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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe
Volume 1
By
Edgar Allan Poe
VOLUME I
Contents:
Edgar Allan Poe,=
An
Appreciation Life of Poe=
, by
James Russell Lowell Death of Po=
e, by
N. P. Willis The Unparal=
leled
Adventures of One Hans Pfall The Gold Bu=
g Four Beasts=
in
One T=
he
Murders in the Rue Morgue The Mystery=
of
Marie Rogêt The Balloon=
Hoax MS. Found i=
n a
Bottle The
Oval Portrait
EDGAR ALLAN POE - AN APPRECIATI=
ON
Caught from some unhappy mas=
ter
whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and follo=
wed
faster till his songs one burden bore-- Till the dirges of his =
Hope
that melancholy burden bore =
Of
"never--never more!"
THIS stanza =
from
"The Raven" was recommended by James Russell Lowell as an inscrip=
tion
upon the Baltimore monument which marks the resting place of Edgar Allan Po=
e,
the most interesting and original figure in American letters. And, to signi=
fy
that peculiar musical quality of Poe's genius which inthralls every reader,=
Mr.
Lowell suggested this additional verse, from the "Haunted Palace"=
:
And all with pearl and ruby
glowing Was=
the
fair palace door, Through which came flow=
ing,
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, October 7, 1849, his
whole literary career of scarcely fifteen years a pitiful struggle for mere
subsistence, his memory malignantly misrepresented by his earliest biograph=
er,
Griswold, how completely has truth at last 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 tha=
n a
year later his brother poet, N. P. Willis, issued this touching appeal to t=
he
admirers of genius on behalf of the neglected author, his dying wife and her
devoted mother, then living under very straitened circumstances in a little
cottage at Fordham, 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 country, whose tempo=
rary
suspension of labor, from bodily illness, drops him immediately to a level =
with
the common objects of public charity. There is no intermediate stopping-pla=
ce,
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 "Ligeia"; such fascinating hoaxes as
"The Unparalleled Adventure of Hans Pfaall," "MSS. Found in =
a Bottle,"
"A Descent Into a Maelstrom" and "The Balloon Hoax"; su=
ch
tales of conscience as "William Wilson," "The Black Cat"
and "The Tell-tale Heart," wherein the retributions of remorse are
portrayed with an awful fidelity; such tales of natural beauty as "The
Island of the Fay" and "The Domain of Arnheim"; such marvell=
ous
studies in ratiocination 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 capability of correctly analyzing the mysteries of the human mind;
such tales of illusion and banter as "The Premature Burial" and
"The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether"; such bits of extra=
vaganza
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 admirat=
ion
of Charles Dickens, although they made him many enemies among the over-puff=
ed
minor American 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 enchan=
ted
domain of wonder-pieces! What an atmosphere of beauty, music, color! What r=
esources
of imagination, construction, analysis and absolute art! One might almost
sympathize with Sarah Helen Whitman, who, confessing to a half faith in the=
old
superstition of the significance of anagrams, found, in the transposed lett=
ers
of Edgar Poe's name, the words "a God-peer." His mind, she says, =
was
indeed a "Haunted Palace," echoing to the footfalls of angels and
demons.
"No
man," Poe himself wrote, "has recorded, no man has dared to recor=
d, the
wonders of his inner life."
In these
twentieth century days--of lavish recognition--artistic, popular and
material--of genius, what rewards might not a Poe claim!
Edgar's fath=
er,
a son of General David Poe, the American revolutionary patriot and friend of
Lafayette, had married Mrs. Hopkins, an English actress, and, the match mee=
ting
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 existence. 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 glimmer=
s of
sunshine were to illumine his life, for the little fellow was adopted by Jo=
hn
Allan, a wealthy merchant of Richmond, Va. A brother and sister, the remain=
ing
children, were cared for by others.
In his new h=
ome
Edgar found all the luxury and advantages money could provide. He was pette=
d,
spoiled and shown off to strangers. In Mrs. Allan he found all the affectio=
n a
childless wife could bestow. Mr. Allan took much pride in the captivating,
precocious lad. At the age of five the boy recited, with fine effect, passa=
ges
of English poetry to the visitors at the Allan house.
From his eig=
hth
to his thirteenth year he attended the Manor House school, at Stoke-Newingt=
on,
a suburb of London. It was the Rev. Dr. Bransby, head of the school, whom P=
oe
so quaintly portrayed in "William Wilson." Returning to Richmond =
in
1820 Edgar was sent to the school of Professor 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 excel. 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 University of Virginia at Charlottesville. He left
that institution after one session. Official records prove that he was not
expelled. On the contrary, he gained a creditable record as a student, alth=
ough
it is admitted that he contracted debts and had "an ungovernable passi=
on
for card-playing." These debts may have led to his quarrel with Mr. Al=
lan
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 under the title
"Tamerlane and Other Poems." In 1829 we find Poe in Baltimore with
another manuscript 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 M=
rs.
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 attached to cadet life in Poe's eyes was speedily lo=
st,
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 himself free. Mr. Allan's second marriage had thrown the la=
d on
his own resources. His literary career was to begin.
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 winning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a volum=
e.
"Our only difficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "=
;was
in selecting from the rich contents of the volume."
During the
fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connected with various newspapers
and magazines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New York. He was faithful,
punctual, industrious, thorough. N. P. Willis, who for some time employed P=
oe
as critic and sub-editor on the "Evening Mirror," wrote thus:
"With t=
he
highest admiration for Poe's genius, and a willingness to let it alone 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
difficulty. Time went on, however, and he was invariably punctual and
industrious. We saw but one presentiment of the man-a quiet, patient,
industrious and most gentlemanly person.
"We hea=
rd,
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 natu=
re
was reversed, the demon became uppermost, and, though none of the usual sig=
ns
of intoxication 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 reside=
nt
of Richmond and a regular contributor to the "Southern Literary
Messenger." It was not until a year later that the bride and her widow=
ed
mother followed him thither.
Poe's devoti=
on
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 husb=
and
and mother were to secure for her all the comfort and happiness their slend=
er
means permitted. Virginia 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 impart 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, the last year of his
life, tell of his sorrow at the loss of his child-wife:
I was a child an=
d she
was a child, In a
kingdom by the sea;
But we loved wit=
h a
love that was more than love-- I and
my Annabel Lee;
With a love that=
the
winged seraphs of heaven Covet=
ed her
and me. And
this was the reason that, long ago; In th=
is
kingdom by the sea. A wind blew=
out
of a cloud, chilling My
beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high=
-born
kinsmen came And b=
ore
her away from me, To shut her=
up in
a sepulchre In th=
is
kingdom by the sea,
Poe was connected at various times =
and in
various capacities with the "Southern Literary Messenger" in Rich=
mond,
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! T=
wo
years later his salary was but
600 a year. =
Even
in 1844, when his literary reputation was established securely, he wrote to=
a
friend expressing his pleasure because a magazine to which he was to contri=
bute
had agreed to pay him
20 monthly f=
or
two pages of criticism.
Those were
discouraging times in American literature, but Poe never lost faith. He was
finally to triumph wherever pre-eminent talents win admirers. His genius has
had no better description than in this stanza from William Winter's poem, r=
ead
at the dedication exercises of the Actors' Monument 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=
eaves
wherein earth's thunders groan, Wild as the
tempests of the upper sky, Sweet as the
faint, far-off celestial tone of angel =
whispers,
fluttering from on high, And tender =
as
love's tear when youth and beauty die.
In the two and a half score years t=
hat
have elapsed since Poe's death he has come fully into his own. For a while
Griswold's malignant misrepresentations 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 i=
s seen
as he actually was-not as a man without failings, it is true, but as the fi=
nest
and most original genius in American letters. As the years go on his fame
increases. His works have been translated into many foreign languages. His =
is a
household name in France and England-in fact, the latter 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.
=
&nb=
sp; =
W. H. R.
EDGAR ALLAN POE - By James Russ=
ell
Lowell
THE situation of American literatur=
e is
anomalous. 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 a's may be to the
centre of the land, and seeming rather to tell a legend of former usefulness
than to serve any present need. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, each has it=
s literature
almost more distinct than those of the different dialects of Germany; and t=
he
Young Queen of the West has also one of her own, of which some articulate r=
umor
barely has reached us dwellers by the Atlantic.
Perhaps ther=
e 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 seduces the iron stylus of justice into a
vague flourish, that she writes what seems rather like an epitaph than a
criticism. Yet if praise be given as an alms, we could not drop so poisonou=
s 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 hidi=
ng
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 a=
t 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 recei=
ved
a classical education in England, he returned home and entered the Universi=
ty
of Virginia, where, after an extravagant course, followed 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 e=
nded
at St. Petersburg, where he got into difficulties through want of a passpor=
t,
from which he was rescued by the American consul and sent home. He now ente=
red
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 authorship for a support.
Previously to this, however, 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 distinction in the minds of many competent judges.
That no cert=
ain
augury can be drawn from a poet's earliest lispings there are instances eno=
ugh
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 overflowi=
ng
moral of his maturer works. Perhaps, however, Shakespeare is hardly a case =
in point,
his "Venus and Adonis" having been published, we believe, in his =
twenty-sixth
year. Milton'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 vigor=
ous
and original genius which he afterward displayed. We have never thought that
the world lost more in the "marvellous boy," Chatterton, than a v=
ery
ingenious imitator of obscure and antiquated dulness. Where he becomes orig=
inal
(as it is called), the interest of ingenuity ceases and he becomes stupid.
Kirke White's promises were indorsed 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 the drowning pertinacity of Watts; neither h=
ave
they the interest of his occasional simple, lucky beauty. Burns having
fortunately been rescued by his humble station from the contaminating socie=
ty
of the "Best models," wrote well and naturally from the first. Ha=
d he
been unfortunate enough to have had an educated taste, we should have had a
series of poems from which, as from his letters, we could sift here and the=
re a
kernel from the mass of chaff. Coleridge's youthful efforts give no promise
whatever of that poetical genius which produced at once the wildest, tender=
est,
most original and most purely imaginative poems of modern times. Byron's &q=
uot;Hours
of Idleness" would never find a reader except 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 au=
gury
might have been drawn. They show the patient investigator, the close studen=
t of
history, and the unwearied explorer of the beauties of predecessors, but th=
ey
give no assurances of a man who should add aught to stock of household word=
s,
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 t=
hat ethereal
sublimation in which the spirit seems to soar above the regions of words, b=
ut
leaves its body, the verse, to be entombed, without hope of resurrection, i=
n a
mass of them. Cowley is generally instanced as a wonder of precocity. But h=
is
early insipidities 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 memory. An ea=
rly
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 wor=
th 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 ea=
rly
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
remarkable boyish poems that we have ever read. We know of none that can
compare with them for maturity of purpose, and a nice understanding of the
effects of language and metre. Such pieces are only valuable when they disp=
lay
what we can only express by the contradictory phrase of innate experience. =
We
copy one of the shorter poems, written when the author was only fourteen. T=
here
is a little dimness in the filling up, but the grace and symmetry of the ou=
tline
are such as few poets ever attain. There is a smack of ambrosia about it.
TO HELEN
Helen, thy beaut=
y 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 sea=
s long
wont to roam, Thy
hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad a=
irs
have brought me home To
the glory that was Greece And the gra=
ndeur
that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brill=
iant
window-niche How
statue-like I see thee stand! The agate l=
amp
within thy hand, Ah!
Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy La=
nd!
It is the tendency of the young poe=
t 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
arithmetically upon the tips of the fingers. 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 follow=
ing exquisite
picture:
Lige=
ia!
Ligeia! My
beautiful one, Whose
harshest idea Will to mel=
ody
run, Say,
is it thy will, On the bree=
zes to
toss, Or,
capriciously still, Like the lo=
ne
albatross, Incumbent
on night, As she on t=
he
air, To
keep watch with delight On the harm=
ony
there?
John Neal,
himself a man of genius, and whose lyre has been too long capriciously sile=
nt,
appreciated the high merit of these and similar passages, and drew a proud
horoscope for their author.
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 a=
ware
of its presence and its power. Let talent writhe and contort itself as it m=
ay,
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 hersel=
f,
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 nobl=
er
for the sublime 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 unenthusiastic, nor w=
ill
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 posses=
sed
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 vei=
l 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 reverence for the trust reposed in him, to achieve the
proudest triumphs and the greenest laurels. If we may believe the Longinuse=
s;
and Aristotles of our newspapers, we have quite too many geniuses of the
loftiest order to render a place among them at all desirable, whether for i=
ts
hardness of attainment or its seclusion. The highest peak of our Parnassus =
is, according
to 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 asser=
ts,
a necessary 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 tale=
s,
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 standard. But, in
estimating the amount of power displayed in his works, we must be governed =
by
his own design, and placing them by the side of his own ideal, find how muc=
h 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 guide. The temple of the
god of song 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 confin=
es
of superstition and unreality. He combines in a very remarkable manner two
faculties which are seldom found united; a power of influencing the mind of=
the
reader by the impalpable shadows of mystery, and a minuteness of detail whi=
ch
does not leave a pin or a button unnoticed. Both are, in truth, the natural
results of the predominating quality of his mind, to which we have before
alluded, analysis. It is this which distinguishes the artist. His mind at o=
nce reaches
forward 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
common centre. Even his mystery is mathematical to his own mind. To him X i=
s 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 formless the shadows, to him the outline is as clear and dist=
inct
as that of a geometrical diagram. For this reason Mr. Poe has no sympathy w=
ith 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 g=
et a
rainbow edging from it. Mr. Poe, on the other hand, is a spectator ab extra=
. He
analyzes, he dissects, he watches
"with an eye serene, The very pu=
lse of
the machine,"
for such it practically is to him, =
with
wheels and cogs and piston-rods, all working to produce a certain end.
This analyzi=
ng
tendency of his mind balances the poetical, and by giving him the patience =
to
be minute, 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 ramifications of its
roots. In raising images of horror, also, he has strange success, conveying=
to
us sometimes 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 un=
seen,
save to the eye of mind."
Besides the =
merit
of conception, Mr. Poe's writings 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 example of his st=
yle
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 ha=
s a
singular charm for us, and we think that no one could read it without being
strongly moved by its serene and sombre beauty. Had its author written noth=
ing
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 resorted to the vague and the unreal as
sources of effect. They have not used dread and horror alone, but only in
combination with other qualities, as means of subjugating the fancies of th=
eir
readers. The loftiest muse has ever a household and fireside charm about he=
r.
Mr. Poe's secret lies mainly in the skill with which he has employed the
strange fascination of mystery and terror. In this his success 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 mer=
it
of construction.
As a critic,=
Mr.
Poe was aesthetically deficient. Unerring in his analysis of dictions, metr=
es
and plots, he seemed wanting in the faculty of perceiving the profounder et=
hics
of art. His criticisms are, however, distinguished for scientific precision=
and
coherence of logic. They have the exactness, and at the same time, the cold=
ness
of mathematical demonstrations. Yet they stand in strikingly refreshing
contrast with the vague generalisms and sharp personalities of the day. If
deficient in warmth, they are also without the heat of partisanship. They a=
re 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 Mr. Poe has attained an individual eminence =
in
our literature which he will keep. He has given proof of power and original=
ity.
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 antagonist=
ic
spirits imprisoned 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 generally 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 several 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 b=
ut
erratic stars.
"His
conversation was at times almost supramortal 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 quickened 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 defined, 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 gloomi=
est
and ghastliest grandeur, or in those of the most airy and delicious beauty,=
so
minutely and distinctly, yet so rapidly, that the attention which was yield=
ed 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 existe=
nce,
by vulgar 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
creatures 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
passionate prayer (never for himself, for he felt, or professed to feel, th=
at
he was already damned, but) for their happiness who at the moment were obje=
cts
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 stor=
ms,
and all night, with drenched garments and arms beating the winds and rains,=
would
speak as if 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 g=
ates
opened to receive the less fiery and more happy natures whose destiny to sin
did not involve the doom of death.
"He see=
med,
except when some fitful pursuit subjugated his will and engrossed his
faculties, always to bear the memory of some controlling sorrow. The remark=
able
poem of 'The Raven' was probably much more nearly than has been supposed, e=
ven
by those who were very intimate with him, a reflection and an echo of his o=
wn
history. He was that bird's
"'Unhappy m=
aster
whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fa=
st and
followed faster till his songs one burden bore-- Till the di=
rges
of his Hope that melancholy burden bore =
Of
'Never-never more.'
"Every genuine author in a gre=
ater
or less degree leaves in his works, whatever their design, traces of his
personal character: elements of his immortal 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 invests one, and in the subtle metaphysical analysis of both, indicat=
ions
of the idiosyncrasies of what was most remarkable and peculiar in the autho=
r's intellectual
nature. But we see here only the better phases of his nature, only the symb=
ols
of his juster action, for his harsh experience had deprived him of all fait=
h in
man or woman. He had made up his mind upon the numberless complexities of t=
he
social world, and the whole system with him was an imposture. This convicti=
on
gave a direction to his shrewd and naturally unamiable character. Still, th=
ough
he regarded society as composed altogether of villains, the sharpness of hi=
s 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 w=
as
in many respects like Francis Vivian in Bulwer's novel of 'The Caxtons.'
Passion, in him, comprehended--many of the worst emotions which militate
against human happiness. You could not contradict him, but you raised quick
choler; you could not speak of wealth, but his cheek paled with gnawing env=
y.
The astonishing natural advantages of this poor boy--his beauty, his readin=
ess,
the daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere--had rai=
sed
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 varnished over
with a cold, repellant cynicism, his passions vented themselves in sneers.
There seemed to him no moral susceptibility; and, what was more remarkable =
in a
proud nature, little or nothing of the true point of honor. He had, to a mo=
rbid
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 sh=
ine,
not serve--succeed, that he might have the right to despise a world which g=
alled
his self-conceit.
"We have
suggested the influence of his aims and vicissitudes upon his literature. It
was more conspicuous 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-w=
as
in some sense biographical; in draperies of his imagination, those who had
taken the trouble to trace his steps, could perceive, but slightly conceale=
d,
the figure of himself."
Apropos of t=
he
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 empl=
oyed
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 Ford=
ham,
a few miles out of town, but was at his desk in the office, from nine in the
morning till the evening paper went to press. With the highest admiration f=
or
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 difficult=
y.
Time went on, however, and he was invariably punctual and industrious. With=
his
pale, beautiful, 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 i=
n a
criticism, or that he would erase a passage colored too highly with his
resentments against society and mankind, he readily and courteously
assented-far more yielding than most men, we 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,
patient, 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 freque=
ntly
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, suc=
h 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 irreg=
ularities),
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 reasoning faculties in
excited activity, at such times, and seeking his acquaintances with his won=
ted
look and memory, he easily seemed personating only another phase of his nat=
ural
character, and was accused, accordingly, of insulting arrogance and
bad-heartedness. In this reversed character, we repeat, it was never our ch=
ance
to see him. We know it from hearsay, and we mention it in connection with t=
his
sad infirmity of physical constitution; which puts it upon very nearly the =
ground
of a temporary and almost irresponsible insanity.
The arroganc=
e,
vanity, and depravity of heart, of which Mr. Poe was generally accused, see=
m 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 irreconcila=
ble
with his better nature; but, when himself, and as we knew him only, his mod=
esty
and unaffected humility, as to his own deservings, were a constant charm to=
his
character. His letters, of which the constant application for autographs 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 instance, he speaks of "The
Raven"--that extraordinary poem which electrified the world of imagina=
tive
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 wi=
th
which we had prefaced it in this paper.--It will throw light on his sane
character to give a literal copy of the note:
=
&nb=
sp;
"FORDHAM, A=
pril
20, 1849
"My DEAR WILLIS--The poem whic=
h 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 writ=
e,
now and then. It pays well as times go-but unquestionably it ought to pay t=
en
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 to=
mb,
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 say 'From the ----, th=
at
would be too bad; and, perhaps, 'From a late ---- paper,' would do.
"I have=
not
forgotten how a 'good word in season' from you made 'The Raven,' and made
'Ulalume' (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 lin=
es
if they please you.
=
&nb=
sp;
"Truly yours ever,
=
&nb=
sp;
"EDGAR A. POE."
In double proof of his earnest
disposition to do the best for himself, and of the trustful and grateful na=
ture
which has been denied him, we give another of the only three of his notes w=
hich
we chance to retain:
=
&nb=
sp;
"FORDHAM, January 22, 1848.
"My DEAR MR. WILLIS--I am abou=
t to
make an effort at re-establishing myself in the literary world, and feel th=
at I
may depend upon your aid.
"My gen=
eral
aim is to start a Magazine, to be called 'The Stylus,' but it would be usel=
ess
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 hundred 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 Lib=
rary,
on Thursday, the 3d of February, and, that there may be no cause of squabbl=
ing,
my 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 suggestio=
ns
of your own tact and generosity. Gratefully, most gratefully,
=
&nb=
sp;
"Your friend always,
=
&nb=
sp;
"EDGAR A. POE."
Brief and chance-taken as these let=
ters
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 capability of cordial and grateful friendship! Such he
assuredly was when sane. Such only he has invariably seemed to us, in all we
have happened personally 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, tha=
n 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, pai=
nted
in sickness, of a man we have only known in health.
But there is
another, more touching, and far more forcible evidence that there was goodn=
ess
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 n=
ot a
more needed and immediate 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 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 compelled her taking it upon herself. The
countenance of this lady, made beautiful and saintly with an evidently comp=
lete
giving up of her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness, her gentle and
mournful voice urging its plea, her long-forgotten but habitually and
unconsciously refined manners, and her appealing and yet appreciative menti=
on
of the claims and abilities of her son, disclosed at once the presence of o=
ne
of those angels upon earth that women in adversity can be. It was a hard fa=
te that
she was watching over. Mr. Poe wrote with fastidious difficulty, and in a s=
tyle
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 winter, for years, the most touching sigh=
t to
us, in this whole city, has been that tireless minister to genius, thinly a=
nd
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 esca=
pe
her lips that could convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessening o=
f pride
in his genius and good intentions. Her daughter died a year and a half sinc=
e,
but she did not desert him. She continued his ministering angel--living with
him, caring for him, guarding 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 suffering,
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 no=
t a
devotion like this-pure, disinterested and holy as the watch of an invisibl=
e spirit-say
for him who inspired it?
We have a le=
tter
before us, written by this lady, Mrs. Clemm, on the morning in which she he=
ard
of the death of this object of her untiring care. It is merely a request th=
at
we would call upon her, but we will copy a few of its words--sacred as its
privacy 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
circumstances 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 rou=
nd a
grave with respect, what choice is there, between the relinquished wealth a=
nd
honors of the world, and the story of such a woman's unrewarded devotion!
Risking what we do, in delicacy, by making it public, we feel--other reasons
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 sympathy. She is destitute and alone. If an=
y,
far or near, will send to us what may aid and cheer her through the remaind=
er of
her life, we will joyfully place it in her bands.
BY late acco=
unts
from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high state of philosophical
excitement. Indeed, phenomena have there occurred of a nature so completely
unexpected--so entirely novel--so utterly at variance with preconceived
opinions--as to leave no doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is =
in
an uproar, all physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by t=
he
ears.
It appears t=
hat
on the---- day of---- (I am not positive about the date), a vast crowd of
people, for purposes not specifically mentioned, were assembled in the great
square of the Exchange in the well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day w=
as
warm--unusually so for the season--there was hardly a breath of air stirrin=
g;
and the multitude were in no bad humor at being now and then besprinkled wi=
th
friendly showers of momentary duration, that fell from large white masses of
cloud which chequered in a fitful manner the blue vault of the firmament.
Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but remarkable agitation became apparent=
in
the assembly: the clattering of ten thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an
instant 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 environs of
Rotterdam.
The origin of
this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From behind the huge bulk of =
one
of those sharply-defined masses of cloud already mentioned, was seen slowly=
to
emerge into an open area of blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparen=
tly
solid substance, so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not to be=
in
any manner comprehended, and never to be sufficiently admired, by the host =
of
sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it be? In the name=
of
all the vrows and devils in Rotterdam, what could it possibly portend? No o=
ne
knew, no one could imagine; no one--not even the burgomaster Mynheer Superb=
us
Von Underduk--had the slightest clew by which to unravel the mystery; so, a=
s nothing
more reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe careful=
ly
in the corner of his mouth, and cocking up his right eye towards the
phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddled about, and grunted significantly--then
waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally--puffed again.
In the meant=
ime,
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 accurately 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 manufactu=
red
entirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland certainly; yet here, under =
the
very noses of the people, or rather at some distance above their noses was =
the
identical thing in question, and composed, I have it on the best authority,=
of the
precise material which no one had ever before known to be used for a similar
purpose. It was an egregious insult to the 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 foolscap turned
upside down. And this similitude was regarded as by no means lessened when,
upon nearer inspection, there was perceived a large tassel depending from i=
ts
apex, and, around the upper rim or base of the cone, a circle of little
instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a continual tinkling to =
the
tune of Betty Martin. But still worse. Suspended by blue ribbons to the end=
of
this fantastic machine, there hung, by way of car, an enormous drab beaver =
hat,
with a brim superlatively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black band
and a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat remarkable that many citizens=
of
Rotterdam swore to having seen the same hat repeatedly before; and indeed t=
he
whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes of familiarity; while the vrow
Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it, uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise,
and declared it to be the identical hat of her good man himself. Now this w=
as a
circumstance the more to be observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had
actually disappeared from Rotterdam about five years before, in a very sudd=
en
and unaccountable manner, and up to the date of this narrative all attempts=
had
failed of obtaining any intelligence concerning them whatsoever. 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 t=
he
east of Rotterdam, and some people went so far as to imagine that in this s=
pot
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 ear=
th,
allowing the crowd below a sufficiently distinct view of the person of its
occupant. This was in truth a very droll little somebody. He could not have
been more than two feet in height; but this altitude, little as it was, wou=
ld
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 a=
s the
breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon. The body of the little m=
an
was more than proportionately broad, giving to his entire figure a rotundity
highly absurd. His feet, of course, could not be seen at all, although a ho=
rny
substance of suspicious nature was occasionally protruded through a rent in=
the
bottom of the car, or to speak more properly, in the top of the hat. His ha=
nds
were enormously large. His hair was extremely gray, and collected in a cue
behind. His nose was prodigiously long, crooked, and inflammatory; his eyes
full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks, although wrinkled with age,
were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any kind or character there w=
as
not a semblance to be discovered upon any portion of his head. This odd lit=
tle gentleman
was dressed in a loose surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breeches to ma=
tch,
fastened with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was of some bright yell=
ow
material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his head; and=
, to
complete his equipment, a blood-red silk handkerchief enveloped his throat,=
and
fell down, in a dainty manner, upon his bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of
super-eminent dimensions.
Having
descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feet from the surface of =
the
earth, the little old gentleman was suddenly seized with a fit of trepidati=
on,
and appeared disinclined to make any nearer approach to terra firma. Throwi=
ng
out, therefore, a quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which, he lifted with
great difficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then proceeded, in=
a
hurried and agitated manner, to extract from a side-pocket in his surtout a
large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in his hand, then ey=
ed
it with an air of extreme surprise, and was evidently astonished at its wei=
ght.
He at length opened it, and drawing there from a huge letter sealed with red
sealing-wax and tied carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the =
feet
of the burgomaster, Superbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it
up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having apparently no
farther business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at this moment to make b=
usy
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 burgomaster, and
rolled him over and over no less than one-and-twenty times, in the face of
every man in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed, however, that the great
Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the little old man to pa=
ss
off with impunity. It is said, on the contrary, that during each and every =
one
of his one-and twenty circumvolutions he emitted no less than one-and-twenty
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 until the day of h=
is
death.
In the meant=
ime
the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring far away above the city, at len=
gth
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 citize=
ns
of Rotterdam. All attention was now directed to the letter, the descent of
which, and the consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally
subversive of both person and personal dignity to his Excellency, the
illustrious Burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk. That functionary,
however, had not failed, during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a
thought upon the important subject of securing the packet in question, which
was seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the most proper hands, being
actually addressed to himself and Professor Rub-a-dub, in their official ca=
pacities
of President and Vice-President of the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It w=
as
accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to contain=
the
following extraordinary, and indeed very serious, communications.
To their
Excellencies Von Underduk and Rub-a-dub, President and Vice-President of the
States' College of Astronomers, in the city of Rotterdam.
"Your
Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember an humble artizan, 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 ha=
ve
been considered by all parties at once sudden, and extremely unaccountable.=
If,
however, it so please your Excellencies, I, the writer of this communicatio=
n,
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 litt=
le
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 the=
rein
time out of mind--they, as well as myself, steadily following the respectab=
le
and indeed lucrative profession of mending of bellows. For, to speak the tr=
uth,
until of late years, that the heads of all the people have been set agog wi=
th
politics, no better business than my own could an honest citizen of Rotterd=
am
either desire or deserve. Credit was good, employment was never wanting, an=
d on
all hands there was no lack of either money or good-will. But, as I was say=
ing,
we soon began to feel the effects of liberty and long speeches, and radical=
ism,
and all that sort of thing. People who were formerly, the very best custome=
rs
in the world, had now not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had,=
so they
said, as much as they could do to read about the revolutions, and keep up w=
ith
the march of intellect and the spirit of the age. If a fire wanted fanning,=
it
could readily be fanned with a newspaper, and as the government grew weaker=
, I
have no doubt that leather and iron acquired durability in proportion, for,=
in
a very short time, there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam that ev=
er
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, havin=
g a
wife and children to provide for, my burdens at length became intolerable, =
and
I spent hour after hour in reflecting upon the most convenient method of pu=
tting
an end to my life. Duns, in the meantime, left me little leisure for
contemplation. My house was literally besieged from morning till night, so =
that
I began to rave, and foam, and fret like a caged tiger against the bars of =
his
enclosure. 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 internally vowed the bitterest revenge, if ever I
should be so happy as to get them within my clutches; and I believe nothing=
in
the world but the pleasure of this anticipation prevented me from putting my
plan of suicide into immediate execution, by blowing my brains out with a b=
lunderbuss.
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 da=
y,
having given my creditors the slip, and feeling more than usually dejected,=
I
continued for a long time to wander about the most obscure streets without
object whatever, 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 Ber=
lin
or by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name. I had some little tincture of i=
nformation
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 d=
ark,
and I directed my steps toward home. But the treatise had made an indelible
impression on my mind, and, as I sauntered along the dusky streets, I revol=
ved
carefully over in my memory the wild and sometimes unintelligible reasoning=
s of
the writer. There are some particular passages which affected my imaginatio=
n in
a powerful and extraordinary manner. The longer I meditated upon these the =
more
intense grew the interest which had been excited within me. The limited nat=
ure
of my education in general, and more especially my ignorance on subjects
connected with natural philosophy, so far from rendering me diffident of my=
own
ability to comprehend what I had read, or inducing me to mistrust the many
vague notions which had arisen in consequence, merely served as a farther
stimulus to imagination; and I was vain enough, or perhaps reasonable enoug=
h,
to doubt whether those crude ideas which, arising in ill-regulated minds, h=
ave
all the appearance, may not often in effect possess all the force, the real=
ity,
and other inherent properties, of instinct or intuition; whether, to procee=
d a
step farther, profundity itself might not, in matters of a purely speculati=
ve
nature, be detected as a legitimate source of falsity and error. In other
words, I believed, and still do believe, that truth, is frequently of its o=
wn
essence, superficial, and that, in many cases, the depth lies more in the
abysses where we seek her, than in the actual situations wherein she may be
found. Nature herself seemed to afford me corroboration of these ideas. In =
the
contemplation of the heavenly bodies it struck me forcibly that I could not
distinguish a star with nearly as much precision, when I gazed on it with
earnest, direct and undeviating attention, as when I suffered my eye only to
glance in its vicinity alone. I was not, of course, at that time aware that
this apparent paradox was occasioned by the center of the visual area being=
less
susceptible of feeble impressions of light than the exterior portions of the
retina. This knowledge, and some of another kind, came afterwards in the co=
urse
of an eventful five years, during which I have dropped the prejudices of my
former humble situation in life, and forgotten the bellows-mender in far
different occupations. But at the epoch of which I speak, the analogy which=
a
casual observation of a star offered to the conclusions I had already drawn,
struck me with the force of positive conformation, and I then finally made =
up
my mind to the course which I afterwards pursued.
"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 morning, and contriving again to escape the vigilance =
of
my creditors, I repaired eagerly to the bookseller's stall, and laid out wh=
at
little ready money I possessed, in the purchase of some volumes of Mechanics
and Practical Astronomy. Having arrived at home safely with these, I devoted
every spare moment to their perusal, and soon made such proficiency in stud=
ies
of this nature as I thought sufficient for the execution of my plan. In the=
intervals
of this period, I made every endeavor to conciliate the three creditors who=
had
given me so much annoyance. In this I finally succeeded--partly by selling
enough of my household furniture to satisfy a moiety of their claim, and pa=
rtly
by a promise of paying the balance upon completion of a little project whic=
h 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 diffic=
ulty
in gaining them over to my purpose.
"Matters
being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid of my wife and with the greate=
st
secrecy and caution, to dispose of what property I had remaining, and to
borrow, in small sums, under various pretences, and without paying any
attention to my future means of repayment, no inconsiderable quantity of re=
ady
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 orde=
r;
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 me=
thod
of proceeding. In the meantime I worked up the twine into a net-work of
sufficient dimensions; rigged it with a hoop and the necessary cords; bough=
t a
quadrant, a compass, a spy-glass, a common barometer with some important
modifications, and two astronomical instruments not so generally known. I t=
hen
took opportunities of conveying by night, to a retired situation east of
Rotterdam, five iron-bound casks, to contain about fifty gallons each, and =
one
of a larger size; six tinned ware 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. The secret I would make no difficulty in disclosing, but t=
hat
it of right belongs to a citizen of Nantz, in France, by whom it was
conditionally communicated to myself. The same individual submitted to me,
without being at all aware of my intentions, a method of constructing ballo=
ons
from the membrane of a certain animal, through which substance any escape of
gas was nearly an impossibility. I found it, however, altogether too expens=
ive,
and was not sure, upon the whole, whether cambric muslin with a coating of =
gum
caoutchouc, was not equally as good. I mention this circumstance, because I
think it probable that hereafter the individual in question may attempt a
balloon ascension with the novel gas and material I have spoken of, and I do
not wish to deprive him of the honor of a very singular invention.
"On the
spot which I intended each of the smaller casks to occupy respectively duri=
ng
the inflation of the balloon, I privately dug a hole two feet deep; the hol=
es
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 ho=
le
three feet in depth. In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited a canis=
ter
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 i=
n a
proper manner with covered trains; and having let into one of the canisters=
the
end of about four feet of slow match, I covered up the hole, and placed the
cask over it, leaving the other end of the match protruding about an inch, =
and
barely visible beyond the cask. I then filled up the remaining holes, and
placed the barrels over them in their destined situation.
"Besides
the articles above enumerated, I conveyed to the depot, and there secreted,=
one
of M. Grimm's improvements upon the apparatus for condensation of the
atmospheric air. I found this machine, however, to require considerable
alteration before it could be adapted to the purposes to which I intended
making it applicable. But, with severe labor and unremitting perseverance, =
I at
length met with entire success in all my preparations. My balloon was soon
completed. It would contain more than forty thousand cubic feet of gas; wou=
ld
take me up easily, I calculated, with all my implements, and, if I managed
rightly, with one hundred and seventy-five pounds of ballast into the barga=
in.
