importance to her, if we suppose her not in tending 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 will tell St. Eustache not to call for me until dark — in this way, my absence from home for the longest possible period, without causing sus picion 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
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design to return at all — if I had in contemplation merely a stroll with the individual in question — it would not be my policy to bid St. Eustache call ; for calling, he will be sure to ascertain that I have played him false — a fact of which I might keep him forever in ignorance, by leaving home without notifying him of my intention, by returning before dark, and by then stating that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Dromes. But, as it is my design never to return — or not for some weeks — or not until certain concealments are effected — the gaining of time is the only point about which I need give myself any concern.
"You have observed, in your notes, that the most general opinion in relation to this sad affair is, and was from the first, that the girl had been the victim of a gang of blackguards. Now, the popular opin ion, under certain conditions, is not to be disregarded. When arising of itself — when manifesting itself in a strictly spontaneous manner — we should look upon it as analogous with that intuition which is the idio syncrasy of the individual man of genius. In ninety- nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its de cision. But it is important that we find no palpable traces of suggestion. The opinion must be rigor ously the public's own; and the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceive and to maintain. In the present instance, it appears to me that this 'public opinion/ in respect to a gang, has been superinduced
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by the collateral event which is detailed in the third of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the discov ered 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 en dured 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 atrocity should influence the popular judgment in regard to the other unknown? This judgment awaited direction, and the known outrage seemed so opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, was found in the river ; and upon this very river was this known outrage committed. The connection of the two events had about it so much of the pal pable, that the true wonder would have been a fail ure of the populace to appreciate and to seize it. But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so com mitted, is, if anything, evidence that the other, committed at a time nearly coincident, was not so committed. It would have been a miracle 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 circumstances, with the same means and appliances, engaged in a wrong
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of precisely the same aspect, at precisely the same period of time ! Yet in what, if not in this marvel lous train of coincidence, does the accidentally sug gested opinion of the populace call upon us to be lieve ?
"Before proceeding further, 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. Within were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat with a back and a footstool. On the upper stone was discovered a white petticoat; on the sec ond, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket- handkerchief were also here found. The handker chief 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 in dicate 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 Commercier sug gested, in the neighborhood of the Rue Pavee St. Andree, the perpetrators of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris, would naturally have
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been stricken with terror at the public attention thus acutely directed into the proper channel ; and, in cer tain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at once, a sense of the necessity of some exertion to redivert this attention. And thus, the thicket of the Barriere du Roule having been already suspected, the idea of placing the articles where they were found, might have been naturally entertained. There is no real evidence, although 'Le Soleil' so supposes, that the articles discovered had been more than a very few days in the thicket ; while there is much circum stantial proof that they could not have remained there, without attracting attention, during the twenty days elapsing between the fatal Sunday and the af ternoon 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; for these boys removed the articles and took them home before they had been seen by a third
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party. But the grass will grow, especially in warm and damp weather (such as was that of the period of the murder), as much as two or three inches in a single day. A parasol lying upon a newly turfed ground, might, in a single week, be entirely con cealed from sight by the upspringing grass. And touching that mildew upon which the editor of 'Le Soleir 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 feat ure is its upspringing and decadence within twenty- four hours ?
"Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been most triumphantly adduced in support of the idea that the articles had been 'for at least three or four weeks' in the thicket, is most absurdly null as regards any evidence of that fact. On the other hand, it is ex ceedingly difficult to believe that these articles could have remained in the thicket specified for a longer period than a single week — for a longer period than from one Sunday to the next. Those who know anything of the vicinity of Paris know the extreme difficulty of finding seclusion, unless at a great dis tance from its suburbs. Such a thing as an unex plored or even an unfrequently visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not for a moment to be im agined. Let any one who, being at heart a lover of
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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 personal intrusion of some ruffian or party of carousing blackguards. He will seek privacy amid the densest foliage, all in vain. Here are the very nooks where the unwashed most abound — here are the temples most desecrate. With sickness of the heart the wanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a less odious because less 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 crime, the town blackguard seeks the precincts of the town, not through love of the rural, which in his heart he de spises, 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 roadside 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 counterfeit hilarity — the joint offspring of liberty and of rum. I say nothing more than what must be obvious to every dispassionate
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observer, 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, almost immediately, the ur gent communications sent to the evening paper. These communications, although various, and appar ently from various sources, tended all to the same point — viz., the directing of attention to a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, and to the neighbor hood of the Barriere du Roule as its scene. Now, here, of course, the situation is not that, in conse quence of these communications, or of the public at tention 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 communication, by the guilty authors of these communications themselves.
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"This thicket was a singular — an exceedingly singular one. It was unusually dense. Within its naturally walled inclosure were three extraordinary stones, forming a seat with a back and a footstool. And this thicket, so full of art, was in the immediate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of Ma dame Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies about them in search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager — a wager of one thousand to one — that a day never passed over the heads of these boys without finding at least one of them ensconced in the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its natural throne ? Those who would hesitate at such a wager have either never been boys themselves or have forgotten the boyish nature. I repeat — it is exceedingly hard to 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
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Roget.' Here is just such an arrangement as would naturally be made by a not over-acute person wish ing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is by no means a really natural arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the things all lying on the ground and trampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that bower, it would have been scarcely possible that the petticoat and scarf should have retained a posi tion 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 pet ticoat 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 ex ceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces, as de scribed, do indeed 'look like strips torn off'; but purposely and by hand. It is one of the rarest of ac cidents that a piece is 'torn off/ from any garment such as is now in question, by the agency of a thorn. From the very nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becoming tangled in them, tears them rectangularly — divides them into two longitudinal rents, at right angles with each other, and meeting at an apex where the thorn enters — but it is scarcely possible to conceive the piece 'torn off.' I never so knew it, nor
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did you. To tear a piece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in different directions, will be, in al most every case, required. If there be two edges to the fabric — if, for example, it be a pocket-handker chief, 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 neces sary, 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 matter is nearly out of the question. We thus see the nu merous and great obstacles in the way of pieces be ing '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 hem' — that is to say, was torn completely out, through the agency of thorns, from the unedged interior of the dress! These, I say, are things which one may well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly, they form, per haps, less of reasonable ground for suspicion than the one startling circumstance of the articles having been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who
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had enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You will not have apprehended me rightly, however, if you suppose it my design to deny this thicket as the scene of the outrage. There might have been a wrong here, or more possibly an acci dent 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 murder. 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 a further contempla tion of the doubt whether this assassination has, or has not, been the work of a gang.
"We will resume this question by mere allusion to the revolting details of the surgeon examined at the inquest. It is only necessary to say that his pub lished 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 in ference — was there not much for another?
"Let us reflect now upon 'the traces of a strug gle'; 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?
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What struggle could have taken place — what strug gle so violent and so enduring as to have left its 'traces' in all directions — between a weak and de fenceless girl and a 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 urged against the thicket as the scene, are applicable, in chief part, only against it as the scene of an outrage committed by more than a single individual. If we imagine but one violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the struggle of so violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the 'traces' apparent.
