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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe
Volume 4
By
Edgar Allan Poe
Contents
THE
SYSTEM OF DOCTOR TARR AND PROFESSOR FETHER.
HOW
TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE.
DIDDLING
- CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.
THE
ANGEL OF THE ODD - AN EXTRAVAGANZA.
MELLONTA
TAUTA - TO THE EDITORS OF THE LADY'S BOOK:
LYTTLETON
BARRY - THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP - A TALE OF THE LATE BUGABOO AND KICKAPOO
CAMPAIGN. =
THE
CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION..
THE DEVIL IN THE BELFRY=
span>
What o'clock is
it?--Old Saying.
EVERYBODY knows, =
in a
general way, that the finest place in the world is--or, alas, was--the Dutch
borough of Vondervotteimittiss. Yet as it lies some distance from any of the
main roads, being in a somewhat out-of-the-way situation, there are perhaps
very few of my readers who have ever paid it a visit. For the benefit of th=
ose
who have not, therefore, it will be only proper that I should enter into so=
me
account of it. And this is indeed the more necessary, as with the hope of e=
nlisting
public sympathy in behalf of the inhabitants, I design here to give a histo=
ry
of the calamitous events which have so lately occurred within its limits. No
one who knows me will doubt that the duty thus self-imposed will be execute=
d to
the best of my ability, with all that rigid impartiality, all that cautious
examination into facts, and diligent collation of authorities, which should
ever distinguish him who aspires to the title of historian.
By the united aid=
of
medals, manuscripts, and inscriptions, I am enabled to say, positively, that
the borough of Vondervotteimittiss has existed, from its origin, in precise=
ly
the same condition which it at present preserves. Of the date of this origi=
n,
however, I grieve that I can only speak with that species of indefinite
definiteness which mathematicians are, at times, forced to put up with in
certain algebraic formulae. The date, I may thus say, in regard to the
remoteness of its antiquity, cannot be less than any assignable quantity
whatsoever.
Touching the
derivation of the name Vondervotteimittiss, I confess myself, with sorrow,
equally at fault. Among a multitude of opinions upon this delicate point--s=
ome
acute, some learned, some sufficiently the reverse--I am able to select not=
hing
which ought to be considered satisfactory. Perhaps the idea of
Grogswigg--nearly coincident with that of Kroutaplenttey--is to be cautious=
ly
preferred.--It runs:--"Vondervotteimittis--Vonder, lege
Donder--Votteimittis, quasi und Bleitziz--Bleitziz obsol:--pro Blitzen.&quo=
t;
This derivative, to say the truth, is still countenanced by some traces of =
the
electric fluid evident on the summit of the steeple of the House of the
Town-Council. I do not choose, however, to commit myself on a theme of such
importance, and must refer the reader desirous of information to the
"Oratiunculae de Rebus Praeter-Veteris," of Dundergutz. See, also,
Blunderbuzzard "De Derivationibus," pp. 27 to 5010, Folio, Gothic
edit., Red and Black character, Catch-word and No Cypher; wherein consult,
also, marginal notes in the autograph of Stuffundpuff, with the
Sub-Commentaries of Gruntundguzzell.
Notwithstanding t=
he
obscurity which thus envelops the date of the foundation of Vondervotteimit=
tis,
and the derivation of its name, there can be no doubt, as I said before, th=
at
it has always existed as we find it at this epoch. The oldest man in the
borough can remember not the slightest difference in the appearance of any
portion of it; and, indeed, the very suggestion of such a possibility is
considered an insult. The site of the village is in a perfectly circular
valley, about a quarter of a mile in circumference, and entirely surrounded=
by
gentle hills, over whose summit the people have never yet ventured to pass.=
For
this they assign the very good reason that they do not believe there is any=
thing
at all on the other side.
Round the skirts =
of
the valley (which is quite level, and paved throughout with flat tiles),
extends a continuous row of sixty little houses. These, having their backs =
on
the hills, must look, of course, to the centre of the plain, which is just
sixty yards from the front door of each dwelling. Every house has a small
garden before it, with a circular path, a sun-dial, and twenty-four cabbage=
s.
The buildings themselves are so precisely alike, that one can in no manner =
be distinguished
from the other. Owing to the vast antiquity, the style of architecture is
somewhat odd, but it is not for that reason the less strikingly picturesque.
They are fashioned of hard-burned little bricks, red, with black ends, so t=
hat
the walls look like a chess-board upon a great scale. The gables are turned=
to
the front, and there are cornices, as big as all the rest of the house, over
the eaves and over the main doors. The windows are narrow and deep, with ve=
ry
tiny panes and a great deal of sash. On the roof is a vast quantity of tiles
with long curly ears. The woodwork, throughout, is of a dark hue and there =
is
much carving about it, with but a trifling variety of pattern for, time out=
of
mind, the carvers of Vondervotteimittiss have never been able to carve more
than two objects--a time-piece and a cabbage. But these they do exceedingly
well, and intersperse them, with singular ingenuity, wherever they find room
for the chisel.
The dwellings are=
as
much alike inside as out, and the furniture is all upon one plan. The floors
are of square tiles, the chairs and tables of black-looking wood with thin =
crooked
legs and puppy feet. The mantelpieces are wide and high, and have not only
time-pieces and cabbages sculptured over the front, but a real time-piece,
which makes a prodigious ticking, on the top in the middle, with a flower-p=
ot containing
a cabbage standing on each extremity by way of outrider. Between each cabba=
ge
and the time-piece, again, is a little China man having a large stomach wit=
h a
great round hole in it, through which is seen the dial-plate of a watch.