It had received three coats of varnish, and I found the cambric muslin to a=
nswer
all the purposes of silk itself, quite as strong and a good deal less
expensive.
"Everyt=
hing
being now ready, I exacted from my wife an oath of secrecy in relation to a=
ll
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 g=
ave
her what little money I had left, and bade her farewell. Indeed I had no fe=
ar
on her account. She was what people call a notable woman, and could manage
matters in the world without my assistance. I believe, to tell the truth, s=
he
always looked upon me as an idle boy, 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 nig=
ht
when I bade her good-bye, and taking with me, as aides-de-camp, the three
creditors who had given me so much trouble, we carried the balloon, with the
car and accoutrements, by a roundabout way, to the station where the other
articles were deposited. We there found them all unmolested, and I proceeded
immediately to business.
"It was=
the
first of April. The night, as I said 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 concerning the balloon, which, in s=
pite
of the varnish with which it was defended, began to grow rather heavy with =
the
moisture; the powder also was liable to damage. I therefore kept my three d=
uns
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 dissatisfaction at the terrible labor I made them undergo. T=
hey
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 incantation=
s. 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 t=
hat,
in short, what I was now doing was nothing better than it should be. I was,
therefore, in great fear of their leaving me altogether. I contrived, howev=
er,
to pacify them by promises of payment of all scores in full, as soon as I c=
ould
bring the present business to a termination. To these speeches they gave, o=
f course,
their own interpretation; fancying, no doubt, that at all events I should c=
ome
into possession of vast quantities of ready money; and provided I paid them=
all
I owed, and a trifle more, in consideration of their services, I dare say t=
hey
cared very little what became of either my soul or my carcass.
"In abo=
ut
four hours and a half I found the balloon sufficiently inflated. I attached=
the
car, therefore, and put all my implements in it--not forgetting the condens=
ing
apparatus, a copious supply of water, and a large quantity of provisions, s=
uch
as pemmican, in which much nutriment is contained in comparatively little b=
ulk.
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 light=
ed
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, whose end, as I said
before, protruded a very 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, carrying with all ea=
se
one hundred and seventy-five pounds of leaden ballast, and able to have car=
ried
up as many more.
"Scarce=
ly,
however, had I attained the height of fifty yards, when, roaring and rumbli=
ng
up after me in the most horrible and tumultuous manner, came so dense a
hurricane of fire, and smoke, and sulphur, and legs and arms, and gravel, a=
nd
burning wood, and blazing metal, that my very heart sunk within me, and I f=
ell
down in the bottom of the car, trembling with unmitigated terror. Indeed, I=
now
perceived that I had entirely overdone the business, and that the main
consequences of the shock were yet to be experienced. Accordingly, in less =
than
a second, I felt all the blood in my body rushing to my temples, and
immediately thereupon, a concussion, which I shall never forget, burst abru=
ptly
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 extreme
violence of the explosion, as regarded myself, to its proper cause--my
situation directly above it, and in the line of its greatest power. But at =
the time,
I thought only of preserving my life. The balloon at first collapsed, then
furiously expanded, then whirled round and round with horrible velocity, and
finally, reeling and staggering like a drunken man, hurled me with great fo=
rce
over the rim of the car, and left me dangling, at a terrific height, with my
head downward, and my face outwards, by a piece of slender cord about three
feet in length, which hung accidentally through a crevice near the bottom o=
f the
wicker-work, and in which, as I fell, my left foot became most providential=
ly
entangled. It is impossible--utterly impossible--to form any adequate idea =
of
the horror of my situation. I gasped convulsively for breath--a shudder
resembling a fit of the ague agitated every nerve and muscle of my frame--I
felt my eyes starting from their sockets--a horrible nausea overwhelmed me-=
-and
at length I fainted away.
"How lo=
ng I
remained in this state it is impossible to say. It must, however, have been=
no
inconsiderable time, for when I partially recovered the sense of existence,=
I
found the day breaking, the balloon at a prodigious height over a wildernes=
s of
ocean, and not a trace of land to be discovered far and wide within the lim=
its
of the vast horizon. My sensations, however, upon thus recovering, were by =
no
means so rife with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed, there was =
much
of incipient madness in the calm survey which I began to take of my situati=
on.
I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one after the other, and wondered wh=
at
occurrence could have given rise to the swelling of the veins, and the horr=
ible
blackness of the fingernails. I afterward carefully examined my head, shaki=
ng
it repeatedly, and feeling it with minute attention, until I succeeded in
satisfying myself that it was not, as I had more than half suspected, larger
than my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt in both my breeches pock=
ets,
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 uneasi=
ness
in the joint of my left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation bega=
n to
glimmer through my mind. But, strange to say! I was neither astonished nor =
horror-stricken.
If I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind of chuckling satisfaction at the
cleverness I was about to display in extricating myself from this dilemma; =
and
I never, for a moment, looked upon my ultimate safety as a question suscept=
ible
of doubt. For a few minutes I remained wrapped in the profoundest meditatio=
n. I
have a distinct recollection of frequently compressing my lips, putting my
forefinger to the side of my nose, and making use of other gesticulations a=
nd
grimaces common to men who, at ease in their arm-chairs, meditate upon matt=
ers
of intricacy or importance. Having, as I thought, sufficiently collected my
ideas, I now, with great caution and deliberation, put my hands behind my b=
ack,
and unfastened the large iron buckle which belonged to the waistband of my
inexpressibles. This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat rusty,
turned with great difficulty on their axis. I brought them, however, after =
some
trouble, at right angles to the body of the buckle, and was glad to find th=
em remain
firm in that position. Holding the instrument thus obtained within my teeth=
, I
now proceeded to untie the knot of my cravat. I had to rest several times
before I could accomplish this manoeuvre, but it was at length accomplished=
. To
one end of the cravat I then made fast the buckle, and the other end I tied,
for greater security, tightly around my wrist. Drawing now my body upwards,
with a prodigious exertion of muscular force, I succeeded, at the very first
trial, in throwing the buckle over the car, and entangling it, as I had
anticipated, in the circular rim of the wicker-work.
"My body
was now inclined towards the side of the car, at an angle of about forty-fi=
ve
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 w=
ith
the plane of the horizon; for the change of situation which I had acquired,=
had
forced the bottom of the car considerably outwards from my position, which =
was
accordingly one of the most imminent and deadly peril. It should be remembe=
red,
however, that when I fell in the first instance, from the car, if I had fal=
len with
my face turned toward the balloon, instead of turned outwardly from it, as =
it
actually was; or if, in the second place, the cord by which I was suspended=
had
chanced to hang over the upper edge, instead of through a crevice near the
bottom of the car,--I say it may be readily conceived that, in either of th=
ese
supposed cases, I should have been unable to accomplish even as much as I h=
ad
now accomplished, and the wonderful adventures of Hans Pfaall would have be=
en
utterly 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, a=
nd
hung for, perhaps, a quarter of an hour in that extraordinary manner, witho=
ut making
the slightest farther exertion whatsoever, and in a singularly tranquil sta=
te
of idiotic enjoyment. But this feeling did not fail to die rapidly away, and
thereunto succeeded horror, and dismay, and a chilling sense of utter
helplessness and ruin. In fact, the blood so long accumulating in the vesse=
ls
of my head and throat, and which had hitherto buoyed up my spirits with mad=
ness
and delirium, had now begun to retire within their proper channels, and the
distinctness which was thus added to my perception of the danger, merely se=
rved
to deprive me of the self-possession and courage to encounter it. But this
weakness was, luckily for me, of no very long duration. In good time came t=
o my
rescue the spirit of despair, and, with frantic cries and struggles, I jerk=
ed
my way bodily upwards, till at length, clutching with a vise-like grip the
long-desired rim, I writhed my person over it, and fell headlong and shudde=
ring
within the car.
"It was=
not
until some time afterward that I recovered myself sufficiently to attend to=
the
ordinary cares of the balloon. I then, however, examined it with attention,=
and
found it, to my great relief, uninjured. My implements were all safe, and,
fortunately, I had lost neither ballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so we=
ll
secured them in their places, that such an accident was entirely out of the
question. Looking at my watch, I found it six o'clock. I was still rapidly =
ascending,
and my barometer gave a present altitude of three and three-quarter miles.
Immediately beneath me in the ocean, lay a small black object, slightly obl=
ong
in shape, seemingly about the size, and in every way bearing a great
resemblance to one of those childish toys called a domino. 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 peril=
ous
voyage. Your Excellencies will bear in mind that distressed circumstances in
Rotterdam had at length driven me to the resolution of committing suicide. =
It
was not, however, that to life itself I had any, positive disgust, but that=
I
was harassed beyond endurance by the adventitious miseries attending my
situation. In this state of mind, wishing to live, yet wearied with life, t=
he
treatise at the stall of the bookseller opened a resource to my imagination=
. I
then finally made up my mind. I determined to depart, yet live--to leave th=
e 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 incontestably full of danger,=
was
not absolutely, to a bold spirit, beyond the confines of the possible.
"The mo=
on's
actual distance from the earth was the first thing to be attended to. Now, =
the
mean or average interval between the centres of the two planets is 59.9643 =
of the
earth's equatorial radii, or only about 237,000 miles. I say the mean or
average interval. But it must be borne in mind that the form of the moon's
orbit being an ellipse of eccentricity amounting to no less than 0.05484 of=
the
major semi-axis of the ellipse itself, and the earth's centre being situate=
d in
its focus, if I could, in any manner, contrive to meet the moon, as it were=
, in
its perigee, the above mentioned distance would be materially diminished. B=
ut,
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 ear=
th,
say 4,000, and the radius of the moon, say 1080, in all 5,080, leaving an
actual interval to be traversed, under average circumstances, of 231,920 mi=
les.
Now this, I reflected, was no very extraordinary distance. Travelling on la=
nd
has been repeatedly accomplished at the rate of thirty miles per hour, and
indeed a much greater speed may be anticipated. But even at this velocity, =
it
would take me no more than 322 days to reach the surface of the moon. There=
were,
however, many particulars inducing me to believe that my average rate of
travelling might possibly very much exceed that of thirty miles per hour, a=
nd,
as these considerations did not fail to make a deep impression upon my mind=
, I
will mention them more fully hereafter.
"The ne=
xt
point to be regarded was a matter of far greater importance. From indicatio=
ns
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 nea=
rly
one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not far from the elevation of Cotop=
axi,
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 tha=
t at
an altitude not exceeding the hundredth part of the earth's diameter--that =
is,
not exceeding eighty miles--the rarefaction would be so excessive that anim=
al
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 th=
at
these latter calculations are founded altogether on our experimental knowle=
dge
of the properties of air, and the mechanical laws regulating its dilation a=
nd
compression, in what may be called, comparatively speaking, the immediate
vicinity of the earth itself; and, at the same time, it is taken for granted
that animal life is and must be essentially incapable of modification at any
given unattainable distance from the surface. Now, all such reasoning and f=
rom such
data must, of course, be simply analogical. The greatest height ever reache=
d by
man was that of 25,000 feet, attained in the aeronautic expedition of Messi=
eurs
Gay-Lussac and Biot. This is a moderate altitude, even when compared with t=
he
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 farther ascension is by no means in propo=
rtion
to the additional height ascended (as may be plainly seen from what has been
stated before), but in a ratio constantly decreasing. It is therefore evide=
nt
that, ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally speaking, arrive at a
limit beyond which no atmosphere is to be found. It must exist, I argued;
although it may exist in a state of infinite rarefaction.
"On the
other hand, I was aware that arguments have not been wanting to prove the
existence of a real and definite limit to the atmosphere, beyond which ther=
e 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 positi=
ve
refutation of their creed, still a point worthy very serious investigation.=
On
comparing the intervals between the successive arrivals of Encke's comet at=
its
perihelion, after giving credit, in the most exact manner, for all the
disturbances due to the attractions of the planets, it appears that the per=
iods
are gradually diminishing; that is to say, the major axis of the comet's el=
lipse
is growing 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 come=
t's
velocity, increase its centripetal, by weakening its centrifugal force. In
other words, the sun's attraction would be constantly attaining greater pow=
er,
and the comet would be drawn nearer at every revolution. Indeed, there is n=
o other
way of accounting for the variation in question. But again. The real diamet=
er
of the same comet's nebulosity is observed to contract rapidly as it approa=
ches
the sun, and dilate with equal rapidity in its departure towards its apheli=
on.
Was I not justifiable in supposing with M. Valz, that this apparent
condensation of volume has its origin in the compression of the same ethere=
al
medium I have spoken of before, and which is only denser in proportion to i=
ts
solar vicinity? The lenticular-shaped phenomenon, also called the zodiacal
light, was a matter worthy of attention. This radiance, so apparent in the
tropics, and which cannot be mistaken for any meteoric lustre, extends from=
the
horizon obliquely upward, and follows generally the direction of the sun's
equator. It appeared to me evidently in the nature of a rare atmosphere
extending from the sun outward, beyond the orbit of Venus at least, and I
believed indefinitely farther.(*2) Indeed, this medium I could not suppose
confined to the path of the comet's ellipse, or to the immediate neighborho=
od
of the sun. It was easy, on the contrary, to imagine it pervading the entire
regions of our planetary system, condensed into what we call atmosphere at =
the
planets themselves, and perhaps at some of them modified by considerations,=
so
to speak, purely geological.
"Having
adopted this view of the subject, I had little further hesitation. Granting
that on my passage I should meet with atmosphere essentially the same as at=
the
surface of the earth, I conceived that, by means of the very ingenious
apparatus of M. Grimm, I should readily be enabled to condense it in suffic=
ient
quantity for the purposes of respiration. This would remove the chief obsta=
cle
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 forwa=
rd
to its successful application, if I could manage to complete the voyage wit=
hin any
reasonable period. This brings me back to the rate at which it might be
possible to travel.
"It is =
true
that balloons, in the first stage of their ascensions from the earth, are k=
nown
to rise with a velocity comparatively moderate. Now, the power of elevation
lies altogether in the superior lightness of the gas in the balloon compared
with the atmospheric air; and, at first sight, it does not appear probable
that, as the balloon acquires altitude, and consequently arrives successive=
ly
in atmospheric strata of densities rapidly diminishing--I say, it does not
appear at all reasonable that, in this its progress upwards, the original
velocity should be accelerated. On the other hand, I was not aware that, in=
any
recorded ascension, a diminution was apparent in the absolute rate of ascen=
t;
although such should have been the case, if on account of nothing else, on
account of the escape of gas through balloons ill-constructed, and varnished
with no better material than the ordinary varnish. It seemed, therefore, th=
at
the effect of such escape was only sufficient to counterbalance the effect =
of
some accelerating power. I now considered that, provided in my passage I fo=
und
the medium I had imagined, and provided that it should prove to be actually=
and
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 rarefaction partially similar (=
in
proportion to the occurrence of which, I could suffer an escape of so much =
as
would be requisite to prevent explosion), but, being what it was, would, at=
all
events, continue specifically lighter than any compound whatever of mere ni=
trogen
and oxygen. In the meantime, the force of gravitation would be constantly
diminishing, in proportion to the squares of the distances, and thus, with a
velocity prodigiously accelerating, I should at length arrive in those dist=
ant
regions where the force of the earth's attraction would be superseded by th=
at
of the moon. In accordance with these ideas, I did not think it worth while=
to
encumber myself with more provisions than would be sufficient for a period =
of
forty days.
"There =
was
still, however, another difficulty, which occasioned me some little
disquietude. It has been observed, that, in balloon ascensions to any
considerable height, besides the pain attending respiration, great uneasine=
ss
is experienced about the head and body, often accompanied with bleeding at =
the
nose, and other symptoms of an alarming kind, and growing more and more
inconvenient in proportion to the altitude attained.(*3) This was a reflect=
ion
of a nature somewhat startling. Was it not probable that these symptoms wou=
ld
increase indefinitely, or at least until terminated by death itself? I fina=
lly
thought not. Their origin was to be looked for in the progressive removal of
the customary atmospheric pressure upon the surface of the body, and conseq=
uent
distention of the superficial blood-vessels--not in any positive disorganiz=
ation
of the animal system, as in the case of difficulty in breathing, where the
atmospheric density is chemically insufficient for the due renovation of bl=
ood
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 pu=
rely
muscular, and the cause, not the effect, of respiration. In a word, I conce=
ived
that, as the body should become habituated to the want of atmospheric press=
ure,
the sensations of pain would gradually diminish--and to endure them while t=
hey
continued, I relied with confidence upon the iron hardihood of my constitut=
ion.
"Thus, =
may
it please your Excellencies, I have detailed some, though by no means all, =
the
considerations which led me to form the project of a lunar voyage. I shall =
now
proceed to lay before you the result of an attempt so apparently audacious =
in
conception, and, at all events, so utterly unparalleled in the annals of
mankind.
"Having
attained the altitude before 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 necessi=
ty
for discharging any ballast. I was glad of this, for I wished to retain wit=
h me
as much weight as I could carry, for reasons which will be explained in the
sequel. I as yet suffered no bodily inconvenience, breathing with great
freedom, and feeling no pain whatever in the head. The cat was lying very
demurely upon my coat, which I had taken off, and eyeing the pigeons with an
air of nonchalance. These latter being tied by the leg, to prevent their es=
cape,
were busily employed in picking up some grains of rice scattered for them in
the bottom of the car.
"At twe=
nty
minutes past six o'clock, the barometer showed an elevation of 26,400 feet,=
or
five miles to a fraction. The prospect seemed unbounded. Indeed, it is very
easily calculated by means of spherical geometry, what a great extent of the
earth's area I beheld. The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to=
the
entire surface of the sphere itself, as the versed sine of the segment to t=
he
diameter of the sphere. Now, in my case, the versed sine--that is to say, t=
he
thickness of the segment beneath me--was about equal to my elevation, or th=
e elevation
of the point of sight above the surface. 'As five miles, then, to eight
thousand,' would express the proportion of the earth's area seen by me. In
other words, I beheld as much as a sixteen-hundredth part of the whole surf=
ace
of the globe. The sea appeared unruffled as a mirror, although, by means of=
the
spy-glass, I could perceive it to be in a state of violent agitation. The s=
hip
was no longer visible, having drifted away, apparently to the eastward. I n=
ow
began to experience, at intervals, severe pain in the head, especially about
the ears--still, however, breathing with tolerable freedom. The cat and pig=
eons
seemed to suffer no inconvenience whatsoever.
"At twe=
nty
minutes before seven, the balloon entered a long series of dense cloud, whi=
ch
put me to great trouble, by damaging my condensing apparatus and wetting me=
to
the skin. This was, to be sure, a singular recontre, for I had not believed=
it
possible that a cloud of this nature could be sustained at so great an
elevation. I thought it best, however, to throw out two five-pound pieces of
ballast, reserving still a weight of one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Upo=
n so
doing, I soon rose above the difficulty, and perceived immediately, that I =
had
obtained a great increase in my rate of ascent. In a few seconds after my
leaving the cloud, a flash of vivid lightning shot from one end of it to the
other, and caused it to kindle up, throughout its vast extent, like a mass =
of ignited
and glowing 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 within the yawning abysses, letting imagination
descend, as it were, and stalk about in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddy
gulfs, and red ghastly chasms of the hideous and unfathomable fire. I had
indeed made a narrow escape. Had the balloon remained a very short while lo=
nger
within the cloud--that is to say--had not the inconvenience of getting wet,
determined me to discharge the ballast, inevitable ruin would have been the
consequence. Such perils, although little considered, are perhaps the great=
est
which must be encountered in balloons. I had by this time, however, attaine=
d too
great an elevation to be any longer uneasy on this head.
"I was =
now
rising rapidly, and by seven o'clock the barometer indicated an altitude of=
no
less than nine miles and a half. I began to find great difficulty in drawin=
g my
breath. My head, too, was excessively painful; and, having felt for some ti=
me 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 f=
rom
their sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all objects in the car, and =
even
the balloon itself, appeared distorted to my vision. These symptoms were mo=
re
than I had expected, and occasioned me some alarm. At this juncture, very i=
mprudently,
and without consideration, I threw out from the car three five-pound pieces=
of
ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus obtained, carried me too rapid=
ly,
and without sufficient gradation, into a highly rarefied stratum of the
atmosphere, and the result had nearly proved fatal to my expedition and to
myself. I was suddenly seized with a spasm which lasted for more than five
minutes, and even when this, in a measure, ceased, I could catch my breath =
only
at long intervals, and in a gasping manner--bleeding all the while copiousl=
y at
the nose and ears, and even slightly at the eyes. The pigeons appeared
distressed in the extreme, and struggled to escape; while the cat mewed
piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, staggered to and =
fro
in the car as if under the influence of poison. I now too late discovered t=
he
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 i=
n a
few minutes. The physical 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 altogether, and I had already clutched one of the valve ro=
pes
with the view of attempting a descent, when the recollection of the trick I=
had
played the three creditors, and the possible consequences to myself, should=
I
return, operated to deter me for the moment. I lay down in the bottom of the
car, and endeavored to collect my faculties. In this I so far succeeded as =
to
determine upon the experiment of losing blood. Having no lancet, however, I=
was
constrained to perform the operation in the best manner I was able, and fin=
ally
succeeded in opening a vein in my right arm, with the blade of my penknife.=
The
blood had hardly commenced flowing when I experienced a sensible relief, an=
d by
the time I had lost about half a moderate basin full, most of the worst
symptoms had abandoned me entirely. I nevertheless did not think it expedie=
nt
to attempt getting on my feet immediately; but, having tied up my arm as we=
ll
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 b=
een
during the last hour and a quarter of my ascension. The difficulty of
breathing, however, was diminished in a very slight degree, and I found tha=
t 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 opportun=
ity
of my indisposition to bring into light a litter of three little kittens. T=
his
was an addition to the number of passengers on my part altogether unexpecte=
d;
but I was pleased at the occurrence. It would afford me a chance of bringin=
g to
a kind of test the truth of a surmise, which, more than anything else, had
influenced me in attempting this ascension. I had imagined that the habitual
endurance of the atmospheric pressure at the surface of the earth was the
cause, or nearly so, of the pain attending animal existence at a distance a=
bove
the surface. Should the kittens be found to suffer uneasiness 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 eig=
ht
o'clock I had actually attained an elevation of seventeen miles above the
surface of the earth. Thus it seemed to me evident that my rate of ascent w=
as
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 pain=
s in
my head and ears returned, at intervals, with violence, and I still continu=
ed
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 m=
ore
and more difficulty, and each inhalation was attended with a troublesome sp=
asmodic
action of the chest. I now unpacked the condensing apparatus, and got it re=
ady
for immediate use.
"The vi=
ew
of the earth, at this period of my ascension, was beautiful indeed. To the
westward, the northward, and the southward, as far as I could see, lay a
boundless sheet of apparently unruffled ocean, which every moment gained a
deeper and a deeper tint of blue and began already to assume a slight
appearance of convexity. At a vast distance to the eastward, although perfe=
ctly
discernible, extended the islands of Great Britain, the entire Atlantic coa=
sts
of France and Spain, with a small portion of the northern part of the conti=
nent
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 eart=
h.
From the rock of Gibraltar, now dwindled into a dim speck, the dark
Mediterranean sea, dotted with shining islands as the heaven is dotted with
stars, spread itself out to the eastward as far as my vision extended, until
its entire mass of waters seemed at length to tumble headlong over the abys=
s of
the horizon, and I found myself listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the
mighty cataract. Overhead, the sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were
brilliantly visible.
"The
pigeons about this time seeming to undergo much suffering, I determined upon
giving them their liberty. I first untied one of them, a beautiful gray-mot=
tled
pigeon, and placed him upon the rim of the wicker-work. He appeared extreme=
ly
uneasy, looking anxiously around him, fluttering his wings, and making a lo=
ud
cooing noise, but could not be persuaded to trust himself from off the car.=
I
took him up at last, and threw him to about half a dozen yards from the
balloon. He made, however, no attempt to descend as I had expected, but
struggled with great vehemence to get back, uttering at the same time very
shrill and piercing cries. He at length succeeded in regaining his former
station on the rim, but had hardly done so when his head dropped upon his b=
reast,
and he fell dead within the car. The other one did not prove so unfortunate=
. To
prevent his following the example of his companion, and accomplishing a ret=
urn,
I threw him downward with all my force, and was pleased to find him continue
his descent, with great velocity, making use of his wings with ease, and in=
a
perfectly natural manner. In a very short time he was out of sight, and I h=
ave
no doubt he reached home in safety. Puss, who seemed in a great measure
recovered from her illness, now made a hearty meal of the dead bird and then
went to sleep with much apparent satisfaction. Her kittens were quite livel=
y,
and so far evinced not the slightest sign of any uneasiness whatever.
"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 appara=
tus
belonging to the condenser. This apparatus will require some little
explanation, and your Excellencies will please to bear in mind that my obje=
ct,
in the first place, was to surround myself and cat entirely with a barricade
against the highly rarefied atmosphere in which I was existing, with the
intention of introducing within this barricade, by means of my condenser, a
quantity of this same atmosphere sufficiently condensed for the purposes of
respiration. With this object in view I had prepared a very strong perfectly
air-tight, but flexible gum-elastic bag. In this bag, which was of sufficie=
nt
dimensions, the entire car was in a manner placed. That is to say, it (the =
bag)
was drawn over the whole bottom of the car, up its sides, and so on, along =
the
outside of the ropes, to the upper rim or hoop where the net-work is attach=
ed.
Having pulled the bag up in this way, and formed a complete enclosure on all
sides, and at bottom, it was now necessary to fasten up its top or mouth, by
passing its material over the hoop of the net-work--in other words, between=
the
net-work and the hoop. But if the net-work were separated from the hoop to
admit this passage, what was to sustain the car in the meantime? Now the
net-work was not permanently 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 clot=
h 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 butt=
ons
having been made to correspond to the intervals between the loops. This don=
e, a
few more of the loops were unfastened from the rim, a farther portion of the
cloth introduced, and the disengaged loops then connected with their proper
buttons. In this way it was possible to insert the whole upper part of the =
bag
between the net-work and the hoop. It is evident that the hoop would now dr=
op
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 sigh=
t,
would seem an inadequate dependence; but it was by no means so, for the but=
tons
were not only very strong in themselves, but so close together that a very
slight portion of the whole weight was supported by any one of them. Indeed,
had the car and contents been three times heavier than they were, I should =
not
have been at all uneasy. I now raised up the hoop again within the covering=
of gum-elastic,
and propped it at nearly its former height by means of three light poles
prepared for the occasion. This was done, of course, to keep the bag disten=
ded
at the top, and to preserve the lower part of the net-work in its proper
situation. All that now remained was to fasten up the mouth of the enclosur=
e;
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 kin=
d of
stationary tourniquet.
"In the
sides of the covering thus adjusted round the car, had been inserted three
circular panes of thick but clear glass, through which I could see without
difficulty around me in every horizontal direction. In that 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 impossible to p=
lace
any similar contrivance overhead, on account of the peculiar manner of clos=
ing
up the opening there, and the consequent wrinkles in the cloth, I could exp=
ect
to see no objects situated directly in my zenith. This, of course, was a ma=
tter
of little consequence; for had I even been able to place a window at top, t=
he
balloon itself would have prevented my making any use of it.
"About a
foot below one of the side windows was a circular opening, eight inches in
diameter, and fitted with a brass rim adapted in its inner edge to the wind=
ings
of a screw. In this rim was screwed the large tube of the condenser, the bo=
dy
of the machine being, of course, within the chamber of gum-elastic. Through
this tube a quantity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent being drawn by mea=
ns
of a vacuum created in the body of the machine, was thence discharged, in a
state of condensation, to mingle with the thin air already in the chamber. =
This
operation being repeated several times, at length filled the chamber with
atmosphere proper for all the purposes of respiration. But in so confined a
space it would, in a short time, necessarily become foul, and unfit for use=
from
frequent contact with the lungs. It was then ejected by a small valve at the
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 moment wi=
thin
the chamber, this purification was never accomplished all at once, but in a
gradual manner--the valve being opened only for a few seconds, then closed =
again,
until one or two strokes from the pump of the condenser had supplied the pl=
ace
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 bott=
om,
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.
"By the
time I had fully completed these arrangements and filled the chamber as
explained, it wanted only ten minutes of nine o'clock. During the whole per=
iod
of my being thus employed, I endured the most terrible distress from diffic=
ulty
of respiration, and bitterly did I repent the negligence or rather
fool-hardiness, of which I had been guilty, of putting off to the last mome=
nt a
matter of so much importance. But having at length accomplished it, I soon
began to reap the benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed with perfe=
ct
freedom and ease--and indeed why should I not? I was also agreeably surpris=
ed
to find myself, in a great measure, relieved from the violent pains which h=
ad
hitherto tormented me. A slight headache, accompanied with a sensation of f=
ulness
or distention about the wrists, the ankles, and the throat, was nearly all =
of
which I had now to complain. Thus it seemed evident that a greater part of =
the
uneasiness attending the removal of atmospheric pressure had actually worn =
off,
as I had expected, and that much of the pain endured for the last two hours
should have been attributed altogether to the effects of a deficient
respiration.
"At twe=
nty
minutes before nine o'clock--that is to say, a short time prior to my closi=
ng
up the mouth of the chamber, the mercury attained its limit, or ran down, in
the barometer, which, as I mentioned before, was one of an extended
construction. It then indicated an altitude on my part of 132,000 feet, or
five-and-twenty miles, and I consequently surveyed at that time an extent of
the earth's area amounting to no less than the three hundred-and-twentieth =
part
of its entire superficies. At nine o'clock I had again lost sight of land to
the eastward, but not before I became aware that the balloon was drifting r=
apidly
to the N. N. W. The convexity of the ocean beneath me was very evident inde=
ed, although
my view was often interrupted by the masses of cloud which floated to and f=
ro.
I observed now that even the lightest vapors never rose to more than ten mi=
les
above the level of the sea.
"At half
past nine I tried the experiment of throwing out a handful of feathers thro=
ugh
the valve. They did not float as I had expected; but dropped down
perpendicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and with the greatest velocity--b=
eing
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 as=
cent
had, of a sudden, met with so prodigious an acceleration. But it soon occur=
red
to me that the atmosphere was now far too rare to sustain even the feathers;
that they actually fell, as they appeared to do, with great rapidity; and t=
hat
I had been surprised by the united velocities of their descent and my own e=
levation.
"By ten
o'clock I found that I had very little to occupy my immediate attention.
Affairs went swimmingly, and I believed the balloon to be going upward with=
a
speed increasing momently although I had no longer any means of ascertaining
the progression of the increase. I suffered no pain or uneasiness of any ki=
nd,
and enjoyed better spirits than I had at any period since my departure from
Rotterdam, busying myself now in examining the state of my various apparatu=
s,
and now in regenerating the atmosphere within the chamber. This latter poin=
t I
determined to attend to at regular intervals of forty minutes, more on acco=
unt
of the preservation of my health, than from so frequent a renovation being
absolutely necessary. In the meanwhile I could not help making anticipation=
s.
Fancy revelled in the wild and dreamy regions of the moon. Imagination, fee=
ling
herself for once unshackled, roamed at will among the ever-changing wonders=
of
a shadowy and unstable land. Now there were hoary and time-honored forests,=
and
craggy precipices, and waterfalls tumbling with a loud noise into abysses
without a bottom. Then I came suddenly into still noonday solitudes, where =
no
wind of heaven ever intruded, and where vast meadows of poppies, and slende=
r, lily-looking
flowers spread themselves out a weary distance, all silent and motionless
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. And out of this
melancholy water arose a forest of tall eastern trees, like a wilderness of
dreams. And I have in mind that the shadows of the trees which fell upon the
lake remained not on the surface where they fell, but sunk slowly and stead=
ily
down, and commingled with the waves, while from the trunks of the trees oth=
er shadows
were continually coming out, and taking the place of their brothers thus
entombed. "This then," I said thoughtfully, "is the very rea=
son
why the waters of this lake grow blacker with age, and more melancholy as t=
he
hours run on." But fancies such as these were not the sole possessors =
of
my brain. Horrors of a nature most stern and most appalling would too
frequently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and shake the innermost depths =
of
my soul with the bare supposition of their possibility. Yet I would not suf=
fer
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 regenerating the atmosphere within the cham=
ber,
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 betray a sense of pain, although in a less degree than
their mother, and this would have been sufficient to confirm my opinion
concerning the habitual endurance of atmospheric pressure. But I was not
prepared to find them, upon close examination, evidently enjoying a high de=
gree
of health, breathing with the greatest ease and perfect regularity, and
evincing not the slightest sign of any uneasiness whatever. I could only
account for all this by extending my theory, and supposing that the highly
rarefied atmosphere around might perhaps not be, as I had taken for granted,
chemically insufficient for the purposes of life, and that a person born in
such a medium might, possibly, be unaware of any inconvenience attending it=
s inhalation,
while, upon removal to the denser strata near the earth, he might endure
tortures of a similar nature to those I had so lately experienced. It has s=
ince
been to me a matter of deep regret that an awkward accident, at this time,
occasioned me the loss of my little family of cats, and deprived me of the
insight into this matter which a continued experiment might have afforded. =
In
passing my hand through the valve, with a cup of water for the old puss, the
sleeves of my shirt became entangled in the loop which sustained the basket,
and thus, in a moment, loosened it from the bottom. Had the whole actually
vanished into air, it could not have shot from my sight in a more abrupt an=
d instantaneous
manner. Positively, there could not have intervened the tenth part of a sec=
ond
between the disengagement of the basket and its absolute and total
disappearance with all that it contained. My good wishes followed it to the
earth, but of course, I had no hope that either cat or kittens would ever l=
ive
to tell the tale of their misfortune.
"At six
o'clock, I perceived a great portion of the earth's visible area to the
eastward involved in thick shadow, which continued to advance with great
rapidity, until, at five minutes before seven, the whole surface in view was
enveloped in the darkness of night. It was not, however, until long after t=
his
time that the rays of the setting sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and t=
his
circumstance, although of course fully anticipated, did not fail to give me=
an
infinite deal of pleasure. It was evident that, in the morning, I should be=
hold
the rising luminary many hours at least before the citizens of Rotterdam, i=
n spite
of their situation so much farther to the eastward, and thus, day after day=
, in
proportion to the height ascended, would I enjoy the light of the sun for a
longer and a longer period. I now determined to keep a journal of my passag=
e,
reckoning the days from one to twenty-four hours continuously, without taki=
ng
into consideration the intervals of darkness.
"At ten
o'clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie down for the rest of the night;
but here a difficulty presented itself, which, obvious as it may appear, had
escaped my attention up to the very moment of which I am now speaking. If I
went to sleep as I proposed, how could the atmosphere in the chamber be
regenerated in the interim? To breathe it for more than an hour, at the
farthest, would be a matter of impossibility, or, if even this term could be
extended to an hour and a quarter, the most ruinous consequences might ensu=
e.