"And again. I have already mentioned the sus picion 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 pres ence 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 ob literated by decay) is allowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage — I allude to the handker chief with the name of the deceased. If this was accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We can imagine it only the accident of an individual. Let us see. An individual has committed the mur-
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der. He is alone with the ghost of the departed. He is appalled by what lies motionless before him. The fury of his passion is over, and there is abun dant 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, and leaves behind him the other evidences of his guilt ; for it is difficult, if not impos sible to carry all the burden 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 he hears the step of an observer. Even the very lights from the city be wilder 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 re turn of that lonely murderer over that toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its blood-chilling recollections? He returns not, let the consequences be what they may. He could not return if he would. His sole thought is immediate escape. He turns his back forever upon those dreadful shrubberies, and flees as from the wrath to come.
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"But how with a gang? Their number would have inspired them with confidence; if, indeed, con fidence 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 un reasoning 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 noth ing behind them ; for their number would have en abled 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 expe dient? To three or four, the limbs of the corpse would have afforded not only a sufficient, but the best possible, hold. The device is that of a single indi vidual ; 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
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themselves to the superfluous trouble of taking down a fence, for the purpose of dragging 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 ?
"And here we must refer to an observation of 'Le Commerciel;' upon which I have already, in some measure, commented. 'A piece/ says this journal, of one of the unfortunate girl's petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.'
"I have before suggested that a genuine black guard 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 handkerchief for, the purpose imagined by 'Le Commerciel/ that this bandage was employed, is rendered apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and that the object was not 'to prevent screams' appears, also, from the bandage having been employed in preference to what would so much better have answered the purpose. But the language of the evidence speaks of the strip in 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
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a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudi nally. 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 burden — the evidence goes to show that it was dragged. With this object in view, it became necessary to attach something like a rope to one of the extremities. It could be best attached about the neck, where the head would prevent its slipping off. And now the murderer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage about the loins. He would have used this, but for its volution about the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the re flection that it had not been 'torn off' from the gar ment. It was easier to tear a new slip from the petti coat. He tore it, made it fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the river. That this 'bandage/ only attainable with trouble and de lay, and but imperfectly answering its purpose — that this bandage was employed at all, demonstrates that the necessity for its employment sprang from cir cumstances arising at a period when the handker chief was no longer attainable — that is to say, aris ing, as we have imagined, after quitting the thicket (if the thicket it was), and on the road between the thicket and the river.
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"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 animadver sion, although the somewhat tardy and very suspi cious evidence, of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is represented by that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eaten her cakes and swallowed her brandy, without putting themselves to the trouble of making her payment. Et hinc illoe iroef
"But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? 'A gang of miscreants made their appear ance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed in the route of the young man and the 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 vio lated cakes and ale — cakes and ale for which she might still have entertained a faint hope of com pensation. Why, otherwise, since it was about dusk, should she make a point of the haste? It is no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards should make haste to get home when a wide river is
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to be crossed in small boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches.
"I say approaches; for the night had not yet ar rived. 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 vi cinity 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 re ports of the evidence, the relative expressions 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 altogether irresistible. Under the cir cumstances 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 ruf fians, or of any body of men would not long ago have
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betrayed his accomplices. Each one of a gang, so placed, is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for escape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and early that he may not himself be be trayed. 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 complex ion, the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the 'sailor's knot' with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a sea man. 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 corroboration. The circumstance of the first elopement, as mentioned by 'Le Mercuric/ tends to blend the idea of this sea man with that of the 'naval officer' who is first known to have led the unfortunate into crime.
"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of the continued absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause to observe that the complexion of this
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man is dark and swarthy; it was no common swarthiness which constituted the sole point of re membrance, both as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent ? Was he mur dered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the assassinated girl? The scene of the two out rages will naturally be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The assassins would most probably have disposed of both in the same way. But it may be said that this man lives, and is deterred from making himself known, through dread of being charged with the murder. This consideration might be supposed to operate upon him now — at this late period — since it has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie, but it would have had no force at the period of the deed. The first impulse of an innocent man would have been to announce the out rage, 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 ferryboat. The denouncing of the assassins would have appeared, even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of relieving himself from suspicion. We can not suppose him, on the night of the fatal Sun day, both innocent himself and incognizant of an outrage committed. Yet only under such circum stances 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 ?
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We shall find these means multiplying and gathering distinctness as we proceed. Let us sift to the bot tom this affair of the first elopement. Let us know the full history of 'the officer/ with his present circumstances, and his whereabout 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 communi cations, both as regards style and MS., with those sent to the morning paper, at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon the guilt of Mennais. And, all this done, let us again compare these various communications with the known MSS. of the officer. Let us endeavor to ascertain, by repeated question ings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omnibus-driver, Valence, something more of the per sonal appearance and bearing of the 'man of dark complexion.' Queries, skilfully directed will not fail to elicit, from some of these parties, information on this particular point (or upon others) — informa tion which the parties themselves may not even be aware of possessing. And let us now trace the boat picked up by the bargeman on the morning of Mon day the twenty-third of June, and which was re moved 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 in-
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fallibly trace this boat; for not only can the barge man who picked it up identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rudder of a sail boat would not have been abandoned, without inquiry, by one altogether at ease in heart. And here let me pause to insinuate a question. There was no advertisement of the pick ing 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 con nection with the navy — some personal permanent connection leading to cognizance of its minute inter ests — its petty local news?
"In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his burden to the shore, I have already suggested the probability of his availing himself of a boat. Now we are to understand that Marie Roget was precipi tated from a boat. This would naturally have been the case. The corpse could not have been trusted to the shallow waters of the shore. The peculiar marks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the bottom ribs of a boat. That the body was found without weight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight would have been at tached. We can only account for its absence by sup posing the murderer to have neglected the precaution of supplying himself with it before pushing off. In
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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 se cured it ? He would have been in too great haste for such things as securing a boat. Moreover, in fas tening it to the wharf, he would have felt as if secur ing 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 remain. As suredly he would have cast it adrift. Let us pursue our fancies. In the morning, the wretch is stricken with unutterable horror at rinding that the boat has been picked up and detained at a locality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting — at a locality, per haps, 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 rapid ity which will surprise even ourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight of the fatal Sabbath.
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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 result desired was brought to pass ; and that the Pre fect fulfilled punctually, although with reluctance, the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr.. Poe's article concludes with the following words. — Eds.*]
It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and no more. What I have said above upon this topic must suffice. In my own heart there dwells no faith in 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 can not modify his laws, but that we insult him in imag ining a possible necessity for modification. In their origin these laws were fashioned to embrace all con tingencies which could lie in the Future. With God all is Now.
I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as
* Of the Magazine in which the article was originally pub lished.
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of coincidences. And further: in what I relate it will be seen that between the fate of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers, so far as that fate is known, and the fate of one Marie Roget up to a certain epoch in her history, there has existed a parallel in the con templation of whose wonderful exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be seen. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in pro ceeding with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just mentioned, and in tracing to its denoue ment the mystery which enshrouded her, it is my co vert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, or even to suggest that the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the assassin of a grisette, or measures founded in any similar ratiocination would produce any similar result.
For, in respect to the latter branch of the suppo sition, 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 individual ity, may be inappreciable, produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all points of the process, a re sult enormously at variance with truth. And, in re gard to the former branch, we must not fail to hold in view that the very Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred, forbids all idea of the ex tension of the parallel — forbids it with a positiveness
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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 mathema tician can fully entertain. Nothing, for example, is more difficult than to convince the merely general reader that the fact of sixes having been thrown twice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient cause for betting the largest odds that sixes will not be thrown in the third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usually rejected by the intellect at once. It does not appear that the two throws which have been completed, and which lie now absolutely in the Past, can have influence upon the throw which exists only in the Future. The chance for throwing sixes seems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary time — that is to say, subject only to the influence of the various other throws which may be made by the dice. And this is a reflection which appears so exceedingly ob vious 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; 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 of Reason through her propensity for seeking truth in detail.