The fireplaces are
large and deep, with fierce crooked-looking fire-dogs. There is constantly a
rousing fire, and a huge pot over it, full of sauer-kraut and pork, to which
the good woman of the house is always busy in attending. She is a little fat
old lady, with blue eyes and a red face, and wears a huge cap like a
sugar-loaf, ornamented with purple and yellow ribbons. Her dress is of
orange-colored linsey-woolsey, made very full behind and very short in the
waist--and indeed very short in other respects, not reaching below the midd=
le
of her leg. This is somewhat thick, and so are her ankles, but she has a fi=
ne
pair of green stockings to cover them. Her shoes--of pink leather--are fast=
ened
each with a bunch of yellow ribbons puckered up in the shape of a cabbage. =
In
her left hand she has a little heavy Dutch watch; in her right she wields a
ladle for the sauerkraut and pork. By her side there stands a fat tabby cat,
with a gilt toy-repeater tied to its tail, which "the boys" have
there fastened by way of a quiz.
The boys themselv=
es
are, all three of them, in the garden attending the pig. They are each two =
feet
in height. They have three-cornered cocked hats, purple waistcoats reaching
down to their thighs, buckskin knee-breeches, red stockings, heavy shoes wi=
th
big silver buckles, long surtout coats with large buttons of mother-of-pear=
l.
Each, too, has a pipe in his mouth, and a little dumpy watch in his right h=
and.
He takes a puff and a look, and then a look and a puff. The pig--which is c=
orpulent
and lazy--is occupied now in picking up the stray leaves that fall from the
cabbages, and now in giving a kick behind at the gilt repeater, which the
urchins have also tied to his tail in order to make him look as handsome as=
the
cat.
Right at the front
door, in a high-backed leather-bottomed armed chair, with crooked legs and
puppy feet like the tables, is seated the old man of the house himself. He =
is
an exceedingly puffy little old gentleman, with big circular eyes and a huge
double chin. His dress resembles that of the boys--and I need say nothing
farther about it. All the difference is, that his pipe is somewhat bigger t=
han
theirs and he can make a greater smoke. Like them, he has a watch, but he
carries his watch in his pocket. To say the truth, he has something of more
importance than a watch to attend to--and what that is, I shall presently
explain. He sits with his right leg upon his left knee, wears a grave
countenance, and always keeps one of his eyes, at least, resolutely bent up=
on a
certain remarkable object in the centre of the plain.
This object is
situated in the steeple of the House of the Town Council. The Town Council =
are
all very little, round, oily, intelligent men, with big saucer eyes and fat
double chins, and have their coats much longer and their shoe-buckles much
bigger than the ordinary inhabitants of Vondervotteimittiss. Since my sojou=
rn
in the borough, they have had several special meetings, and have adopted th=
ese
three important resolutions:
"That it is
wrong to alter the good old course of things:"
"That there =
is
nothing tolerable out of Vondervotteimittiss:" and--
"That we will
stick by our clocks and our cabbages."
Above the
session-room of the Council is the steeple, and in the steeple is the belfr=
y,
where exists, and has existed time out of mind, the pride and wonder of the
village--the great clock of the borough of Vondervotteimittiss. And this is=
the
object to which the eyes of the old gentlemen are turned who sit in the
leather-bottomed arm-chairs.
The great clock h=
as
seven faces--one in each of the seven sides of the steeple--so that it can =
be
readily seen from all quarters. Its faces are large and white, and its hands
heavy and black. There is a belfry-man whose sole duty is to attend to it; =
but
this duty is the most perfect of sinecures--for the clock of Vondervotteimi=
ttis
was never yet known to have anything the matter with it. Until lately, the =
bare
supposition of such a thing was considered heretical. From the remotest per=
iod
of antiquity to which the archives have reference, the hours have been regu=
larly
struck by the big bell. And, indeed the case was just the same with all the
other clocks and watches in the borough. Never was such a place for keeping=
the
true time. When the large clapper thought proper to say "Twelve
o'clock!" all its obedient followers opened their throats simultaneous=
ly,
and responded like a very echo. In short, the good burghers were fond of th=
eir
sauer-kraut, but then they were proud of their clocks.
All people who ho=
ld
sinecure offices are held in more or less respect, and as the belfry--man of
Vondervotteimittiss has the most perfect of sinecures, he is the most perfe=
ctly
respected of any man in the world. He is the chief dignitary of the borough,
and the very pigs look up to him with a sentiment of reverence. His coat-ta=
il
is very far longer--his pipe, his shoe--buckles, his eyes, and his stomach,
very far bigger--than those of any other old gentleman in the village; and =
as
to his chin, it is not only double, but triple.
I have thus paint=
ed
the happy estate of Vondervotteimittiss: alas, that so fair a picture should
ever experience a reverse!
There has been lo=
ng a
saying among the wisest inhabitants, that "no good can come from over =
the
hills"; and it really seemed that the words had in them something of t=
he
spirit of prophecy. It wanted five minutes of noon, on the day before
yesterday, when there appeared a very odd-looking object on the summit of t=
he
ridge of the eastward. Such an occurrence, of course, attracted universal
attention, and every little old gentleman who sat in a leather-bottomed
arm-chair turned one of his eyes with a stare of dismay upon the phenomenon,
still keeping the other upon the clock in the steeple.