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 accomplishin=
g my
ultimate design, and finally make up my mind to the necessity of a descent.=
But
this hesitation was only momentary. I reflected that man is the veriest sla=
ve
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 rendered them
habitual. It was very certain that I could not do without sleep; but I might
easily bring myself to feel no inconvenience from being awakened at interva=
ls
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 re=
al
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, occasione=
d me
no little trouble in its solution. To be sure, I had heard of the student w=
ho,
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 differen=
t 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 up=
on
the following expedient, which, simple as it may seem, was hailed by me, at=
the
moment of discovery, as an invention fully equal to that of the telescope, =
the
steam-engine, or the art of printing itself.
"It is
necessary to premise, that the balloon, at the elevation now attained,
continued its course upward with an even and undeviating ascent, and the car
consequently followed with a steadiness so perfect that it would have been
impossible to detect in it the slightest vacillation whatever. This
circumstance favored me greatly in the project I now determined to adopt. My
supply of water had been put on board in kegs containing five gallons each,=
and
ranged very securely around the interior of the car. I unfastened one of th=
ese,
and taking two ropes tied them tightly across the rim of the wicker-work fr=
om
one side to the other; placing them about a foot apart and parallel so as t=
o form
a kind of shelf, upon which I placed the keg, and steadied it in a horizont=
al
position. About eight inches immediately below these ropes, and four feet f=
rom
the bottom of the car I fastened another shelf--but made of thin plank, bei=
ng
the only similar piece of wood I had. Upon this latter shelf, and exactly
beneath one of the rims of the keg, a small earthern pitcher was deposited.=
I
now bored a hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher, and fitted in a pl=
ug
of soft wood, cut in a tapering or conical shape. This plug I pushed in or
pulled out, as might happen, until, after a few experiments, it arrived at =
that
exact degree of tightness, at which the water, oozing from the hole, and
falling into the pitcher below, would fill the latter to the brim in the pe=
riod
of sixty minutes. This, of course, was a matter briefly and easily ascertai=
ned,
by noticing the proportion of the pitcher filled in any given time. Having
arranged all this, the rest of the plan is obvious. My bed was so contrived
upon the floor of the car, as to bring my head, in lying down, immediately
below the mouth of the pitcher. It was evident, that, at the expiration of =
an
hour, the pitcher, getting full, would be forced to run over, and to run ov=
er
at the mouth, which was somewhat lower than the rim. It was also evident, t=
hat
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 instantaneously, even from the soundest slumber in the world.
"It was
fully eleven by the time I had completed these arrangements, and I immediat=
ely
betook myself to bed, with full confidence in the efficiency of my inventio=
n.
Nor in this matter was I disappointed. Punctually every sixty minutes was I
aroused by my trusty chronometer, when, having emptied the pitcher into the
bung-hole of the keg, and performed the duties of the condenser, I retired
again to bed. These regular interruptions to my slumber caused me even less
discomfort than I had anticipated; and when I finally arose for the day, it=
was
seven o'clock, and the sun had attained many degrees above the line of my h=
orizon.
"April =
3d.
I found the balloon at an immense height indeed, and the earth's apparent
convexity increased in a material degree. Below me in the ocean lay a clust=
er
of black specks, which undoubtedly were islands. Far away to the northward I
perceived a thin, white, and exceedingly brilliant line, or streak, on the =
edge
of the horizon, and I had no hesitation in supposing it to be the southern =
disk
of the ices of the Polar Sea. My curiosity was greatly excited, for I had h=
opes
of passing on much farther to the north, and might possibly, at some period,
find myself placed directly above the Pole itself. I now lamented that my g=
reat
elevation would, in this case, prevent my taking as accurate a survey as I
could wish. Much, however, might be ascertained. Nothing else of an
extraordinary nature occurred during the day. My apparatus all continued in
good order, and the balloon still ascended without any perceptible vacillat=
ion.
The cold was intense, and obliged me to wrap up closely in an overcoat. When
darkness came over the earth, I betook myself to bed, although it was for m=
any
hours afterward broad daylight all around my immediate situation. The
water-clock was punctual in its duty, and I slept until next morning soundl=
y,
with the exception of the periodical interruption.
"April =
4th.
Arose in good health and spirits, and was astonished at the singular change
which had taken place in the appearance of the sea. It had lost, in a great
measure, the deep tint of blue it had hitherto worn, being now of a
grayish-white, and of a lustre dazzling to the eye. The islands were no lon=
ger
visible; whether they had passed down the horizon to the southeast, or whet=
her
my increasing elevation had left them out of sight, it is impossible to say=
. I
was inclined, however, to the latter opinion. The rim of ice to the northwa=
rd
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 vis=
ible
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 rapidit=
y.
Fancied I could again distinguish a strip of land to the eastward, and one =
also
to the westward, but could not be certain. Weather moderate. Nothing of any=
consequence
happened during the day. Went early to bed.
"April =
6th.
Was surprised at finding the rim of ice at a very moderate distance, and an
immense field of the same material stretching away off to the horizon in the
north. It was evident that if the balloon held its present course, it would
soon arrive above the Frozen Ocean, and I had now little doubt of ultimately
seeing the Pole. During the whole of the day I continued to near the ice.
Toward night the limits of my horizon very suddenly and materially increase=
d,
owing undoubtedly to the earth's form being that of an oblate spheroid, and=
my
arriving above the flattened regions in the vicinity of the Arctic circle. =
When
darkness at length overtook me, I went to bed in great anxiety, fearing to =
pass
over the object of so much curiosity when I should have no opportunity of o=
bserving
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 do=
ubt,
and immediately beneath my feet; but, alas! I had now ascended to so vast a
distance, that nothing could with accuracy be discerned. Indeed, to judge f=
rom
the progression of the numbers indicating my various altitudes, respectivel=
y,
at different periods, between six A.M. on the second of April, and twenty
minutes before nine A.M. of the same day (at which time the barometer ran
down), it might be fairly inferred that the balloon had now, at four o'cloc=
k in
the morning of April the seventh, reached a height of not less, certainly, =
than
7,254 miles above the surface of the sea. This elevation may appear immense,
but the estimate upon which it is calculated gave a result in all probabili=
ty
far inferior to the truth. At all events I undoubtedly 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, rea=
dily
imagine that the confined regions hitherto unexplored within the limits of =
the
Arctic circle, although situated directly beneath me, and therefore seen wi=
thout
any appearance of being foreshortened, were still, in themselves, comparati=
vely
too diminutive, and at too great a distance from the point of sight, to adm=
it
of any very accurate examination. Nevertheless, what could be seen was of a
nature singular and exciting. Northwardly from that huge rim before mention=
ed,
and which, with slight qualification, may be called the limit of human
discovery in these regions, one unbroken, or nearly unbroken, sheet of ice
continues to extend. In the first few degrees of this its progress, its sur=
face
is very sensibly flattened, farther on depressed into a plane, and finally,=
becoming
not a little concave, it terminates, at the Pole itself, in a circular cent=
re,
sharply defined, whose apparent diameter subtended at the balloon an angle =
of
about sixty-five seconds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity, was, at
all times, darker than any other spot upon the visible hemisphere, and
occasionally deepened into the most absolute and impenetrable blackness.
Farther than this, little could be ascertained. By twelve o'clock the circu=
lar
centre had materially decreased in circumference, and by seven P.M. I lost
sight of it entirely; the balloon passing over the western limb of the ice,=
and
floating away rapidly in the direction of the equator.
"April =
8th.
Found a sensible diminution in the earth's apparent diameter, besides a
material alteration in its general 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 downward 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 ob=
tain
a glimpse of the earth itself. This difficulty of direct vision had trouble=
d me
more or less for the last forty-eight hours; but my present enormous elevat=
ion
brought closer together, as it were, the floating bodies of vapor, and the
inconvenience became, of course, more and more palpable in proportion to my
ascent. Nevertheless, I could easily perceive that the balloon now hovered
above the range of great lakes in the continent of North America, and was
holding a course, due south, which would bring me to the tropics. This
circumstance did not fail to give me the most heartful 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 arrivi=
ng
at the moon at all, whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at only the sma=
ll
angle of 5 degrees 8' 48".
"April =
9th.
To-day the earth's diameter was greatly diminished, and the color of the
surface assumed hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The balloon kept steadily on
her course to the southward, and arrived, at nine P.M., over the northern e=
dge
of the Mexican Gulf.
"April
10th. I was suddenly aroused from slumber, about five o'clock this morning,=
by
a loud, crackling, and terrific sound, for which I could in no manner accou=
nt.
It was of very brief duration, but, while it lasted resembled nothing in the
world of which I had any previous experience. It is needless to say that I
became excessively alarmed, having, in the first instance, attributed the n=
oise
to the bursting of the balloon. I examined all my apparatus, however, with
great attention, and could discover nothing out of order. Spent a great par=
t of
the day in meditating upon an occurrence so extraordinary, but could find n=
o means
whatever of accounting for it. Went to bed dissatisfied, and in a state of
great anxiety and agitation.
"April
11th. Found a startling diminution in the apparent diameter of the earth, a=
nd a
considerable increase, now observable for the first time, in that of the mo=
on
itself, which wanted only a few days of being full. It now required long and
excessive labor to condense within the chamber sufficient atmospheric air f=
or
the sustenance of life.
"April
12th. 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 eastwa=
rd,
and thus proceeded throughout the day, keeping nearly, if not altogether, in
the exact plane of the lunar elipse. What was worthy of remark, a very
perceptible vacillation in the car was a consequence of this change of rout=
e--a
vacillation which prevailed, in a more or less degree, for a period of many
hours.
"April
13th. Was again very much alarmed by a repetition of the loud, crackling no=
ise
which terrified me on the tenth. Thought long upon the subject, but was una=
ble
to form any satisfactory conclusion. Great decrease in the earth's apparent
diameter, which now subtended from the balloon an angle of very little more
than twenty-five degrees. The moon could not be seen at all, being nearly i=
n my
zenith. I still continued in the plane of the elipse, but made little progr=
ess
to the eastward.
"April
14th. 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 of perigee--in other words, holding the di=
rect
course which would bring it immediately to the moon in that part of its orb=
it
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
15th. Not even the outlines of continents and seas could now be traced upon=
the
earth with anything approaching 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, continued for some moments, and gathered intensity=
as
it continued. At length, while, stupefied and terror-stricken, I stood in
expectation of I knew not what hideous destruction, the car vibrated with e=
xcessive
violence, and a gigantic and flaming mass of some material which I could no=
t distinguish,
came with a voice of a thousand thunders, roaring and booming by the balloo=
n.
When my fears and astonishment had in some degree subsided, I had little
difficulty in supposing it to be some mighty volcanic fragment ejected from
that world to which I was so rapidly approaching, and, in all probability, =
one
of that singular class of substances occasionally picked up on the earth, a=
nd
termed meteoric stones for want of a better appellation.
"April
16th. To-day, looking upward as well as I could, through each of the side
windows alternately, I beheld, to my great delight, a very small portion of=
the
moon's disk protruding, as it were, on all sides beyond the huge circumfere=
nce
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 t=
he
condenser had increased to a most oppressive degree, and allowed me scarcely
any respite from exertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out of the question. I
became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaustion. It was impossible =
that
human nature could endure this state of intense suffering much longer. Duri=
ng 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
17th. This morning proved an epoch in my voyage. It will be remembered that=
, on
the thirteenth, the earth subtended an angular breadth of twenty-five degre=
es.
On the fourteenth this had greatly diminished; on the fifteenth a still more
remarkable 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 minutes. What, therefore, must have been my amazement, on awakening=
from
a brief and disturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the seventeenth,=
at
finding the surface beneath me so suddenly and wonderfully augmented in vol=
ume,
as to subtend no less than thirty-nine degrees in apparent angular diameter=
! I
was thunderstruck! No words can give any adequate idea of the extreme, the
absolute horror and astonishment, with which I was seized possessed, and
altogether overwhelmed. My knees tottered beneath me--my teeth chattered--my
hair started up on end. "The balloon, then, had actually burst!"
These were the first tumultuous ideas that hurried through my mind: "T=
he
balloon had positively burst!--I was falling--falling with the most impetuo=
us, the
most unparalleled velocity! To judge by the immense distance already so qui=
ckly
passed over, it could not be more than ten minutes, at the farthest, before=
I
should meet the surface of the earth, and be hurled into annihilation!"
But at length reflection came to my relief. I paused; I considered; and I b=
egan
to doubt. The matter was impossible. I could not in any reason have so rapi=
dly
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 fir=
st
so horribly conceived. This consideration served to calm the perturbation o=
f my
mind, and I finally succeeded in regarding the phenomenon in its proper poi=
nt
of view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprived me of my senses, when=
I
could not see the vast difference, in appearance, between the surface below=
me,
and the surface of my mother earth. The latter was indeed over my head, and
completely hidden by the balloon, while the moon--the moon itself in all its
glory--lay beneath me, and at my feet.
"The st=
upor
and surprise produced in my mind by this extraordinary change in the postur=
e of
affairs was perhaps, after all, that part of the adventure least susceptibl=
e of
explanation. For the bouleversement in itself was not only natural and
inevitable, but had been long actually anticipated as a circumstance to be
expected whenever I should arrive at that exact point of my voyage where the
attraction 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 s=
ure
I arose from a sound slumber, with all my senses in confusion, to the conte=
mplation
of a very startling phenomenon, and one which, although expected, was not
expected at the moment. The revolution itself must, of course, have taken p=
lace
in an easy and gradual manner, and it is by no means clear that, had I even
been awake at the time of the occurrence, I should have been made aware of =
it
by any internal evidence of an inversion--that is to say, by any inconvenie=
nce
or disarrangement, either about my person or about my apparatus.
"It is
almost needless to say that, upon coming to a due sense of my situation, and
emerging from the terror which had absorbed every faculty of my soul, my
attention was, in the first place, wholly directed to the contemplation of =
the
general physical appearance of the moon. It lay beneath me like a chart--and
although I judged it to be still at no inconsiderable distance, the indentu=
res
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 hemisphere in sight was covered with innumerable
volcanic mountains, conical in shape, and having more the appearance of
artificial than of natural protuberance. The highest among them does not ex=
ceed
three and three-quarter miles in perpendicular elevation; but a map of the
volcanic districts of the Campi Phlegraei would afford to your Excellencies=
a
better idea of their general surface than any unworthy description I might
think proper to attempt. The greater part of them were in a state of evident
eruption, and gave me fearfully to understand their fury and their power, by
the repeated thunders of the miscalled meteoric stones, which now rushed up=
ward
by the balloon with a frequency more and more appalling.
"April
18th. To-day I found an enormous increase in the moon's apparent bulk--and =
the
evidently accelerated velocity of my descent began to fill me with alarm. It
will be remembered, that, in the earliest stage of my speculations upon the
possibility of a passage to the moon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an
atmosphere, dense in proportion to the bulk of the planet, had entered larg=
ely
into my calculations; this too in spite of many theories to the contrary, a=
nd,
it may be added, in spite of a general disbelief in the existence of any lu=
nar
atmosphere at all. But, in addition to what I have already urged in regard =
to
Encke's comet and the zodiacal light, I had been strengthened in my opinion=
by certain
observations of Mr. Schroeter, of Lilienthal. He observed the moon when two
days and a half old, in the evening soon after sunset, before the dark part=
was
visible, and continued to watch it until it became visible. The two cusps
appeared tapering in a very sharp faint prolongation, each exhibiting its
farthest extremity faintly illuminated by the solar rays, before any part of
the dark hemisphere was visible. Soon afterward, the whole dark limb became
illuminated. This prolongation of the cusps beyond the semicircle, I though=
t,
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 ref=
ract
light enough into its dark hemisphere to produce a twilight more luminous t=
han the
light reflected from the earth when the moon is about 32 degrees from the n=
ew)
to be 1,356 Paris feet; in this view, I supposed the greatest height capabl=
e 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 occultation of
Jupiter's satellites, the third disappeared after having been about 1"=
or
2" of time indistinct, and the fourth became indiscernible near the
limb.(*4)
"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 occultations, 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.
"Upon t=
he
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 then, after all, prove to have been
mistaken, I had in consequence nothing better to expect, as a finale to my
adventure, than being dashed into atoms against the rugged surface of the
satellite. And, indeed, I had now every reason to be terrified. My distance
from the moon was comparatively trifling, while the labor required by the
condenser was diminished not at all, and I could discover no indication
whatever of a decreasing rarity in the air.
"April
19th. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o'clock, the surface of the
moon being frightfully near, and my apprehensions excited to the utmost, the
pump of my condenser at length gave evident tokens of an alteration in the
atmosphere. By ten, I had reason to believe its density considerably increa=
sed.
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 headache were the immediate consequences of an
experiment so precipitate and full of danger. But these and other difficult=
ies 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 the moon. =
This
approach, however, was still impetuous in the extreme; and it soon became
alarmingly certain that, although I had probably not been deceived in the
expectation of an atmosphere dense in proportion to the mass of the satelli=
te,
still I had been wrong in supposing this density, even at the surface, at a=
ll adequate
to the support of the great weight contained in the car of my balloon. Yet =
this
should have been the case, and in an equal degree as at the surface of the
earth, the actual gravity of bodies at either planet supposed in the ratio =
of
the atmospheric condensation. That it was not the case, however, my precipi=
tous
downfall gave testimony enough; why it was not so, can only be explained by=
a
reference to those possible geological disturbances to which I have formerly
alluded. At all events I was now close upon the planet, and coming down with
the most terrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throwin=
g overboard
first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing apparatus and
gum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within the car. But it was a=
ll
to no purpose. I still fell with horrible rapidity, and was now not more th=
an
half a mile from the surface. As a last resource, therefore, having got rid=
of
my coat, hat, and boots, I cut loose from the balloon the car itself, which=
was
of no inconsiderable weight, and thus, clinging with both hands to the
net-work, I had barely time to observe that the whole country, as far as the
eye could reach, was thickly interspersed with diminutive habitations, ere I
tumbled headlong into the very heart of a fantastical-looking city, and into
the middle of a vast crowd of ugly little people, who none of them uttered a
single syllable, or gave themselves the least trouble to render me assistan=
ce,
but stood, like a parcel of idiots, grinning in a ludicrous manner, and eye=
ing
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 =
for
ever, beheld it like a huge, dull, copper shield, about two degrees in
diameter, fixed immovably in the heavens overhead, and tipped on one of its
edges with a crescent border of the most brilliant gold. No traces of land =
or
water could be discovered, and the whole was clouded with variable spots, a=
nd
belted with tropical and equatorial zones.
"Thus, =
may
it please your Excellencies, after a series of great anxieties, unheard of
dangers, and unparalleled escapes, I had, at length, on the nineteenth day =
of
my departure from Rotterdam, arrived in safety at the conclusion of a voyage
undoubtedly the most extraordinary, and the most momentous, ever accomplish=
ed,
undertaken, or conceived by any denizen of earth. But my adventures yet rem=
ain
to be related. And indeed your Excellencies may well imagine that, after a
residence of five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting in its own
peculiar character, but rendered doubly so by its intimate connection, in c=
apacity
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 th=
an
the details, however wonderful, of the mere voyage which so happily conclud=
ed.
This is, in fact, the case. I have much--very much which it would give me t=
he
greatest pleasure to communicate. I have much to say of the climate of the
planet; of its wonderful alternations of heat and cold, of unmitigated and
burning sunshine for one fortnight, and more than polar frigidity for the n=
ext;
of a constant transfer of moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo, from
the point beneath the sun to the point the farthest from it; of a variable =
zone
of running water, of the people themselves; of their manners, customs, and
political institutions; of their peculiar physical construction; of their
ugliness; of their want of ears, those useless appendages in an atmosphere =
so
peculiarly modified; of their consequent ignorance of the use and propertie=
s of
speech; of their substitute for speech in a singular method of
inter-communication; of the incomprehensible connection between each partic=
ular
individual in the moon with some particular individual on the earth--a
connection analogous with, and depending upon, that of the orbs of the plan=
et
and the satellites, and by means of which the lives and destinies of the in=
habitants
of the one are interwoven with the lives and destinies of the inhabitants of
the other; and above all, if it so please your Excellencies--above all, of
those dark and hideous mysteries which lie in the outer regions of the
moon--regions which, owing to the almost miraculous accordance of the
satellite's 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 turn=
ed,
to the scrutiny of the telescopes of man. All this, and more--much more--wo=
uld
I most willingly detail. But, to be brief, I must have my reward. I am pini=
ng for
a return to my family and to my home, and as the price of any farther
communication 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 metaphysic=
al
science--I must solicit, through the influence of your honorable body, a pa=
rdon
for the crime of which I have been guilty in the death of the creditors upo=
n my
departure from Rotterdam. This, then, is the object of the present paper. I=
ts
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."
Upon finishi=
ng
the perusal of this very extraordinary document, Professor Rub-a-dub, it is
said, dropped his pipe upon the ground in the extremity of his surprise, and
Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk having taken off his spectacles, wiped them, =
and
deposited them in his pocket, so far forgot both himself and his dignity, a=
s to
turn round three times upon his heel in the quintessence of astonishment and
admiration. There was no doubt about the matter--the pardon should be obtai=
ned.
So at least swore, with a round oath, Professor Rub-a-dub, and so finally t=
hought
the illustrious Von Underduk, as he took the arm of his brother in science,=
and
without saying a word, began to make the best of his way home to deliberate
upon the measures to be adopted. Having reached the door, however, of the
burgomaster's dwelling, the professor ventured to suggest that as the messe=
nger
had thought proper to disappear--no doubt frightened to death by the savage
appearance of the burghers of Rotterdam--the pardon would be of little use,=
as
no one but a man of the moon would undertake a voyage to so vast a distance=
. To
the truth of this observation the burgomaster 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 o=
f the
over-wise even made themselves ridiculous by decrying the whole business; as
nothing better than a hoax. But hoax, with these sort of people, is, I beli=
eve,
a general term for all matters above their comprehension. For my part, I ca=
nnot
conceive upon what data they have founded such an accusation. Let us see wh=
at
they say:
Imprimus. Th=
at
certain wags in Rotterdam have certain especial antipathies to certain
burgomasters and astronomers.
Don't unders=
tand
at all.
Secondly. Th=
at
an odd little dwarf and bottle conjurer, both of whose ears, for some
misdemeanor, have been cut off close to his head, has been missing for seve=
ral
days from the neighboring city of Bruges.
Well--what of
that?
Thirdly. That
the newspapers which were stuck all over the little balloon were newspapers=
of
Holland, 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 th=
eir
having been printed in Rotterdam.
He was
mistaken--undoubtedly--mistaken.
Fourthly, Th=
at
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.
Don't believe
it--don't believe a word of it.
Lastly. That=
it
is an opinion very generally received, or which ought to be generally recei=
ved,
that the College of Astronomers in the city of Rotterdam, as well as other
colleges in all other parts of the world,--not to mention colleges and
astronomers in general,--are, to say the least of the matter, not a whit
better, nor greater, nor wiser than they ought to be.
~~~ End of T=
ext
~~~
Notes to Hans
Pfaal
(*1)
NOTE--Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity between the above
sketchy trifle and the celebrated "Moon-Story" of Mr. Locke; but =
as
both have the character of hoaxes (although the one is in a tone of banter,=
the
other of downright earnest), and as both hoaxes are on the same subject, the
moon--moreover, as both attempt to give plausibility by scientific detail--=
the
author of "Hans Pfaall" thinks it necessary to say, in self-defen=
ce,
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 exis=
t,
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 wil=
ling
to acknowledge the fact, it may here afford some little amusement to show w=
hy
no one should have been deceived-to point out those particulars of the story
which should have been sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed,
however rich the imagination displayed in this ingenious fiction, it wanted
much of the force which might have been given it by a more scrupulous atten=
tion
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 miles and five sevenths, as the
apparent distance. No animal at all could be seen so far; much less the min=
ute
points particularized in the story. Mr. L. speaks about Sir John Herschel'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 g=
lass
by far too great power. It may be observed, in passing, that this prodigious
glass is said to have been molded at the glasshouse of Messrs. Hartley and
Grant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.'s establishment had ceased
operations 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 immediately occurred to the acu=
te
mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a providential contrivance to protect the
eyes of the animal from the great extremes of light and darkness to which a=
ll
the inhabitants of our side of the moon are periodically subjected." B=
ut
this cannot be thought a very "acute" observation of the Doctor's.
The inhabitants of our side of the moon have, evidently, no darkness at all=
, so
there can be nothing of the "extremes" mentioned. In the absence =
of
the sun they have a light from the earth equal to that of thirteen full
unclouded moons.
The topograp=
hy
throughout, even when professing to accord 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
Faecunditatis, etc., given to the dark spots by former astronomers, Mr. L. =
has
entered into details regarding oceans and other large bodies of water in th=
e moon;
whereas there is no astronomical point more positively ascertained than tha=
t no
such bodies exist there. In examining the boundary between light and darkne=
ss
(in the crescent or gibbous moon) where this boundary crosses any of the da=
rk
places, the line of division is found to be rough and jagged; but, were the=
se
dark places liquid, it would evidently be even.
The descript=
ion
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 sho=
uld
have induced suspicion, at least, it might be thought.
On page 23, =
we
have the following: "What a prodigious influence must our thirteen tim=
es
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; bu=
t it
should be observed that no astronomer would have made such remark, especial=
ly
to any journal of Science; for the earth, in the sense intended, is not only
thirteen, but forty-nine times larger than the moon. A similar objection
applies to the whole of the concluding pages, where, by way of introduction=
to
some discoveries in Saturn, the philosophical correspondent enters into a
minute schoolboy account of that planet--this to the "Edinburgh journa=
l of
Science!"
But there is=
one
point, in particular, which should have betrayed the fiction. Let us imagine
the power actually possessed of seeing animals upon the moon's surface--what
would first arrest the attention of an observer from the earth? Certainly
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 he=
ad
down, in the manner of flies on a ceiling. The real observer would have utt=
ered
an instant ejaculation of surprise (however prepared by previous knowledge)=
at
the singularity of their position; the fictitious observer has not even men=
tioned
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 t=
he
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 ani=
mal
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 a=
ll
the suggestions attributed to Brewster and Herschel, in the beginning of the
article, about "a transfusion of artificial light through the focal ob=
ject
of vision," etc., etc., belong to that species of figurative writing w=
hich
comes, most properly, under the denomination of rigmarole.
There is a r=
eal
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 lar=
ge
lenses were all that is required, man's ingenuity would ultimately prove eq=
ual
to the task, and we might have them of any size demanded. 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 "artificial" l=
ight
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 calculat=
ed
that, when the light proceeding from a star becomes so diffused as to be as=
weak
as the natural light proceeding from the whole of the stars, in a clear and
moonless night, then the star is no longer visible for any practical purpos=
e.
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 on=
e of
only 1,811. The metal of the Earl of Ross's is 6 feet diameter; it is 5 1/2
inches thick at the edges, and 5 at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The f=
ocal
length is 50 feet.
I have latel=
y read
a singular and somewhat ingenious little book, whose title-page runs thus:
"L'Homme dans la lvne ou le Voyage Chimerique fait au Monde de la Lvne,
nouellement decouvert par Dominique Gonzales, Aduanturier Espagnol,
autremét 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. 76.
The writer
professes to have translated his work from the English of one Mr. D'Avisson
(Davidson?) although there is a terrible ambiguity in the statement. "=
J'
en ai eu," says he "l'original de Monsieur D'Avisson, medecin des
mieux versez qui soient aujourd'huy dans la cònoissance 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 cc Livre en anglois,
mais encore le Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D'Anan, gentilhomme Eccossois,
recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la version duquel j' advoue que j' ay
tiré le plan de la mienne."
After some
irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil Blas, 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. Hel=
ena.
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 purp=
ose
of carrier-pigeons between them. By and by these are taught to carry parcel=
s 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 vie=
w to
raising the author himself. A machine is contrived for the purpose, and we =
have
a minute description of it, which is materially helped out by a steel
engraving. Here we perceive the Signor Gonzales, with point ruffles and a h=
uge
periwig, seated astride something which resembles very closely a broomstick,
and borne aloft by a multitude of wild swans (ganzas) who had strings reach=
ing
from their tails to the machine.
The main eve=
nt
detailed in the Signor's narrative depends upon a very important fact, of w=
hich
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 custom, time out of mind, to migr=
ate
annually to some portion of the earth. In proper season, of course, they wo=
uld
return home; and the author, happening, one day, to require their services =
for
a short voyage, is unexpectedly carried straight tip, and in a very brief
period arrives at the satellite. Here he finds, among other odd things, tha=
t the
people enjoy extreme happiness; that they have no law; that they die without
pain; that they are from ten to thirty feet in height; that they live five
thousand years; that they have an emperor called Irdonozur; and that they c=
an
jump sixty feet high, when, being out of the gravitating influence, they fly
about with fans.
I cannot for=
bear
giving a specimen of the general philosophy 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, a=
nd
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, wa=
s 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 t=
hat
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 immediat=
ely
between the moon and the earth. I was convinced of this for two reasons-bec=
ause
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 t=
he
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 pro=
pose
to speak more at length here-after, when I shall have leisure to refresh my
memory in regard to the astrology which I learned at Salamanca when young, =
and have
since forgotten."
Notwithstand=
ing
the blunders italicized, the book is not without some claim to attention, as
affording a naive specimen of the current astronomical notions of the time.=
One
of these assumed, that the "gravitating power" extended but a sho=
rt
distance from the earth's surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager
"carried insensibly around the globe," etc.
There have b=
een
other "voyages to the moon," but none of higher merit than the one
just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly meaningless. In the third volum=
e of
the "American Quarterly Review" will be found quite an elaborate
criticism upon a certain "journey" of the kind in question--a
criticism in which it is difficult to say whether the critic most exposes t=
he
stupidity of the book, or his own absurd ignorance of astronomy. I forget t=
he
title of the work; but the means of the voyage are more deplorably ill
conceived than are even the ganzas of our friend the Signor Gonzales. The a=
dventurer,
in digging the earth, happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the mo=
on
has a strong attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box, which, when
cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with him, forthwith, to t=
he
satellite. The "Flight of Thomas O'Rourke," is a jeu d' esprit no=
t altogether
contemptible, and has been translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in
fact, the gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to the
tale. The "flight" is made on an eagle's back, from Hungry Hill, a
lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.
In these var=
ious
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
instance, to be utterly uninformed in respect to astronomy. In "Hans
Pfaall" the design is original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at
verisimilitude, in the application of scientific principles (so far as the
whimsical nature of the subject would permit), to the actual passage between
the earth and the moon.
(*2) The
zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes. Emicant Trabes =
quos
docos vocant.--Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26.
(*3) Since t=
he original
publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr. Green, of Nassau balloon notori=
ety,
and other late aeronauts, deny the assertions of Humboldt, in this respect,=
and
speak of a decreasing inconvenience,--precisely in accordance with the theo=
ry
here urged in a mere spirit of banter.
(*4) Havelius
writes that he has several times found, in skies perfectly clear, when even
stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude were conspicuous, that, at the same
altitude of the moon, at the same elongation from the earth, and with one a=
nd
the same excellent telescope, the moon and its maculae did not appear equal=
ly
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.
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 a=
go,
I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient
Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had
reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent upon his disaste=
rs,
he left New Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence=
at
Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. This Island is a very
singular one. It consists of little else than the sea sand, and is about th=
ree miles
long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated =
from
the main land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a
wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh hen. The
vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees =
of
any magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultr=
ie
stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summ=
er,
by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the
bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of this western
point, and a line of hard, white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a d=
ense
undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of
England. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet,=
and
forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with its 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 fir=
st,
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 we=
ll
educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and
subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had wi=
th
him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were gunning=
and
fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest of
shells or entomological specimens;--his collection of the latter might have
been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was usually accompanie=
d by
an old negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses of
the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to
abandon what he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his
young "Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of
Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrive=
d to
instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and
guardianship of the wanderer.
The winters =
in
the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very severe, and in the fall of
the year it is a rare event indeed when a fire is considered necessary. Abo=
ut
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 be=
ing,
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 a=
nd
went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by =
no
means an ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an arm-chair by the
crackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after d=
ark
they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ea=
r to
ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in on=
e of
his fits--how else shall I term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unkno=
wn
bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and
secured, with Jupiter's assistance, a scarabæus which he believed to =
be
totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the
morrow.
"And why
not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and wishing t=
he
whole tribe of scarabæi at the devil.
"Ah, if=
I
had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so long si=
nce
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 fo=
rt,
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?"
"Nonsen=
se!
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 antennæ are--"
"Dey ai=
nt
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 a=
ll,
sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a bug in my life."
"Well,
suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, it seem=
ed
to me, than the case demanded, "is that any reason for your letting the
birds burn? The color"--here he turned to me--"is really almost
enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant metallic
lustre than the scales emit--but of this you cannot judge till tomorrow. In=
the
mean time I can give you some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seat=
ed
himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He loo=
ked
for some in a drawer, but found none.
"Never
mind," said he at length, "this will answer;" and he drew fr=
om 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 i=
t 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 Newfoundland, belong=
ing
to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresse=
s;
for I had shown him much attention during previous visits. When his gambols
were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not=
a
little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.
"Well!&=
quot;
I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this is a strange
scarabæus, I must confess: new to me: never saw anything like it befo=
re--unless
it was a skull, or a death's-head--which it more nearly resembles than anyt=
hing
else that has come under my observation."
"A
death's-head!" echoed Legrand--"Oh--yes--well, it has something o=
f 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 wh=
ole
is oval."
"Perhaps
so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must wait
until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its personal
appearance."
"Well, I
don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw tolerably--should=
do
it at least--have had good masters, and flatter myself that I am not quite a
blockhead."
"But, my
dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a very passab=
le
skull--indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent skull, according to the
vulgar notions about such specimens of physiology--and your scarabæus
must be the queerest scarabæus in the world if it resembles it. Why, =
we
may get up a very thrilling bit of superstition upon this hint. I presume y=
ou
will call the bug scarabæus caput hominis, or something of that
kind--there are many similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are=
the
antennæ you spoke of?"
"The
antennæ!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably w=
arm upon
the subject; "I am sure you must see the antennæ. I made them as
distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume that is sufficie=
nt."
"Well,
well," I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them;" a=
nd I
handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing to ruffle his
temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs had taken; his ill hum=
or
puzzled me--and, as for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively no
antennæ visible, and the whole did bear a very close resemblance to t=
he
ordinary cuts of a death's-head.
He received =
the
paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it, apparently to throw it in
the fire, when a casual glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his
attention. In an instant his face grew violently red--in another as excessi=
vely
pale. For some minutes he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely wher=
e he
sat. At length he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat
himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he =
made
an anxious examination of the paper; turning it in all directions. He said =
nothing,
however, and his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought it prudent no=
t to
exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he
took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and
deposited both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more compose=
d in
his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet=
he
seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore away he became =
more
and more absorbed in reverie, from which no sallies of mine could arouse hi=
m.
It had been my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently =
done
before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave.=
He did
not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more
than his usual cordiality.
It was about=
a
month after this (and during the interval I had seen nothing of Legrand) wh=
en I
received a visit, at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the
good old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster =
had
befallen my friend.
"Well,
Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your master?"=
"Why, to
speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be."
"Not we=
ll!
I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"
"Dar! d=
at's
it!--him neber plain of notin--but him berry sick for all dat."
"Very s=
ick,
Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined to bed?"
"No, da=
t he
aint!--he aint find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe pinch--my mind is got t=
o be
berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."