THE BALLOON HOAX
[Astounding News by Express, via Norfolk! — The Atlantic Crossed in Three Days! Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason's Flying Machine! — Arrival at Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, S. C, of Mr. Mason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, and four others, in the Steering Balloon, "Victoria," after a Passage of Seventy- five Hours from Land to Land! Full Particulars of the Voyage !
The subjoined jeu d' esprit with the preceding heading in magnificent capitals, well interspersed with notes of admira tion, was originally published, as matter of fact, in the New York "Sun," a daily newspaper, and therein fully subserved the purpose of creating indigestible aliment for the quidnuncs during the few hours intervening between a couple of the Charleston mails. The rush for the "sole paper which had the news" was something beyond even the prodigious; and, in fact, if (as some assert) the "Victoria" did not absolutely accomplish the voyage recorded, it will be difficult to assign a reason why she should not have accomplished it]
great problem is at length solved! The air, as well as the earth and the ocean, has been subdued by science, and will become a common and convenient highway for mankind. The Atlantic has been actually crossed in a Balloon! and this too without difficulty — without any great apparent dan ger — with thorough control of the machine — and in the inconceivably brief period of seventy-five hours from shore to shore ! By the energy of an agent at Charleston, S. C., we are enabled to be the first to furnish the public with a detailed account of this (3*8)
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most extraordinary voyage, which was performed between Saturday, the 6th instant, at n A. M. and 2, p. M., on Tuesday, the Qth instant, by Sir Everard Bringhurst; Mr. Osborne, a nephew of Lord Ben- tinck's ; Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Robert Holland, the well-known aeronauts ; Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, author of "Jack Sheppard," etc.; and Mr. Henson, the projector of the late unsuccessful flying machine — with two seamen from Woolwich — in all, eight persons. The particulars furnished below may be re lied on as authentic and accurate in every respect, as, with a slight exception, they are copied verbatim from the joint diaries of Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, to whose politeness our agent is also indebted for much verbal information respect ing the balloon itself, its construction, and other matters of interest. The only alteration in the MS. received has been made for the purpose of throwing the hurried account of our agent, Mr. Forsyth, into a connected and intelligible form.
"Two very decided failures, of late — those of Mr. Henson and Sir George Cayley — had much weak ened the public interest in the subject of aerial navi gation. Mr. Henson's scheme (which at first was considered very feasible even by men of science) was founded upon the principle of an inclined plane, started from an eminence by an extrinsic force, ap-
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plied and continued by the revolution of impinging vanes, in form and number resembling the vanes of a windmill. But, in all the experiments made with models at the Adelaide Gallery, it was found that the operation of these fans not only did not propel the machine, but actually impeded its flight. The only propelling force it ever exhibited was the mere im petus acquired from the descent of the inclined plane ; and this impetus carried the machine further when the vanes were at rest than when they were in motion — a fact which sufficiently demonstrates their inutil- ity; and in the absence of the propelling, which was also the sustaining., power, the whole fabric would necessarily descend. This consideration led Sir George Cayley to think only of adapting a propeller to some machine having of itself an independent power of support — in a word, to a balloon ; the idea, however, being novel, or original, with Sir George, only so far as regards the mode of its application to practice. He exhibited a model of his invention at the Polytechnic Institution. The propelling principle, or power, was here, also, applied to interrupted sur faces, or vanes, put in revolution. These vanes were four in number, but were found entirely ineffectual in moving the balloon, or in aiding its ascending power. The whole project was thus a complete fail ure.
"It was at this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason (whose voyage from Dover to Weilburg in the bal-
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loon 'Nassau' occasioned so much excitement in 1837) conceived the idea of employing the principle of the Archimedean screw for the purpose of pro pulsion through the air — rightly attributing the fail ure of Mr. Henson's scheme, and of Sir George Cay- ley's to the interruption of surface in the independent vanes. He made the first public experiment at Wil lis's Rooms, but afterward removed his model to the Adelaide Gallery.
"Like Sir George Cayley's balloon, his own was an ellipsoid. Its length was thirteen feet six inches — height, six feet eight inches. It contained about three hundred and twenty cubic feet of gas, which, if pure hydrogen, would support twenty-one pounds upon its first inflation, before the gas has time to de teriorate or escape. The weight of the whole ma chine and apparatus was seventeen pounds — leaving about four pounds to spare. Beneath the centre of the balloon was a frame of light wood, about nine feet long, and rigged on to the balloon itself with a network in the customary manner. From this frame work was suspended a wicker basket or car.
"The screw consists of an axis of hollow brass tube, eighteen inches in length, through which, upon a semi-spiral inclined at fifteen degrees, pass a series of steel-wire radii, two feet long, and thus projecting a foot on either side. These radii are connected at the outer extremities by two bands of flattened wire — the whole in this manner forming the framework
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of the screw, which is completed by a covering of oiled silk cut into gores, and tightened so as to pre sent a tolerably uniform surface. At each end of its axis this screw is supported by pillars of hollow brass tube descending from the hoop. In the lower ends of these tubes are holes in which the pivots of the axis revolve. From the end of the axis which is next the car, proceeds a shaft of steel, connecting the screw with the pinion of a piece of spring machinery fixed in the car. By the operation of this spring, the screw is made to revolve with great rapidity, com municating a progressive motion to the whole. By means of the rudder, the machine was readily turned in any direction. The spring was of great power, compared with its dimensions, being capable of rais ing forty-five pounds upon a barrel of four inches diameter, after the first turn, and gradually increas ing as it was wound up. It weighed, altogether, eight pounds six ounces. The rudder was a light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped somewhat like a battledoor, and was about three feet long, and at the widest, one foot. Its weight was about two ounces. It could be turned fiat, and directed upward or downward, as well as to the right or left ; and thus enabled the aeronaut to transfer the resistance of the air which in an inclined position it must generate in its passage, to any side upon which he might desire to act ; thus determining the balloon in the opposite direction.
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"This model (which, through want of time, we have necessarily described in an imperfect manner) was put in action at the Adelaide Gallery, where it accomplished a velocity of five miles per hour; al though, strange to say, it excited very little interest in comparison with the previous complex machine of Mr. Henson — so resolute is the world to despise any thing which carries with it an air of simplicity. To accomplish the great desideratum of aerial naviga tion, it was very generally supposed that some ex ceedingly complicated application must be made of some unusually profound principle in dynamics.
"So well satisfied, however, was Mr. Mason of the ultimate success of his invention, that he determined to construct immediately, if possible, a balloon of sufficient capacity to test the question by a voyage of some extent — the original design being to cross the British Channel, as before, in the 'Nassau' balloon. To carry out his views, he solicited and obtained the patronage of Sir Everard Bringhurst and Mr. Os- borne, two gentlemen well known for scientific ac quirement, and especially for the interest they have exhibited in the progress of aerostation. The proj ect, at the desire of Mr. Osborne, was kept a pro found secret from the public — the only persons in trusted with the design being those actually engaged in the construction of the machine, which was built (under the superintendence of Mr. Mason, Mr. Hol land, Sir Everard Bringhurst, and Mr. Osborne) at
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the seat of the latter gentleman near Penstruthal, in Wales. Mr. Henson, accompanied by his friend Mr. Ainsworth, was admitted to a private view of the balloon, on Saturday last — when the two gentlemen made final arrangements to be included in the adven ture. We are not informed for what reason the two seamen were also included in the party — but, in the course of a day or two, we shall put our readers in possession of the minutest particulars respecting this extraordinary voyage.