By the time that =
it
wanted only three minutes to noon, the droll object in question was perceiv=
ed
to be a very diminutive foreign-looking young man. He descended the hills a=
t a
great rate, so that every body had soon a good look at him. He was really t=
he
most finicky little personage that had ever been seen in Vondervotteimittis=
s.
His countenance was of a dark snuff-color, and he had a long hooked nose, p=
ea
eyes, a wide mouth, and an excellent set of teeth, which latter he seemed
anxious of displaying, as he was grinning from ear to ear. What with mustac=
hios
and whiskers, there was none of the rest of his face to be seen. His head w=
as uncovered,
and his hair neatly done up in papillotes. His dress was a tight-fitting
swallow-tailed black coat (from one of whose pockets dangled a vast length =
of
white handkerchief), black kerseymere knee-breeches, black stockings, and s=
tumpy-looking
pumps, with huge bunches of black satin ribbon for bows. Under one arm he
carried a huge chapeau-de-bras, and under the other a fiddle nearly five ti=
mes
as big as himself. In his left hand was a gold snuff-box, from which, as he=
capered
down the hill, cutting all manner of fantastic steps, he took snuff incessa=
ntly
with an air of the greatest possible self-satisfaction. God bless me!--here=
was
a sight for the honest burghers of Vondervotteimittiss!
To speak plainly,=
the
fellow had, in spite of his grinning, an audacious and sinister kind of fac=
e;
and as he curvetted right into the village, the old stumpy appearance of his
pumps excited no little suspicion; and many a burgher who beheld him that d=
ay
would have given a trifle for a peep beneath the white cambric handkerchief
which hung so obtrusively from the pocket of his swallow-tailed coat. But w=
hat
mainly occasioned a righteous indignation was, that the scoundrelly popinja=
y,
while he cut a fandango here, and a whirligig there, did not seem to have t=
he
remotest idea in the world of such a thing as keeping time in his steps.
The good people of
the borough had scarcely a chance, however, to get their eyes thoroughly op=
en,
when, just as it wanted half a minute of noon, the rascal bounced, as I say,
right into the midst of them; gave a chassez here, and a balancez there; and
then, after a pirouette and a pas-de-zephyr, pigeon-winged himself right up
into the belfry of the House of the Town Council, where the wonder-stricken
belfry-man sat smoking in a state of dignity and dismay. But the little chap
seized him at once by the nose; gave it a swing and a pull; clapped the big
chapeau de-bras upon his head; knocked it down over his eyes and mouth; and=
then,
lifting up the big fiddle, beat him with it so long and so soundly, that wh=
at
with the belfry-man being so fat, and the fiddle being so hollow, you would
have sworn that there was a regiment of double-bass drummers all beating the
devil's tattoo up in the belfry of the steeple of Vondervotteimittiss.
There is no knowi=
ng
to what desperate act of vengeance this unprincipled attack might have arou=
sed
the inhabitants, but for the important fact that it now wanted only half a
second of noon. The bell was about to strike, and it was a matter of absolu=
te and
pre-eminent necessity that every body should look well at his watch. It was
evident, however, that just at this moment the fellow in the steeple was do=
ing
something that he had no business to do with the clock. But as it now began=
to
strike, nobody had any time to attend to his manoeuvres, for they had all t=
o count
the strokes of the bell as it sounded.
"One!" =
said
the clock.
"Von!"
echoed every little old gentleman in every leather-bottomed arm-chair in
Vondervotteimittiss. "Von!" said his watch also; "von!"=
said
the watch of his vrow; and "von!" said the watches of the boys, a=
nd the
little gilt repeaters on the tails of the cat and pig.
"Two!"
continued the big bell; and
"Doo!"
repeated all the repeaters.
"Three! Four!
Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!" said the bell.
"Dree! Vour!
Fibe! Sax! Seben! Aight! Noin! Den!" answered the others.
"Eleven!&quo=
t;
said the big one.
"Eleben!&quo=
t;
assented the little ones.
"Twelve!&quo=
t;
said the bell.
"Dvelf!"
they replied perfectly satisfied, and dropping their voices.
"Und dvelf it
is!" said all the little old gentlemen, putting up their watches. But =
the
big bell had not done with them yet.
"Thirteen!&q=
uot;
said he.
"Der
Teufel!" gasped the little old gentlemen, turning pale, dropping their
pipes, and putting down all their right legs from over their left knees.
"Der
Teufel!" groaned they, "Dirteen! Dirteen!!--Mein Gott, it is Dirt=
een
o'clock!!"
Why attempt to
describe the terrible scene which ensued? All Vondervotteimittiss flew at o=
nce
into a lamentable state of uproar.
"Vot is cum'=
d to
mein pelly?" roared all the boys--"I've been ongry for dis
hour!"
"Vot is com'=
d to
mein kraut?" screamed all the vrows, "It has been done to rags for
this hour!"
"Vot is cum'=
d to
mein pipe?" swore all the little old gentlemen, "Donder and Blitz=
en;
it has been smoked out for dis hour!"--and they filled them up again i=
n a
great rage, and sinking back in their arm-chairs, puffed away so fast and so
fiercely that the whole valley was immediately filled with impenetrable smo=
ke.