"Jupite=
r, I
should like to understand what it is you are talking about. You say your ma=
ster
is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"
"Why, m=
assa,
taint worf while for to git mad about de matter--Massa Will say noffin at a=
ll
aint de matter wid him--but den what make him go about looking dis here way,
wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he kee=
p 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 l=
ook
so berry poorly."
"Eh?--w=
hat?--ah
yes!--upon the whole I think you had better not be too severe with the poor
fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter--he can't very well stand it--but can you f=
orm
no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather this change of condu=
ct?
Has anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"
"No, ma=
ssa,
dey aint bin noffin unpleasant since den--'twas fore den I'm feared--'twas =
de
berry day you was dare."
"How? w=
hat
do you mean?"
"Why,
massa, I mean de bug--dare now."
"The
what?"
"De
bug,--I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout de head by da=
t goole-bug."
"And wh=
at
cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"
"Claws
enuff, massa, and mouth too. I nebber did see sick a deuced bug--he kick an=
d he
bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to
let him go gin mighty quick, I tell you--den was de time he must ha got de
bite. I did n't like de look oh de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I would n't
take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I
found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff--dat was =
de
way."
"And you
think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle, and that the
bite made him sick?"
"I do n=
't
tink noffin about it--I nose it. What make him dream bout de goole so much,=
if
taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd bout dem goole-bugs fore
dis."
"But ho=
w 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?"
"What de
matter, massa?"
"Did you
bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"
"No, ma=
ssa,
I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me a note which ran
thus:
MY DEAR ----
Why have I n=
ot
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, y=
et
scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at all.
I have not b=
een
quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoys me, almost beyond
endurance, by his well-meant attentions Would you believe it?--he had prepa=
red
a huge stick, the other day, with which to chastise me for giving him the s=
lip,
and spending the day, solus, among the hills on the main land. I verily bel=
ieve
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 highe=
st
importance.
Ever
yours, =
WILLIAM LEGRAND.
There was
something in the tone of this note which gave me great uneasiness. Its whole
style differed materially from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming o=
f?
What new crotchet possessed his excitable brain? What "business of the
highest importance" could he possibly have to transact? Jupiter's acco=
unt
of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune h=
ad,
at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's
hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.
Upon reaching
the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all apparently new, lying in
the bottom of the boat in which we were to embark.
"What is
the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired.
"Him sy=
fe,
massa, and spade."
"Very t=
rue;
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
debbils own lot of money I had to gib for em."
"But wh=
at,
in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will' going to do with
scythes and spades?"
"Dat's =
more
dan I know, and debbil take me if I don't blieve 'tis more dan he know, too.
But it's all cum ob do bug."
Finding that=
no
satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose whole intellect seemed to=
be
absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped into the boat and made sail. =
With
a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove to the northward =
of
Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was a=
bout
three in the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eag=
er
expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous empressement which alarmed me
and strengthened the suspicions already entertained. His countenance was pa=
le
even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre. Af=
ter some
inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to sa=
y,
if he had yet obtained the scarabæus from Lieutenant G ----.
"Oh,
yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the next=
morning.
Nothing should tempt me to part with that scarabæus. Do you know that
Jupiter is quite right about it?"
"In what
way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.
"In
supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this with an air of pr=
ofound
seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.
"This b=
ug
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 shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter;
bring me that scarabæus!"
"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 broug=
ht
me the beetle from a glass case in which it was enclosed. It was a beautiful
scarabæus, and, at that time, unknown to naturalists--of course a gre=
at
prize in a scientific point of view. There were two round, black spots near=
one
extremity of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were
exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished gold. The
weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all things into
consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting it; =
but
what to make of Legrand's concordance with that opinion, I could not, for t=
he
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 cou=
nsel
and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and of the bug"--
"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainly unwell, a= nd had better use some little precautions. You shall go to bed, and I will rem= ain with you a few days, until you get over this. You are feverish and"--<= o:p>
"Feel my
pulse," said he.
I felt it, a=
nd,
to say the truth, found not the slightest indication of fever.
"But you
may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to prescribe for you. =
In
the first place, go to bed. In the next"--
"You are
mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I can expect to be und=
er
the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me well, you will relieve
this excitement."
"And ho=
w 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 replied; "but do you mean to=
say
that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition into the
hills?"
"It
has."
"Then,
Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding."
"I am
sorry--very sorry--for we shall have to try it by ourselves."
"Try it=
by
yourselves! The man is surely mad!--but stay!--how long do you propose to be
absent?"
"Probab=
ly
all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at all events, by
sunrise."
"And wi=
ll
you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak of yours is over, and=
the
bug business (good God!) settled to your satisfaction, you will then return
home and follow my advice implicitly, as that of your physician?"
"Yes; I
promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to lose."
With a heavy
heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four o'clock--Legrand, Jupi=
ter,
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, wh=
ile
Legrand contented himself with the scarabæus, which he carried attach=
ed
to the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a=
conjuror,
as he went. When I observed this last, plain evidence of my friend's aberra=
tion
of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to
humor his fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some more
energetic measures with a chance of success. In the mean time 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 t=
he
creek at the head of the island by means of a skiff; and, ascending the high
grounds on the shore of the main land, proceeded in a northwesterly directi=
on,
through a tract of country excessively wild and desolate, where no trace of=
a
human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision; pausing o=
nly
for an instant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be certain
landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion.
In this mann=
er
we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was just setting when we ente=
red
a region infinitely more dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of table
land, near the summit of an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from b=
ase
to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely =
upon
the soil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves in=
to
the valleys below, merely by the support of the trees against which they re=
clined.
Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of still sterner solemnity=
to
the scene.
The natural
platform to which we had clambered was thickly overgrown with brambles, thr=
ough
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 c=
lear
for us a path to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, wi=
th
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 fo=
rm,
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 t=
he
question, and for some moments made no reply. At length he approached the h=
uge
trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it with minute attention. When=
he
had completed his scrutiny, he merely said,
"Yes,
massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life."
"Then up
with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark to see what we a=
re
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--&=
quot;what
for mus tote de bug way up de tree?--d-n if I do!"
"If you=
are
afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold of a harmless little =
dead
beetle, why you can carry it up by this string--but, if you do not take it =
up
with you in some way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your head =
with
this shovel."
"What de
matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into compliance; "=
always
want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only funnin any how. Me feered de
bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautiously hold of the extr=
eme
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 Tulipferum, 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 a=
nd
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 wr=
iggled
himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the whole busines=
s as
virtually accomplished. The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over,
although the climber was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.
"Which =
way
mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked.
"Keep up
the largest branch--the one on this side," said Legrand. The negro obe=
yed
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 mu=
ch
fudder is got for go?"
"How hi=
gh
up are you?" asked Legrand.
"Ebber =
so
fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob de tree.&q=
uot;
"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, t=
wo,
tree, four, fibe--I done pass fibe big limb, massa, pon dis side."
"Then go
one limb higher."
In a few min=
utes
the voice was heard again, announcing that the seventh limb was attained.
"Now,
Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to work =
your
way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see anything strange, let =
me
know." By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of my p=
oor
friend's insanity, was put finally at rest. I had no alternative but to
conclude him stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about get=
ting
him home. While I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's vo=
ice
was again heard.
"Mos fe=
erd
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.<= o:p>
"Yes,
massa, him dead as de door-nail--done up for sartain--done departed dis here
life."
"What in
the name heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in the greatest
distress. "Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a wor=
d,
"why come home and go to bed. Come now!--that's a fine fellow. It's
getting late, and, besides, you remember your promise."
"Jupite=
r,"
cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me?"
"Yes, M=
assa
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, "b=
ut not
so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out leetle way pon de limb by
myself, dat's true."
"By you=
rself!--what
do you mean?"
"Why I =
mean
de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I drop him down fuss, and den de limb w=
on't
break wid just de weight ob one nigger."
"You
infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much relieved, "wh=
at do
you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As sure as you drop that beet=
le
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 gw=
ine,
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 b=
e to
de eend, massa,--o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what is dis here pon de
tree?"
"Well!&=
quot;
cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?"
"Why ta=
int
noffin but a skull--somebody bin lef him head up de tree, and de crows done
gobble ebery bit ob de meat off."
"A skul=
l,
you say!--very well!--how is it fastened to the limb?--what holds it on?&qu=
ot;
"Sure n=
uff,
massa; mus look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance, pon my word--dare's a g=
reat
big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree."
"Well n=
ow,
Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you--do you hear?"
"Yes,
massa."
"Pay
attention, then!--find the left eye of the skull."
"Hum! h=
oo!
dat's good! why dare aint no eye lef at all."
"Curse =
your
stupidity! do you know your right hand from your left?"
"Yes, I
nose dat--nose all bout dat--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 le=
ft
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 l=
ong
pause. At length the negro asked,
"Is de =
lef
eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de skull, too?--cause de
skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all--nebber mind! I got de lef eye
now--here de lef eye! what mus do wid it?"
"Let the
beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach--but be careful and=
not
let go your hold of the string."
"All dat
done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru de hole--look out =
for
him dare below!"
During this
colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could be seen; but the beetle, whic=
h he
had suffered to descend, was now visible at the end of the string, and
glistened, like a globe of burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting =
sun,
some of which still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood. The
scarabæus hung quite clear of any branches, and, if allowed to fall,
would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe, and cle=
ared
with it a circular space, three or four yards in diameter, just beneath the
insect, and, having accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string=
and
come down from the tree.
Driving a pe=
g,
with great nicety, into the ground, at the precise spot where the beetle fe=
ll,
my friend now produced from his pocket a tape measure. Fastening one end of
this at that point of the trunk, of the tree which was nearest the peg, he
unrolled it till it reached the peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the
direction already established by the two points of the tree and the peg, for
the distance of fifty feet--Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scy=
the.
At the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about this, as a cen=
tre,
a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, described. Taking now a spade h=
imself,
and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand begged us to set about dig=
ging
as quickly as possible.
To speak the
truth, I had no especial relish for such amusement at any time, and, at that
particular moment, would most willingly have declined it; for the night was
coming on, and I felt much fatigued with the exercise already taken; but I =
saw
no mode of escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor friend's equanimit=
y 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 m=
e,
under any circumstances, in a personal contest with his master. I made no d=
oubt
that the latter had been infected with some of the innumerable Southern
superstitions about money buried, and that his phantasy had received
confirmation by the finding of the scarabæus, 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--especiall=
y if
chiming in with favorite preconceived ideas--and then I called to mind the =
poor
fellow's speech about the beetle's being "the index of his fortune.&qu=
ot;
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 opin=
ions
he entertained.
The lanterns
having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal worthy a more rational cau=
se;
and, as 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 labors must have appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might have
stumbled upon our whereabouts.
We dug very
steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chief embarrassment lay in=
the
yelpings of the dog, who took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at
length, became so obstreperous that we grew fearful of his giving the alarm=
to
some stragglers in the vicinity;--or, rather, this was the apprehension of
Legrand;--for myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption which might
have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, very ef=
fectually
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 sign=
s of
any treasure became manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to hope t=
hat
the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much
disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated=
the
entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit,
and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The
gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with
the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded,
slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the =
beginning
of his labor. In the mean time I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from =
his
master, began to gather up his tools. This done, and the dog having been
unmuzzled, we turned in profound silence towards home.
We had taken,
perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, with a loud oath, Legrand
strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the collar. The astonished negro op=
ened
his eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon
his knees.
"You
scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from between his
clenched teeth--"you infernal black villain!--speak, I tell you!--answ=
er
me this instant, without prevarication!--which--which is your left eye?&quo=
t;
"Oh, my
golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?" roared the
terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right organ of vision, and hol=
ding
it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his mast=
er's
attempt at a gouge.
"I thou=
ght
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, mutely, from his master to myse=
lf,
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.
"Jupite=
r,"
said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! was the skull nailed to=
the
limb with the face outwards, or with the face to the limb?"
"De face
was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good, widout any
trouble."
"Well,
then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped the beetle?"--=
here
Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes.
"Twas d=
is
eye, massa--de lef eye--jis as you tell me," and here it was his right=
eye
that the negro indicated.
"That w=
ill
do--must try it again."
Here my frie=
nd,
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 s=
pot
about three inches to the westward of its former position. Taking, now, the
tape measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and
continuing the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a
spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from the point at which we h=
ad
been digging.
Around the n=
ew
position a circle, somewhat larger than in the former instance, was now
described, and we again set to work with the spades. I was dreadfully weary,
but, scarcely understanding what had occasioned the change in my thoughts, I
felt no longer any great aversion from the labor imposed. I had become most
unaccountably interested--nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, a=
mid
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 companion=
. At
a period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me, and when we=
had
been at work perhaps an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the
violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had bee=
n,
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 resistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the mould frantical=
ly
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 sp=
ade upturned
the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four l=
oose
pieces of gold and silver coin came to light.
At sight of
these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained, but the countenance =
of
his master wore an air of extreme disappointment He urged us, however, to
continue our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I stumbled a=
nd
fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that=
lay
half buried in the loose earth.
We now worke=
d 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
trelliswork over the whole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were t=
hree
rings of iron--six in all--by means of which a firm hold could be obtained =
by
six persons. Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturb the coffer =
very
slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so great a
weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bo=
lts.
These we drew back--trembling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a
treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the
lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed upwards a glow and a glare, fro=
m 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 cour=
se,
predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few
words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as =
it
is possible, in nature of things, for any negro's visage to assume. He seem=
ed
stupified--thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, an=
d,
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, a=
s if
in a soliloquy,
"And dis
all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole bug! de poor little goole-bug, what=
I
boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aint you shamed ob yourself,
nigger?--answer me dat!"
It became ne=
cessary,
at last, that I should arouse both master and valet to the expediency of
removing the treasure. It was growing late, and it behooved us to make
exertion, that we might get every thing housed before daylight. It was
difficult to say what should be done, and much time was spent in
deliberation--so confused were the ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the=
box
by removing two thirds of its contents, when we were enabled, with some
trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited a=
mong
the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupit=
er
neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth un=
til
our return. We then hurriedly made for home with the chest; reaching the hu=
t in
safety, but after excessive toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out a=
s we
were, it was not in human nature to do more immediately. We rested until tw=
o,
and had supper; starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed with t=
hree
stout sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. A little before f=
our
we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as equally as mi=
ght
be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the hut, at
which, for the second time, we deposited our golden burthens, just as the f=
irst
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 orde=
r or
arrangement. Every thing had been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted =
all
with care, we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than we had at
first supposed. In coin there was rather more than four hundred and fifty
thousand dollars--estimating the value of the pieces, as accurately as we
could, by the tables of the period. There was not a particle of silver. All=
was
gold of antique date and of great variety--French, Spanish, and German mone=
y,
with a few English guineas, and some counters, of which we had never seen
specimens before. There were several very large and heavy coins, so worn th=
at
we could make nothing of their inscriptions. There was no American money. T=
he
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, wit=
h 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 identi=
fication.
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 censers=
of
great value;--a prodigious golden punch bowl, ornamented with richly chased
vine-leaves and Bacchanalian figures; with two sword-handles exquisitely
embossed, and many other smaller articles which I cannot recollect. The wei=
ght
of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois; and=
in
this estimate I have not included one hundred and ninety-seven superb gold
watches; three of the number being worth each five hundred dollars, if one.
Many of them were very old, and as time keepers valueless; the works having
suffered, more or less, from corrosion--but all were richly jewelled and in
cases of great worth. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that
night, at a 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 foun=
d that
we had greatly undervalued the treasure. When, at length, we had concluded =
our
examination, and the intense excitement of the time had, in some measure,
subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution =
of
this most extraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the circu=
mstances
connected with it.
"You
remember;" said he, "the night when I handed you the rough sketch=
I had
made of the scarabæus. You recollect also, that I became quite vexed =
at
you for insisting that my drawing resembled a death's-head. When you first =
made
this assertion I thought you were jesting; but afterwards I called to mind =
the
peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your
remark had some little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic
powers irritated me--for I am considered a good artist--and, therefore, when
you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it up and thro=
w it
angrily into the fire."
"The sc=
rap
of paper, you mean," said I.
"No; it=
had
much of the appearance of paper, and at first I supposed it to be such, but
when I came to draw upon it, I discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very
thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very
act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had been
looking, and you may imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the
figure of a death's-head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawin=
g of
the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. I kn=
ew
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 mysel=
f at
the other end of the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more close=
ly.
Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had m=
ade
it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really remarkable similari=
ty
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 scarabæus, 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 stupified me for a time. This is the usual
effect of such coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connexion--a
sequence of cause and effect--and, being unable to do so, suffers a species=
of
temporary paralysis. But, when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned u=
pon
me gradually a conviction which startled me even far more than the coincide=
nce.
I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there had been no drawing =
upon
the parchment when I made my sketch of the scarabæus. I became perfec=
tly 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 cou=
ld
not have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it
impossible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there seemed to glim=
mer,
faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a
glow-worm-like conception of that truth which last night's adventure brough=
t to
so magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and putting the parchment
securely away, dismissed all farther reflection until I should be alone.
"When y=
ou
had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook myself to a more
methodical investigation of the affair. In the first place I considered the
manner in which the parchment had come into my possession. The spot where we
discovered the scarabaeus was on the coast of the main land, about a mile
eastward of the island, and but a short distance above high water mark. Upo=
n my
taking hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop.
Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had
flown towards him, looked about him for a leaf, or something of that nature=
, by
which to take hold of it. It was at this moment that his eyes, and mine als=
o,
fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then supposed to be paper. It was
lying half buried in the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spot where we
found it, I observed the remnants of the hull of what appeared to have been=
a ship's
long boat. The wreck seemed to have been there for a very great while; for =
the
resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced.
"Well,
Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it, and gave it to m=
e.
Soon afterwards we turned to go home, and on the way met Lieutenant G-. I
showed him the insect, and he begged me to let him take it to the fort. Upo=
n my
consenting, he thrust it forthwith into his waistcoat pocket, without the
parchment in which it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold i=
n my
hand during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my mind, and tho=
ught
it best to make sure of the prize at once--you know how enthusiastic he is =
on
all subjects connected with Natural History. At the same time, without bein=
g conscious
of it, I must have deposited the parchment in my own pocket.
"You
remember that when I went to the table, for the purpose of making a sketch =
of
the beetle, I found no paper where it was usually kept. I looked in the dra=
wer,
and found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find an old letter, =
when
my hand fell upon the parchment. I thus detail the precise mode in which it
came into my possession; for the circumstances impressed me with peculiar
force.
"No dou=
bt
you will think me fanciful--but I had already established a kind of connexi=
on.
I had put together two links of a great chain. There was a boat lying upon a
sea-coast, and not far from the boat was a parchment--not a paper--with a s=
kull
depicted upon it. You will, of course, ask 'where is the connexion?' I reply
that the skull, or death's-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The
flag of the death's head is hoisted in all engagements.
"I have
said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parchment is durable--alm=
ost
imperishable. Matters of little moment are rarely consigned to parchment;
since, for the mere ordinary purposes of drawing or writing, it is not near=
ly
so well adapted as paper. This reflection suggested some meaning--some
relevancy--in the death's-head. I did not fail to observe, also, the form of
the parchment. Although one of its corners had been, by some accident,
destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong. It was just =
such
a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for a memorandum--for a record of
something to be long remembered and carefully preserved."
"But,&q=
uot;
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 connexion between=
the
boat and the skull--since this latter, according to your own admission, must
have been designed (God only knows how or by whom) at some period subsequen=
t to
your sketching the scarabæus?"
"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
scarabæus, there was no skull apparent upon the parchment. When I had
completed the drawing I gave it to you, and observed you narrowly until you
returned it. You, therefore, did not design the skull, and no one else was
present to do it. Then it was not done by human agency. And nevertheless it=
was
done.
"At this
stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and did remember, with en=
tire
distinctness, every incident which occurred about the period in question. T=
he
weather was chilly (oh rare and happy accident!), and a fire was blazing up=
on
the hearth. I was heated with exercise and sat near the table. You, however,
had drawn a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in y=
our
hand, and as you were in the act of inspecting it, Wolf, the Newfoundland,
entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left hand you caressed h=
im
and kept him off, while your right, holding the parchment, was permitted to=
fall
listlessly between your knees, and in close proximity to the fire. At one
moment I thought the blaze had caught it, and was about to caution you, but,
before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were engaged in its
examination. When I considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a
moment that heat had been the agent in bringing to light, upon the parchmen=
t,
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 at longer or shorter intervals a=
fter
the material written upon cools, but again become apparent upon the re-appl=
ication
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 oth=
ers.
It was clear that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or unequal. I
immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every portion of the parchment to=
a
glowing heat. At first, the only effect was 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 milli=
on 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 connex=
ion
between your pirates and a goat--pirates, you know, have nothing to do with
goats; they appertain to the farming interest."
"But I =
have
just said that the figure was not that of a goat."
"Well, a
kid then--pretty much the same thing."
"Pretty
much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You may have heard of o=
ne
Captain Kidd. I at once looked upon the figure of the animal as a kind of
punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say signature; because its position =
upon
the vellum suggested this idea. The death's-head at the corner diagonally
opposite, had, in the same manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was
sorely put out by the absence of all else--of the body to my imagined
instrument--of the text for my context."
"I pres=
ume
you expected to find a letter between the stamp and the signature."
"Someth=
ing
of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly impressed with a presentimen=
t of
some vast good fortune impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after al=
l,
it was rather a desire than an actual belief;--but do you know that Jupiter=
's
silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect upo=
n my
fancy? And then the series of accidents and coincidences--these were so very
extraordinary. 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 t=
he
intervention of the dog at the precise moment in which he appeared, I should
never have become aware of the death's-head, and so never the possessor of =
the
treasure?"
"But
proceed--I am all impatience."
"Well; =
you
have heard, of course, the many stories current--the thousand vague rumors
afloat about money buried, somewhere upon the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and h=
is
associates. These rumors must have had some foundation in fact. And that the
rumors have existed so long and so continuous, could have resulted, it appe=
ared
to me, only from the circumstance of the buried treasure still remaining
entombed. Had Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards reclaim=
ed
it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their present unvarying fo=
rm. You
will observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about
money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his money, there the affair would h=
ave
dropped. It seemed to me that some accident--say the loss of a memorandum
indicating its locality--had deprived him of the means of recovering it, and
that this accident had become known to his followers, who otherwise might n=
ever
have heard that treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying themse=
lves
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 e=
ver
heard of any important treasure being unearthed along the coast?"
"Never.=
"
"But th=
at
Kidd's accumulations were immense, is well known. I took it for granted,
therefore, that the earth still held them; and you will scarcely be surpris=
ed
when I tell you that I felt a hope, nearly amounting to certainty, that the
parchment so strangely found, involved a lost record of the place of
deposit."
"But how
did you proceed?"
"I held=
the
vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat; but nothing appeared. I
now thought it possible that the coating of dirt might have something to do
with the failure; so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water
over it, and, having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull
downwards, and put the pan upon a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few
minutes, the pan having become thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, =
to
my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what appear=
ed
to be figures arranged in lines. Again I placed it in the pan, and suffered=
it
to remain another minute. Upon taking it off, the whole was just as you see=
it
now." Here Legrand, having re-heated the parchment, submitted it to my
inspection. The following characters were rudely traced, in a red tint, bet=
ween
the death's-head and the goat:
"53)48¶60))85;1-(;:*8-83(88)5*
;46(;88*96*?=
;8)*2:*
85);)69;48081;8:885;4)4859;48;
(88;4(;161;:188;
"But,&q=
uot;
said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark as ever. Were
all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me upon my solution of this enigma, I am
quite sure that I should be unable to earn them."
"And
yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so difficult as =
you
might be lead to imagine from the first hasty inspection of the characters.
These characters, as any one might readily guess, form a cipher--that is to
say, they convey a meaning; but then, from what is known of Kidd, I could n=
ot
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?"
"Readil= y; 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 application, resolve. In fact, having once established connected and legible characters,= I scarcely gave a thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import.<= o:p>
"In the
present case--indeed in all cases of secret writing--the first question reg=
ards
the language of the cipher; for the principles of solution, so far, especia=
lly,
as the more simple ciphers are concerned, depend upon, and are varied by, t=
he
genius of the particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative but
experiment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to him who
attempts the solution, until the true one be attained. But, with the cipher=
now
before us, all difficulty was removed by the signature. The pun upon the wo=
rd
'Kidd' is appreciable in no other language than the English. But for this c=
onsideration
I should have begun my attempts with the Spanish and French, as the tongues=
in
which a secret of this kind would most naturally have been written by a pir=
ate
of the Spanish main. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to be English.
"You
observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there been divisions,=
the
task would have been comparatively easy. In such case I should have commenc=
ed
with a collation and analysis of the shorter words, and, had a word of a si=
ngle
letter occurred, as is most likely, (a or I, for example,) I should have
considered the solution as assured. But, there being no division, my first =
step
was to ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent.
Counting all, I constructed a table, thus:
Of the chara=
cter
8 there are 33.
=
&nb=
sp;
; &nbs=
p;
" 26.
=
&nb=
sp;
4 &nbs=
p;
" 19.
=
&nb=
sp;
=
;
=
&nb=
sp;
* &nbs=
p;
" 13.
=
=
5
" 12.
=
&nb=
sp;
6 &nbs=
p;
" 11.
=
&nb=
sp;
=
;
=
&nb=
sp;
0 &nbs=
p;
"
6.
=
&nb=
sp;
9 2
"
5.
=
&nb=
sp;
: 3
"
4.
=
&nb=
sp;
? &nbs=
p;
"
3.
=
&nb=
sp;
¶  =
;
"
2.
=
&nb=
sp;
-. &nb=
sp;
"
1.
"Now, in
English, the letter which most frequently occurs is e. Afterwards, successi=
on
runs thus: a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m w b k p q x z. E predominates so
remarkably that an individual sentence of any length is rarely seen, in whi=
ch
it is not the prevailing character.
"Here,
then, we leave, in the very beginning, the groundwork for something more th=
an a
mere guess. The general use which may be made of the table is obvious--but,=
in
this particular cipher, we shall only very partially require its aid. As our
predominant character is 8, we will commence by assuming it as the e of the
natural alphabet. To verify the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen
often in couples--for e is doubled with great frequency in English--in such
words, for example, as 'meet,' '.fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,' been,' 'agree,'
&c. 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 usua=
l;
let us see, therefore, whether there are not repetitions of any three
characters, in the same order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If =
we
discover repetitions of such letters, so arranged, they will most probably
represent the word 'the.' Upon inspection, we find no less than seven such
arrangements, the characters being;48. We may, therefore, assume that;
represents t, 4 represents h, and 8 represents e--the last being now well
confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken.
"But,
having established a single word, we are enabled to establish a vastly
important point; that is to say, several commencements and terminations of
other words. Let us refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in wh=
ich
the combination;48 occurs--not far from the end of the cipher. We know that
the; immediately ensuing is the commencement of a word, and, of the six
characters succeeding this 'the,' we are cognizant of no less than five. Le=
t us
set these characters down, thus, by the letters we know them to represent,
leaving a space for the unknown--
t eeth.
"Here we
are enabled, at once, to discard the 'th,' as forming no portion of the word
commencing with the first t; since, by experiment of the entire alphabet fo=
r a
letter adapted to the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be formed of wh=
ich
this th can be a part. We are thus narrowed into
t ee,
and, going
through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we arrive at the word 'tree,=
' as
the sole possible reading. We thus gain another letter, r, represented by (,
with the words 'the tree' in juxtaposition.
"Looking
beyond these words, for a short distance, we again see the combination;48, =
and
employ it by way of termination to what immediately precedes. We have thus =
this
arrangement:
the tree;4(<=
/span>
or, substitu=
ting
the natural letters, where known, it reads thus:
the tree thr=
"Now, i=
f,
in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank spaces, or substitute do=
ts,
we read thus:
the tree thr=
...h
the,
when the word
'through' makes itself evident at once. But this discovery gives us three n=
ew
letters, o, u and g, represented by ?
and 3.
"Looking
now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of known characters, we
find, not very far from the beginning, this arrangement,
83(88, or eg=
ree,
which, plain=
ly,
is the conclusion of the word 'degree,' and gives us another letter, d,
represented by .
"Four
letters beyond the word 'degree,' we perceive the combination
;46(;88.
"Transl=
ating
the known characters, and representing the unknown by dots, as before, we r=
ead
thus: th rtee. an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 'thirteen,'
and again furnishing us with two new characters, i and n, represented by 6 =
and
*.
"Referr=
ing,
now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find the combination,
53
"Transl=
ating,
as before, we obtain
good,
which assure=
s 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 a=
void
confusion. It will stand thus:
=
5 represents a
=
=
;
=
8 &nbs=
p;
"  =
;
e
=
3 &nbs=
p;
"  =
;
g
=
4 &nbs=
p;
"  =
;
h
=
6 &nbs=
p;
"  =
;
i
=
* &nbs=
p;
"  =
;
n
=
=
;
=
(
"
r
=
;
"  =
;
t
"We hav=
e,
therefore, no less than ten of the most important letters represented, and =
it
will be unnecessary to proceed with the details of the solution. I have said
enough to convince you that ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and=
to
give you some insight into the rationale of their development. But be assur=
ed
that the specimen before us appertains to the very simplest species of
cryptograph. It now only remains to give you the full translation of the
characters upon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:
"'A good
glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one degrees and thir=
teen
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.'"
"But,&q=
uot;
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 heads,' and 'bishop's hotels?'"
"I
confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears a serious=
aspect,
when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavor was to divide the
sentence into the natural division intended by the cryptographist."
"You me=
an,
to punctuate it?"
"Someth=
ing
of that kind."
"But how
was it possible to effect this?"
"I
reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run his words together
without division, so as to increase the difficulty of solution. Now, a not
over-acute man, in pursuing such an object would be nearly certain to overdo
the matter. When, in the course of his composition, he arrived at a break in
his subject which would naturally require a pause, or a point, he would be
exceedingly apt to run his characters, at this place, more than usually clo=
se
together. If you will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will ea=
sily
detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting upon this hint, I made t=
he
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 t=
his
division," said I, "leaves me still in the dark."
"It lef=
t me
also in the dark," replied Legrand, "for a few days; during which=
I
made diligent inquiry, in the neighborhood of Sullivan's Island, for any
building which went by the name of the 'Bishop's Hotel;' for, of course, I
dropped the obsolete word 'hostel.' Gaining no information on the subject, I
was on the point of extending my sphere of search, and proceeding in a more
systematic manner, when, one morning, it entered into my head, quite sudden=
ly,
that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might have some reference to an old family, of =
the
name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held possession of an ancient
manor-house, about four miles to the northward of the Island. I accordingly
went over to the plantation, and re-instituted my inquiries among the older
negroes of the place. At length one of the most aged of the women said that=
she
had heard of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she could gu=
ide
me to it, but that it was not a castle nor a tavern, but a high rock.
"I offe=
red
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, dismis=
sing
her, I proceeded to examine the place. The 'castle' consisted of an irregul=
ar
assemblage of cliffs and rocks--one of the latter being quite remarkable for
its height as well as for its insulated and artificial appearance I clamber=
ed
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 f=
ace
of the rock, perhaps a yard below the summit upon which I stood. This ledge
projected about eighteen inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a
niche in the cliff just above it, gave it a rude resemblance to one of the
hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. I made no doubt that here was t=
he
'devil's seat' alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to grasp the full se=
cret
of the riddle.
"The 'g=
ood
glass,' I knew, could have reference to nothing but a telescope; for the wo=
rd
'glass' is rarely employed in any other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once
saw, was a telescope to be used, and a definite point of view, admitting no
variation, from which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phr=
ases,
"forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes,' and 'northeast and by north,'
were intended as directions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited=
by
these discoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to th=
e 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 preconcei=
ved
idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the 'forty-one degrees and
thirteen minutes' could allude to nothing but elevation above the visible
horizon, since the horizontal direction was clearly indicated by the words,
'northeast and by north.' This latter direction I at once established by me=
ans
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 cautio=
usly
up or down, until my attention was arrested by a circular rift or opening in
the foliage of a large tree that overtopped its fellows in the distance. In=
the
centre of this rift I perceived a white spot, but could not, at first,
distinguish what it was. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again look=
ed,
and now made it out to be a human skull.
"Upon t=
his
discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the enigma solved; for the phrase
'main branch, seventh limb, east side,' could refer only to the position of=
the
skull upon the tree, 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 ey=
e of
the skull, and that a bee-line, or, in other words, a straight line, drawn =
from
the nearest point of the trunk through 'the shot,' (or the spot where the
bullet fell,) and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, would indica=
te a
definite point--and beneath this point I thought it at least possible that =
a deposit
of value lay concealed."
"All
this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although ingenious, st=
ill
simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's Hotel, what then?"
"Why,
having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turned homewards. The
instant that I left 'the devil's seat,' however, the circular rift vanished;
nor could I get a glimpse of it afterwards, turn as I would. What seems to =
me
the chief ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact (for repeated
experiment has convinced me it is a fact) that the circular opening in ques=
tion
is visible from no other attainable 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, observed, for some weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor, and t=
ook
especial care not to leave me alone. But, on the next day, getting up very
early, I contrived to give him the slip, and went into the hills in search =
of
the tree. After much toil I found it. When I came home at night my valet
proposed to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure I believe you
are as well acquainted as myself."
"I
suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the first attempt at d=
igging,
through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall through the right inste=
ad
of through the left eye of the skull."
"Precis=
ely.
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 t=
he
error, however trivial in the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the
line, and by the time we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent.=
But
for my deep-seated impressions that treasure was here somewhere actually bu=
ried,
we might have had all our labor in vain."
"But yo=
ur
grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging the beetle--how excessively od=
d! I
was sure you were mad. And why did you insist upon letting fall the bug,
instead of a bullet, from the skull?"
"Why, t=
o be
frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident suspicions touching my sanit=
y,
and so resolved to punish you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of so=
ber
mystification. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason I le=
t it
fall it from the tree. An observation of yours about its great weight sugge=
sted
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 i=
s a
question I am no more able to answer than yourself. There seems, however, o=
nly
one plausible way of accounting for them--and yet it is dreadful to believe=
in
such atrocity as my suggestion would imply. It is clear that Kidd--if Kidd
indeed secreted this treasure, which I doubt not--it is clear that he must =
have
had assistance in the labor. But this labor concluded, he may have thought =
it
expedient to remove all participants in his secret. Perhaps a couple of blo=
ws
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. =
&nb=
sp; --Crebillon's
Xerxes.
ANTIOCHUS EP=
IPHANES
is very generally looked upon as the Gog of the prophet Ezekiel. This honor=
is,
however, more properly attributable to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, ind=
eed,
the character of the Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of any
adventitious embellishment. His accession to the throne, or rather his
usurpation of the sovereignty, a hundred and seventy-one years before the
coming of Christ; his attempt to plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus; hi=
s implacable
hostility to the Jews; his pollution of the Holy of Holies; and his miserab=
le
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 h=
is
time than the impious, dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsical achievements
which make up the sum total of his private life and reputation.