"The balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the liquid gum caoutchouc. It is of vast dimensions, containing more than 40,000 cubic feet of gas; but as coal-gas was employed in place of the more ex pensive and inconvenient hydrogen, the supporting power of the machine, when fully inflated, and im mediately after inflation, is not more than about 2,500 pounds. The coal-gas is not only much less costly, but is easily procured and managed.
"For its introduction into common use for pur poses of aerostation, we are indebted to Mr. Charles Green. Up to his discovery, the process of inflation was not only exceedingly expensive, but uncertain. Two and even three days have frequently been wasted in futile attempts to procure a sufficiency of hydrogen to fill a balloon, from which it had great tendency to escape, owing to its extreme subtlety, and its affinity for the surrounding atmosphere. In a balloon sufficiently perfect to retain its contents of
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coal-gas unaltered, in quantity or amount, for six months, an equal quantity of hydrogen could not be maintained in equal purity for six weeks.
"The supporting power being estimated at 2,500 pounds, and the united weights of the party amount ing only to about 1,200, there was left a surplus of 1,300, of which again 1,200 was exhausted by bal last, arranged in bags of different sizes, with their respective weights marked upon them — by cordage, barometers, telescopes, barrels containing provision for a fortnight, water-casks, cloaks, carpet-bags, and various other indispensable matters, including a cof fee-warmer, contrived for warming coffee by means of slack-lime, so as to dispense altogether with fire, if it should be judged prudent to do so. All these articles, with the exception of the ballast, and a few trifles, were suspended from the hoop overhead. The car is much smaller and lighter, in proportion, than the one appended to the model. It is formed of a light wicker, and is wonderfully strong, for so frail- looking a machine. Its rim is about four feet deep. The rudder is also very much larger, in proportion, than that of the model ; and the screw is considerably smaller. The balloon is furnished besides with a grapnel and a guide-rope, which latter is of the most indispensable importance. A few words, in explanation, will here be necessary for such of our readers as are not conversant with the details of aerostation.
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"As soon as the balloon quits the earth, it is sub jected to the influence of many circumstances tend ing to create a difference in its weight ; augmenting or diminishing its ascending power. For example, there may be a deposition of dew upon the silk, to the extent, even, of several hundred pounds; ballast has then to be thrown out, or the machine may de scend. This ballast being discarded, and a clear sun shine evaporating the dew, and at the same time ex panding the gas in the silk, the whole will again rap idly ascend. To check this ascent, the only resource is (or rather was, until Mr. Green's invention of the guide-rope) the permission of the escape of gas from the valve; but in the loss of gas is a proportionate general loss of ascending power ; so that, in a com paratively brief period, the best-constructed balloon must necessarily exhaust all its resources, and come to the earth. This was the great obstacle to voyages of length.
"The guide-rope remedies the difficulty in the sim plest manner conceivable. It is merely a very long rope which is suffered to trail from the car, and the effect of which is to prevent the balloon from chang ing its level in any material degree. If, for example, there should be a deposition of moisture upon the silk, and the machine begins to descend in conse quence, there will be no necessity for discharging ballast to remedy the increase of weight, for it is remedied, or counteracted, in an exactly just propor-
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tion, by the deposit on the ground of just so much of the end of the rope as is necessary. If, on the other hand, any circumstances should cause undue levity, and consequent ascent, this levity is imme diately counteracted by the additional weight of rope upraised from the earth. Thus the balloon can neither ascend nor descend except within very nar row limits, and its resources, either in gas or ballast, remain comparatively unimpaired. When passing over an expanse of water, it becomes necessary to employ small kegs of copper or wood, filled with liquid ballast of a lighter nature than water. These float, and serve all the purposes of a mere rope on land. Another most important office of the guide- rope is to point out the direction of the balloon. The rope drags, either on land or sea, while the balloon is free; the latter, consequently, is always in advance, when any progress whatever is made : a comparison, therefore, by means of the compass, of the relative positions of the two objects, will always indicate the course. In the same way, the angle formed by the rope with the vertical axis of the machine, indicates the velocity. When there is no angle — in other words, when the rope hangs perpendicularly — the whole apparatus is stationary; but the larger the angle, that is to say, the further the balloon precedes the end of the rope, the greater the velocity ; and the converse.
"As the original design was to cross the British
I— Poe— 15
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Channel and alight as near Paris as possible, the voyagers had taken the precaution to prepare them selves with passports directed to all parts of the Con tinent, specifying the nature of the expedition, as in the case of the 'Nassau' voyage, and entitling the ad venturers to exemption from the usual formalities of office ; unexpected events, however, rendered these passports superfluous.
"The inflation was commenced very quietly at daybreak, on Saturday morning, the 6th instant, in the courtyard of Weal-Vor House, Mr. Osborne's seat, about a mile from Penstruthal, in North Wales ; and at seven minutes past eleven, everything being ready for departure, the balloon was set free, rising gently but steadily, in a direction nearly south; no use being made, for the first half hour, of either the screw or the rudder. We proceed now with the journal, as transcribed by Mr. Forsyth from the joint MSS. of Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Ains- worth. The body of the journal, as given, is in the handwriting of Mr. Mason, and a P. S. is appended each day by Mr. Ainsworth, who has in preparation and will shortly give the public a more minute and, no doubt, a thrillingly interesting account of the voyage.