Meantime the cabb=
ages
all turned very red in the face, and it seemed as if old Nick himself had t=
aken
possession of every thing in the shape of a timepiece. The clocks carved up=
on
the furniture took to dancing as if bewitched, while those upon the
mantel-pieces could scarcely contain themselves for fury, and kept such a
continual striking of thirteen, and such a frisking and wriggling of their
pendulums as was really horrible to see. But, worse than all, neither the c=
ats
nor the pigs could put up any longer with the behavior of the little repeat=
ers
tied to their tails, and resented it by scampering all over the place,
scratching and poking, and squeaking and screeching, and caterwauling and
squalling, and flying into the faces, and running under the petticoats of t=
he people,
and creating altogether the most abominable din and confusion which it is
possible for a reasonable person to conceive. And to make matters still more
distressing, the rascally little scape-grace in the steeple was evidently
exerting himself to the utmost. Every now and then one might catch a glimps=
e of
the scoundrel through the smoke. There he sat in the belfry upon the
belfry-man, who was lying flat upon his back. In his teeth the villain held=
the
bell-rope, which he kept jerking about with his head, raising such a clatter
that my ears ring again even to think of it. On his lap lay the big fiddle,=
at
which he was scraping, out of all time and tune, with both hands, making a
great show, the nincompoop! of playing "Judy O'Flannagan and Paddy O'R=
afferty."
Affairs being thus
miserably situated, I left the place in disgust, and now appeal for aid to =
all
lovers of correct time and fine kraut. Let us proceed in a body to the boro=
ugh,
and restore the ancient order of things in Vondervotteimittiss by ejecting =
that
little fellow from the steeple.
-------- all peo=
ple
went =
Upon
their ten toes in wild wonderment.
=
--Bishop Hall's Satires.
I am--that is to =
say
I was--a great man; but I am neither the author of Junius nor the man in the
mask; for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in =
the
city of Fum-Fudge.
The first action =
of
my life was the taking hold of my nose with both hands. My mother saw this =
and
called me a genius: my father wept for joy and presented me with a treatise=
on
Nosology. This I mastered before I was breeched.
I now began to fe=
el
my way in the science, and soon came to understand that, provided a man had=
a
nose sufficiently conspicuous he might, by merely following it, arrive at a=
Lionship.
But my attention was not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my
proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half dozen of drams.
When I came of ag=
e my
father asked me, one day, If I would step with him into his study.
"My son,&quo=
t;
said he, when we were seated, "what is the chief end of your existence=
?"
"My
father," I answered, "it is the study of Nosology."
"And what,
Robert," he inquired, "is Nosology?"
"Sir," I
said, "it is the Science of Noses."
"And can you
tell me," he demanded, "what is the meaning of a nose?"
"A nose, my
father;" I replied, greatly softened, "has been variously defined=
by
about a thousand different authors." [Here I pulled out my watch.]
"It is now noon or thereabouts--we shall have time enough to get throu=
gh
with them all before midnight. To commence then:--The nose, according to
Bartholinus, is that protuberance--that bump--that excrescence--that--"=
;
"Will do,
Robert," interrupted the good old gentleman. "I am thunderstruck =
at
the extent of your information--I am positively--upon my soul." [Here =
he
closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his heart.] "Come here!"
[Here he took me by the arm.] "Your education may now be considered as
finished--it is high time you should scuffle for yourself--and you cannot d=
o a
better thing than merely follow your nose--so--so--so--" [Here he kick=
ed
me down stairs and out of the door]--"so get out of my house, and God
bless you!"
As I felt within =
me
the divine afflatus, I considered this accident rather fortunate than other=
wise.
I resolved to be guided by the paternal advice. I determined to follow my n=
ose.
I gave it a pull or two upon the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology
forthwith.
All Fum-Fudge was=
in
an uproar.
"Wonderful
genius!" said the Quarterly.
"Superb phys=
iologist!"
said the Westminster.
"Clever
fellow!" said the Foreign.
"Fine
writer!" said the Edinburgh.
"Profound
thinker!" said the Dublin.
"Great
man!" said Bentley.
"Divine
soul!" said Fraser.
"One of
us!" said Blackwood.
"Who can he
be?" said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.
"What can he
be?" said big Miss Bas-Bleu.
"Where can he
be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu.--But I paid these people no attention
whatever--I just stepped into the shop of an artist.
The Duchess of
Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the Marquis of So-and-So was
holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of This-and-That was flirting with her
salts; and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-Not was leaning upon the back of =
her
chair.
I approached the
artist and turned up my nose.
"Oh,
beautiful!" sighed her Grace.
"Oh my!"
lisped the Marquis.
"Oh,
shocking!" groaned the Earl.
"Oh,
abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.
"What will y=
ou
take for it?" asked the artist.
"For his
nose!" shouted her Grace.
"A thousand
pounds," said I, sitting down.
"A thousand
pounds?" inquired the artist, musingly.
"A thousand
pounds," said I.
"Beautiful!&=
quot;
said he, entranced.
"A thousand
pounds," said I.
"Do you warr=
ant
it?" he asked, turning the nose to the light.
"I do,"
said I, blowing it well.
"Is it quite=
original?"
he inquired; touching it with reverence.
"Humph!"
said I, twisting it to one side.
"Has no copy
been taken?" he demanded, surveying it through a microscope.
"None,"
said I, turning it up.
"Admirable!&=
quot;
he ejaculated, thrown quite off his guard by the beauty of the manoeuvre.