Let us suppo= se, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the world three thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a few minutes, imagine ourselves 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 appellatio= n, besides the one to which I more particularly 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 became immediately the residence of the Syrian monarchy. In = the flourishing times of the Roman Empire, it was the ordinary station of the prefect of the eastern provinces; and many of the emperors of the queen city (among whom m= ay be mentioned, especially, 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.<= o:p>
"What b=
road
and rapid river is that which forces its way, with innumerable falls, throu=
gh
the mountainous wilderness, and finally through the wilderness of
buildings?"
That is the
Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the exception of the
Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad mirror, about twelve miles off=
to
the southward. Every one has seen the Mediterranean; but let me tell you, t=
here
are few who have had a peep at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you a=
nd
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 hous=
es
that lie beneath us. You will remember that it is now the year of the world
three thousand eight hundred and thirty. Were it later--for example, were it
the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five, we should be deprived=
of
this extraordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth century Antioch is--that is=
to
say, Antioch will be--in a lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by
that time, totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three successi=
ve
earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of its former self may t=
hen
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 profi=
t by
my advice, and are making the most of your time in inspecting the premises-=
-in
-satisfying =
your
eyes
With the
memorials and the things of fame
That most re=
nown
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?
"It is =
well
fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to nature as to art.&quo=
t;
Very true.
"There =
are
a prodigious number of stately palaces."
There are.
"And the
numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear comparison with the m=
ost
lauded of antiquity."
All this I m=
ust
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 over-powering fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should fi=
nd a
most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so insufferably narrow=
, or
houses so miraculously tall? What gloom their shadows cast upon the ground!=
It is
well the swinging lamps in those endless colonnades are kept burning throug=
hout
the day; we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her
desolation.
"It is
certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder singular building?
See! it towers above all others, and lies to the eastward of what I take to=
be
the royal palace."
That is the =
new
Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under the title of Elah Gabalah.
Hereafter a very notorious Roman Emperor will institute this worship in Rom=
e,
and thence derive a cognomen, Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to ta=
ke 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 un=
der
the figure of a large stone pillar terminating at the summit in a cone or p=
yramid,
whereby is denoted Fire.
"Hark--=
behold!--who
can those ridiculous beings be, half naked, with their faces painted, shout=
ing
and gesticulating to the rabble?"
Some few are
mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the race of philosophers. T=
he
greatest portion, however--those especially who belabor the populace with
clubs--are the principal courtiers of the palace, executing as in duty boun=
d,
some laudable comicality of the king's.
"But wh=
at
have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming with wild beasts! How terrible a
spectacle!--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. So=
me
few, to be sure, are led with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly =
the
lesser or timid species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are entirely
without restraint. They have been trained without difficulty to their prese=
nt profession,
and attend upon their respective owners in the capacity of valets-de-chambr=
e.
It is true, there are occasions when Nature asserts her violated
dominions;--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 hi=
nted
at in Epidaphne.
"But wh=
at
extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud noise even for Antioc=
h!
It argues some commotion of unusual interest."
Yes--undoubt=
edly.
The king has ordered some novel spectacle--some gladiatorial exhibition at =
the
hippodrome--or perhaps the massacre of the Scythian prisoners--or the
conflagration of his new palace--or the tearing down of a handsome temple--=
or,
indeed, a bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter
ascend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind instruments, and horr=
ible
with clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, for the love of fun, and =
see
what is going on! This way--be careful! Here we are in the principal street=
, which
is called the street of Timarchus. The sea of people is coming this way, an=
d 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 k=
ing
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 h=
ave
a glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of Ashimah. Let us ensco=
nce
ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary; he will be here anon. In the
meantime let us survey this image. What is it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah in
proper person. You perceive, however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat,
nor a satyr, neither has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Y=
et
all these appearances have been given--I beg pardon--will be given--by the
learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the Syrians. Put on your spectacl=
es,
and tell me what it is. What is it?
"Bless =
me!
it is an ape!"
True--a babo=
on;
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 doe=
s 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 h=
im
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!
Mille, mille,
mille,
Vivat qui mi=
lle
mille occidit!
Tantum vini
habet nemo
Quantum
sanguinis effudit!(*1)
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 thous=
and
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 Syr=
ia
can furnish of wine!
"Do you
hear that flourish of trumpets?"
Yes: the kin=
g 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?--do not behold him--cannot say that I perceive him."
Then you mus=
t be
blind.
"Very
possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of idiots and madmen, who
are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic cameleopard, and
endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs. See! the beast has very
justly kicked one of the rabble over--and another--and another--and another.
Indeed, I cannot help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is makin=
g of
his feet."
Rabble,
indeed!--why these are the noble and free citizens of Epidaphne! Beasts, did
you say?--take care that you are not overheard. Do you not perceive that the
animal has the visage of a man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no ot=
her
than Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and the
most potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true, that he is entitl=
ed,
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 t=
hat
he is at present ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to
play the part of a cameleopard; but this is done for the better sustaining =
his
dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the dress=
is
therefore neither unbecoming nor over large. We may, however, presume he wo=
uld
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 concubines, Elline and Argelais; and his whole appearance wou=
ld
be infinitely prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his eyes,
which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color of his face,
which has become nondescript from the quantity of wine he has swallowed. Le=
t us
follow him to the hippodrome, whither he is proceeding, and listen to the s=
ong
of triumph which he is commencing:
Who is king =
but
Epiphanes?
Say--do you
know?
Who is king =
but
Epiphanes?
Bravo!--brav=
o!
There is none
but Epiphanes,
No--there is
none:
So tear down=
the
temples,
And put out =
the
sun!
Well and str=
enuously
sung! The populace are hailing him 'Prince of Poets,' as well as 'Glory of =
the
East,' 'Delight of the Universe,' and 'Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.' Th=
ey
have encored his effusion, and do you hear?--he is singing it over again. W=
hen
he arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with the poetic wreath, in
anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.
"But, g=
ood
Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?"
Behind us, d=
id
you say?--oh! ah!--I perceive. My friend, it is well that you spoke in time.
Let us get into a place of safety as soon as possible. Here!--let us conceal
ourselves in the arch of this aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of =
the
origin of the commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The
singular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man, has, it seems,
given offence to the notions of propriety entertained, in general, by the w=
ild
animals domesticated 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 quellin=
g the
mob. Several of the Syrians have already been devoured; but the general voi=
ce
of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the cameleopard. 'The
Prince of Poets,' therefore, is upon his hinder legs, running for his life.=
His
courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubines have followed so
excellent an example. 'Delight of the Universe,' thou art in a sad predicam=
ent!
'Glory of the East,' thou art in danger of mastication! Therefore never reg=
ard
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 degradatio=
n;
but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the hippodrome! Rem=
ember
that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus the Illustrious!--also 'Prince=
of
Poets,' 'Glory of the East,' 'Delight of the Universe,' and 'Most Remarkabl=
e of
Cameleopards!' Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a
capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince!--Bravo, Epiphanes! =
Well
done, Cameleopard!--Glorious Antiochus!--He runs!--he leaps!--he flies! Lik=
e 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 se=
cond
longer in reaching the gates of the Amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub=
in
Epidaphne that would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let us be off--l=
et
us take our departure!--for we shall find our delicate modern ears unable to
endure the vast uproar which is about to commence in celebration of the kin=
g'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! wh=
at a
jumble of all ranks and ages! what a multiplicity of sects and nations! wha=
t 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 beseech
you?"
That?--oh,
nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne being, as they declare, w=
ell
satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, and divinity of their king, and havi=
ng,
moreover, been eye-witnesses of his late superhuman agility, do think it no
more than their duty to invest his brows (in addition to the poetic crown) =
with
the wreath of victory in the footrace--a wreath which it is evident he must
obtain at the celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, therefore, they =
now
give him in advance.
Footnotes--Four Beasts
(*1) 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.
THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
What song the Syrens sang, or what=
name
Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although
puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.
=
--Sir Thomas Browne.
The mental features discoursed of a=
s the
analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We
appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things,
that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a sou=
rce
of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical abilit=
y,
delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories th=
e 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 enigm=
as,
of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degr=
ee
of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension præternatural. H=
is
results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in tru=
th,
the whole air of intuition.
The faculty =
of
re-solution is possibly much invigorated by mathematical study, and especia=
lly
by that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its
retrograde operations, has been called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet=
to
calculate is not in itself to analyse. A chess-player, for example, does the
one without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its
effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now writi=
ng a
treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar narrative by observations
very much at random; I will, therefore, take occasion to assert that the hi=
gher
powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tas=
ked
by the unostentatious game of draughts than by a the elaborate frivolity of
chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and bizarre motions,
with various and variable values, what is only complex is mistaken (a not
unusual error) for what is profound. The attention is here called powerfully
into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is committed resulting in
injury or defeat. The possible moves being not only manifold but involute, =
the
chances of such oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it =
is
the more concentrative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In d=
raughts,
on the contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little variation, =
the
probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere attention being =
left
comparatively unemployed, what advantages are obtained by either party are
obtained by superior acumen. To be less abstract--Let us suppose a game of
draughts where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, =
no
oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be dec=
ided
(the players being at all equal) only by some recherché movement, th=
e result
of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, t=
he
analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies himself
therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods
(sometime indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or
hurry into miscalculation.
Whist has lo=
ng
been noted for its influence upon what is termed the calculating power; and=
men
of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an apparently
unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond dou=
bt
there is nothing of a similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of
analysis. The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the =
best
player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in a=
ll
those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind. When I sa=
y proficiency,
I mean that perfection in the game which includes a comprehension of all the
sources whence legitimate advantage may be derived. These are not only mani=
fold
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 concentrative chess-player will do ve=
ry
well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere
mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally comprehensible. Thus =
to
have a retentive memory, and to proceed by "the book," are points
commonly regarded as the sum total of good playing. But it is in matters be=
yond
the limits of mere rule that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes,=
in
silence, a host of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his compani=
ons;
and the difference in the extent of the information obtained, lies not so m=
uch
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
triumph, or of chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges
whether the person taking it can make another in the suit. He recognises wh=
at
is played through feint, by the air with which it is thrown upon the table.=
A
casual or inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, w=
ith
the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; the
counting of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement; embarrassment,
hesitation, eagerness or trepidation--all afford, to his apparently intuiti=
ve perception,
indications of the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds hav=
ing
been played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and
thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose a=
s if
the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their own.
The analytic=
al
power should not be confounded with ample ingenuity; for while the analyst =
is
necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of
analysis. The constructive or combining power, by which ingenuity is usually
manifested, and to which the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have
assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so
frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as=
to
have attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between ingenui=
ty
and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than
that between the fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly
analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fancifu=
l,
and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.
The narrative
which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the light of a commenta=
ry
upon the propositions just advanced.
Residing in
Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18--, I there became acqu=
ainted
with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an
excellent--indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward
events, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy of his character
succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestir himself in the world, or to c=
are
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 obtained.
Our first
meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, where the accident=
of
our both being in search of the same very rare and very remarkable volume,
brought us into closer communion. We saw each other again and again. I was
deeply interested in the little family history which he detailed to me with=
all
that candor which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is his theme. I w=
as
astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt =
my
soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness of his
imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I felt that the
society of such a man would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feel=
ing
I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged that we should live to=
gether
during my stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat l=
ess
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 superstit=
ions
into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and
desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.
Had the rout=
ine
of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been rega=
rded
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 fre=
ak
of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the
Night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I
quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon. The
sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counter=
feit
her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the messy shut=
ters
of our old building; lighting a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed, =
threw
out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these we then
busied our souls in dreams--reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by
the clock of the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the
streets arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wi=
de
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 time=
s 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 boas=
ted
to me, with a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wo=
re
windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by direct
and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His manner at
these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression;
while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would have
sounded petulantly but for the deliberateness and entire distinctness of th=
e enunciation.
Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old
philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a double
Dupin--the creative and the resolvent.
Let it not be
supposed, from what I have just said, that I am detailing any mystery, or p=
enning
any romance. What I have described in the Frenchman, was merely the result =
of
an excited, or perhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of the character of =
his
remarks at 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 spo=
ken
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 Thé&aci=
rc;tre
des Variétés."
"There =
can
be no doubt of that," I replied unwittingly, and not at first observing
(so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in whi=
ch
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 comprehension. I do not hesitate to
say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible
you should know I was thinking of -----?" Here I paused, to ascertain
beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.
--"of
Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarking to you=
rself
that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."
This was
precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections. Chantilly was a
quondam cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted
the rôle of Xerxes, in Crébillon's tragedy so called, and been
notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.
"Tell m=
e,
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 rememb=
ered
that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a large basket of apples,
had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C ---- in=
to
the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly I c=
ould
not possibly understand.
There was no=
t a
particle of charlâtanerie 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 t=
hat
of the rencontre with the fruiterer in question. The larger links of the ch=
ain
run thus--Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street
stones, the fruiterer."
There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is often full of interest and he who attempts= it for the first time is astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have = been my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just spoken, and = when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken the truth. He continued:<= o:p>
"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 stree=
t, a
fruiterer, with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly past us, thr=
ust
you upon a pile of paving stones collected at a spot where the causeway is
undergoing repair. You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped,
slightly 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 ke=
pt
your eyes upon the ground--glancing, with a petulant expression, at the hol=
es
and ruts in the pavement, (so that I saw you were still thinking of the
stones,) until we reached the little alley called Lamartine, which has been
paved, by way of experiment, with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here =
your
countenance brightened up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt
that you murmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied to =
this
species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself 'stereotomy'
without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of the theories of
Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject not very long ago, I
mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice, the vague gues=
ses of
that noble Greek had met with confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I
felt that you could not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula =
in
Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I
was now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that bitter
tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday's 'Musée,' the
satirist, making some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler s change of name
upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we have often
conversed. I mean the line
Perdidit antiquum
litera sonum.
"I had =
told
you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written Urion; and, from
certain pungencies connected with this explanation, I was aware that you co=
uld
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 s=
aw
by the character of the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of t=
he
poor cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but =
now
I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure that you
reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this point I interrup=
ted
your meditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little fellow--t=
hat
Chantilly--he would do better at the Théâtre des Variét=
és."
Not long aft=
er
this, we were looking over an evening edition of the "Gazette des
Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs arrested our attention.
"EXTRAO=
RDINARY
MURDERS.--This morning, about three o'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier
St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issui=
ng,
apparently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be=
in
the sole occupancy of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter Mademoiselle
Camille L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to
procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with a
crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered accompanied by two
gendarmes. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up t=
he
first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in angry contention were d=
istinguished
and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the house. As the second landi=
ng
was reached, these sounds, also, had ceased and everything remained perfect=
ly
quiet. The party spread themselves and hurried from room to room. Upon arri=
ving
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 presented itself
which struck every one present not less with horror than with astonishment.=
"The apartment was in the wildest disorder--the furniture broken and thrown abou= t 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 tresse= s of grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out= by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of métal d'Alger, and two b= ags, containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, wh= ich stood in one corner were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although m= any 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.<= o:p>
"Of Mad=
ame
L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual quantity of soot being
observed in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible=
to
relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; =
it
having been thus forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance.=
The
body was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no
doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up and
disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon the throat,
dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as if the deceased had
been throttled to death.
"After a
thorough investigation of every portion of the house, without farther
discovery, the party made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the
building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely=
cut
that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off. The body, as well as=
the
head, was fearfully mutilated--the former so much so as scarcely to retain =
any
semblance of humanity.
"To this
horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the slightest clew."=
The next day=
's
paper had these additional particulars.
"The
Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. Many individuals have been examined in relation =
to
this most extraordinary and frightful affair. [The word 'affaire' has not y=
et,
in France, that levity of import which it conveys with us,] "but nothi=
ng
whatever has transpired to throw light upon it. We give below all the mater=
ial
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 daug=
hter
seemed on good terms--very affectionate towards each other. They were excel=
lent
pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed t=
hat
Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Nev=
er
met any persons in the house when she called for the clothes or took them h=
ome.
Was sure that they had no servant in employ. There appeared to be no furnit=
ure
in any part of the building except in the fourth story.
"Pierre
Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit of selling small
quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye for nearly four years.=
Was
born in the neighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceased and her
daughter had occupied the house in which the corpses were found, for more t=
han
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 t=
hem
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 live=
d an
exceedingly retired life--were reputed to have money. Had heard it said amo=
ng
the neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes--did not believe it. Had never s=
een
any person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter on=
ce
or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.
"Many o=
ther
persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No one was spoken of =
as
frequenting the house. It was not known whether there were any living
connexions of Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters of the front windows=
were
seldom opened. Those in the rear were always closed, with the exception of =
the
large back room, fourth story. The house was a good house--not very old.
"Isidore
Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was called to the house about three o'cloc=
k in
the morning, and found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway,
endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it open, at length, with a bayonet--=
not
with a crowbar. Had but little difficulty in getting it open, on account of=
its
being a double or folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom not top. The
shrieks were continued until the gate was forced--and then suddenly ceased.
They seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony--were =
loud
and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way up stairs. Upon
reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry contention--=
the
one a gruff voice, the other much shriller--a very strange voice. Could dis=
tinguish
some words of the former, which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that =
it
was not a woman's voice. Could distinguish the words 'sacré' and
'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure wheth=
er
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 Musè=
;t in
general. As soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the door, to keep
out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstanding the lateness of t=
he
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. Co=
uld
not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the intonation that the spe=
aker
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.
"--Oden=
heimer,
restaurateur. This witness volunteered his testimony. Not speaking French, =
was
examined through an interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the
house at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for several minutes--probably
ten. They were long and loud--very awful and distressing. Was one of those =
who
entered the building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every respect b=
ut one.
Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man--of a Frenchman. Could not
distinguish the words uttered. They were loud and quick--unequal--spoken
apparently in fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh--not so much sh=
rill
as harsh. Could not call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly=
'sacré,'
'diable,' and once 'mon Dieu.'
"Jules
Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder
Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye had some property. Had opened an account with hi=
s banking
house in the spring of the year--(eight years previously). Made frequent
deposits in small sums. Had checked for nothing until the third day before =
her
death, when she took out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum was pai=
d in
gold, and a clerk went home with the money.
"Adolph=
e Le
Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that on the day in question, about n=
oon,
he accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her residence with the 4000 francs, put=
up
in two bags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took =
from
his hands one of the bags, while the old lady relieved him of the other. He
then bowed and departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time. =
It
is a bye-street--very lonely.
"William
Bird, tailor deposes that he was one of the party who entered the house. Is=
an
Englishman. Has lived in Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascend the
stairs. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a
Frenchman. Could make out several words, but cannot now remember all. Heard
distinctly 'sacré' and 'mon Dieu.' There was a sound at the moment a=
s if
of several persons struggling--a scraping and scuffling sound. The shrill v=
oice
was very loud--louder than the gruff one. Is sure that it was not the voice=
of
an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a German. Might have been a woman's
voice. Does not understand German.
"Four of
the above-named witnesses, being recalled, deposed that the door of the cha=
mber
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 within. A door betw=
een
the two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the front r=
oom
into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small room in th=
e front
of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of the passage was open, the
door being ajar. This room was crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth.
These were carefully removed and searched. There was not an inch of any por=
tion
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 open=
ed
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 witness=
es. Some
made it as short as three minutes--some as long as five. The door was opened
with difficulty.
"Alfonzo
Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native =
of
Spain. Was one of the party who entered the house. Did not proceed up stair=
s.
Is nervous, and was apprehensive of the consequences of agitation. Heard the
voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not
distinguish what was said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman--is s=
ure
of this. Does not understand the English language, but judges by the
intonation.
"Alberto
Montani, confectioner, deposes that he was among the first to ascend the
stairs. Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchm=
an.
Distinguished several words. The speaker appeared to be expostulating. Could
not make out the words of the shrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Think=
s it
the voice of a Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian.
Never conversed with a native of Russia.
"Severa=
l witnesses,
recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all the rooms on the fourth s=
tory
were too narrow to admit the passage of a human being. By 'sweeps' were mea=
nt
cylindrical sweeping brushes, such as are employed by those who clean chimn=
eys.
These brushes were passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no =
back
passage by which any one could have descended while the party proceeded up
stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in the chi=
mney
that it could not be got down until four or five of the party united their =
strength.
"Paul
Dumas, physician, deposes that he was called to view the bodies about
day-break. They were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead in the
chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The corpse of the young lady was m=
uch
bruised and excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust up the chimney wou=
ld
sufficiently account for these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed.
There were several deep scratches just below the chin, together with a seri=
es
of livid spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The face was
fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. The tongue had been
partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the pit of the=
stomach,
produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion of M. Dumas,
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been throttled to death by some person or perso=
ns
unknown. The corpse of the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of =
the
right leg and arm were more or less shattered. The left tibia much splinter=
ed,
as well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised and
discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been inflicted.=
A
heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron--a chair--any large, heavy, and
obtuse weapon would have produced such results, if wielded by the hands of a
very powerful man. No woman could have inflicted the blows with any weapon.=
The
head of the deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated from the
body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with
some very sharp instrument--probably with a razor.
"Alexan=
dre
Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the bodies. Corroborated=
the
testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.
"Nothing
farther of importance was elicited, although several other persons were
examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in all its particulars,=
was
never before committed in Paris--if indeed a murder has been committed at a=
ll.
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
re-searched, and fresh examinations of witnesses instituted, but all to no
purpose. A postscript, however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arre=
sted
and imprisoned--although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts
already detailed.
Dupin seemed
singularly interested in the progress of this affair--at least so I judged =
from
his manner, for he made no comments. It was only after the announcement tha=
t Le
Bon had been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion respecting the murders=
.
I could mere=
ly
agree with all Paris in considering them an insoluble mystery. I saw no mea=
ns
by which it would be possible to trace the murderer.
"We must
not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this shell of an examina=
tion.
The Parisian police, so much extolled for acumen, are cunning, but no more.
There is no method in their proceedings, beyond the method of the moment. T=
hey
make a vast parade of measures; but, not unfrequently, these are so ill ada=
pted
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 attain=
ed by
them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most part, are brought a=
bout
by simple diligence and activity. When these qualities are unavailing, their
schemes fail. Vidocq, for example, was a good guesser and a persevering man.
But, without educated thought, he erred continually by the very intensity of
his investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the object too close.=
He
might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual clearness, but in so doi=
ng
he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is such a
thing as being too profound. Truth is not always in a well. In fact, as reg=
ards
the more important knowledge, I do believe that she is invariably superfici=
al. The
depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops
where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error are well
typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at a star by
glances--to view it in a side-long way, by turning toward it the exterior
portions of the retina (more susceptible of feeble impressions of light than
the interior), is to behold the star distinctly--is to have the best apprec=
iation
of its lustre--a lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our
vision fully upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye in
the latter case, but, in the former, there is the more refined capacity for=
comprehension.
By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it is possible to =
make
even Venus herself vanish from the firmanent by a scrutiny too sustained, t=
oo
concentrated, or too direct.
"As for
these murders, let us enter into some examinations for ourselves, before we
make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry will afford us amusement,&qu=
ot;
[I thought this an odd term, so applied, but said nothing] "and, besid=
es,
Le Bon once rendered 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 permissi=
on
was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of th=
ose
miserable thoroughfares which intervene between the Rue Richelieu and the R=
ue
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 fo=
und;
for there were still many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an
objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an ordinary
Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a glazed watch-box,
with a sliding panel in the window, indicating a loge de concierge. Before
going in we walked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, again
turning, passed in the rear of the building--Dupin, meanwhile examining the
whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a minuteness of attention fo=
r which
I could see no possible object.
Retracing our
steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling, rang, and, having shown =
our
credentials, were admitted by the agents in charge. We went up stairs--into=
the
chamber where the body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been found, and where
both the deceased still lay. The disorders of the room had, as usual, been
suffered to exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the
"Gazette des Tribunaux." Dupin scrutinized every thing--not excep=
ting
the bodies of the victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the
yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied us un=
til dark,
when we took our departure. On our way home my 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 ménagais:--for
this phrase there is no English equivalent. It was his humor, now, to decli=
ne
all conversation on the subject of the murder, until about noon the next da=
y.
He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed any thing peculiar at the sce=
ne
of the atrocity.
There was
something in his manner of emphasizing the word "peculiar," which
caused me to shudder, without knowing why.
"No,
nothing peculiar," I said; "nothing more, at least, than we both =
saw
stated in the paper."
"The
'Gazette,'" he replied, "has not entered, I fear, into the unusua=
l horror
of the thing. But dismiss 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 outré
character of its features. The police are confounded by the seeming absence=
of
motive--not for the murder itself--but for the atrocity of the murder. They=
are
puzzled, too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard =
in
contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but the
assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there were no means of egress
without the notice of the party ascending. The wild disorder of the room; t=
he corpse
thrust, with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightful mutilation of=
the
body of the old lady; these considerations, with those just mentioned, and
others which I need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by
putting completely at fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents. T=
hey
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 investigati=
ons
such as we are now pursuing, it should not be so much asked 'what has
occurred,' as 'what has occurred 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 n=
ow
awaiting," continued he, looking toward the door of our apartment--&qu=
ot;I
am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the perpetrator of these
butcheries, must have been in some measure implicated in their perpetration=
. Of
the worst portion of the crimes committed, it is probable that he is innoce=
nt.
I hope that I am right in this supposition; for upon it I build my expectat=
ion
of reading the entire riddle. I look for the man here--in this room--every
moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is that he w=
ill.
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 abstr=
act
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 expression,
regarded only the wall.
"That t=
he
voices heard in contention," he said, "by the party upon the stai=
rs,
were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully proved by the eviden=
ce.
This relieves us of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could =
have
first destroyed the daughter and afterward have committed suicide. I speak =
of
this point chiefly for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame
L'Espanaye would have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her
daughter's corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wou=
nds
upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction. Murder,
then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices of this third
party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert--not to the whole
testimony respecting these voices--but to what was peculiar in that testimo=
ny.
Did you observe any thing peculiar about it?"
I remarked t=
hat,
while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the gruff voice to be that of a
Frenchman, there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one
individual termed it, the harsh voice.
"That w=
as
the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the peculiarity=
of
the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive. Yet there was somethin=
g to
be observed. The witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; th=
ey
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
Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as
that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his o=
wn 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 o=
f a
Frenchman; but we find it stated that 'not understanding French this witness
was examined through an interpreter.' The Englishman thinks it the voice of=
a
German, and 'does not understand German.' The Spaniard 'is sure' that it was
that of an Englishman, but 'judges by the intonation' altogether, 'as he ha=
s 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, 'c=
onvinced
by the intonation.' 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 recognise
nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of an
Asiatic--of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but,
without denying the inference, I will now merely call your attention to thr=
ee
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 so=
unds
resembling words--were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.
"I know
not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so far, =
upon
your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deduct=
ions
even from this portion of the testimony--the portion respecting the gruff a=
nd
shrill voices--are in themselves sufficient to engender a suspicion which
should give direction to all farther progress in the investigation of the
mystery. I said 'legitimate deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully
expressed. I designed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones,
and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the single result. Wh=
at
the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I merely wish you to be=
ar
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 he=
re?
The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say th=
at
neither of us believe in præternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle
L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were materi=
al,
and escaped materially. 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 examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. It i=
s 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 t=
hen
only from these two apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have
laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every =
direction.
No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to t=
heir
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, throughout their exten=
t,
the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stat=
ed,
being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the fr=
ont
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, brou=
ght
to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part=
, as
reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only =
left
for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not
such.
"There =
are
two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is
wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the h=
ead
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 hea=
d.
Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly fitted in
it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also. The police were=
now
entirely satisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And, there=
fore,
it was thought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the nails and open the
windows.
"My own
examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the reason I have =
just
given--because here it was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must =
be
proved to be not such in reality.
"I
proceeded to think thus--à 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 sto=
p,
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 themselv=
es.
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 know, 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 t=
he
hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery, forbore to
upraise the sash.
"I now
replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person passing out through
this window might have reclosed it, and the spring would have caught--but t=
he
nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain, and again narr=
owed
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 between the nails, or at lea=
st
between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the bedstea=
d, 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, a=
s I
had supposed, identical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the
nail. It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same
manner--driven in nearly up to the head.
"You wi=
ll
say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have misunderstood t=
he
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
fellow in the other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusi=
ve
us it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at =
this
point, terminated the clew. 'There must be something wrong,' I said, 'about=
the
nail.' I touched it; and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the
shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole
where it had been broken off. The fracture was an old one (for its edges we=
re
incrusted with rust), and had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a
hammer, which had partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the he=
ad
portion of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head portion in the
indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect nail was
complete--the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised t=
he
sash for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed.=
I
closed the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again perfect.
"The
riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped through the win=
dow
which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or per=
haps
purposely closed), it had become fastened by the spring; and it was the
retention of this spring which had been mistaken by the police for that of =
the
nail,--farther inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.
"The ne=
xt
question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I had been satisfi=
ed
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 wer=
e of
the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters ferrades--a kind rarely
employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at
Lyons and Bourdeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary door, (a single, n=
ot a
folding door) except that the lower half is latticed or worked in open
trellis--thus affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the present
instance these shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw =
them
from the rear of the house, they were both about half open--that is to say,=
they
stood off at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as
well as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, in looking at
these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they must have done), they =
did
not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it
into due consideration. In fact, having once satisfied themselves that no
egress could have been made in this quarter, they would naturally bestow he=
re a
very cursory examination. It was clear to me, however, that the shutter
belonging to the window at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back =
to
the wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident
that, by exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an entr=
ance
into the window, from the rod, might have been thus effected.--By reaching =
to
the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutter open to its
whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work.
Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securely against =
the
wall, and springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to
close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might even have s=
wung
himself into the room.
"I wish=
you
to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a very unusual degree of
activity as requisite to success in so hazardous and so difficult a feat. I=
t 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 præternatural charac=
ter
of that agility which could have accomplished it.
"You wi=
ll
say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that 'to make out my case,' I
should rather undervalue, than insist upon a full estimation of the activity
required in this matter. This may be the practice in law, but it is not the
usage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My immediate purpose=
is
to lead you to place in juxtaposition, that very unusual activity of which I
have just spoken with that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voic=
e,
about whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and in whos=
e utterance
no syllabification could be detected."
At these wor=
ds a
vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mi=
nd.
I seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension without power to
comprehend--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 wi=
ll
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 we=
re
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'Espan=
aye
and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life--saw no company--seldom =
went
out--had little use for numerous changes of habiliment. 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 w=
ith
a bundle of linen? The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by
Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I wi=
sh
you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blundering idea of motive,
engendered in the brains of the police by that portion of the evidence whic=
h speaks
of money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as rema=
rkable
as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed within three days =
upon
the party receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of our lives, witho=
ut
attracting even momentary notice. Coincidences, in general, are great
stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been educate=
d 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 coincide=
nce.
It would have been corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the real
circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this
outrage, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to
have abandoned his gold and his motive together.
"Keeping
now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your attention--that
peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that startling absence of motive =
in a
murder so singularly atrocious as this--let us glance at the butchery itsel=
f.
Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chim=
ney,
head downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this. L=
east
of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the
corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was something excessively =
outré--something
altogether irreconcilable with our common notions of human action, even whe=
n we
suppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have
been that strength which could have thrust the body up such an aperture so
forcibly that the united vigor of several persons was found barely sufficie=
nt
to drag it down!
"Turn, =
now,
to other indications of the employment of a vigor most marvellous. On the
hearth were thick tresses--very thick tresses--of grey human hair. These had
been torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in
tearing thus from the head even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the
locks in question as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were
clotted with fragments of the flesh of the scalp--sure token of the prodigi=
ous
power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs a=
t a
time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely
severed from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. I wish you also to =
look
at the brutal ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Mada=
me
L'Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor Monsieur
Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument;
and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument was clea=
rly
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 s=
eem,
escaped the police for the same reason that the breadth of the shutters esc=
aped
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 diso=
rder
of the chamber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility
astounding, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a butchery without
motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice
foreign in tone to the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all disti=
nct
or intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What impres=
sion
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 neighbor=
ing
Maison de Santé."
"In some
respects," he replied, "your idea is not irrelevant. But the voic=
es
of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to tally with t=
hat
peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their
language, however incoherent in its words, has always the coherence of
syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now hold in=
my
hand. I disentangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of
Madame L'Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it."
"Dupin!=
"
I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most unusual--this is no hu=
man
hair."
"I have=
not
asserted that it is," said he; "but, before 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 described in one portion of the
testimony as 'dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails,' upon the
throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and
Etienne,) as a 'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.=
'
"You wi=
ll
perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the paper upon the table
before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed hold.
There is no slipping apparent. Each finger has retained--possibly until the
death of the victim--the fearful grasp by which it originally imbedded itse=
lf.
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 pape=
r 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 min=
ute
anatomical and generally descriptive account of the large fulvous Ourang-Ou=
tang
of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious strength a=
nd
activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensities of these mammal=
ia
are sufficiently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the mu=
rder
at once.
"The
description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of reading, "=
;is
in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no animal but an Ourang-O=
utang,
of the species here mentioned, could have impressed the indentations as you
have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in character w=
ith
that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly comprehend the particula=
rs
of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contenti=
on,
and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman."
"True; =
and
you will remember an expression attributed almost unanimously, by the evide=
nce,
to this voice,--the expression, 'mon Dieu!' This, under the circumstances, =
has
been justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectione=
r,)
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--indeed it is far mor=
e than
probable--that he was innocent of all participation in the bloody transacti=
ons
which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may have
traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating circumstances which ensu=
ed,
he could never have re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue
these guesses--for I have no right to call them more--since the shades of
reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to be
appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend to make them
intelligible to the understanding of another. We will call them guesses the=
n,
and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I
suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this advertisement which I left last ni=
ght,
upon our return home, at the office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the
shipping interest, and much sought by sailors,) will bring him to our resid=
ence."
He handed me=
a
paper, and I read thus:
CAUGHT--In t=
he
Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the--inst., (the morning of the
murder,) a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owne=
r,
(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 char=
ges
arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. ----, Rue ----, Faubourg =
St. Germain--au
troisiême.
"How wa=
s it
possible," I asked, "that you should know the man to be a sailor,=
and
belonging to a Maltese vessel?"
"I do n=
ot
know it," said Dupin. "I am not sure of it. Here, however, is a s=
mall
piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from its greasy appearance, has
evidently been used in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which
sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides sailors c=
an
tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of =
the
lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if,
after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that the Frenchman =
was
a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done no harm in sa=
ying
what I did in the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely suppose t=
hat
I have been misled by some circumstance into which he will not take the tro=
uble
to inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although
innocent of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replyin=
g to
the advertisement--about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will reason thus:-=
-'I
am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of great value--to one in my
circumstances a fortune of itself--why should I lose it through idle
apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my grasp. It was found in the B=
ois
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 murde=
r,
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 prop=
erty
of so great value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the anim=
al
at least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention eit=
her
to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement, get the
Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown over.'"
At this mome=
nt
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 do=
or
of the house had been left open, and the visiter had entered, without ringi=
ng,
and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to
hesitate. Presently we heard him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to th=
e 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 entere=
d.