"THE JOURNAL
"Saturday, April the 6th. — Every preparation likely to embarrass us having been made overnight, we commenced the inflation this morning at day-
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break; but owing to a thick fog, which incumbered the folds of the silk and rendered it unmanageable, we did not get through before nearly eleven o'clock. Cut loose then, in high spirits, and rose gently but steadily, with a light breeze at north, which bore us in the direction of the British Channel. Found the ascending force greater than we had expected; and as we arose higher and so got clear of the cliffs, and more in the sun's rays, our ascent became very rapid. I did not wish, however, to lose gas at so early a period of the adventure, and so concluded to ascend for the present. We soon ran out our guide-rope ; but even when we had raised it clear of the earth, we still went up very rapidly. The balloon was unusually steady, and looked beautifully. In about ten min utes after starting, the barometer indicated an alti tude of 15,000 feet. The weather was remarkably fine, and the view of the subjacent country — a most romantic one when seen from any point — was now especially sublime. The numerous deep gorges pre sented the appearance of lakes, on account of the dense vapors with which they were filled, and the pinnacles and crags to the southeast, piled in inex tricable confusion, resembled nothing so much as the giant cities of Eastern fable. We were rapidly approaching the mountains in the south, but our ele vation was more than sufficient to enable us to pass them in safety. In a few minutes we soared over them in fine style ; and Mr. Ainsworth, with the sea-
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men, was surprised at their apparent want of alti tude when viewed from the car, the tendency of great elevation in a balloon being to reduce inequali ties of the surface below to nearly a dead level. At half-past eleven, still proceeding nearly south, we ob tained our first view of the Bristol Channel, and in fifteen minutes afterward the line of breakers on the coast appeared immediately beneath us, and we were fairly out at sea. We now resolved to let off enough gas to bring our guide-rope, with the buoys affixed, into the water. This was immediately done, and we commenced a gradual descent. In about twenty minutes our first buoy dipped, and at the touch of the second soon afterward, we remained stationary as to elevation. We were all now anxious to test the efficiency of the rudder and screw, and we put them both into requisition forthwith, for the purpose of altering our direction more to the east ward, and in a line for Paris. By means of the rudder we instantly effected the necessary change of direction, and our course was brought nearly at right angles to that of the wind ; when we set in mo tion the spring of the screw, and were rejoiced, to find it propel us readily as desired. Upon this we gave nine hearty cheers, and dropped in the sea a bottle, inclosing a slip of parchment with a brief account of the principle of the invention. Hardly, however, had we done with our rejoicings, when an unforeseen accident occurred which discouraged us
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in no little degree. The steel rod connecting the spring with the propeller was suddenly jerked out of place, at the car end (by a swaying of the car through some movement of one of the two seamen we had taken up), and in an instant hung dangling out of reach, from the pivot of the axis of the screw. While we were endeavoring to regain it, our atten tion being completely absorbed, we became involved in a strong current of wind from the east, which bore us, with rapidly increasing force, toward the Atlantic. We soon found ourselves driving out to sea at the rate of not less, certainly, than fifty or sixty miles an hour, so that we came up with Cape Clear, at some forty miles to our north, before we had secured the rod, and had time to think what we were about. It was now that Mr. Ainsworth made an extraordinary but, to my fancy, a by no means unreasonable or chimerical proposition, in which he was instantly seconded by Mr. Holland — viz. : that we should take advantage of the strong gale which bore us on, and in place of beating back to Paris make an attempt to reach the coast of North Amer ica. After slight reflection, I gave a willing assent to this bold proposition, which (strange to say) met with objection from the two seamen only. As the stronger party, however, we overruled their fears, and kept resolutely upon our course. We steered due west ; but as the trailing of the buoys materially impeded our progress, and we had the balloon
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abundantly at command, either for ascent or descent, we first threw out fifty pounds of ballast, and then wound up (by means of a windlass) so much of the rope as brought it quite clear of the sea. We per ceived the effect of this manoeuvre immediately, in a vastly increased rate of progress; and, as the gale freshened, we flew with a velocity nearly inconceiv able, the guide-rope flying out behind the car like a streamer from a vessel. It is needless to say that a very short time sufficed us to lose sight of the coast. We passed over innumerable vessels of all kinds, a few of which were endeavoring to beat up, but the most of them lying to. We occasioned the greatest excitement on board all — an excitement greatly rel ished by ourselves, and especially by our two men, who, now under the influence of a dram of Geneva, seemed resolved to give all scruple, or fear, to the wind. Many of the vessels fired signal guns; and in all we were saluted with loud cheers (which we heard with surprising distinctness) and the wav ing of caps and handkerchiefs. We kept on in this manner throughout the day with no material inci dent, and, as the shades of night closed around us, we made a rough estimate of the distance traversed. It could not have been less than five hundred miles, and was probably much more. The propeller was kept in constant operation, and, no doubt, aided our progress materially. As the sun went down, the gale freshened into an absolute hurricane, and the
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ocean beneath was clearly visible on account of its phosphorescence. The wind was from the east all night, and gave us the brightest omen of success. We suffered no little from cold, and the dampness of the atmosphere was most unpleasant ; but the ample space in the car enabled us to lie down, and by means of cloaks and a few blankets we did sufficiently well. "P. S. [by Mr. Ainsworth.] The last nine hours have been unquestionably the most exciting of my life. I can conceive nothing more sublimating than the strange peril and novelty of an adventure such as this. May God grant that we succeed ! I ask not success for mere safety to my insignificant person, but for the sake of human knowledge and — for the vastness of the triumph. And yet the feat is only so evidently feasible that the sole wonder is why men have scrupled to attempt it before. One single gale such as now befriends us — let such a tempest whirl forward a balloon for four of five days (these gales often last longer) and the voyager will be easily borne, in that period, from coast to coast. In view of such a gale the broad Atlantic becomes a mere lake. I am more struck, just now, with the supreme silence which reigns in the sea beneath us, notwith standing its agitation, than with any other phe nomenon presenting itself. The waters give up no voice to the heavens. The immense flaming ocean writhes and is tortured uncomplainingly. The moun tainous surges suggest the idea of innumerable
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dumb gigantic fiends struggling in impotent agony. In a night such as is this to me, a man lives — lives a whole century of ordinary life — nor would I fore go this rapturous delight for that of a whole century of ordinary existence.
"Sunday, the 7th. [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning the gale, by ten, had subsided to an eight or nine knot breeze (for a vessel at sea), and bears us, perhaps, thirty miles per hour, or more. It has veered, however, very considerably to the north ; and now, at sundown, we are holding our course due west, principally by the screw and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration. I regard the project as thoroughly successful, and the easy navi gation of the air in any direction (not exactly in the teeth of a gale) as no longer problematical. We could not have made head against the strong wind of yesterday; but, by ascending, we might have got out of its influence, if requisite. Against a pretty stiff breeze, I feel convinced, we can make our way with the propeller. At noon, to-day, ascended to an elevation of nearly 25,000 feet, by discharging bal last. Did this to search for a more direct current, but found none so favorable as the one we are now in. We have an abundance of gas to take us across this small pond, even should the voyage last three weeks. I have not the slightest fear for the result. The difficulty has been strangely exaggerated and misapprehended. I can choose my current, and
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should I find all currents against me, I can make very tolerable headway with the propeller. We have had no incidents worth recording. The night promises fair.
"P. S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to re cord, except the fact (to me quite a surprising orfe) that, at an elevation equal to that of Cotopaxi, I ex perienced neither very intense cold, nor headache, nor difficulty of breathing; neither, I find, did Mr. Mason, nor Mr. Holland, nor Sir Everard. Mr. Os- borne complained of constriction of the chest — but this soon wore off. We have flown at a great rate during the day, and we must be more than half way across the Atlantic. We have passed over some twenty or thirty vessels of various kinds, and all seem to be delightfully astonished. Crossing the ocean in a balloon is not so difficult a feat after all. Omne ignotum pro magnifico. Mem. : at 25,000 feet elevation the sky appears nearly black, and the stars are distinctly visible; while the sea does not seem convex (as one might suppose) but absolutely and most unequivocally concave.*
* "Note. — Mr. Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this phenomenon, which, however, is quite susceptible of ex planation. A line dropped from an elevation of 25,000 feet, perpendicularly to the surface of the earth (or sea), would form the perpendicular of a right-angled triangle, of which the base would extend from the right angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon to the balloon. But the 25,000 feet of altitude is little or nothing, in comparison with the extent of the prospect. In other words, the base and hypoth«-
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"Monday, the 8th. [Mr. Mason's MS.] This mottling we had again some little trouble with the rod of the propeller, which must be entirely remod elled, for fear of serious accident — I mean the steel rod, not the vanes. The latter could not be im proved. The wind has been blowing steadily and strongly from the northeast all day ; and so far for tune seems bent upon favoring us. Just before day, we were all somewhat alarmed at some odd noises and concussions in the balloon, accompanied with the apparent rapid subsidence of the whole machine. These phenomena were occasioned by the expansion of the gas, through increase of heat in the atmos phere, and the consequent disruption of the minute particles of ice with which the network had become incrusted during the night. Threw down several bottles to the vessels below. See one of them picked up by a large ship — seemingly one of the New York line packets. Endeavored to make out her name, but could not be sure of it. Mr. Osborne's telescope
nuse of the supposed triangle would be so long, when com pared with the perpendicular, that the two former may be regarded as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon of the aeronaut would appear to be on a level with the car. But, as the point immediately beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it seems, of course, also, at a great dis tance below the horizon. Hence the impression of concavity; and this impression must remain, until the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to the extent of prospect, that the appa rent parallelism of the base and hypothenuse disappears — when the earth's convexity must become apparent
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made it out something like 'Atalanta.' It is now twelve at night, and we are still going nearly west, at a rapid pace. The sea is peculiarly phosphorescent.