"A thousand
pounds," said I.
"A thousand
pounds?" said he.
"Precisely,&=
quot;
said I.
"A thousand
pounds?" said he.
"Just so,&qu=
ot;
said I.
"You shall h=
ave
them," said he. "What a piece of virtu!" So he drew me a che=
ck
upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged rooms in Jermyn stre=
et,
and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the "Nosology," =
with
a portrait of the proboscis.--That sad little rake, the Prince of Wales,
invited me to dinner.
We were all lions=
and
recherchés.
There was a modern
Platonist. He quoted Porphyry, Iamblicus, Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Max=
imus
Tyrius, and Syrianus.
There was a
human-perfectibility man. He quoted Turgot, Price, Priestly, Condorcet, De
Stael, and the "Ambitious Student in Ill Health."
There was Sir
Positive Paradox. He observed that all fools were philosophers, and that all
philosophers were fools.
There was
Æstheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms; bi-part and
pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive intelligence and hom&oum=
l;omeria.
There was Theolog=
os
Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus; heresy and the Council of Nice;
Puseyism and consubstantialism; Homousios and Homouioisios.
There was
Fricassée from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton of red
tongue; cauliflowers with velouté sauce; veal à la St. Meneho=
ult;
marinade à la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en mosäiques.
There was Bibulus
O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbrünnen; upon Mousseux and
Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon Haubrion, Leonville, and Me=
doc;
upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grâve, upon Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and
upon St. Peray. He shook his head at Clos de Vougeot, and told, with his ey=
es
shut, the difference between Sherry and Amontillado.
There was Signor
Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of Cimabué, Arpino,
Carpaccio, and Argostino--of the gloom of Caravaggio, of the amenity of Alb=
ano,
of the colors of Titian, of the frows of Rubens, and of the waggeries of Jan
Steen.
There was the
President of the Fum-Fudge University. He was of opinion that the moon was
called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in Rome, and Artemis in
Greece. There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He could not help thinking th=
at
the angels were horses, cocks, and bulls; that somebody in the sixth heaven=
had
seventy thousand heads; and that the earth was supported by a sky-blue cow =
with
an incalculable number of green horns.
There was Delphin=
us
Polyglott. He told us what had become of the eighty-three lost tragedies of
Æschylus; of the fifty-four orations of Isæus; of the three hun=
dred
and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of the hundred and eighty treatises of
Theophrastus; of the eighth book of the conic sections of Apollonius; of
Pindar's hymns and dithyrambics; and of the five and forty tragedies of Hom=
er
Junior.
There was Ferdina=
nd
Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He informed us all about internal fires and tertia=
ry
formations; about äeriforms, fluidiforms, and solidiforms; about quartz
and marl; about schist and schorl; about gypsum and trap; about talc and ca=
lc;
about blende and horn-blende; about mica-slate and pudding-stone; about cya=
nite
and lepidolite; about hematite and tremolite; about antimony and calcedony;
about manganese and whatever you please.
There was myself.=
I
spoke of myself;--of myself, of myself, of myself;--of Nosology, of my
pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my nose, and I spoke of myself.
"Marvellous
clever man!" said the Prince.
"Superb!&quo=
t;
said his guests:--and next morning her Grace of Bless-my-Soul paid me a vis=
it.
"Will you go=
to
Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me under the chin.
"Upon
honor," said I.
"Nose and
all?" she asked.
"As I
live," I replied.
"Here then i=
s a
card, my life. Shall I say you will be there?"
"Dear Duches=
s,
with all my heart."
"Pshaw, no!-=
-but
with all your nose?"
"Every bit of
it, my love," said I: so I gave it a twist or two, and found myself at
Almack's. The rooms were crowded to suffocation.
"He is
coming!" said somebody on the staircase.
"He is
coming!" said somebody farther up.
"He is
coming!" said somebody farther still.
"He is
come!" exclaimed the Duchess. "He is come, the little love!"=
--and,
seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice upon the nose. A mark=
ed
sensation immediately ensued.
"Diavolo!&qu=
ot;
cried Count Capricornutti.
"Dios
guarda!" muttered Don Stiletto.
"Mille
tonnerres!" ejaculated the Prince de Grenouille.
"Tousand
teufel!" growled the Elector of Bluddennuff.
It was not to be
borne. I grew angry. I turned short upon Bluddennuff.
"Sir!" =
said
I to him, "you are a baboon."
"Sir," =
he
replied, after a pause, "Donner und Blitzen!"
This was all that
could be desired. We exchanged cards. At Chalk-Farm, the next morning, I sh=
ot
off his nose--and then called upon my friends.
"Bête!=
"
said the first.
"Fool!"
said the second.
"Dolt!"
said the third.
"Ass!" =
said
the fourth.
"Ninny!"
said the fifth.
"Noodle!&quo=
t;
said the sixth.
"Be off!&quo=
t;
said the seventh.
At all this I felt
mortified, and so called upon my father.
"Father,&quo=
t; I
asked, "what is the chief end of my existence?"
"My son,&quo=
t;
he replied, "it is still the study of Nosology; but in hitting the Ele=
ctor
upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You have a fine nose, it is true;
but then Bluddennuff has none. You are damned, and he has become the hero of
the day. I grant you that in Fum-Fudge the greatness of a lion is in propor=
tion
to the size of his proboscis--but, good heavens! there is no competing with=
a
lion who has no proboscis at all."