He was a sailor, evidently,--a tall, stout, and muscular-looking person, wi=
th a
certain dare-devil expression of countenance, not altogether unprepossessin=
g.
His face, greatly sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustac=
hio.
He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. =
He
bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French accents,
which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicative =
of a
Parisian origin.
"Sit do=
wn,
my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about the Oura=
ng-Outang.
Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, a=
nd
no doubt a very valuable animal. How old do you suppose him to be?"
The sailor d=
rew
a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some intolerable burden, a=
nd 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 R=
ue
Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepare=
d to
identify the property?"
"To be =
sure
I am, sir."
"I shal=
l 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 find=
ing
of the animal--that is to say, any thing in reason."
"Well,&=
quot;
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.&qu=
ot;
Dupin said t=
he
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 dr=
ew a
pistol from his bosom and placed it, without the least flurry, upon the tab=
le.
The sailor's
face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation. He started to his
feet and grasped his cudgel, but the next moment he fell back into his seat,
trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself. 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 u=
nnecessarily--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 we=
ll
know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not=
do,
however, to deny that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what=
I
have already said, you must know that I have had means of information about
this matter--means of which you could never have dreamed. Now the thing sta=
nds
thus. You have done nothing which you could have avoided--nothing, certainl=
y,
which renders you culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you m=
ight
have robbed with impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason =
for
concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to
confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that
crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."
The sailor h=
ad
recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered the=
se
words; but his original boldness of bearing was all gone.
"So hel=
p me
God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all I know a=
bout
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 stat=
ed
was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipel=
ago.
A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the inte=
rior
on an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion had captured the
Ourang-Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive
possession. After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of =
his
captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it safely=
at
his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the unplea=
sant
curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded, until such time =
as
it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on boa=
rd
ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning ho=
me
from some sailors' frolic the night, or rather in the morning of the murder=
, he
found the beast occupying his own bed-room, into which it had broken from a
closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely confined. Raz=
or
in hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempt=
ing
the operation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its
master through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so
dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and so well
able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had
been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods=
, by
the use of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ouran=
g-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 its pursuer, until the latter had nearly come =
up
with it. It then again made off. In this manner the chase continued for a l=
ong
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 fugiti=
ve's
attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of Madame
L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house. Rushing to the
building, it perceived the lightning rod, clambered up with inconceivable
agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall,
and, by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The=
whole
feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the
Ourang-Outang as it entered the room.
The sailor, =
in
the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had strong hopes of now
recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which=
it
had ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as it came d=
own.
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 fugitiv=
e. A
lightning rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but, =
when
he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career=
was
stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtai=
n 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; 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 attribu=
ted
to the wind.
As the sailor
looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair, (w=
hich
was loose, as she had been combing it,) and was flourishing the razor about=
her
face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate a=
nd
motionless; she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (dur=
ing
which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the proba=
bly pacific
purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath. With one determined swee=
p of
its muscular arm it nearly severed her head from her body. The sight of blo=
od
inflamed its anger into phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from=
its
eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in=
her
throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild glanc=
es
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 instantly converted into fea=
r. Conscious
of having deserved punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody =
deeds,
and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing do=
wn
and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed from the bedst=
ead.
In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up=
the
chimney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it immediately
hurled through the window headlong.
As the ape
approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast=
to
the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at once
home--dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in =
his
terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard=
by
the party upon the staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and
affright, commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarc=
ely
anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by t=
he
rod, just before the break 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 Don was
instantly released, upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comm=
ents
from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, howev=
er
well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the
turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two,
about the propriety of every person minding his own business.
"Let him
talk," said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary to reply. "Let
him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I am satisfied with having defe=
ated
him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this
mystery, is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in
truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his
wisdom is no stamen. It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the
Goddess Laverna,--or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But =
he is
a good creature after all. I like him especially for one master stroke of c=
ant,
by which he has attained his reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has
'de nier ce qui est, et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas.'" (*)
(*)
Rousseau--Nouvelle Heloise.
THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.(*1)=
A SEQUEL TO
"THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE."
&n=
bsp;
Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklichkeit =
parallel lauft. Selten fallen=
sie
zusammen. Menschen und zufalle modifieiren gewohulich die
idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie unvollkommen erscheint, und i=
hre
Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen sind. So bei der Reformation;=
statt
des Protestantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.
There are ideal series of events w=
hich
run parallel with the real ones. They rarely coincide. M=
en and
circumstances generally modify the ideal train of events, so=
that
it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally impe=
rfect.
Thus with the Reformation; instead of Protestantism came
Lutheranism.
=
--Novalis. (*2) Moral Ansichten.
THERE are few
persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not occasionally been
startled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural, by
coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a character that, as mere coinciden=
ces,
the intellect has been unable to receive them. Such sentiments--for the
half-credences of which I speak have never the full force of thought--such
sentiments are seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the doctrin=
e 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 applied to the shadow and spir=
ituality
of the most intangible in speculation.
The
extraordinary details which I am now called upon to make public, will be fo=
und
to form, as regards sequence of time, the primary branch of a series of
scarcely intelligible coincidences, whose secondary or concluding branch wi=
ll
be recognized by all readers in the late murder of Mary Cecila Rogers, at N=
ew
York.
When, in an
article entitled "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," I endeavored, a=
bout
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 sh=
ould
ever resume the subject. This depicting of character constituted my design;=
and
this design was thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances bro=
ught
to instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced other examples, but I
should have proven no more. Late events, however, in their surprising devel=
opment,
have startled me into some farther details, which will carry with them the =
air
of extorted confession. Hearing what I have lately heard, it would be indeed
strange should I remain silent in regard to what I both heard and saw so lo=
ng
ago.
Upon the win=
ding
up of the tragedy involved in the deaths of Madame L'Espanaye and her daugh=
ter,
the Chevalier dismissed the affair at once from his attention, and relapsed
into his old habits of moody reverie. Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I
readily fell in with his humor; and, continuing to occupy our chambers in t=
he
Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered
tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.
But these dr=
eams
were not altogether uninterrupted. It may readily be supposed that the part
played by my friend, in the drama at the Rue Morgue, had not failed of its
impression upon the fancies of the Parisian police. With its emissaries, the
name of Dupin had grown into a household word. The simple character of those
inductions by which he had disentangled the mystery never having been expla=
ined
even to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself, of course it is
not surprising that the affair was regarded as little less than miraculous,=
or
that the Chevalier's analytical abilities acquired for him the credit of
intuition. His frankness would have led him to disabuse every inquirer of s=
uch
prejudice; but his indolent humor forbade all farther agitation of a topic
whose interest to himself had long ceased. It thus happened that he found
himself the cynosure of the political eyes; and the cases were not few in w=
hich
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
Rogêt.
This event
occurred about two years after the atrocity in the Rue Morgue. Marie, whose
Christian and family name will at once arrest attention from their resembla=
nce
to those of the unfortunate "cigargirl," was the only daughter of=
the
widow Estelle Rogêt. The father had died during the child's infancy, =
and
from the period of his death, until within eighteen months before the
assassination which forms the subject of our narrative, the mother and daug=
hter
had dwelt together in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée; (*3) Madame
there keeping a pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the
latter had attained her twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted=
the
notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of the shops in the basement of the
Palais Royal, and whose custom lay chiefly among the desperate adventurers =
infesting
that neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanc (*4) 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 anticipa=
tions
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 ye=
ar,
when her admirers were thrown info confusion by her sudden disappearance fr=
om
the shop. Monsieur Le Blanc was unable to account for her absence, and Mada=
me
Rogêt was distracted with anxiety and terror. The public papers
immediately took up the theme, and the police were upon the point of making
serious investigations, when, one fine morning, after the lapse of a week, =
Marie,
in good health, but with a somewhat saddened air, made her re-appearance at=
her
usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry, except that of a private
character, was of course immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc professed to=
tal
ignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame, replied to all questions, that the
last week had been spent at the house of a relation in the country. Thus the
affair died away, and was generally forgotten; for the girl, ostensibly to
relieve herself from the impertinence of curiosity, soon bade a final adieu=
to
the perfumer, and sought the shelter of her mother's residence in the Rue
Pavée Saint Andrée.
It was about
five months after this return home, that her friends were alarmed by her su=
dden
disappearance for the second time. Three days elapsed, and nothing was hear=
d of
her. On the fourth her corpse was found floating in the Seine, * near the s=
hore
which is opposite the Quartier of the Rue Saint Andree, and at a point not =
very
far distant from the secluded neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule.
(*6)
The atrocity=
of
this murder, (for it was at once evident that murder had been committed,) t=
he
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 an=
d so
intense an effect. For several weeks, in the discussion of this one absorbi=
ng
theme, even the momentous political topics of the day were forgotten. The
Prefect made unusual exertions; and the powers of the whole Parisian police
were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.
Upon the fir=
st
discovery of the corpse, it was not supposed that the murderer would be abl=
e to
elude, for more than a very brief period, the inquisition which was immedia=
tely
set on foot. It was not until the expiration of a week that it was deemed
necessary to offer a reward; and even then this reward was limited to a
thousand francs. In the mean time the investigation proceeded with vigor, if
not always with judgment, and numerous individuals were examined to no purp=
ose;
while, owing to the continual absence of all clue to the mystery, the popul=
ar
excitement greatly increased. At the end of the tenth day it was thought
advisable to double the sum originally proposed; and, at length, the second
week having elapsed without leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice w=
hich
always exists in Paris against the Police having given vent to itself in
several serious émeutes, the Prefect took it upon himself to offer t=
he
sum of twenty thousand francs "for the conviction of the assassin,&quo=
t;
or, if more than one should prove to have been implicated, "for the
conviction of any one of the assassins." In the proclamation setting f=
orth
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, wher=
ever
it appeared, the private placard of a committee of citizens, offering ten
thousand francs, in addition to the amount proposed by the Prefecture. The
entire reward thus stood at no less than thirty thousand francs, which will=
be
regarded as an extraordinary sum when we consider the humble condition of t=
he
girl, and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocities as the o=
ne
described.
No one doubt=
ed
now that the mystery of this murder would be immediately brought to light. =
But
although, 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. Enga=
ged
in researches which absorbed our whole attention, it had been nearly a month
since either of us had gone abroad, or received a visiter, or more than gla=
nced
at the leading political articles in one of the daily papers. The first int=
elligence
of the murder was brought us by G ----, in person. He called upon us early =
in
the afternoon of the thirteenth of July, 18--, and remained with us until l=
ate
in the night. He had been piqued by the failure of all his endeavors to fer=
ret
out the assassins. His reputation--so he said with a peculiarly Parisian
air--was at stake. Even his honor was concerned. The eyes of the public were
upon him; and there was really no sacrifice which he would not be willing to
make for the development of the mystery. He concluded a somewhat droll spee=
ch with
a compliment upon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and made h=
im a
direct, and certainly a liberal proposition, the precise nature of which I =
do
not feel myself at liberty to disclose, but which has no bearing upon the
proper subject of my narrative.
The complime=
nt
my friend rebutted as best he could, but the proposition he accepted at onc=
e,
although its advantages were altogether provisional. This point being settl=
ed,
the Prefect broke forth at once into explanations of his own views,
interspersing them with long comments upon the evidence; of which latter we
were not yet in possession. He discoursed much, and beyond doubt, learnedly;
while I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsily away. =
Dupin,
sitting steadily in his accustomed arm-chair, was the embodiment of respect=
ful
attention. He wore spectacles, during the whole interview; and an occasional
signal glance beneath their green glasses, sufficed to convince me that he
slept not the less soundly, because silently, throughout the seven or eight
leaden-footed hours which immediately preceded the departure of the Prefect=
.
In the morni=
ng,
I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of all the evidence elicited, =
and,
at the various newspaper offices, a copy of every paper in which, from firs=
t to
last, had been published any decisive information in regard to this sad aff=
air.
Freed from all that was positively disproved, this mass of information stood
thus:
Marie
Rogêt left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavée St.
Andrée, 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, (*7)
and to him only, of her intent intention to spend the day with an aunt who
resided in the Rue des Drômes. The Rue des Drômes 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 Rogêt. St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Mari=
e,
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 a=
ll
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
Rogêt (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of age,) was heard to
express a fear "that she should never see Marie again;" but this
observation attracted little attention at the time.
On Monday, it
was ascertained that the girl had not been to the Rue des Drômes; and
when the day elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy search was instituted =
at
several points in the city, and its environs. It was not, however until the
fourth day from the period of disappearance that any thing satisfactory was
ascertained respecting her. On this day, (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of Ju=
ne,)
a Monsieur Beauvais, (*8) who, with a friend, had been making inquiries for
Marie near the Barrière du Roule, on the shore of the Seine which is
opposite the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, was informed that a corpse=
had
just been towed ashore by some fishermen, who had found it floating in the
river. Upon seeing the body, Beauvais, after some hesitation, identified it=
as
that of the perfumery-girl. His friend 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 t=
he
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 clenche=
d;
the left partially open. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations,
apparently the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one volution. A p=
art
of the right wrist, also, was much chafed, as well as the back throughout i=
ts
extent, but more especially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing the body to=
the
shore the fishermen had attached to it a rope; but none of the excoriations=
had
been effected by this. The flesh of the neck was much swollen. There were no
cuts apparent, or bruises which appeared the effect of blows. A piece of la=
ce
was found tied so tightly around the neck as to be hidden from sight; it was
completely buried in the flesh, and was fasted by a knot which lay just und=
er
the left ear. This alone would have sufficed to produce death. The medical
testimony spoke confidently of the virtuous character of the deceased. She =
had
been subjected, it said, to brutal violence. The corpse was in such conditi=
on when
found, that there could have been no difficulty in its recognition by frien=
ds.
The dress was
much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outer garment, a slip, about a f=
oot
wide, had been torn upward from the bottom hem to the waist, but not torn o=
ff.
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 f=
rom
this a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely out--torn very even=
ly
and with great care. It was found around her neck, fitting loosely, and sec=
ured
with a hard knot. Over this muslin slip and the slip of lace, the strings o=
f a bonnet
were attached; the bonnet being appended. The knot by which the strings of =
the
bonnet were fastened, was not a lady's, but a slip or sailor's knot.
After the
recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken to the Morgue, (this
formality being superfluous,) but hastily interred not far front the spot at
which it was brought ashore. Through the exertions of Beauvais, the matter =
was
industriously hushed up, as far as possible; and several days had elapsed
before any public emotion resulted. A weekly paper, (*9) however, at length
took up the theme; the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination institu=
ted;
but nothing was elicited beyond what has been already noted. The clothes, h=
owever,
were now submitted to the mother and friends of the deceased, and fully ide=
ntified
as those worn by the girl upon leaving home.
Meantime, the
excitement increased hourly. Several individuals were arrested and discharg=
ed.
St. Eustache fell especially under suspicion; and he failed, at first, to g=
ive
an intelligible account of his whereabouts during the Sunday on which Marie
left home. Subsequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G----, affidavit=
s,
accounting satisfactorily for every hour of the day in question. As time pa=
ssed
and no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors were circulated, a=
nd
journalists busied themselves in suggestions. Among these, the one which
attracted the most notice, was the idea that Marie Rogêt 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, (*10) a
paper conducted, in general, with much ability.
"Mademo=
iselle
Rogêt left her mother's house on Sunday morning, June the twenty-seco=
nd,
18--, with the ostensible purpose of going to see her aunt, or some other
connexion, in the Rue des Drômes. From that hour, nobody is proved to=
have
seen her. There is no trace or tidings of her at all.... There has no perso=
n,
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 Rogêt
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 Wedne=
sday
noon, at twelve, a female body was discovered afloat on the shore of the
Barrière de Roule. This was, even if we presume that Marie Rogê=
;t
was thrown into the river within three hours after she left her mother's ho=
use,
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, c=
ould
have been consummated soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the
body into the river before midnight. Those who are guilty of such horrid
crimes, choose darkness rather the light.... Thus we see that if the body f=
ound
in the river was that of Marie Rogêt, 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 deat=
h by
violence, require from six to ten days for decomposition to take place to b=
ring
them to the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a corpse, a=
nd
it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again, if le=
t alone.
Now, we ask, what was there in this cave to cause a departure from the ordi=
nary
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. I=
t 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 exceedin=
gly
improbable that any villains who had committed such a murder as is here
supposed, would have throw the body in without weight to sink it, when such=
a
precaution could have so easily been taken."
The editor h=
ere
proceeds to argue that the body must have been in the water "not three
days merely, but, at least, five times three days," because it was so =
far
decomposed that Beauvais had great difficulty in recognizing it. This latter
point, however, was fully disproved. I continue the translation:
"What,
then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he has no doubt the body=
was
that of Marie Rogêt? He ripped up the gown sleeve, and says he found
marks which satisfied him of the identity. The public generally supposed th=
ose
marks to have consisted of some description of scars. He rubbed the arm and
found hair upon it--something as indefinite, we think, as can readily be
imagined--as little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais=
did
not return that night, but sent word to Madame Rogêt, at seven o'cloc=
k,
on Wednesday evening, that an investigation was still in progress respecting
her daughter. If we allow that Madame Rogêt, from her age and grief,
could not go over, (which is allowing a great deal,) there certainly must h=
ave
been some one who would have thought it worth while to go over and attend t=
he investigation,
if they thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went over. There was not=
hing
said or heard about the matter in the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, t=
hat
reached even the occupants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, the lover=
and
intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her mother's house, deposes that =
he
did not hear of the discovery of the body of his intended until the next mo=
rning,
when M. Beauvais came into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of n=
ews
like this, it strikes us it was very coolly received."
In this way =
the
journal endeavored to create the impression of an apathy on the part of the
relatives of Marie, inconsistent with the supposition that these relatives
believed the corpse to be hers. Its insinuations amount to this:--that Mari=
e,
with the connivance of her friends, had absented herself from the city for
reasons involving a charge against her chastity; and that these friends, up=
on
the discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the gir=
l,
had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress press the public with =
the
belief of her death. But L'Etoile was again over-hasty. It was distinctly
proved that no apathy, such as was imagined, existed; that the old lady was=
exceedingly
feeble, and so agitated as to be unable to attend to any duty, that St.
Eustache, so far from receiving the news coolly, was 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 disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated by L'Etoile, that the co=
rpse
was re-interred at the public expense--that an advantageous offer of private
sculpture was absolutely declined by the family--and that no member of the
family attended the ceremonial:--although, I say, all this was asserted by
L'Etoile in furtherance of the impression it designed to convey--yet all th=
is was
satisfactorily disproved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an attempt w=
as
made to throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor says:
"Now, t=
hen,
a change comes over the matter. We are told that on one occasion, while a
Madame B---- was at Madame Rogêt's house, M. Beauvais, who was going =
out,
told her that a gendarme was expected there, and she, Madame B., must not s=
ay
anything to the gendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for him..=
..
In the present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the whole ma=
tter
looked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken without M. Beauvais; f=
or,
go which way you will, you run against him.... For some reason, he determin=
ed
that nobody shall have any thing to do with the proceedings but himself, an=
d he
has elbowed the male relatives out of the way, according to their represent=
ations,
in a very singular manner. He seems to have been very much averse to permit=
ting
the relatives to see the body."
By the follo=
wing
fact, some color was given to the suspicion thus thrown upon Beauvais. A
visiter at his office, a few days prior to the girl's disappearance, and du=
ring
the absence of its occupant, had observed a rose in the key-hole of the doo=
r,
and the name "Marie" inscribed upon a slate which hung near at ha=
nd.
The general
impression, so far as we were enabled to glean it from the newspapers, seem=
ed
to be, that Marie had been the victim of a gang of desperadoes--that by the=
se
she had been borne across the river, maltreated and murdered. Le Commerciel,
(*11) 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 Barrière du Roule. It is impossible that a pers=
on
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 Barrière du Roule, or to the Rue des Drômes, witho=
ut
being recognized by a dozen persons; yet no one has come forward who saw her
outside of her mother's door, and there is no evidence, except the testimony
concerning her expressed intentions, that she did go out at all. Her gown w=
as
torn, bound round her, and tied; and by that the body was carried as a bund=
le.
If the murder had been committed at the Barrière du Roule, there wou=
ld
have been no necessity for any such arrangement. The fact that the body was=
found
floating near the Barrière, is no proof as to where it was thrown in=
to
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 bac=
k 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 reac=
hed
the police, which seemed to overthrow, at least, the chief portion of Le
Commerciel's argument. Two small boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, while roaming
among the woods near the Barrière du Roule, chanced to penetrate a c=
lose
thicket, within which were three or four large stones, forming a kind of se=
at,
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 Rogêt."
Fragments of dress were discovered on the brambles around. The earth was
trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of a struggl=
e.
Between the thicket and the river, the fences were found taken down, and the
ground bore evidence of some heavy burthen having been dragged along it.
A weekly pap=
er,
Le Soleil,(*12) had the following comments upon this discovery--comments wh=
ich
merely echoed the sentiment of the whole Parisian press:
"The th=
ings
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 mild=
ew.
The grass had grown around and over some of them. The silk on the parasol w=
as
strong, but the threads of it were run together within. The upper part, whe=
re
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, a=
nd
it had been mended; the other piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. They
looked like strips torn off, and were on the thorn bush, about a foot from =
the
ground..... There can be no doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalli=
ng
outrage has been discovered."
Consequent u=
pon
this discovery, new evidence appeared. Madame Deluc testified that she keep=
s a
roadside inn not far from the bank of the river, opposite the Barriè=
re
du Roule. The neighborhood is secluded--particularly so. It is the usual Su=
nday
resort of blackguards from the city, who cross the river in boats. About th=
ree
o'clock, in the afternoon of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at
the inn, accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. The two remained he=
re
for some time. On their departure, they took the road to some thick woods i=
n the
vicinity. Madame Deluc's attention was called to the dress worn by the girl=
, on
account of its resemblance to one worn by a deceased relative. A scarf was
particularly noticed. Soon after the departure of the couple, a gang of
miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank witho=
ut
making payment, followed in the route of the young man and girl, returned to
the inn about dusk, and re-crossed the river as if in great haste.
It was soon
after dark, upon this same evening, that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest
son, heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn. The screams =
were
violent but brief. Madame D. recognized not only the scarf which was found =
in the
thicket, but the dress which was discovered upon the corpse. An omnibus dri=
ver,
Valence, (*13) now also testified that he saw Marie Rogêt cross a fer=
ry
on the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a young man of dark
complexion. He, Valence, knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her ident=
ity.
The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by the relatives of=
Marie.
The items of
evidence and information thus collected by myself, from the newspapers, at =
the
suggestion of Dupin, embraced only one more point--but this was a point of
seemingly vast consequence. It appears that, immediately after the discover=
y of
the clothes as above described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless body of St.
Eustache, Marie's betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supp=
osed
the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled "laudanum," and emptie=
d,
was found near him. His breath gave evidence of the poison. He died without
speaking. Upon his person was found a letter, briefly stating his love for =
Marie,
with his design of self-destruction.
"I need
scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he finished the perusal of my notes,
"that this is a far more intricate case than that of the Rue Morgue; f=
rom
which it differs in one important respect. This is an ordinary, although an
atrocious instance of crime. There is nothing peculiarly outré about=
it.
You will observe that, for this reason, the mystery has been considered eas=
y,
when, for this reason, it should have been considered difficult, of solutio=
n.
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 might ha=
ve
been committed. They could picture to their imaginations a mode--many
modes--and a motive--many motives; and because it was not impossible that
either of these numerous modes and motives could have been the actual one, =
they
have taken it for granted that one of them must. But the case with which th=
ese
variable fancies were entertained, and the very plausibility which each
assumed, should have been understood as indicative rather of the difficulti=
es
than of the facilities which must attend elucidation. I have before observed
that it is by prominences above the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels
her way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that the proper questio=
n in
cases such as this, is not so much 'what has occurred?' as 'what has occurr=
ed
that has never occurred before?' In the investigations at the house of Mada=
me
L'Espanaye, (*14) the agents of G---- were discouraged and confounded by th=
at very
unusualness which, to a properly regulated intellect, would have afforded t=
he
surest omen of success; while this same intellect might have been plunged in
despair at the ordinary character of all that met the eye in the case of the
perfumery-girl, and yet told of nothing but easy triumph to the functionari=
es
of the Prefecture.
"In the
case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter there was, even at the beginning=
of
our investigation, no doubt that murder had been committed. The idea of sui=
cide
was excluded at once. Here, too, we are freed, at the commencement, from all
supposition of self-murder. The body found at the Barrière du Roule,=
was
found under such circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassment upon
this important point. But it has been suggested that the corpse discovered,=
is
not that of the Marie Rogêt for the conviction of whose assassin, or
assassins, the reward is offered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement
has been arranged with the Prefect. We both know this gentleman well. It wi=
ll
not do to trust him too far. If, dating our inquiries from the body found, =
and
thence tracing a murderer, we yet discover this body to be that of some oth=
er
individual than Marie; or, if starting from the living Marie, we find her, =
yet
find her unassassinated--in either case we lose our labor; since it is Mons=
ieur
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 Rogêt who =
is
missing.
"With t=
he
public the arguments of L'Etoile have had weight; and that the journal itse=
lf
is convinced of their importance would appear from the manner in which it c=
ommences
one of its essays upon the subject--'Several of the morning papers of the d=
ay,'
it says, 'speak of the conclusive article in Monday's Etoile.' To me, this
article appears conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We sho=
uld bear
in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather to crea=
te a
sensation--to make a point--than to further the cause of truth. The latter =
end
is only pursued when it seems coincident with the former. The print which
merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well founded this opinion may
be) earns for itself no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard =
as
profound only him who suggests pungent contradictions of the general idea. =
In
ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram which is the =
most
immediately and the most universally appreciated. In both, it is of the low=
est
order of merit.
"What I
mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrame of the idea, t=
hat
Marie Rogêt still lives, rather than any true plausibility in this id=
ea,
which have suggested it to L'Etoile, and secured it a favorable reception w=
ith
the public. Let us examine the heads of this journal's argument; endeavorin=
g to
avoid the incoherence with which it is originally set forth.
"The fi=
rst aim
of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the interval between Marie's
disappearance and the finding of the floating corpse, that this corpse cann=
ot
be that of Marie. The reduction of this interval to its smallest possible
dimension, becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In the rash
pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption at the outset. 'It is
folly to suppose,' he says, 'that the murder, if murder was committed on her
body, could have been 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 wi=
thin
five minutes after the girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is it folly =
to
suppose that the murder was committed at any given period of the day? There
have been assassinations at all hours. But, had the murder taken place at a=
ny
moment between nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday, and a quarter before
midnight, there would still have been time enough 'to throw the body into t=
he
river before midnight.' This assumption, then, amounts precisely to this--t=
hat
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 beginni=
ng
'It is folly to suppose that the murder, etc.,' however it appears as print=
ed 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 murdere=
rs
to throw the body into the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to
suppose all this, and to suppose at the same time, (as we are resolved to
suppose,) that the body was not thrown in until after midnight'--a sentence
sufficiently inconsequential in itself, but not so utterly preposterous as =
the
one printed.
"Were i=
t my
purpose," continued Dupin, "merely to make out a case against this
passage of L'Etoile's 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 wh=
ich
these words have obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the desig=
n of
the journalist to say that, at whatever period of the day or night of Sunda=
y this
murder was committed, it was improbable that the assassins would have ventu=
red
to bear the corpse to the river before midnight. And herein lies, really, t=
he
assumption of which I complain. It is assumed that the murder was committed=
at
such a position, and under such circumstances, that the bearing it to the r=
iver
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 t=
hat
I suggest nothing here as probable, or as cöincident with my own opini=
on. My
design, so far, has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish merely to
caution you against the whole tone of L'Etoile's suggestion, by calling your
attention to its ex parte character at the outset.
"Having
prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceived notions; having assumed
that, if this were the body of Marie, it could have been in the water but a
very brief time; the journal goes on to say:
'All experie=
nce
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 whe=
n a
cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six day=
s'
immersion, it sinks again if let alone.'
"These
assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in Paris, with the
exception of Le Moniteur. (*15) 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 general assertion of L'Eto=
ile,
by a citation of particular instances militating against that assertion. Ha=
d it
been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of bodies found floa=
ting
at the end of two or three days, these fifty examples could still have been=
properly
regarded only as exceptions to L'Etoile's rule, until such time as the rule
itself should be confuted. Admitting the rule, (and this Le Moniteur does n=
ot
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 inv=
olve
more than a question of the probability of the body having risen to the sur=
face
in less than three days; and this probability will be in favor of L'Etoile's
position until the instances so childishly adduced shall be sufficient in
number to establish an antagonistical rule.
"You wi=
ll
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 heav=
ier
than the water of the Seine; that is to say, the specific gravity of the hu=
man
body, in its natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water w=
hich
it displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, and of
women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and large-boned, and of
men; and the specific gravity of the water of a river is somewhat influence=
d by
the presence of the tide from sea. But, leaving this tide out of question, =
it
may be said that very few human bodies will sink at all, even in fresh wate=
r,
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 position for one=
who
cannot swim, is the upright position of the walker on land, with the head
thrown fully back, and immersed; the mouth and nostrils alone remaining abo=
ve
the surface. Thus circumstanced, we shall find that we float without diffic=
ulty
and without exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of the bod=
y,
and of the bulk of water displaced, are very nicely balanced, and that a tr=
ifle
will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for instance, uplifted from the =
water,
and thus deprived of its support, is an additional weight sufficient to imm=
erse
the whole head, while the accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber wi=
ll
enable us to elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in the struggles of=
one
unused to swimming, the arms are invariably thrown upwards, while an attemp=
t is
made to keep the head in its usual perpendicular position. The result is the
immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the inception, during efforts to
breathe while beneath the surface, of water into the lungs. Much is also
received into the stomach, and the whole body becomes heavier by the differ=
ence
between the weight of the air originally distending these cavities, and tha=
t of
the fluid which now fills them. This difference is sufficient to cause the =
body
to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the cases of individuals
with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or fatty matter. Such
individuals float even after drowning.
"The
corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will there remain until,=
by
some means, its specific gravity again becomes less than that of the bulk of
water which it displaces. This effect is brought about by 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 whi=
ch
is so horrible. 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 modi=
fied
by innumerable circumstances--is hastened or retarded by innumerable agenci=
es;
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 before death. Thus it is evident that we can assign no period, with=
any
thing like accuracy, at which the corpse shall rise through decomposition.
Under certain conditions this result would be brought about within an hour;=
under
others, it might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by whi=
ch
the animal frame can be preserved forever from corruption; the Bi-chloride =
of
Mercury is one. But, apart from decomposition, there may be, and very usual=
ly
is, a generation of gas within the stomach, from the acetous fermentation of
vegetable matter (or within other cavities from other causes) sufficient to
induce a distension which will bring the body to the surface. The effect
produced by the firing of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may ei=
ther
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; allowing the cavities to distend under the influence of th=
e 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. Even when a cannon is fired ov=
er a
corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks
again if let alone.'
"The wh=
ole
of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of inconsequence and incoherence.
All experience does not show that 'drowned bodies' require from six to ten =
days
for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the surface. Bo=
th
science and experience show that the period of their rising is, and necessa=
rily
must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen to the surface throu=
gh
firing of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let alone,' until decomposition
has so far progressed as to permit the escape of the generated gas. But I w=
ish
to call your attention to the distinction which is made between 'drowned bo=
dies,'
and 'bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence.'
Although the writer admits the distinction, he yet includes them all in the
same category. I have shown how it is that the body of a drowning man becom=
es
specifically heavier than its bulk of water, and that he would not sink at =
all,
except for the struggles by which he elevates his arms above the surface, a=
nd
his gasps for breath while beneath the surface--gasps which supply by water=
the
place of the original air in the lungs. But these struggles and these gasps
would not occur in the body 'thrown into the water immediately after death =
by violence.'
Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rule, would not sink at
all--a fact of which L'Etoile is evidently ignorant. When decomposition had
proceeded to a very great extent--when the flesh had in a great measure left
the bones--then, indeed, but not till then, should we lose sight of the cor=
pse.
"And now
what are we to make of the argument, that the body found could not be that =
of
Marie Rogêt, because, three days only having elapsed, this body was f=
ound
floating? If drowned, being a woman, she might never have sunk; or having s=
unk,
might have reappeared in twenty-four hours, or less. But no one supposes he=
r to
have been drowned; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she might
have been found floating at any period afterwards whatever.
"'But,'
says L'Etoile, 'if the body had been kept in its mangled state on shore unt=
il
Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.' Here i=
t is
at first difficult to perceive the intention of the reasoner. He means to
anticipate what he imagines would be an objection to his theory--viz: that =
the
body was kept on shore two days, suffering rapid decomposition--more rapid =
than
if immersed in water. He supposes that, had this been the case, it might ha=
ve
appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks that only under such
circumstances it could so have appeared. He is accordingly in haste to show
that it was not kept on shore; for, if so, 'some trace would be found on sh=
ore of
the murderers.' I presume you smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to =
see
how the mere duration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply
traces of the assassins. Nor can I.
"'And
furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,' continues our journal, 'that any
villains who had committed such a murder as is here supposed, would have th=
rown
the body in without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so
easily been taken.' Observe, here, the laughable confusion of thought! No
one--not even L'Etoile--disputes the murder committed on the body found. The
marks of violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to sh=
ow
that this body is not Marie's. He wishes to prove that Marie is not
assassinated--not that the corpse was not. Yet his observation proves only =
the
latter point. Here is a corpse without weight attached. Murderers, casting =
it
in, would not have failed to attach a weight. Therefore it was not thrown i=
n 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 merel=
y 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 reasons against himself. His evident object, I have
already said, is to reduce, us much as possible, the interval between Marie=
's
disappearance and the finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urging the poi=
nt
that no person saw the girl from the moment of her leaving her mother's hou=
se.
'We have no evidence,' he says, 'that Marie Rogêt was in the land of =
the
living after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.' As his argume=
nt
is obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, have left this matter ou=
t of
sight; for had any one been known to see Marie, say on Monday, or on Tuesda=
y, the
interval in question would have been much reduced, and, by his own ratiocin=
ation,
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.
"Reperu=
se
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 be=
en
obviously disingenuous. M. Beauvais, not being an idiot, could never have
urged, in identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is
without hair. The generality of the expression of L'Etoile is a mere perver=
sion
of the witness' phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity in this
hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, of quantity, of length, or =
of
situation.
"'Her
foot,' says the journal, 'was small--so are thousands of feet. Her garter i=
s 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 i=
t 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 refer=
ence
to the question of habiliment at all) in forming an opinion that his search=
had
been successful. If, in addition to the point of general size and contour, =
he
had found upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had observed up=
on
the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly strengthened; and the
increase of positiveness might well have been in the ratio of the peculiari=
ty,
or unusualness, of the hairy mark. If, the feet of Marie being small, those=
of
the corpse were also small, the increase of probability that the body was t=
hat
of Marie would not be an increase in a ratio merely arithmetical, but in one
highly geometrical, or accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as she had =
been
known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and, although these shoes =
may
be 'sold in packages,' you so far 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
farther. If only one flower, we seek for nothing farther--what then if two =
or
three, or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence--proof not added to
proof, but multiplied by hundreds or thousands. Let us now discover, upon t=
he
deceased, garters such as the living used, and it is almost folly to procee=
d.