"P. S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] It is now 2 A. M., and nearly calm, as well as I can judge — but it is very difficult to determine this point, since we move with the air so completely. I have not slept since quitting Wheal-Vor, but can stand it no longer, and must take a nap. We cannot be far from the Ameri can coast.
"Tuesday, the pth. [Mr. Ainsworth's MS.] One Y. M. We are in full view of the low coast of South Carolina. The great problem is accomplished. We have crossed the Atlantic — fairly and easily crossed it in a balloon ! God be praised ! Who shall say that anything is impossible hereafter ?"
The Journal here ceases. Some particulars of the descent were communicated, however, by Mr. Ains worth to Mr. Forsyth. It was nearly dead calm when the voyagers first came in view of the coast, which was immediately recognized by both the sea men, and by Mr. Osborne. The latter gentleman having acquaintances at Fort Moultrie, it was imme diately resolved to descend in its vicinity. The bal loon was brought over the beach (the tide being out and the sand hard, smooth, and admirably adapted for a descent), and the grapnel let go, which took firm hold at once. The inhabitants of the island, and of the fort, thronged out, of course, to see the
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balloon; but it was with the greatest difficulty that any one could be made to credit the actual voyage — the crossing of the Atlantic. The grapnel caught at two P.M. precisely; and thus the whole voyage was completed in seventy-five hours; or rather less, counting from shore to shore. No serious accident occurred. No real danger was at any time appre hended. The balloon was exhausted and secured without trouble; and when the MS. from which this narrative is compiled was despatched from Charles ton, the party were still at Fort Moultrie. Their further intentions were not ascertained; but we can safely promise our readers some additional informa tion either on Monday or in the course of the next day, at furthest.
This is unquestionably the most stupendous, the most interesting, and the most important undertak ing ever accomplished or even attempted by man. What magnificent events may ensue, it would be useless now to think of determining.
MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE
Qui n'a plus qu'un moment a vivre N'a plus rien a dissimuler.
— Quinault — A tys
OF my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me from the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me to methodize the stores which early study diligently garnered up. Beyond all things, the works of the German moralists gave me great de light; not from my ill-advised admiration of their eloquent madness, but from the ease with which my habits of rigid thoughts enabled me to detect their falsities. I have often been reproached with the arid ity of my genius ; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions has at all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a strong relish for physical philosophy has, I fear, tinctured my mind with a very common error of this age — I mean the habit of referring occur rences, even the least susceptible of such reference, to the principles of that science. Upon the whole, no person could be less liable than myself to be led away from the severe precincts of truth by the ignes
(349)
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fatui of superstition. I have thought proper to premise thus much, lest the incredible tale I have to tell should be considered rather the raving of a crude imagination than the positive experience of a mind to which the reveries of fancy have been a dead letter and a nullity.
After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18 — , from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island of Java, on a voyage to the Archipelago Islands. I went as passenger — having no other inducement than a kind of nervous restless ness which haunted me as a fiend.
Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hun dred tons, copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of Malabar teak. She was freighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lachadive Islands. We had also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoanuts, and a few cases of opium. The stowage was clumsily done, and the vessel consequently crank.
We got under way with a mere breath of wind, and for many days stood along the eastern coast of Java, without any other incident to beguile the mo notony of our course than the occasional meeting with some of the small grabs of the archipelago to which we were bound.
One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very singular isolated cloud, to the N.W. It was remarkable, as well from its color as from its being the first we had seen since our departure from Ba-
MS. Found in a Bottle 351
tavia. I watched it attentively until sunset, when it spread all at once to the eastward and westward, girting in the horizon with a narrow strip of vapor, and looking like a long line of low beach. My no tice was soon afterward attracted by the dusky-red appearance of the moon, and the peculiar character of the sea. The latter was undergoing a rapid change, and the water seemed more than usually transparent. Although I could distinctly see the bottom, yet, heav ing the lead, I found the ship in fifteen fathoms. The air now became intolerably hot, and was loaded with spiral exhalations similar to those arising from heated iron. As night came on, every breath of wind died away, and a more entire calm it is impos sible to conceive. The flame of a candle burned upon the poop without the least perceptible motion, and a long hair, held between the finger and thumb, hung without the possibility of detecting a vibration. However, as the captain said he could perceive no indication of danger, and as we were drifting in bod ily to shore, he ordered the sails to be furled, and the anchor let go. No watch was set, and the crew, con sisting principally of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon deck. I went below — not without a full presentiment of evil. Indeed, every appear ance warranted me in apprehending a simoon. I told the captain of my fears ; but he paid no attention to what I said, and left me without deigning to give a reply. My uneasiness, however, prevented me from
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sleeping, and about midnight I went up on deck. As I placed my foot upon the upper step of the com panion-ladder, I was startled by a loud, humming noise, like that occasioned by the rapid revolution of a mill-wheel, and before I could ascertain its mean ing I found the ship quivering to its centre. In the next instant a wilderness of foam hurled us upon our beam-ends, and, rushing over us afore and aft, swept the entire decks from stem to stern.
The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great measure, the salvation of the ship. Although com pletely waterlogged, yet, as her masts had gone by the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily from the sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense pressure of the tempest, finally righted.
By what miracle I escaped destruction, it is im possible to say. Stunned by the shock of the water, I found myself, upon recovery, jammed in between the stern-post and rudder. With great difficulty I regained my feet, and looking dizzily around, was at first struck with the idea of our being among breakers ; so terrific, beyond the wildest imagination, was the whirlpool of mountainous and foaming ocean within which we were ingulfed. Softer a while I heard the voice of an old Swede, who had shipped with us at the moment of leaving port. I halloed to him with all my strength, and presently he came reeling aft. We soon discovered that we were the sole survivors of the accident. All on deck,
MS. Found in a Bottle 353
with the exception of ourselves, had been swept over board; the captain and mates must have perished while they slept, for the cabins were deluged with water. Without assistance we could expect to do little for the security of the ship, and our exertions were at first paralyzed by the momentary expectation of going down. Our cable had, of course, parted like pack-thread, at the first breath of the hurricane, or we should have been instantaneously over whelmed. We scudded with frightful velocity be fore the sea, and the water made clear breaches over us. The framework of our stern was shattered ex cessively, and, in almost every respect, we had re ceived considerable injury; but to our extreme joy we found the pumps unchoked, and that we had made no great shifting of our ballast. The main fury of the blast had already blown over, and we appre hended little danger from the violence of the wind ; but we looked forward to its total cessation with dis may, well believing that in our shattered condition we should inevitably perish in the tremendous swell which would ensue. But this very just apprehension seemed by no means likely to be soon verified. For five entire days and nights — during which our only subsistence was a small quantity of jaggeree, pro cured with great difficulty from the forecastle — the hulk flew at a rate defying computation, before rap idly succeeding flaws of wind, which, without equal ling the first violence of the simoon, were still more
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terrific than any tempest I had before encountered. Our course for the first four days was, with trifling variations, S.E. and by S. ; and we must have run down the coast of New Holland. On the fifth day the cold became extreme, although the wind had hauled round a point more to the northward. The sun arose with a sickly yellow lustre, and clambered a very few degrees above the horizon — emitting no decisive light. There were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the increase, and blew with a fit ful and unsteady fury. About noon, as nearly as we could guess, our attention was again arrested by the appearance of the sun. It gave out no light, properly so called, but a dull and sullen glow without reflec tion, as if all its rays were polarized. Just before sinking within the turgid sea, its central fires sud denly went out, as if hurriedly extinguished by some unaccountable power. It was a dim, silver-like rim, alone, as it rushed down the unfathomable ocean.