AS it is well kno=
wn
that the 'wise men' came 'from the East,' and as Mr. Touch-and-go Bullet-he=
ad
came from the East, it follows that Mr. Bullet-head was a wise man; and if
collateral proof of the matter be needed, here we have it--Mr. B. was an
editor. Irascibility was his sole foible, for in fact the obstinacy of which
men accused him was anything but his foible, since he justly considered it =
his
forte. It was his strong point--his virtue; and it would have required all =
the
logic of a Brownson to convince him that it was 'anything else.'
I have shown that
Touch-and-go Bullet-head was a wise man; and the only occasion on which he =
did
not prove infallible, was when, abandoning that legitimate home for all wise
men, the East, he migrated to the city of Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, or
some place of a similar title, out West.
I must do him the
justice to say, however, that when he made up his mind finally to settle in
that town, it was under the impression that no newspaper, and consequently =
no
editor, existed in that particular section of the country. In establishing =
'The
Tea-Pot' he expected to have the field all to himself. I feel confident he
never would have dreamed of taking up his residence in
Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis had he been aware that, in Alexander-the-Grea=
t-o-nopolis,
there lived a gentleman named John Smith (if I rightly remember), who for m=
any years
had there quietly grown fat in editing and publishing the 'Alexander-the-Gr=
eat-o-nopolis
Gazette.' It was solely, therefore, on account of having been misinformed, =
that
Mr. Bullet-head found himself in Alex-suppose we call it Nopolis, 'for
short'--but, as he did find himself there, he determined to keep up his
character for obst--for firmness, and remain. So remain he did; and he did
more; he unpacked his press, type, etc., etc., rented an office exactly
opposite to that of the 'Gazette,' and, on the third morning after his arri=
val,
issued the first number of 'The Alexan'--that is to say, of 'The Nopolis Te=
a-Pot'--as
nearly as I can recollect, this was the name of the new paper.
The leading artic=
le,
I must admit, was brilliant--not to say severe. It was especially bitter ab=
out
things in general--and as for the editor of 'The Gazette,' he was torn all =
to
pieces in particular. Some of Bullethead's remarks were really so fiery tha=
t I
have always, since that time, been forced to look upon John Smith, who is s=
till
alive, in the light of a salamander. I cannot pretend to give all the
'Tea-Pot's' paragraphs verbatim, but one of them runs thus:
'Oh, yes!--Oh, we
perceive! Oh, no doubt! The editor over the way is a genius--O, my! Oh,
goodness, gracious!--what is this world coming to? Oh, tempora! Oh, Moses!'=
A philippic at on=
ce
so caustic and so classical, alighted like a bombshell among the hitherto p=
eaceful
citizens of Nopolis. Groups of excited individuals gathered at the corners =
of
the streets. Every one awaited, with heartfelt anxiety, the reply of the
dignified Smith. Next morning it appeared as follows:
'We quote from
"The Tea-Pot" of yesterday the subjoined paragraph: "Oh, yes!
Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! Oh, my! Oh, goodness! Oh, tempora! Oh,
Moses!" Why, the fellow is all O! That accounts for his reasoning in a
circle, and explains why there is neither beginning nor end to him, nor to
anything he says. We really do not believe the vagabond can write a word th=
at
hasn't an O in it. Wonder if this O-ing is a habit of his? By-the-by, he ca=
me
away from Down-East in a great hurry. Wonder if he O's as much there as he =
does
here? "O! it is pitiful."'
The indignation of
Mr. Bullet-head at these scandalous insinuations, I shall not attempt to
describe. On the eel-skinning principle, however, he did not seem to be so =
much
incensed at the attack upon his integrity as one might have imagined. It was
the sneer at his style that drove him to desperation. What!--he Touch-and-go
Bullet-head!--not able to write a word without an O in it! He would soon let
the jackanapes see that he was mistaken. Yes! he would let him see how much=
he
was mistaken, the puppy! He, Touch-and-go Bullet-head, of Frogpondium, would
let Mr. John Smith perceive that he, Bullet-head, could indite, if it so
pleased him, a whole paragraph--aye! a whole article--in which that
contemptible vowel should not once--not even once--make its appearance. But
no;--that would be yielding a point to the said John Smith. He, Bullet-head,
would make no alteration in his style, to suit the caprices of any Mr. Smit=
h in
Christendom. Perish so vile a thought! The O forever; He would persist in t=
he
O. He would be as O-wy as O-wy could be.
Burning with the
chivalry of this determination, the great Touch-and-go, in the next 'Tea-Po=
t,'
came out merely with this simple but resolute paragraph, in reference to th=
is
unhappy affair:
'The editor of the
"Tea-Pot" has the honor of advising the editor of the "Gazet=
te"
that he (the "Tea-Pot") will take an opportunity in tomorrow morn=
ing's
paper, of convincing him (the "Gazette") that he (the "Tea-P=
ot")
both can and will be his own master, as regards style; he (the "Tea-Po=
t")
intending to show him (the "Gazette") the supreme, and indeed the
withering contempt with which the criticism of him (the "Gazette")
inspires the independent bosom of him (the "TeaPot") by composing=
for
the especial gratification (?) of him (the "Gazette") a leading
article, of some extent, in which the beautiful vowel--the emblem of
Eternity--yet so offensive to the hyper-exquisite delicacy of him (the
"Gazette") shall most certainly not be avoided by his (the "=
Gazette's")
most obedient, humble servant, the "Tea-Pot." "So much for B=
uckingham!"'