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 sa=
ys
in respect to this abbreviation of the garter's being an usual occurrence,
shows nothing beyond its own pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the
clasp-garter is self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. =
What
is made to adjust itself, must of necessity require foreign adjustment but
rarely. It must have been by an accident, in its strictest sense, that these
garters of Marie needed the tightening described. They alone would have amp=
ly
established her identity. But it is not that the corpse was found to have t=
he
garters of the missing girl, or found to have her shoes, or her bonnet, or =
the flowers
of her bonnet, or her feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general
size and appearance--it is that the corpse had each, and all collectively.
Could it be proved that the editor of L'Etoile really entertained a doubt,
under the circumstances, there would be no need, in his case, of a commissi=
on
de lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the small talk =
of
the lawyers, who, for the most part, content themselves with echoing the
rectangular precepts of the courts. I would here observe that very much of =
what
is rejected as evidence by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellec=
t.
For the court, guiding itself by the general principles of evidence--the re=
cognized
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 indivi=
dual
error. (*16)
"In res=
pect
to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will be willing to dismiss th=
em
in a breath. You have already fathomed the true character of this good
gentleman. He is a busy-body, with much of romance and little of wit. Any o=
ne
so constituted will readily so conduct himself, upon occasion of real
excitement, as to render himself liable to suspicion on the part of the over
acute, or the ill-disposed. M. Beauvais (as it appears from your notes) had
some personal interviews with the editor of L'Etoile, and offended him by v=
enturing
an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the theory of the editor, was, =
in
sober fact, that of Marie. 'He persists,' says the paper, 'in asserting the=
corpse
to be that of Marie, but cannot give a circumstance, in addition to those w=
hich
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 belie=
ve,
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. Beauvais' unreasoning belief.
"The
suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found to tally much bett=
er
with my hypothesis of romantic busy-bodyism, than with the reasoner's
suggestion of guilt. Once adopting the more charitable interpretation, we s=
hall
find no difficulty in comprehending the rose in the key-hole; the 'Marie' u=
pon
the slate; the 'elbowing the male relatives out of the way;' the 'aversion =
to
permitting them to see the body;' the caution given to Madame B----, that s=
he
must hold no conversation with the gendarme until his return (Beauvais'); a=
nd, lastly,
his apparent determination 'that nobody should have anything to do with the
proceedings except himself.' It seems to me unquestionable that Beauvais wa=
s 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 not=
hing
more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the assertion of
L'Etoile, touching the matter of apathy on the part of the mother and other
relatives--an apathy inconsistent with the supposition of their believing t=
he
corpse to be that of the perfumery-girl--we shall now proceed as if the
question of identity were settled to our perfect satisfaction."
"And
what," I here demanded, "do you think of the opinions of Le Comme=
rciel?"
"That, =
in
spirit, they are far more worthy of attention than any which have been
promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from the premises are
philosophical and acute; but the premises, in two instances, at least, are
founded in imperfect observation. Le Commerciel wishes to intimate that Mar=
ie
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 yo=
ung
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 who=
se
walks to and fro in the city, have been mostly limited to the vicinity of t=
he
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 ext=
ent 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 c=
ase
were her walks of the same unvarying, methodical character, and within the =
same
species of limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular
intervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals who are le=
d 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 suppo=
sed discursive.
In this particular instance, it will be understood as most probable, that s=
he
proceeded upon a route of more than average diversity from her accustomed o=
nes.
The parallel which we imagine to have existed in the mind of Le Commerciel
would only be sustained in the event of the two individuals' traversing the
whole city. In this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be equal, =
the
chances would be also equal that an equal number of personal rencounters wo=
uld
be made. For my own part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as very
far more than probable, that Marie might have proceeded, at any given perio=
d,
by any one of the many routes between her own residence and that of her aun=
t, without
meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known. In vie=
wing
this question in its full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind t=
he
great disproportion between the personal acquaintances of even the most not=
ed
individual in Paris, and the entire population of Paris itself.
"But
whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of Le Commerc=
iel,
will be much diminished when we take into consideration the hour at which t=
he
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 excepti=
on
of Sunday, the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. At
nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors preparing for church.=
No
observing person can have failed to notice the peculiarly deserted air of t=
he
town, from about eight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath. Between t=
en
and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so early a period as that d=
esignated.
"There =
is
another point at which there seems a deficiency of observation on the part =
of
Le Commerciel. 'A piece,' it says, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's
petticoats, two feet long, and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under h=
er
chin, and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was
done, by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.' Whether this idea is, or=
is
not well founded, we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by 'fellows who ha=
ve
no pocket-handkerchiefs' the editor intends the lowest class of ruffians. T=
hese,
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-handkerchief."
"And wh=
at
are we to think," I asked, "of the article in Le Soleil?"
"That i=
t is
a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot--in which case he would have =
been
the most illustrious parrot of his race. He has merely repeated the individ=
ual
items of the already published opinion; collecting them, with a laudable
industry, from this paper and from that. 'The things had all evidently been
there,' he says,'at least, three or four weeks, and there can be no doubt t=
hat
the spot of this appalling outrage has been discovered.' The facts here re-=
stated
by Le Soleil, are very far indeed from removing my own doubts upon this sub=
ject,
and we will examine them more particularly hereafter in connexion with anot=
her
division of the theme.
"At pre=
sent
we must occupy ourselves with other investigations You cannot fail to have
remarked the extreme laxity of the examination of the corpse. To be sure, t=
he
question of identity was readily determined, or should have been; but there
were other points to be ascertained. Had the body been in any respect
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, wh=
ich
have met with no attention. We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by person=
al
inquiry. The case of St. Eustache must be re-examined. I have no suspicion =
of
this person; but let us proceed methodically. We will ascertain beyond a do=
ubt
the validity of the affidavits in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. =
Affidavits
of this character are readily made matter of mystification. Should there be
nothing wrong here, however, we will dismiss St. Eustache from our
investigations. His suicide, however corroborative of suspicion, were there
found to be deceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respec=
t 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, a=
nd
concentrate our attention upon its outskirts. Not the least usual error, in
investigations such as this, is the limiting of inquiry to the immediate, w=
ith
total disregard of the collateral or circumstantial events. It is the
mal-practice of the courts to confine evidence and discussion to the bounds=
of
apparent relevancy. Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will 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 h=
uman
knowledge has so uninterruptedly shown that to collateral, or incidental, o=
r accidental
events we are indebted for the most numerous and most valuable discoveries,
that it has at length become necessary, in any prospective view of improvem=
ent,
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 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 mat=
ter
of absolute calculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined, to the=
mathematical
formulae of the schools.
"I repe=
at
that it is no more than fact, that the larger portion of all truth has spru=
ng
from the collateral; and it is but in accordance with the spirit of the
principle involved in this fact, that I would divert inquiry, in the 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 th=
an
you have as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the field of
investigation; but it will be strange indeed if a comprehensive survey, suc=
h as
I propose, of the public prints, will not afford us some minute points which
shall establish a direction for inquiry."
In pursuance=
of
Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupulous 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 mean time 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 bef=
ore
me the following extracts:
"About
three years and a half ago, a disturbance very similar to the present, was
caused by the disappearance of this same Marie Rogêt, from the parfum=
erie
of Monsieur Le Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week, however, s=
he
re-appeared at her customary comptoir, as well as ever, with the exception =
of a
slight paleness not altogether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc=
and
her mother, that she had merely been on a visit to some friend in the count=
ry;
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.
(*17)
"An eve=
ning
journal of yesterday, refers to a former mysterious disappearance of
Mademoiselle Rogêt. It is well known that, during the week of her abs=
ence
from Le Blanc's parfumerie, she was in the company of a young naval officer,
much noted for his debaucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed, providentially =
led
to her return home. We have the name of the Lothario in question, who is, at
present, stationed in Paris, but, for obvious reasons, forbear to make it
public."--Le Mercurie--Tuesday Morning, June 24. (*18)
"An out=
rage
of the most atrocious character was perpetrated near this city the day befo=
re
yesterday. A gentleman, with his wife and daughter, engaged, about dusk, the
services of six young men, who were idly rowing a boat to and fro near the
banks of the Seine, to convey him across the river. Upon reaching the oppos=
ite
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 in=
to
the stream, gagged, brutally treated, and finally taken to the shore at a p=
oint
not far from that at which she had originally entered the boat with her par=
ents.
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. (*19)
"We have
received one or two communications, the object of which is to fasten the cr=
ime
of the late atrocity upon Mennais; (*20) but as this gentleman has been ful=
ly
exonerated by a loyal inquiry, and as the arguments of our several
correspondents appear to be more zealous than profound, we do not think it
advisable to make them public."--Morning Paper--June 28. (*21)
"We have
received several forcibly written communications, apparently from various
sources, and which go far to render it a matter of certainty that the
unfortunate Marie Rogêt has become a victim of one of the numerous ba=
nds
of blackguards which infest the vicinity of the city upon Sunday. Our own
opinion is decidedly in favor of this supposition. We shall endeavor to make
room for some of these arguments hereafter."--Evening Paper--Tuesday, =
June
31. (*22)
"On Mon=
day,
one of the bargemen connected with the revenue service, saw a 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.
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
those extracts. I have copied them chiefly to show you the extreme remissne=
ss
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 offic=
er
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 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 second
individual--we are prepared to regard it as a 'making up' of the old amour,
rather than as the commencement of a new one. The chances are ten to one, t=
hat
he who had once eloped with Marie, would again propose an elopement, rather
than that she to whom proposals of elopement had been made by one individua=
l,
should have them made to her by another. And here let me call your attentio=
n to
the fact, that the time elapsing between the first ascertained, and the sec=
ond
supposed elopement, is a few months more than the general period of the cru=
ises
of our men-of-war. Had the lover been interrupted in his first villany by t=
he necessity
of departure to sea, and had he seized the first moment of his return to re=
new
the base designs not yet altogether accomplished--or not yet altogether
accomplished by him? Of all these things we know nothing.
"You wi=
ll
say, however, that, in the second instance, there was no elopement as imagi=
ned.
Certainly not--but are we prepared to say that there was not the frustrated
design? Beyond St. Eustache, and perhaps Beauvais, we find no recognized, no
open, no honorable suitors of Marie. Of none other is there any thing said.
Who, then, is the secret lover, of whom the relatives (at least most of the=
m)
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 t=
he
shades of the evening descend, amid the solitary groves of the Barriè=
;re
du Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of whom, at least, most of the r=
elatives
know nothing? And what means the singular prophecy of Madame Rogêt on=
the
morning of Marie's departure?--'I fear that I shall never see Marie again.'=
"But if=
we
cannot imagine Madame Rogêt privy to the design of elopement, may we =
not
at least suppose this design entertained by the girl? Upon quitting home, s=
he
gave it to be understood that she was about to visit her aunt in the Rue des
Drômes 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 Barrière du Roule at so late an hour as three
o'clock in the afternoon, is known. But in consenting so to accompany this
individual, (for whatever purpose--to her mother known or unknown,) she must
have thought of her expressed intention when leaving home, and of the surpr=
ise
and suspicion aroused in the bosom of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, w=
hen,
calling for her, at the hour appointed, in the Rue des Drômes, he sho=
uld find
that she had not been there, and when, moreover, upon returning to the pens=
ion
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 h=
ave
foreseen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She could not h=
ave
thought of returning to brave this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a p=
oint
of trivial importance to her, if we suppose her not intending to return.
"We may
imagine her thinking thus--'I am to meet a certain person for the purpose of
elopement, or for certain other purposes known only to myself. It is necess=
ary
that there be no chance of interruption--there must be sufficient time give=
n us
to elude pursuit--I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and sp=
end
the day with my aunt at the Rue des Drômes--I well tell St. Eustache =
not
to call for me until dark--in this way, my absence from home for the longest
possible period, without causing suspicion or anxiety, will be accounted fo=
r,
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 neglec=
t to
bid him call, my time for escape will be diminished, since it will be expec=
ted
that I return the earlier, and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety. N=
ow,
if it were my 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 for ever in ignorance, by leavi=
ng
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 Drômes. =
But,
as it is my design never to return--or not for some weeks--or not until cer=
tain
concealments are effected--the gaining of time is the only point about whic=
h I
need give myself any concern.'
"You ha=
ve
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 g=
ang
of blackguards. Now, the popular opinion, under certain conditions, is not =
to
be disregarded. When arising of itself--when manifesting itself in a strict=
ly
spontaneous manner--we should look upon it as analogous with that intuition
which is the idiosyncrasy of the individual man of genius. In ninety-nine c=
ases
from the hundred I would abide by its decision. But it is important that we=
find
no palpable traces of suggestion. The opinion must be rigorously the public=
'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 opini=
on'
in respect to a gang, has been superinduced by the collateral event which is
detailed in the third of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the discovered
corpse of Marie, a girl young, beautiful and notorious. This corpse is foun=
d,
bearing marks of violence, and floating in the river. But it is now made kn=
own
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 endure=
d by
the deceased, although less in extent, was perpetuated, 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 o=
ther
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 connexion of the two events
had about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder would have been a
failure of the populace to appreciate and to seize it. But, in fact, the on=
e atrocity,
known to be so committed, is, if any thing, evidence that the other, commit=
ted
at a time nearly coincident, was not so committed. It would have been a mir=
acle
indeed, if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given locality=
, a
most unheard-of wrong, there should have been another similar gang, in a
similar locality, in the same city, under the same circumstances, with the =
same
means and appliances, engaged in a wrong of precisely the same aspect, at
precisely the same period of time! Yet in what, if not in this marvellous t=
rain
of coincidence, does the accidentally suggested opinion of the populace call
upon us to believe?
"Before
proceeding farther, let us consider the supposed scene of the assassination=
, in
the thicket at the Barrière du Roule. This thicket, although dense, =
was
in the close vicinity of a public road. Within were three or four large sto=
nes,
forming a kind of seat with a back and footstool. On the upper stone was
discovered a white petticoat; on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, glove=
s,
and a pocket-handkerchief, were also here found. The handkerchief bore the
name, 'Marie Rogêt.' Fragments of dress were seen on the branches aro=
und.
The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidenc=
e of
a violent struggle.
"Notwit=
hstanding
the acclamation with which the discovery of this thicket was received by the
press, and the unanimity with which it was supposed to indicate the precise
scene of the outrage, it must be admitted that there was some very good rea=
son
for doubt. That it was the scene, I may or I may not believe--but there was
excellent reason for doubt. Had the true scene been, as Le Commerciel
suggested, in the neighborhood of the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, t=
he
perpetrators of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris, would
naturally have been stricken with terror at the public attention thus acute=
ly
directed into the proper channel; and, in certain classes of minds, there w=
ould
have arisen, at once, a sense of the necessity of some exertion to redivert=
this
attention. And thus, the thicket of the Barrière 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 circumstantial proof that they cou=
ld
not have remained there, without attracting attention, during the twenty da=
ys
elapsing between the fatal Sunday and the afternoon upon which they were fo=
und
by the boys. 'They were all mildewed down hard,' says Le Soleil, adopting t=
he
opinions of its predecessors, 'with the action of the rain, and stuck toget=
her
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 upp=
er
part, where it bad been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and
tore on being opened.' In respect to the grass having '.grown around and ov=
er
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 the=
se
boys removed the articles and took them home before they had been seen by a
third party. But grass will grow, especially in warm and damp weather, (suc=
h as
was that of the period of the murder,) as much as two or three inches in a
single day. A parasol lying upon a newly turfed ground, might, in a single
week, be entirely concealed from sight by the upspringing grass. And touchi=
ng that
mildew upon which the editor of Le Soleil so pertinaciously insists, that he
employs the word no less than three times in the brief paragraph just quote=
d,
is he really unaware of the nature of this mildew? Is he to be told that it=
is
one of the many classes of fungus, of which the most ordinary feature is its
upspringing and decadence within twenty-four hours?
"Thus we
see, at a glance, that what has been most triumphantly adduced in support of
the idea that the articles bad been 'for at least three or four weeks' in t=
he
thicket, is most absurdly null as regards any evidence of that fact. On the
other hand, it is exceedingly difficult to believe that these articles could
have remained in the thicket specified, for a longer period than a single
week--for a longer period than from one Sunday to the next. Those who know =
any
thing of the vicinity of Paris, know the extreme difficulty of finding
seclusion unless at a great distance from its suburbs. Such a thing as an u=
nexplored,
or even an unfrequently visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not fo=
r a
moment to be imagined. Let any one who, being at heart a lover of nature, is
yet chained by duty to the dust and heat of this great metropolis--let any =
such
one attempt, even during the weekdays, to slake his thirst for solitude amid
the scenes of natural loveliness which immediately surround us. At every se=
cond
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 p=
rivacy
amid the densest foliage, all in vain. Here are the very nooks where the un=
washed
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 becau=
se
less incongruous sink of pollution. But if the vicinity of the city is so b=
eset
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 despises, bu=
t by
way of escape from the restraints and conventionalities of society. He desi=
res less
the fresh air and the green trees, than the utter license of the country. H=
ere,
at the road-side inn, or beneath the foliage of the woods, he indulges,
unchecked by any eye except those of his boon companions, in all the mad ex=
cess
of a counterfeit hilarity--the joint offspring of liberty and of rum. I say=
nothing
more than what must be obvious to every dispassionate observer, when I repe=
at
that the circumstance of the articles in question having remained undiscove=
red,
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 th=
ere
are not wanting other grounds for the suspicion that the articles were plac=
ed
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 urgent communications sent to the evening paper. These
communications, although various and apparently 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 neighborhood of the Barrière=
du
Roule as its scene. Now here, of course, the suspicion is not that, in
consequence of these communications, or of the public attention by them
directed, the articles were found by the boys; but the suspicion might and =
may
well have been, that the articles were not before found by the boys, for th=
e reason
that the articles had not before been in the thicket; having been deposited
there only at so late a period as at the date, or shortly prior to the date=
of
the communications by the guilty authors of these communications themselves=
.
"This
thicket was a singular--an exceedingly singular one. It was unusually dense.
Within its naturally walled enclosure were three extraordinary stones, form=
ing
a seat with a back and footstool. And this thicket, so full of a natural ar=
t,
was in the immediate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of Madame
Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies ab=
out
them in search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager--a wa=
ger
of one thousand to one--that a day never passed over the heads of these boy=
s 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 eit=
her
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 t=
his
thicket undiscovered, for a longer period than one or two days; and that th=
us
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 th=
ere
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 Rogêt.' He=
re
is just such an arrangement as would naturally be made by a not over-acute
person wishing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is by no means a
really natural arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the things a=
ll
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 sh=
ould
have retained a position upon the stones, when subjected to the brushing to=
and
fro of many struggling persons. 'There was evidence,' it is said, 'of a str=
uggle;
and the earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,'--but the petticoat and=
the
scarf are found deposited as if upon shelves. 'The pieces of the frock torn=
out
by the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was
the hem of the frock and it had been mended. They looked like strips torn o=
ff.'
Here, inadvertently, Le Soleil has employed an exceedingly suspicious phras=
e.
The pieces, as described, do indeed 'look like strips torn off;' but purpos=
ely
and by hand. It is one of the rarest of accidents that a piece is 'torn off=
,' from
any garment such as is now in question, by the agency of a thorn. From the =
very
nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becoming entangled in them, tears t=
hem
rectangularly--divides them into two longitudinal rents, at right angles wi=
th
each other, and meeting at an apex where the thorn enters--but it is scarce=
ly
possible to conceive the piece 'torn off.' I never so knew it, nor did you.=
To
tear a piece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in different direct=
ions,
will be, in almost every case, required. If there be two edges to the
fabric--if, for example, it be a pocket-handkerchief, and it is desired to =
tear
from it a slip, then, and then only, will the one force serve the purpose. =
But in
the present case the question is of a dress, presenting but one edge. To te=
ar 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 i=
t.
But, even where an edge is presented, two thorns will be necessary, operati=
ng,
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 numerous and great obstacles in the way of pi=
eces
being 'torn off' through the simple agency of 'thorns;' yet we are required=
to believe
not only that one piece but that many have been so torn. 'And one part,' to=
o,
'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 uncaged interior of the dress! These, I say, are things which one =
may
well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly, they form, perha=
ps,
less of reasonable ground for suspicion, than the one startling circumstanc=
e of
the articles' having been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who=
had
enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You will not have
apprehended me rightly, however, if you suppose it my design to deny this
thicket as the scene of the outrage. There might have been a wrong here, or,
more possibly, an accident at Madame Deluc's. But, in fact, this is a point=
of
minor importance. We are not engaged in an attempt to discover the scene, b=
ut
to produce the perpetrators of the murder. What I have adduced, notwithstan=
ding
the minuteness with which I have adduced it, has been with the view, first,=
to
show the folly of the positive and headlong assertions of Le Soleil, but
secondly and chiefly, to bring you, by the most natural route, to a further
contemplation of the doubt whether this assassination has, or has not been,=
the
work of a gang.
"We will
resume this question by mere allusion to the revolting details of the surge=
on
examined at the inquest. It is only necessary to say that is published
inferences, in regard to the number of ruffians, have been properly ridicul=
ed
as unjust and totally baseless, by all the reputable anatomists of Paris. N=
ot
that the matter might not have been as inferred, but that there was no grou=
nd
for the inference:--was there not much for another?
"Let us
reflect now upon 'the traces of a struggle;' and let me ask what these trac=
es
have been supposed to demonstrate. A gang. But do they not rather demonstra=
te the
absence of a gang? What struggle could have taken place--what struggle so
violent and so enduring as to have left its 'traces' in all directions--bet=
ween
a weak and defenceless girl and the gang of ruffians imagined? The silent g=
rasp
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 argum=
ents
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 l=
eft
the 'traces' apparent.
"And ag=
ain.
I have already mentioned the suspicion to be excited by the fact that the
articles in question were suffered to remain at all in the thicket where
discovered. It seems almost impossible that these evidences of guilt should
have been accidentally left where found. There was sufficient presence of m=
ind
(it is supposed) to remove the corpse; and yet a more positive evidence than
the corpse itself (whose features might have been quickly obliterated by
decay,) is allowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage--I allu=
de
to the handkerchief 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 indiv=
idual.
Let us see. An individual has committed the murder. He is alone with the gh=
ost
of the departed. He is appalled by what lies motionless before him. The fur=
y of
his passion is over, and there is abundant room in his heart for the natural
awe of the deed. His is none of that confidence which the presence of numbe=
rs
inevitably inspires. He is alone with the dead. He trembles and is bewilder=
ed.
Yet there is a necessity for disposing of the corpse. He bears it to the ri=
ver,
but leaves behind him the other evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if=
not
impossible to carry all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to return =
for
what is left. But in his toilsome journey to the water his fears redouble
within him. The sounds of life encompass his path. A dozen times he hears or
fancies the step of an observer. Even the very lights from the city bewilder
him. Yet, in time and by long and frequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches=
the
river's brink, and disposes of his ghastly charge--perhaps through the medi=
um
of a boat. But now what treasure does the world hold--what threat of vengea=
nce
could it hold out--which would have power to urge the return of that lonely
murderer over that toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its blood=
chilling
recollections? He returns not, let the consequences be what they may. He co=
uld
not return if he would. His sole thought is immediate escape. He turns his =
back
forever upon those dreadful shrubberies and flees as from the wrath to come=
.
"But how
with a gang? Their number would have inspired them with confidence; if, ind=
eed
confidence is ever wanting in the breast of the arrant blackguard; and of
arrant blackguards alone are the supposed gangs ever constituted. Their num=
ber,
I say, would have prevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror which I =
have
imagined to paralyze the single man. Could we suppose an oversight in one, =
or
two, or three, this oversight would have been remedied by a fourth. They wo=
uld
have left nothing behind them; for their number would have enabled them to
carry all at once. There would have been no need of return.
"Consid=
er
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 wai=
st
wound three times round the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the ba=
ck.'
This was done with the obvious design of affording a handle by which to car=
ry
the body. But would any number of men have dreamed of resorting to such an
expedient? To three or four, the limbs of the corpse would have afforded not
only a sufficient, but the best possible hold. The device is that of a sing=
le
individual; and this brings us to the fact that 'between the thicket and the
river, the rails of the fences were found taken down, and the ground bore
evident traces of some heavy burden having been dragged along it!' But woul=
d a number
of men have put themselves to the superfluous trouble of taking down a fenc=
e,
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 corps=
e at
all as to have left evident traces of the dragging?
"And he=
re
we must refer to an observation of Le Commerciel; an observation 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 blackguard is never without a pocket-handke=
rchief.
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, t=
hat
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, fr=
om
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 s=
trip
in question as 'found around the neck, fitting loosely, and secured with a =
hard
knot.' These words are sufficiently vague, but differ materially from those=
of
Le Commerciel. The slip was eighteen inches wide, and therefore, although of
muslin, would form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudinally. And
thus rumpled it was discovered. My inference is this. The solitary murderer,
having borne the corpse, for some distance, (whether from the thicket or
elsewhere) by means of the bandage hitched around its middle, found the wei=
ght,
in this mode of procedure, too much for his strength. He resolved to drag t=
he burthen--the
evidence goes to show that it was dragged. With this object in view, it bec=
ame
necessary to attach something like a rope to one of the extremities. It cou=
ld
be best attached about the neck, where the head would prevent its slipping =
off.
And, now, the murderer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage about =
the
loins. He would have used this, but for its volution about the corpse, the
hitch which embarrassed it, and the reflection that it had not been 'torn o=
ff'
from the garment. It was easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He t=
ore
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 delay, and but
imperfectly answering its purpose--that this bandage was employed at all,
demonstrates that the necessity for its employment sprang from circumstances
arising at a period when the handkerchief was no longer attainable--that is=
to
say, arising, as we have imagined, after quitting the thicket, (if the thic=
ket
it was), and on the road between the thicket and the river.
"But the
evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc, (!) points especially to the prese=
nce
of a gang, in the vicinity of the thicket, at or about the epoch of the mur=
der.
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 Barrière du Roule at =
or
about the period of this tragedy. But the gang which has drawn upon itself =
the
pointed animadversion, although the somewhat tardy and very suspicious evid=
ence
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, wit=
hout
putting themselves to the trouble of making her payment. Et hinc illæ=
iræ?
"But wh=
at
is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? 'A gang of miscreants made their
appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment,
followed in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the inn about
dusk, and recrossed the river as if in great haste.'
"Now th=
is
'great haste' very possibly seemed greater haste in the eyes of Madame Delu=
c,
since she dwelt lingeringly and lamentingly upon her violated cakes and
ale--cakes and ale for which she might still have entertained a faint hope =
of
compensation. Why, otherwise, since it was about dusk, should she make a po=
int
of the haste? It is no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of
blackguards should make haste to get home, when a wide river is to be cross=
ed
in small boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches.
"I say
approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It was only about dusk that =
the
indecent haste of these 'miscreants' offended the sober eyes of Madame Delu=
c.
But we are told that it was upon this very evening that Madame Deluc, as we=
ll
as her eldest son, 'heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the in=
n.'
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 'so=
on
after dark,' is, at least, dark; and 'about dusk' is as certainly daylight.
Thus it is abundantly clear that the gang quitted the Barrière du Ro=
ule
prior to the screams overheard (?) by Madame Deluc. And although, in all the
many reports 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 o=
f 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
circumstances of large reward offered, and full pardon to any King's eviden=
ce,
it is not to be imagined, for a moment, that some member of a gang of low
ruffians, or of any body of men, would not long ago have betrayed his
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 th=
at
he may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has not been divulged, is t=
he
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 mur=
der
perpetrated, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule, by a lover, or=
at
least by an intimate and secret associate of the deceased. This associate i=
s of
swarthy complexion. This complexion, the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the
'sailor's knot,' with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a seaman. H=
is
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 writt=
en
and urgent communications to the journals are much in the way of corroborat=
ion.
The circumstance of the first elopement, as mentioned by Le Mercurie, tends=
to
blend the idea of this seaman with that of the 'naval officer' who is first
known to have led the unfortunate into crime.
"And he= re, most fitly, comes the consideration of the continued absence of him of the = dark complexion. Let me pause to observe that the complexion of this man is dark= and swarthy; it was no common swarthiness which constituted the sole point of remembrance, both as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he murdered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the assassinated girl? The scene of the two outrages will naturally be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The assassins would most probably have disposed of both in the same way. But it may be said that this man lives, a= nd 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 th= is late period--since it has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie--but it would have had no force at the period of the deed. The first impulse of an innocent man would have been to announce the outrage, and to = aid in identifying the ruffians. This policy would have suggested. He had been = seen with the girl. He had crossed the river with her in an open ferry-boat. The denouncing of the assassins would have appeared, even to an idiot, the sure= st and sole means of relieving himself from suspicion. We cannot suppose him, = on the night of the fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and incognizant of an outrage committed. Yet only under such circumstances is it possible to imag= ine that he would have failed, if alive, in the denouncement of the assassins.<= o:p>
"And wh=
at
means are ours, of attaining the truth? We shall find these means multiplyi=
ng
and gathering distinctness as we proceed. Let us sift to the bottom this af=
fair
of the first elopement. Let us know the full history of 'the officer,' with=
his
present circumstances, and his whereabouts at the precise period of the mur=
der.
Let us carefully compare with each other the various communications sent to=
the
evening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang. This done, let =
us compare
these communications, both as regards style and MS., with those sent to the
morning paper, at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon the g=
uilt
of Mennais. And, all this done, let us again compare these various
communications with the known MSS. of the officer. Let us endeavor to
ascertain, by repeated questionings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well a=
s of
the omnibus driver, Valence, something more of the personal appearance and
bearing of the 'man of dark complexion.' Queries, skilfully directed, will =
not
fail to elicit, from some of these parties, information on this particular
point (or upon others)--information which the parties themselves may not ev=
en
be aware of possessing. And let us now trace the boat picked up by the barg=
eman
on the morning of Monday the twenty-third of June, and which was removed fr=
om
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. Wi=
th a
proper caution and perseverance we shall infallibly trace this boat; for not
only can the bargeman who picked it up identify it, but the rudder is at ha=
nd.
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 quest=
ion.
There was no advertisement of the picking up of this boat. It was silently =
taken
to the barge-office, and as silently removed. But its owner or employer--how
happened he, at so early a period as Tuesday morning, to be informed, witho=
ut
the agency of advertisement, of the locality of the boat taken up on Monday,
unless we imagine some connexion with the navy--some personal permanent
connexion leading to cognizance of its minute in interests--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 Rogêt was precipitated from a boat. This wou=
ld
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 witho=
ut
weight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight
would have been attached. We can only account for its absence by supposing =
the
murderer to have neglected the precaution of supplying himself with it befo=
re
pushing off. In the act of consigning the corpse to the water, he would
unquestionably have noticed his oversight; but then no remedy would have be=
en
at hand. Any risk would have been preferred to a return to that accursed sh=
ore.
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 t=
he
boat--would he have secured it? He would have been in too great haste for s=
uch
things as securing a boat. Moreover, in fastening it to the wharf, he would
have felt as if securing evidence against himself. His natural thought would
have been to cast from him, as far as possible, all that had held connection
with his crime. He would not only have fled from the wharf, but he would not
have permitted the boat to remain. Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. =
Let
us pursue our fancies.--In the morning, the wretch is stricken with unutter=
able
horror at finding that the boat has been picked up and detained at a locali=
ty
which he is in the daily habit of frequenting --at a locality, perhaps, whi=
ch
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 daw=
n of
our success shall begin. This boat shall guide us, with a rapidity which wi=
ll
surprise even ourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight of the fatal
Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration, and the murderer will =
be
traced."
[For reasons
which we shall not specify, but which to many readers will appear obvious, =
we
have taken the liberty of here omitting, from the MSS. placed in our hands,
such portion as details the following up of the apparently slight clew obta=
ined
by Dupin. We feel it advisable only to state, in brief, that the result des=
ired
was brought to pass; and that the Prefect fulfilled punctually, although wi=
th
reluctance, the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr. Poe's article
concludes with the following words.--Eds. (*23)]
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
præter-nature. That Nature and its God are two, no man who thinks, wi=
ll
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 w=
ill,
and not, as the insanity of logic has assumed, of power. It is not that the
Deity cannot modify his laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible
necessity for modification. In their origin these laws were fashioned to
embrace all contingencies which could lie in the Future. With God all is No=
w.
I repeat, th=
en,
that I speak of these things only as of coincidences. And farther: in what I
relate it will be seen that between the fate of the unhappy Mary Cecilia
Rogers, so far as that fate is known, and the fate of one Marie Rogêt=
up
to a certain epoch in her history, there has existed a parallel in the
contemplation of whose wonderful exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed.=
I
say all this will be seen. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in
proceeding with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just mentioned, a=
nd
in tracing to its dénouement the mystery which enshrouded her, it is=
my
covert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, or even to suggest t=
hat
the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the assassin of a griset=
te,
or measures founded in any similar ratiocination, would produce any similar
result.
For, in resp=
ect
to the latter branch of the supposition, it should be considered that the m=
ost
trifling variation in the facts of the two cases might give rise to the most
important miscalculations, by diverting thoroughly the two courses of event=
s;
very much as, in arithmetic, an error which, in its own individuality, may =
be inappreciable,
produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all points of the process=
, a
result enormously at variance with truth. And, in regard to the former bran=
ch,
we must not fail to hold in view that the very Calculus of Probabilities to
which I have referred, forbids all idea of the extension of the parallel:--=
forbids
it with a positiveness strong and decided just in proportion as this parall=
el
has already been long-drawn and exact. This is one of those anomalous
propositions which, seemingly appealing to thought altogether apart from the
mathematical, is yet one which only the mathematician can fully entertain.
Nothing, for 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 rejecte=
d by
the intellect at once. It does not appear that the two throws which have be=
en
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 se=
ems
to be precisely as it was at any ordinary time--that is to say, subject onl=
y to
the influence of the various other throws which may be made by the dice. An=
d this
is a reflection which appears so exceedingly obvious that attempts to
controvert it are received more frequently with a derisive smile than with
anything like respectful attention. The error here involved--a gross error
redolent of mischief--I cannot pretend to expose within the limits assigned=
me
at present; and with the philosophical it needs no exposure. It may be
sufficient here to say that it forms one of an infinite series of mistakes
which arise in the path or Reason through her propensity for seeking truth =
in
detail.
Footnotes--M=
arie
Rogêt
(*1) Upon the
original publication of "Marie Roget," the foot-notes now appended
were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several years since the trage=
dy
upon which the tale is based, renders it expedient to give them, and also to
say a few words in explanation of the general design. A young girl, Mary
Cecilia Rogers, was murdered in the vicinity of New York; and, although her
death occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery atten=
ding
it had remained unsolved at the period when the present paper was written a=
nd
published (November, 1842). Herein, under pretence of relating the fate of a
Parisian grisette, the author has followed in minute detail, the essential,
while merely paralleling the inessential facts of the real murder of Mary
Rogers. Thus all argument founded upon the fiction is applicable to the tru=
th:
and the investigation of the truth was the object. The "Mystery of Mar=
ie
Roget" was composed at a distance from the scene of the atrocity, and =
with
no other means of investigation than the newspapers afforded. Thus much esc=
aped
the writer of which he could have availed himself had he been upon the spot,
and visited the localities. It may not be improper to record, nevertheless,
that the confessions of two persons, (one of them the Madame Deluc of the
narrative) made, at different periods, long subsequent to the publication,
confirmed, in full, not only the general conclusion, but absolutely all the
chief hypothetical details by which that conclusion was attained.