We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day — that day to me has not yet arrived — to the Swede never did arrive. Thenceforward we were en shrouded in pitchy darkness, so that we could not have seen an object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternal night continued to envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoric sea-brilliancy to which we had been accustomed in the tropics. We observed, too, that, although the tempest continued to rage with unabated violence, there was no longer to be discov-
MS. Found in a Bottle 355
ered the usual appearance of surf, or foam, which had hitherto attended us. All around were horror, and thick gloom, and a black sweltering desert of ebony. Superstitious terror crept by degrees into the spirit of the old Swede, and my own soul was wrapped in silent wonder. We neglected all care of the ship, as worse than useless, and securing our selves as well as possible to the stump of the mizzen- mast, looked out bitterly into the world of ocean. We had no means of calculating time, nor could we form any guess of our situation. We were, how ever, well aware of having made further to the south ward than any previous navigators, and felt great amazement at not meeting with the usual impedi ments of ice. In the meantime every moment threat ened to be our last— every mountainous billow hur ried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed anything I had imagined possible, and that we were not in stantly buried is a miracle. My companion spoke of the lightness of our cargo, and reminded me of the excellent qualities of our ship; but I could not help feeling the utter hopelessness of hope itself, and pre pared myself gloomily for that death which I thought nothing could defer beyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship made, the swelling of the black stupendous seas became more dismally appall ing. At times we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond the albatross — at times became dizzy with the velocity of our descent into some watery hell,
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where the air grew stagnant, and no sound disturbed1 the slumbers of the kraken.
We were at the bottom of one of these abysses, when a quick scream from my companion broke fear fully upon the night. "See ! see !" cried he, shriek ing in my ears, "Almighty God ! see ! see !" As he spoke I became aware of a dull sullen glare of red light which streamed down the sides of the vast chasm where we lay, and threw a fitful brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upward, I beheld a spectacle which froze the current of my blood. At a terrific height directly above us, and upon the very verge of the precipitous descent, hovered a gigantic ship of perhaps four* thousand tons. Although up- reared upon the summit of a wave more than a hun dred times her own altitude, her apparent size still exceeded that of any ship of the line or East India- ,man in existence. Her huge hull was of a deep dingy black, unrelieved by any of the customary carvings of a ship. A single row of brass cannon protruded from her open ports, and dashed from the polished surfaces the fires of innumerable battle-lan terns which swung to and fro about her rigging. But what mainly inspired us with horror and aston ishment was that she bore up under a press of sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea, and of that ungovernable hurricane. When we first discovered her, her bows were alone to be seen, as she rose slowly from the dim and horrible gulf beyond her.
MS. Found in a Bottle 357
For a moment of intense terror she paused upon the giddy pinnacle as if in contemplation of her own sublimity, then trembled, and tottered, and — came down.
At this instant, I know not what sudden self-pos session came over my spirit. Staggering as far aft as I could, I awaited fearlessly the ruin that was to overwhelm. Our own vessel was at length ceasing from her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea. The shock of the descending mass struck her, consequently, in that portion of her frame which was nearly under water, and the inevitable result was to hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging of the stranger.
As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about ; and to the confusion ensuing I attributed my escape from the notice of the crew. With little difficulty I made my way, unperceived, to the main hatchway, which was partially open, and soon found an oppor tunity of secreting myself in the hold. Why I did so I can hardly tell. An indefinite sense of awe, which at first sight of the navigators of the ship had taken hold of my mind, was perhaps the principle of my concealment. I was unwilling to trust myself with a race of people who had offered, to the cursory glance I had taken, so many points of vague novelty, doubt, and apprehension. I therefore thought proper to contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This I did by removing a small portion of the shifting-boards in
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such a manner as to afford me a convenient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship.
I had scarcely completed my work, when a foot step in the hold forced me to make use of it. A man passed by my place of concealment with a feeble and unsteady gait. I could not see his face, but had an opportunity of observing his general appearance. There was about it an evidence of great age and in firmity. His knees tottered beneath a load of years, and his entire frame quivered under the burden. He muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, some words of a language which I could not understand, and groped in a corner among a pile of singular- looking instruments, and decayed charts of naviga tion. His manner was a wild mixture of the peev ishness of second childhood, and the solemn dignity of a god. He at length went on deck, and I saw him no more.
A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul — a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the lessons of bygone time are inadequate, and for which I fear futurity itself will offer me no key. To a mind constituted like my own, the latter consideration is an evil. I shall never — I know that I shall never — be satisfied with regard to the nature of my conceptions. Yet it is not wonderful that these conceptions are indefinite, since they have their origin in sources so utterly
MS. Found in a Bottle 359
novel. A new sense — a new entity is added to my soul.
It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and the rays of my destiny are, I think, gather ing to a focus. Incomprehensible men! Wrapped up in meditations of a kind which I can not divine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter folly on my part, for the people will not see. It is but just now that I passed directly before the eyes of the mate; it was no long while ago that I ventured into the captain's own^private cabin, and took thence the materials with which I write, and have written. I shall from time to time continue this journal. It is true that I may not find an opportunity of trans mitting it to the world, but I will not fail to make the endeavor. At the last moment I will inclose the MS. in a bottle, and cast it within the sea.
An incident has occurred which has given me new room for meditation. Are such things the operation of ungoverned chance? I had ventured upon deck and thrown myself down, without attracting any no tice, among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails in the bottom of the yawl. While musing upon the singu larity of my fate, I unwittingly daubed with a tar brush the edges of a neatly-folded studding-sail which lay near me on a barrel. The studding-sail is now bent upon the ship, and the thoughtless
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touches of the brush are spread out into the word DISCOVERY.
I have made my observations lately upon the structure of the vessel. Although well armed, she is not, I think, a ship of war. Her rigging, build and general equipment all negative a supposition of this kind. What she is not, I can easily perceive; what she is, I fear it is impossible to say. I know not how it is, but in scrutinizing her strange model and singular cast of spars, her huge size and overgrown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and anti quated stern, there will occasionally flash across my mind a sensation of familiar things, and there is al ways mixed up with such indistinct shadows of rec ollection, an unaccountable memory of old foreign chronicles and ages long ago.