In fulfilment of =
the
awful threat thus darkly intimated rather than decidedly enunciated, the gr=
eat
Bullet-head, turning a deaf ear to all entreaties for 'copy,' and simply
requesting his foreman to 'go to the d----l,' when he (the foreman) assured=
him
(the 'Tea-Pot'!) that it was high time to 'go to press': turning a deaf ear=
to
everything, I say, the great Bullet-head sat up until day-break, consuming =
the
midnight oil, and absorbed in the composition of the really unparalleled
paragraph, which follows:--
'So ho, John! how
now? Told you so, you know. Don't crow, another time, before you're out of =
the
woods! Does your mother know you're out? Oh, no, no!--so go home at once, n=
ow,
John, to your odious old woods of Concord! Go home to your woods, old owl--=
go!
You won't! Oh, poh, poh, don't do so! You've got to go, you know! So go at
once, and don't go slow, for nobody owns you here, you know! Oh! John, John=
, if
you don't go you're no homo--no! You're only a fowl, an owl, a cow, a sow,-=
-a doll,
a poll; a poor, old, good-for-nothing-to-nobody, log, dog, hog, or frog, co=
me
out of a Concord bog. Cool, now--cool! Do be cool, you fool! None of your
crowing, old cock! Don't frown so--don't! Don't hollo, nor howl nor growl, =
nor
bow-wow-wow! Good Lord, John, how you do look! Told you so, you know--but s=
top
rolling your goose of an old poll about so, and go and drown your sorrows i=
n a
bowl!'
Exhausted, very
naturally, by so stupendous an effort, the great Touch-and-go could attend =
to
nothing farther that night. Firmly, composedly, yet with an air of conscious
power, he handed his MS. to the devil in waiting, and then, walking leisure=
ly
home, retired, with ineffable dignity to bed.
Meantime the devi=
l,
to whom the copy was entrusted, ran up stairs to his 'case,' in an unuttera=
ble
hurry, and forthwith made a commencement at 'setting' the MS. 'up.'
In the first plac=
e,
of course,--as the opening word was 'So,'--he made a plunge into the capita=
l S
hole and came out in triumph with a capital S. Elated by this success, he
immediately threw himself upon the little-o box with a blindfold
impetuosity--but who shall describe his horror when his fingers came up wit=
hout
the anticipated letter in their clutch? who shall paint his astonishment and
rage at perceiving, as he rubbed his knuckles, that he had been only thumpi=
ng
them to no purpose, against the bottom of an empty box. Not a single little=
-o
was in the little-o hole; and, glancing fearfully at the capital-O partitio=
n,
he found that to his extreme terror, in a precisely similar predicament.
Awe--stricken, his first impulse was to rush to the foreman.
'Sir!' said he,
gasping for breath, 'I can't never set up nothing without no o's.'
'What do you mean=
by
that?' growled the foreman, who was in a very ill humor at being kept so la=
te.
'Why, sir, there
beant an o in the office, neither a big un nor a little un!'
'What--what the d=
-l
has become of all that were in the case?'
'I don't know, si=
r,'
said the boy, 'but one of them ere "G'zette" devils is bin prowli=
ng
'bout here all night, and I spect he's gone and cabbaged 'em every one.'
'Dod rot him! I
haven't a doubt of it,' replied the foreman, getting purple with rage 'but I
tell you what you do, Bob, that's a good boy--you go over the first chance =
you
get and hook every one of their i's and (d----n them!) their izzards.'
'Jist so,' replied
Bob, with a wink and a frown--'I'll be into 'em, I'll let 'em know a thing =
or
two; but in de meantime, that ere paragrab? Mus go in to-night, you know--e=
lse
there'll be the d-l to pay, and-'
'And not a bit of
pitch hot,' interrupted the foreman, with a deep sigh, and an emphasis on t=
he
'bit.' 'Is it a long paragraph, Bob?'
'Shouldn't call i=
t a
wery long paragrab,' said Bob.
'Ah, well, then! =
do
the best you can with it! We must get to press,' said the foreman, who was =
over
head and ears in work; 'just stick in some other letter for o; nobody's goi=
ng
to read the fellow's trash anyhow.'
'Wery well,' repl=
ied
Bob, 'here goes it!' and off he hurried to his case, muttering as he went:
'Considdeble vell, them ere expressions, perticcler for a man as doesn't sw=
ar.
So I's to gouge out all their eyes, eh? and d-n all their gizzards! Vell! t=
his
here's the chap as is just able for to do it.' The fact is that although Bob
was but twelve years old and four feet high, he was equal to any amount of
fight, in a small way.
The exigency here
described is by no means of rare occurrence in printing-offices; and I cann=
ot
tell how to account for it, but the fact is indisputable, that when the
exigency does occur, it almost always happens that x is adopted as a substi=
tute
for the letter deficient. The true reason, perhaps, is that x is rather the
most superabundant letter in the cases, or at least was so in the old
times--long enough to render the substitution in question an habitual thing
with printers. As for Bob, he would have considered it heretical to employ =
any
other character, in a case of this kind, than the x to which he had been ac=
customed.
'I shell have to x
this ere paragrab,' said he to himself, as he read it over in astonishment,
'but it's jest about the awfulest o-wy paragrab I ever did see': so x it he
did, unflinchingly, and to press it went x-ed.