(*2) The nom=
de
plume of Von Hardenburg.
(*3) Nassau
Street.
(*4) Anderso=
n.
(*5) The Hud=
son.
(*6) Weehawk=
en.
(*7) Payne.<= o:p>
(*8) Crommel=
in.
(*9) The New
York "Mercury."
(*10) The New
York "Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hastings Weld, Esq.
(*11) New Yo=
rk
"Journal of Commerce."
(*12)
Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I. Peterson, E=
sq.
(*13) Adam
(*14) See
"Murders in the Rue Morgue."
(*15) The New
York "Commercial Advertiser," edited by Col. Stone.
(*16) "A
theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its being unfolded
according to its objects; and he who arranges topics in reference to their
causes, will cease to value them according to their results. Thus the
jurisprudence of every nation will show that, when law becomes a science an=
d a
system, it ceases to be justice. The errors into which a blind devotion to
principles of classification has led the common law, will be seen by observ=
ing
how often the legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the
equity its scheme had lost."--Landor.
(*17) New Yo=
rk
"Express"
(*18) New Yo=
rk
"Herald."
(*19) New Yo=
rk
"Courier and Inquirer."
(*20) Mennais
was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested, but discharged th=
rough
total lack of evidence.
(*21) New Yo=
rk
"Courier and Inquirer."
(*22) New Yo=
rk
"Evening Post."
(*23) Of the
Magazine in which the article was originally published.
THE BALLOON-HOAX
[Astounding News by Express, via
Norfolk!--The Atlantic crosse=
d in
Three Days! Signal Triumph of=
Mr.
Monck Mason's Flying Machine!--Arrival at Sullivan's Isl=
and,
near Charlestown, S.C., of Mr.
Mason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, and four others, in the Steering Ba=
lloon,
"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 magnific=
ent
capitals, well interspersed with notes of admiration, 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 quidnu=
ncs
during the few hours interven=
ing
between a couple of the Charleston mails.&=
nbsp;
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 n=
ot
have accomplished it.]
THE great
problem is at length solved! The air, as well as the earth and the ocean, h=
as
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 danger--with thorough contro=
l of
the machine--and in the inconceivably brief period of seventy-five hours fr=
om
shore to shore! By the energy of an agent at Charleston, S.C., we are enabl=
ed
to be the first to furnish the public with a detailed account of this most =
extraordinary
voyage, which was performed between Saturday, the 6th instant, at 11, A.M.,=
and
2, P.M., on Tuesday, the 9th instant, by Sir Everard Bringhurst; Mr. Osborn=
e, a
nephew of Lord Bentinck's; Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Robert Holland, the
well-known æronauts; Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, author of "Jack
Sheppard," &c.; and Mr. Henson, the projector of the late unsucces=
sful
flying machine--with two seamen from Woolwich--in all, eight persons. The
particulars furnished below may be relied on as authentic and accurate in e=
very
respect, as, with a slight exception, they are copied verbatim from the joi=
nt
diaries of Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, to whose politeness =
our
agent is also indebted for much verbal information respecting the balloon
itself, its construction, and other matters of interest. The only alteratio=
n in
the MS. received, has been made for the purpose of throwing the hurried acc=
ount
of our agent, Mr. Forsyth, into a connected and intelligible form.
"THE BALLOON.
"Two ve=
ry
decided failures, of late--those of Mr. Henson and Sir George Cayley--had m=
uch
weakened the public interest in the subject of aerial navigation. Mr. Henso=
n'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 eminen=
ce
by an extrinsic force, applied and continued by the revolution of impinging
vanes, in form and number resembling the vanes of a windmill. But, in all t=
he
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 me=
re impetus
acquired from the descent of the inclined plane; and this impetus carried t=
he
machine farther when the vanes were at rest, than when they were in motion-=
-a
fact which sufficiently demonstrates their inutility; 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 exhibite=
d a
model of his invention at the Polytechnic Institution. The propelling
principle, or power, was here, also, applied to interrupted surfaces, or va=
nes,
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 wh=
ole
project was thus a complete failure.
"It was=
at
this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason (whose voyage from Dover to Weilburg in =
the
balloon, "Nassau," occasioned so much excitement in 1837,) concei=
ved
the idea of employing the principle of the Archimedean screw for the purpos=
e of
propulsion through the air--rightly attributing the failure of Mr. Henson's
scheme, and of Sir George Cayley's, to the interruption of surface in the
independent vanes. He made the first public experiment at Willis's Rooms, b=
ut
afterward removed his model to the Adelaide Gallery.
"Like S=
ir
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 deteriorate or
escape. The weight of the whole machine and apparatus was seventeen
pounds--leaving about four pounds to spare. Beneath the centre of the ballo=
on,
was a frame of light wood, about nine feet long, and rigged on to the ballo=
on
itself with a network in the customary manner. From this framework was
suspended a wicker basket or car.
"The sc=
rew
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 ste=
el
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 of the screw, which is
completed by a covering of oiled silk cut into gores, and tightened so as to
present 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, communicating 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 raising forty-f=
ive
pounds upon a barrel of four inches diameter, after the first turn, and
gradually increasing as it was wound up. It weighed, altogether, eight poun=
ds
six ounces. The rudder was a light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped
somewhat like a battle-door, and was about three feet long, and at the wide=
st,
one foot. Its weight was about two ounces. It could be turned flat, and
directed upwards or downwards, as well as to the right or left; and thus
enabled the æronaut to transfer the resistance of the air which in an
inclined position it must generate in its passage, to any side upon which h=
e might
desire to act; thus determining the balloon in the opposite direction.
"This m= odel (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; although, 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 anything which carries with it = an air of simplicity. To accomplish the great desideratum of ærial navigation, it was very generally supposed that some exceedingly complicated application must be made of some unusually profound principle in dynamics.<= o:p>
"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. Osborne, two gentlemen well known for scientific
acquirement, and especially for the interest they have exhibited in the
progress of ærostation. The project, at the desire of Mr. Osborne, was
kept a profound secret from the public--the only persons entrusted with the
design being those actually engaged in the construction of the machine, whi=
ch
was built (under the superintendence of Mr. Mason, Mr. Holland, Sir Everard
Bringhurst, and Mr. Osborne,) at 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 g=
entlemen
made final arrangements to be included in the adventure. 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 minut=
est
particulars respecting this extraordinary voyage.
"The
balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the liquid gum caoutchouc. It i=
s of
vast dimensions, containing more than 40,000 cubic feet of gas; but as coal=
gas
was employed in place of the more expensive and inconvenient hydrogen, the =
supporting
power of the machine, when fully inflated, and immediately after inflation,=
is
not more than about 2500 pounds. The coal gas is not only much less costly,=
but
is easily procured and managed.
"For its
introduction into common use for purposes of aerostation, we are indebted to
Mr. Charles Green. Up to his discovery, the process of inflation was not on=
ly
exceedingly expensive, but uncertain. Two, and even three days, have freque=
ntly
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 coal-gas unaltered, in quant=
ity
or amount, for six months, an equal quantity of hydrogen could not be maint=
ained
in equal purity for six weeks.
"The
supporting power being estimated at 2500 pounds, and the united weights of =
the
party amounting only to about 1200, there was left a surplus of 1300, of wh=
ich
again 1200 was exhausted by ballast, arranged in bags of different sizes, w=
ith
their respective weights marked upon them--by cordage, barometers, telescop=
es,
barrels containing provision for a fortnight, water-casks, cloaks, carpet-b=
ags,
and various other indispensable matters, including a coffee-warmer, contriv=
ed
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. T=
he
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 fr=
ail
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 wor=
ds,
in explanation, will here be necessary for such of our readers as are not
conversant with the details of aerostation.
"As soo=
n as
the balloon quits the earth, it is subjected to the influence of many
circumstances tending 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 descend. This ballast being discarded,=
and
a clear sunshine evaporating the dew, and at the same time expanding the ga=
s in
the silk, the whole will again rapidly ascend. To check this ascent, the on=
ly recourse
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 comparatively
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 simplest manner conceivable. It is
merely a very long rope which is suffered to trail from the car, and the ef=
fect
of which is to prevent the balloon from changing 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 consequence, there will be no
necessity for discharging ballast to remedy the increase of weight, for it =
is
remedied, or counteracted, in an exactly just proportion, by the deposit on=
the
ground of just so much of the end of the rope as is necessary. If, on the o=
ther
hand, any circumstances should cause undue levity, and consequent ascent, t=
his
levity is immediately counteracted by the additional weight of rope upraised
from the earth. Thus, the balloon can neither ascend or descend, except wit=
hin
very narrow 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 ballas=
t of
a lighter nature than water. These float, and serve all the purposes of a m=
ere rope
on land. Another most important office of the guide-rope, is to point out t=
he
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, wh=
en
the rope hangs perpendicularly, the whole apparatus is stationary; but the
larger the angle, that is to say, the farther the balloon precedes the end =
of the
rope, the greater the velocity; and the converse.
"As the
original design was to cross the British Channel, and alight as near Paris =
as
possible, the voyagers had taken the precaution to prepare themselves with
passports directed to all parts of the Continent, specifying the nature of =
the
expedition, as in the case of the Nassau voyage, and entitling the adventur=
ers
to exemption from the usual formalities of office: unexpected events, howev=
er,
rendered these passports superfluous.
"The
inflation was commenced very quietly at daybreak, on Saturday morning, the =
6th
instant, in the Court-Yard of Weal-Vor House, Mr. Osborne's seat, about a m=
ile
from Penstruthal, in North Wales; and at 7 minutes past 11, every thing bei=
ng
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 eith=
er
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. Ainsworth. The body=
of the
journal, as given, is in the hand-writing of Mr. Mason, and a P. S. is
appended, each day, by Mr. Ainsworth, who has in preparation, and will shor=
tly
give the public a more minute, and no doubt, a thrillingly interesting acco=
unt
of the voyage.
"THE JOURNAL.
"Saturd=
ay,
April the 6th.--Every preparation likely to embarrass us, having been made =
over
night, we commenced the inflation this morning at daybreak; but owing to a
thick fog, which encumbered the folds of the silk and rendered it unmanagea=
ble,
we did not get through before nearly eleven o'clock. Cut loose, then, in hi=
gh
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 great=
er
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, h=
owever,
to lose gas at so early a period of the adventure, and so concluded to asce=
nd
for the present. We soon ran out our guide-rope; but even when we had raise=
d it
clear of the earth, we still went up very rapidly. The balloon was unusually
steady, and looked beautifully. In about ten minutes after starting, the
barometer indicated an altitude 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 presented =
the appearance
of lakes, on account of the dense vapors with which they were filled, and t=
he
pinnacles and crags to the South East, piled in inextricable confusion,
resembling nothing so much as the giant cities of eastern fable. We were
rapidly approaching the mountains in the South; but our elevation 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 seamen, was surprised at th=
eir
apparent want of altitude when viewed from the car, the tendency of great
elevation in a balloon being to reduce inequalities of the surface below, to
nearly a dead level. At half-past eleven still proceeding nearly South, we =
obtained
our first view of the Bristol Channel; and, in fifteen minutes afterward, t=
he
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 do=
ne,
and we commenced a gradual descent. In about twenty minutes our first buoy
dipped, and at the touch of the second soon afterwards, we remained station=
ary
as to elevation. We were all now anxious to test the efficiency of the rudd=
er
and screw, and we put them both into requisition forthwith, for the purpose=
of
altering our direction more to the eastward, and in a line for Paris. By me=
ans
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
motion the spring of the screw, and were rejoiced to find it propel us read=
ily
as desired. Upon this we gave nine hearty cheers, and dropped in the sea a
bottle, enclosing 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 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 on=
e of
the two seamen we had taken up,) and in an instant hung dangling out of rea=
ch,
from the pivot of the axis of the screw. While we were endeavoring to regain
it, our attention being completely absorbed, we became involved in a strong=
current
of wind from the East, which bore us, with rapidly increasing force, towards
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 mad=
e 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 America.=
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 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 s=
ea.
We perceived the effect of this manoeuvre immediately, in a vastly increased
rate of progress; and, as the gale freshened, we flew with a velocity nearly
inconceivable; the guide-rope flying out behind the car, like a streamer fr=
om a
vessel. It is needless to say that a very short time sufficed us to lose si=
ght
of the coast. We passed over innumerable vessels of all kinds, a few of whi=
ch
were endeavoring to beat up, but the most of them lying to. We occasioned t=
he
greatest excitement on board all--an excitement greatly relished by ourselv=
es,
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 (whi=
ch
we heard with surprising distinctness) and the waving of caps and
handkerchiefs. We kept on in this manner throughout the day, with no materi=
al
incident, 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 consta=
nt operation,
and, no doubt, aided our progress materially. As the sun went down, the gale
freshened into an absolute hurricane, and the ocean beneath was clearly vis=
ible
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 excit=
ing
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 hum=
an
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 or 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, notwithstanding
its agitation, than with any other phenomenon presenting itself. The waters
give up no voice to the heavens. The immense flaming ocean writhes and is
tortured uncomplainingly. The mountainous surges suggest the idea of
innumerable dumb gigantic fiends struggling in impotent agony. In a night s=
uch
as is this to me, a man lives--lives a whole century of ordinary life--nor =
would
I forego this rapturous delight for that of a whole century of ordinary
existence.
"Sunday,
the seventh. [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning the gale, by 10, had subsided t=
o 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, princip=
ally
by the screw and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration. I regard
the project as thoroughly successful, and the easy navigation 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 propell=
er. At
noon, to-day, ascended to an elevation of nearly 25,000 feet, by discharging
ballast. 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 should I find all currents
against me, I can make very tolerable headway with the propeller. We have h=
ad
no incidents worth recording. The night promises fair.
P.S. [By Mr.
Ainsworth.] I have little to record, except the fact (to me quite a surpris=
ing
one) that, at an elevation equal to that of Cotopaxi, I experienced neither
very intense cold, nor headache, nor difficulty of breathing; neither, I fi=
nd,
did Mr. Mason, nor Mr. Holland, nor Sir Everard. Mr. Osborne 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 se=
em
to be delightfully astonished. Crossing the ocean in a balloon is not so di=
fficult
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 s=
ea
does not seem convex (as one might suppose) but absolutely and most
unequivocally concave.(*1)
"Monday,
the 8th. [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning we had again some little trouble wi=
th
the rod of the propeller, which must be entirely remodelled, for fear of
serious accident--I mean the steel rod--not the vanes. The latter could not=
be
improved. The wind has been blowing steadily and strongly from the north-ea=
st
all day and so far fortune 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 atmosphere, and the consequent disruption of the minute particles of=
ice
with which the network had become encrusted during the night. Threw down
several bottles to the vessels below. Saw 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 made it out something like
"Atalanta." It is now 12, 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 American coast.
"Tuesda=
y,
the 9th. [Mr. Ainsworth's MS.] One, P.M. We are in full view of the low coa=
st
of South Carolina. The great problem is accomplished. We have crossed the A=
tlantic--fairly
and easily crossed it in a balloon! God be praised! Who shall say that anyt=
hing
is impossible hereafter?"
The Journal =
here
ceases. Some particulars of the descent were communicated, however, by Mr.
Ainsworth to Mr. Forsyth. It was nearly dead calm when the voyagers first c=
ame
in view of the coast, which was immediately recognized by both the seamen, =
and
by Mr. Osborne. The latter gentleman having acquaintances at Fort Moultrie,=
it
was immediately resolved to descend in its vicinity. The balloon was brough=
t over
the beach (the tide being out and the sand hard, smooth, and admirably adap=
ted
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
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
2, 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 apprehended. The balloon was exhausted and secu=
red
without trouble; and when the MS.
from which this narrative is compiled was despatched from Charleston,
the party were still at Fort Moultrie. Their farther intentions were not
ascertained; but we can safely promise our readers some additional informat=
ion
either on Monday or in the course of the next day, at farthest.
This is
unquestionably the most stupendous, the most interesting, and the most
important undertaking, ever accomplished or even attempted by man. What
magnificent events may ensue, it would be useless now to think of determini=
ng.
(*1) Note.--=
Mr.
Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this phenomenon, which, however,=
is
quite susceptible of explanation. 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 fr=
om
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 hypothenuse of
the supposed triangle would be so long when compared with the perpendicular=
, that
the two former may be regarded as nearly parallel. In this manner the horiz=
on
of the æronaut 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 distance below the horizon. Hence the
impression of concavity; and this impression must remain, until the elevati=
on
shall bear so great a proportion to the extent of prospect, that the appare=
nt
parallelism of the base and hypothenuse disappears--when the earth's real
convexity must become apparent.
MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE
=
Qui n'a plus qu'un moment a vivre
=
N'a plus rien a dissimuler.
=
&nb=
sp;
--Quinault--Atys.
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 mi= nd enabled me to methodize the stores which early study very diligently garner= ed up.--Beyond all things, the study of the German moralists gave me great delight; not from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquent madness, but from the ease with which my habits of rigid thought enabled me to detect th= eir falsities. I have often been reproached with the aridity of my genius; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrho= nism of my opinions has at all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a strong rel= ish for physical philosophy has, I fear, tinctured my mind with a very common e= rror of this age--I mean the habit of referring occurrences, even the least susceptible of such reference, to the principles of that science. Upon the = whole, no person could be less liable than myself to be led away from the severe precincts of truth by the ignes fatui of superstition. I have thought prope= r to premise thus much, lest the incredible tale I have to tell should be consid= ered 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.<= o:p>
After many y=
ears
spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18-- , from the port of Batav=
ia,
in the rich and populous island of Java, on a voyage to the Archipelago of =
the
Sunda islands. I went as passenger--having no other inducement than a kind =
of
nervous restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.
Our vessel w=
as a
beautiful ship of about four hundred tons, copper-fastened, and built at Bo=
mbay
of Malabar teak. She was freighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lacha=
dive
islands. We had also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and a few c=
ases
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 monotony of our course than=
the
occasional meeting with some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which=
we
were bound.
One evening,
leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very singular, isolated cloud, to t=
he
N.W. It was remarkable, as well for its color, as from its being the first =
we
had seen since our departure from Batavia. I watched it attentively until
sunset, when it spread all at once to the eastward and westward, girting in=
the
horizon with a narrow strip of vapor, and looking like a long line of low
beach. My notice was soon afterwards 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, heaving the lead, I found the ship in=
fifteen
fathoms. The air now became intolerably hot, and was loaded with spiral
exhalations similar to those arising from heat iron. As night came on, every
breath of wind died away, an more entire calm it is impossible to conceive.=
The
flame of a candle burned upon the poop without the least perceptible motion,
and a long hair, held between the finger and thumb, hung without the
possibility of detecting a vibration. However, as the captain said he could
perceive no indication of danger, and as we were drifting in bodily to shor=
e,
he ordered the sails to be furled, and the anchor let go. No watch was set,=
and
the crew, consisting principally of Malays, stretched themselves deliberate=
ly
upon deck. I went below--not without a full presentiment of evil. Indeed, e=
very
appearance warranted me in apprehending a Simoom. I told the captain my fea=
rs;
but he paid no attention to what I said, and left me without deigning to gi=
ve a
reply. My uneasiness, however, prevented me from sleeping, and about midnig=
ht I
went upon deck.--As I placed my foot upon the upper step of the
companion-ladder, I was startled by a loud, humming noise, like that occasi=
oned
by the rapid revolution of a mill-wheel, and before I could ascertain its
meaning, I found the ship quivering to its centre. In the next instant, a
wilderness of foam hurled us upon our beam-ends, and, rushing over us fore =
and
aft, swept the entire decks from stem to stern.
The extreme =
fury
of the blast proved, in a great measure, the salvation of the ship. Although
completely water-logged, yet, as her masts had gone by the board, she rose,
after a minute, heavily from the sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the
immense pressure of the tempest, finally righted.
By what mira=
cle
I escaped destruction, it is impossible to say. Stunned by the shock of the
water, I found myself, upon recovery, jammed in between the stern-post and
rudder. With great difficulty I gained my feet, and looking dizzily around,
was, at first, struck with the idea of our being among breakers; so terrifi=
c,
beyond the wildest imagination, was the whirlpool of mountainous and foaming
ocean within which we were engulfed. After a while, I heard the voice of an=
old
Swede, who had shipped with us at the moment of our leaving port. I hallooe=
d to
him with all my strength, and presently he came reeling aft. We soon discov=
ered
that we were the sole survivors of the accident. All on deck, with the
exception of ourselves, had been swept overboard;--the captain and mates mu=
st
have perished as they slept, for the cabins were deluged with water. Without
assistance, we could expect to do little for the security of the ship, and =
our
exertions were at first paralyzed by the momentary expectation of going dow=
n.
Our cable had, of course, parted like pack-thread, at the first breath of t=
he
hurricane, or we should have been instantaneously overwhelmed. We scudded w=
ith
frightful velocity before the sea, and the water made clear breaches over u=
s.
The frame-work of our stern was shattered excessively, and, in almost every=
respect,
we had received considerable injury; but to our extreme Joy we found the pu=
mps
unchoked, and that we had made no great shifting of our ballast. The main f=
ury
of the blast had already blown over, and we apprehended 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 peri=
sh
in the tremendous swell which would ensue. But this very just apprehension
seemed by no means likely to be soon verified. For five entire days and
nights--during which our only subsistence was a small quantity of jaggeree,
procured with great difficulty from the forecastle--the hulk flew at a rate=
defying
computation, before rapidly succeeding flaws of wind, which, without equall=
ing
the first violence of the Simoom, were still more terrific than any tempest=
I
had before encountered. Our course for the first four days was, with trifli=
ng
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 ye=
llow
lustre, and clambered a very few degrees above the horizon--emitting no
decisive light.--There were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the
increase, and blew with a fitful and unsteady fury. About noon, as nearly a=
s we
could guess, our attention was again arrested by the appearance of the sun.=
It
gave out no light, properly so called, but a dull and sullen glow without
reflection, as if all its rays were polarized. Just before sinking within t=
he
turgid sea, its central fires suddenly went out, as if hurriedly extinguish=
ed
by some unaccountable power. It was a dim, sliver-like rim, alone, as it ru=
shed
down the unfathomable ocean.
We waited in
vain for the arrival of the sixth day--that day to me has not arrived--to t=
he
Swede, never did arrive. Thenceforward we were enshrouded in patchy darknes=
s,
so that we could not have seen an object at twenty paces from the ship. Ete=
rnal
night continued to envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoric sea-brillia=
ncy
to which we had been accustomed in the tropics. We observed too, that, alth=
ough
the tempest continued to rage with unabated violence, there was no longer t=
o be
discovered the usual appearance of surf, or foam, which had hitherto attend=
ed
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 Sw=
ede,
and my own soul was wrapped up in silent wonder. We neglected all care of t=
he
ship, as worse than useless, and securing ourselves, as well as possible, to
the stump of the mizen-mast, looked out bitterly into the world of ocean. We
had no means of calculating time, nor could we form any guess of our situat=
ion.
We were, however, well aware of having made farther to the southward than a=
ny previous
navigators, and felt great amazement at not meeting with the usual impedime=
nts
of ice. In the meantime every moment threatened to be our last--every
mountainous billow hurried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed anything I =
had
imagined possible, and that we were not instantly buried is a miracle. My
companion spoke of the lightness of our cargo, and reminded me of the excel=
lent
qualities of our ship; but I could not help feeling the utter hopelessness =
of
hope itself, and prepared myself gloomily for that death which I thought
nothing could defer beyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship mad=
e, the
swelling of the black stupendous seas became more dismally appalling. At ti=
mes
we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond the albatross--at times became
dizzy with the velocity of our descent into some watery hell, where the air
grew stagnant, and no sound disturbed the slumbers of the kraken.
We were at t=
he
bottom of one of these abysses, when a quick scream from my companion broke
fearfully upon the night. "See! see!" cried he, shrieking in my e=
ars,
"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 w=
here
we lay, and threw a fitful brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upward=
s, 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, hove=
red
a gigantic ship of, perhaps, four thousand tons. Although upreared upon the
summit of a wave more than a hundred times her own altitude, her apparent s=
ize
exceeded that of any ship of the line or East Indiaman in existence. Her hu=
ge 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 their polished surfaces the fires of innumerable battle-lanterns, which
swung to and fro about her rigging. But what mainly inspired us with horror=
and
astonishment, was that she bore up under a press of sail in the very teeth =
of
that supernatural sea, and of that ungovernable hurricane. When we first
discovered her, her bows were alone to be seen, as she rose slowly from the=
dim
and horrible gulf beyond her. For a moment of intense terror she paused upon
the giddy pinnacle, as if in contemplation of her own sublimity, then tremb=
led
and tottered, and--came down.
At this inst=
ant,
I know not what sudden self-possession came over my spirit. Staggering as f=
ar
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 already under water, and the inevitable resu=
lt
was to hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging of the strange=
r.
As I fell, t=
he
ship hove in stays, and went about; and to the confusion ensuing I attribut=
ed
my escape from the notice of the crew. With little difficulty I made my way
unperceived to the main hatchway, which was partially open, and soon found =
an
opportunity of 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 cur=
sory
glance I had taken, so many points of vague novelty, doubt, and apprehensio=
n. I
therefore thought proper to contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This I did=
by
removing a small portion of the shifting-boards, in such a manner as to aff=
ord
me a convenient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship.
I had scarce=
ly
completed my work, when a footstep in the hold forced me to make use of it.=
A
man passed by my place of concealment with a feeble and unsteady gait. I co=
uld
not see his face, but had an opportunity of observing his general appearanc=
e.
There was about it an evidence of great age and infirmity. His knees totter=
ed
beneath a load of years, and his entire frame quivered under the burthen. 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-looki=
ng instruments,
and decayed charts of navigation. His manner was a wild mixture of the
peevishness of second childhood, and the solemn dignity of a God. He at len=
gth
went on deck, and I saw him no more.
* * * * *
A feeling, f=
or
which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul --a sensation which w=
ill
admit of no analysis, to which the lessons of bygone times are inadequate, =
and
for which I fear futurity itself will offer me no key. To a mind constitute=
d like
my own, the latter consideration is an evil. I shall never--I know that I s=
hall
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 orig=
in
in sources so utterly novel. A new sense--a new entity is added to my soul.=
* * * * *
It is long s=
ince
I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and the rays of my destiny are=
, I
think, gathering to a focus. Incomprehensible men! Wrapped up in meditation=
s of
a kind which I cannot divine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utt=
er
folly on my part, for the people will not see. It was but just now that I
passed directly before the eyes of the mate--it was no long while ago that I
ventured into the captain's own private cabin, and took thence the materials
with which I write, and have written. I shall from time to time continue th=
is Journal.
It is true that I may not find an opportunity of transmitting it to the wor=
ld,
but I will not fall to make the endeavour. At the last moment I will enclose
the MS. in a bottle, and cast it within the sea.
* * * * *
An incident =
has
occurred which has given me new room for meditation. Are such things the
operation of ungoverned Chance? I had ventured upon deck and thrown myself =
down,
without attracting any notice, among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails in
the bottom of the yawl. While musing upon the singularity of my fate, I
unwittingly daubed with a tar-brush the edges of a neatly-folded studding-s=
ail
which lay near me on a barrel. The studding-sail is now bent upon the ship,=
and
the thoughtless touches of the brush are spread out into the word DISCOVERY=
.
I have made =
many
observations lately upon the structure of the vessel. Although well armed, =
she
is not, I think, a ship of war. Her rigging, build, and general equipment, =
all
negative a supposition of this kind. What she is not, I can easily
perceive--what she is I fear it is impossible to say. I know not how it is,=
but
in scrutinizing her strange model and singular cast of spars, her huge size=
and
overgrown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and antiquated stern, th=
ere
will occasionally flash across my mind a sensation of familiar things, and =
there
is always mixed up with such indistinct shadows of recollection, an unaccou=
ntable
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 a=
m a
stranger. There is a peculiar character about the wood which strikes me as
rendering it unfit for the purpose to which it has been applied. I mean its
extreme porousness, considered independently by the worm-eaten condition wh=
ich
is a consequence of navigation in these seas, and apart from the rottenness
attendant upon age. It will appear perhaps an observation somewhat
over-curious, but this wood would have every characteristic of Spanish oak,=
if
Spanish oak were distended by any unnatural means.
In reading t=
he
above sentence a curious apothegm of an old weather-beaten Dutch navigator
comes full upon my recollection. "It is as sure," he was wont to =
say,
when any doubt was entertained of his veracity, "as sure as there is a=
sea
where the ship itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the
seaman."
* * * * *
About an hour
ago, I made bold to thrust myself among a group of the crew. They paid me no
manner of attention, and, although I stood in the very midst of them all,
seemed utterly unconscious of my presence. Like the one I had 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 ha=
irs
streamed terribly in the tempest. Around them, on every part of the deck, l=
ay 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 trucks to her lower studding-=
sail
booms, and rolling every moment her top-gallant yard-arms into the most app=
alling
hell of water which it can enter into the mind of a man to imagine. I have =
just
left the deck, where I find it impossible to maintain a footing, although t=
he crew
seem to experience little inconvenience. It appears to me a miracle of mira=
cles
that our enormous bulk is not swallowed up at once and forever. We are sure=
ly
doomed to hover continually upon the brink of Eternity, without taking a fi=
nal
plunge into the abyss. From billows a thousand times more stupendous than a=
ny I
have ever seen, we glide away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull; and=
the
colossal waters rear their heads above us like demons of the deep, but like
demons confined to simple threats and forbidden to destroy. I am led to
attribute these frequent escapes to the only natural cause which can account
for such effect.--I must suppose the ship to be within the influence of som=
e strong
current, or impetuous under-tow.
* * * * *
I have seen =
the
captain face to face, and in his own cabin--but, as I expected, he paid me =
no
attention. Although in his appearance there is, to a casual observer, nothi=
ng
which might bespeak him more or less than man-still a feeling of irrepressi=
ble
reverence and awe mingled with the sensation of wonder with which I regarded
him. In stature he is nearly my own height; that is, about five feet eight
inches. He is of a well-knit and compact frame of body, neither robust nor
remarkably otherwise. But it is the singularity of the expression which rei=
gns
upon the face--it is the intense, the wonderful, the thrilling evidence of =
old
age, so utter, so extreme, which excites within my spirit a sense--a sentim=
ent
ineffable. 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 Sybils of the future. The cabin floor was thickly strewn wi=
th
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 commissi=
on,
and which, at all events, bore the signature of a monarch. He muttered 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 elb=
ow,
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 fingers fall athwart my path in the wild glare of the
battle-lanterns, I feel as I have never felt before, although I have been a=
ll
my life a dealer in antiquities, and have imbibed the shadows of fallen col=
umns
at Balbec, and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has become a ruin=
.
* * * * *
When I look
around me I feel ashamed of my former apprehensions. If I trembled at the b=
last
which has hitherto attended us, shall I not stand aghast at a warring of wi=
nd
and ocean, to convey any idea of which the words tornado and simoom are tri=
vial
and ineffective? All in the immediate vicinity of the ship is the blackness=
of
eternal night, and a chaos of foamless water; but, about a league on either
side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at intervals, stupendous ramparts=
of
ice, towering away into the desolate sky, and looking like the walls of the=
universe.
* * * * *
As I imagine=
d,
the ship proves to be in a current; if that appellation can properly be giv=
en
to a tide which, howling and shrieking by the white ice, thunders on to the
southward with a velocity like the headlong dashing of a cataract.
* * * * *
To conceive =
the
horror of my sensations is, I presume, 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 onwards to some exciting knowledge--some
never-to-be-imparted secret, whose attainment is destruction. Perhaps this
current leads us to the southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a
supposition apparently so wild has every probability in its favor.
* * * * *
The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous step; but there is upon their countenan= ces an expression more of the eagerness of hope than of the apathy of despair.<= o:p>
In the meant=
ime
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 op=
ens
suddenly to the right, and to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in imm=
ense
concentric circles, round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre,=
the
summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance. But little =
time
will be left me to ponder upon my destiny--the circles rapidly grow small--=
we are
plunging madly within the grasp of the whirlpool--and amid a roaring, and
bellowing, and thundering of ocean and of tempest, the ship is quivering, oh
God! and--going down.
NOTE.--The
"MS. Found in a Bottle," was originally published in 1831, and it=
was
not until many years afterwards that I became acquainted with the maps of
Mercator, in which the ocean is 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 hei=
ght.
THE OVAL PORTRAIT
THE chateau =
into
which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit m=
e,
in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was o=
ne
of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned
among the Appennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.=
To
all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We
established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished
apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were
rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedec=
ked
with manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually g=
reat
number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque=
. In
these paintings, which depended from the walls not only in their main surfa=
ces,
but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau render=
ed
necessary--in these paintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had caused me=
to
take deep interest; so that I bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the
room--since it was already night--to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum
which stood by the head of my bed--and to throw open far and wide the fring=
ed
curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all this =
done
that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at least alternately to the co=
ntemplation
of these pictures, and the perusal of a small volume which had been found u=
pon
the pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe them.
Long--long I
read--and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours fle=
w by
and the deep midnight came. The position of the candelabrum displeased me, =
and
outreaching my hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering vale=
t, I
placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.
But the acti=
on
produced an effect altogether unanticipated. The rays of the numerous candl=
es
(for there were many) now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto
been thrown into deep shade by one of the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid li=
ght
a picture all unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young girl just
ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then clos=
ed
my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception.
But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in my mind my reason for so
shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to gain time for thought--to ma=
ke sure
that my vision had not deceived me--to calm and subdue my fancy for a more
sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments I again looked fixedly at
the painting.
That I now s=
aw
aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first flashing of the candl=
es
upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was steali=
ng
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 shoulde=
rs,
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 radi=
ant
hair melted imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the
back-ground 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 painti=
ng
itself. But it could have been neither the execution of the work, nor the
immortal beauty of the countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently
moved me. Least of all, could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its h=
alf slumber,
had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at once that the p=
eculiarities
of the design, of the vignetting, and of the frame, must have instantly
dispelled such idea--must have prevented even its momentary entertainment.
Thinking earnestly upon these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half
sitting, half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At lengt=
h,
satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the bed. I=
had
found the spell of the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression,
which, at first startling, finally confounded, subdued, and appalled me. Wi=
th
deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former position. Th=
e cause
of my deep agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume
which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning to the number wh=
ich
designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and quaint words which
follow:
"She wa=
s 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 already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of
rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles,=
and
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 deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It=
was
thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire=
to portray
even his young bride. But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for m=
any
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, whi=
ch
went on from hour to hour, and from day to day. And he was a passionate, and
wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would not see =
that
the light which fell so 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 a=
nd
still on, uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter (who had high
renown) took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and=
night
to depict her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak.
And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low
words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the pain=
ter
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 canvas merely, even to regard the countenance of his w=
ife.
And he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were dr=
awn
from the cheeks of her who sate beside 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 sock=
et of
the lamp. And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, =
for
one moment, the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrough=
t;
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!"