I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She is built of a material to which I am a stranger. There is a peculiar character about the wood which strikes me as rendering it unfit for the purpose to which it has been applied. I mean its extreme por ousness, considered independently of the worm-eaten condition which is a consequence of navigation in these seas, and apart from the rottenness attendant upon age. It will appear perhaps an observation somewhat over curious, but this would have every characteristic of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any unnatural means.
MS. Found in a Bottle 361
In reading the above sentence, a curious apothegm oi an old weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes full upon my recollection. "It is as sure," he was wont to say, when any doubt was entertained of his verac ity, "as sure as there is a sea where the ship itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the sea-
About an hour ago, I made bold to trust myself among a group of the crew. They paid no manner of attention, and, although I stood in the very midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious of my pres ence. Like the one I had at first seen in the hold, they all bore about them the marks of a hoary old age. Their knees trembled with infirmity; their shoulders were bent double with decrepitude; their shrivelled skins rattled in the wind ; their voices were low, tremulous, and broken ; their eyes glistened with the rheum of years; and their gray hairs streamed terribly in the tempest. Around them, on every part of the deck, lay scattered mathematical instruments of the most quaint and obsolete construction.
I mentioned, some time ago, the bending of a studding-sail. From that period, the ship, being thrown dead off the wind, has continued her terrific course due south, with every rag of canvas packed upon her, from her truck to her lower studding-sail booms, and rolling every moment her top-gallant
I-Poc-16
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yard-arms into the most appalling hell of water which it can enter into the mind of man to imagine. I have just left the deck, where I find it impossible to maintain a footing, although the crew seem to expe rience little inconvenience. It appears to me a mir acle of miracles that our enormous bulk is not swal lowed up at once and forever. We are surely doomed to hover continually upon the brink of eter nity, without taking a final plunge into the abyss. From billows a thousand times more stupendous than any I have ever seen, we glide away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull ; and the colossal wa ters rear their heads above us like demons of the deep, but like demons confined to simple threats, and forbidden to destroy. I am led to attribute these fre quent escapes to the only natural cause which can account for such effect. I must suppose the ship to be within the influence of some strong current, or impetuous undertow.
I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own cabin — but, as I expected, he paid me no attention. Although in his appearance there is, to a casual ob server, nothing which might bespeak him more or less than man, still, a feeling of irrepressible rever ence and awe mingled with the sensation of wonder with which I regarded him. In stature, he is nearly my own height ; that is, about five feet eight inches. He is of a well-knit and compact frame of body,
MS. Found in a Bottle 363
neither robust nor remarkable otherwise. But it is the singularity of the expression which reigns upon the face — it is the intense, the wonderful, the thrill ing evidence of old age so utter, so extreme, which excites within my spirit a sense — a sentiment ineffa ble. His forehead, although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the stamp of a myriad of years. His gray hairs are records of the past, and his grayer eyes are sibyls of the future. The cabin floor was thickly strewn with strange, iron-clasped folios, and mouldering instruments of science, and obsolete, long-forgotten charts. His head was bowed down upon his hands, and he pored, with a fiery, unquiet eye, over a paper which I took to be a commission, and which, at all events, bore the signature of a mon arch. He murmured to himself — as did the first seaman whom I saw in the hold — some low peevish syllables of a foreign tongue; and although the speaker was close at my elbow, his voice seemed to reach my ears from the distance of a mile.
The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of Eld. The crew glide to and fro like the ghosts of buried centuries ; their eyes have an eager and uneasy meaning; and when their figures fall athwart my path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I feel as I have never felt before, although I have been all my life a dealer in antiquities, and have imbibed the
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shadows of fallen columns at Balbec, and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has become a ruin.
When I look around me, I feel ashamed of my former apprehension. If I trembled at the blast which has hitherto attended us, shall I not stand aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey any idea of which the words tornado and simoon are trivial and ineffective? All in the immediate vicin ity of the ship is the blackness of eternal night, and a chaos of foamless water; but, about a league on either side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at in tervals, stupendous ramparts of ice, towering away into the desolate sky, and looking like the walls of the universe.
As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current — if that appellation can properly be given to a tide which, howling and shrieking by the white ice, thun ders on to the southward with a velocity like the headlong dashing of a cataract.
To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I pre sume, utterly impossible ; yet a curiosity to penetrate the mysteries of these awful regions predominates even over my despair, and will reconcile me to the most hideous aspect of death. It is evident that we are hurrying onward to some exciting knowledge — some never-to-be-imparted secret, whose attainment
MS. Found in a Bottle 365
is destruction. Perhaps this current leads us to the southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a sup position apparently so wild has every probability in its favor.
The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremu lous step ; but there is upon their countenance and ex pression more of the eagerness of hope than of the apathy of despair.
In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and, as we carry a crowd of canvas, the ship is at times lifted bodily from out the sea! Oh, horror upon horror ! — the ice opens suddenly to the right, and to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense con centric circles, round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre, the summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance. But little time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny ! The cir cles rapidly grow small — we are plunging madly within the grasp of the whirlpool — and amid a roar ing, and bellowing, and thundering of ocean and tempest, the ship is quivering — oh God ! and — going down!
Note.— The "MS. Found in a Bottle" was originally pub lished in 1831, and it was not until many years afterward that I became acquainted with the maps of Mercator, in which the ocean is represented as rushing, by four mouths, into the (northern) Polar Gulf, to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth; the Pole itself being represented by a black rock, towering to a prodigious height.
THE OVAL PORTRAIT
THE chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of com mingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a re mote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multi form armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque. In these paint ings, which depended from the walls not only in their main surfaces, but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered nec essary — in these paintings my incipient delirium, per haps, had caused me to take deep interest ; so that I bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room — since it was already night — to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which stood by the head of my (366)
The Oval Portrait 367
bed, and to throw open far and wide the fringed cur tains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe them.
Long, long I read — and devoutly, devoutly I gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The position of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumber ing valet, I placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.
But the action produced an effect altogether un anticipated. The rays of the numerous candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the bedposts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It was the por trait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then closed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception. But while my lids re mained thus shut, I ran over in mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to gain time for thought — to make sure that my vis ion had not deceived me — to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze. In
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a very few moments I again looked fixedly at the painting.
That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt ; for the first flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at once into waking life.
The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It was a mere head and shoulders, done in what is technically termed a vignette manner; much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully. The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair melted inperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the background of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded and filigreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself. But it could have been neither the execution of the work, nor the im mortal beauty of the countenance, which had so sud denly and so vehemently moved me. Least of all, could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at once that the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea — must have prevented even its momentary entertainment. Think ing earnestly upon these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At length, satisfied
The Oval Portrait 369
with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the bed. I had found the spell of the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which, at first startling, finally confounded, subdued, and appalled me. With deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former position. The cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume which discussed the paint ings and their histories. Turning to the number which designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and quaint words which follow :
"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and having al ready a bride in his Art: she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young fawn ; loving and cherishing all things ; hating only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which de prived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride. But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and
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from day to day. And he was a passionate, and wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries ; so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret withered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplain ingly, because she saw that the painter (who had high renown) took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dis pirited and weak. And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from the canvas rarely, even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he would not see that the tints which he spread up'on the can vas were drawn from the cheeks of her who sat be side him. And when many weeks had passed, and but little remained to do, save one brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one moment, the painter stood entranced before the work which he
The Oval Portrait 371
had wrought; but in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, This is indeed Life itself!' turned suddenly to regard his beloved: — She was 'dead!"
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