Next morning the
population of Nopolis were taken all aback by reading in 'The Tea-Pot,' the
following extraordinary leader:
'Sx hx, Jxhn! hxw
nxw? Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw. Dxn't crxw, anxther time, befxre yxu're xut xf =
the
wxxds! Dxes yxur mxther knxw yxu're xut? Xh, nx, nx!--sx gx hxme at xnce, n=
xw,
Jxhn, tx yxur xdixus xld wxxds xf Cxncxrd! Gx hxme tx yxur wxxds, xld xwl,-=
-gx!
Yxu wxn't? Xh, pxh, pxh, Jxhn, dxn't dx sx! Yxu've gxt tx gx, yxu knxw, sx =
gx
at xnce, and dxn't gx slxw; fxr nxbxdy xwns yxu here, yxu knxw. Xh, Jxhn, J=
xhn,
Jxhn, if yxu dxn't gx yxu're nx hxmx--nx! Yxu're xnly a fxwl, an xwl; a cxw=
, a sxw;
a dxll, a pxll; a pxxr xld gxxd-fxr-nxthing-tx-nxbxdy, lxg, dxg, hxg, xr fr=
xg,
cxme xut xf a Cxncxrd bxg. Cxxl, nxw--cxxl! Dx be cxxl, yxu fxxl! Nxne xf y=
xur
crxwing, xld cxck! Dxn't frxwn sx--dxn't! Dxn't hxllx, nxr hxwl, nxr grxwl,=
nxr
bxw-wxw-wxw! Gxxd Lxrd, Jxhn, hxw yxu dx lxxk! Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw,--but =
stxp
rxlling yxur gxxse xf an xld pxll abxut sx, and gx and drxwn yxur sxrrxws i=
n a
bxwl!'
The uproar occasi=
oned
by this mystical and cabalistical article, is not to be conceived. The first
definite idea entertained by the populace was, that some diabolical treason=
lay
concealed in the hieroglyphics; and there was a general rush to Bullet-head=
's
residence, for the purpose of riding him on a rail; but that gentleman was
nowhere to be found. He had vanished, no one could tell how; and not even t=
he
ghost of him has ever been seen since.
Unable to discover
its legitimate object, the popular fury at length subsided; leaving behind =
it,
by way of sediment, quite a medley of opinion about this unhappy affair.
One gentleman tho=
ught
the whole an X-ellent joke.
Another said that,
indeed, Bullet-head had shown much X-uberance of fancy.
A third admitted =
him
X-entric, but no more.
A fourth could on=
ly
suppose it the Yankee's design to X-press, in a general way, his X-asperati=
on.
'Say, rather, to =
set
an X-ample to posterity,' suggested a fifth.
That Bullet-head =
had
been driven to an extremity, was clear to all; and in fact, since that edit=
or
could not be found, there was some talk about lynching the other one.
The more common
conclusion, however, was that the affair was, simply, X-traordinary and
in-X-plicable. Even the town mathematician confessed that he could make not=
hing
of so dark a problem. X, every. body knew, was an unknown quantity; but in =
this
case (as he properly observed), there was an unknown quantity of X.
The opinion of Bo=
b,
the devil (who kept dark about his having 'X-ed the paragrab'), did not meet
with so much attention as I think it deserved, although it was very openly =
and
very fearlessly expressed. He said that, for his part, he had no doubt about
the matter at all, that it was a clear case, that Mr. Bullet-head 'never co=
uld
be persuaded fur to drink like other folks, but vas continually a-svigging =
o'
that ere blessed XXX ale, and as a naiteral consekvence, it just puffed him=
up
savage, and made him X (cross) in the X-treme.'
Pestis eram
vivus--moriens tua mors ero.
=
--Martin Luther
HORROR and fatali=
ty
have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why then give a date to this story I
have to tell? Let it suffice to say, that at the period of which I speak, t=
here
existed, in the interior of Hungary, a settled although hidden belief in the
doctrines of the Metempsychosis. Of the doctrines themselves--that is, of t=
heir
falsity, or of their probability--I say nothing. I assert, however, that mu=
ch
of our incredulity--as La Bruyere says of all our unhappiness--"vient =
de
ne pouvoir être seuls." {*1}
But there are some
points in the Hungarian superstition which were fast verging to absurdity.
They--the Hungarians--differed very essentially from their Eastern authorit=
ies.
For example, "The soul," said the former--I give the words of an
acute and intelligent Parisian--"ne demeure qu'un seul fois dans un co=
rps
sensible: au reste--un cheval, un chien, un homme meme, n'est que la
ressemblance peu tangible de ces animaux."
The families of
Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had been at variance for centuries. Never
before were two houses so illustrious, mutually embittered by hostility so
deadly. The origin of this enmity seems to be found in the words of an anci=
ent
prophecy--"A lofty name shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider o=
ver
his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph over the immortali=
ty
of Berlifitzing."
To be sure the wo=
rds
themselves had little or no meaning. But more trivial causes have given
rise--and that no long while ago--to consequences equally eventful. Besides,
the estates, which were contiguous, had long exercised a rival influence in=
the
affairs of a busy government. Moreover, near neighbors are seldom friends; =
and
the inhabitants of the Castle Berlifitzing might look, from their lofty but=
tresses,
into the very windows of the palace Metzengerstein. Least of all had the mo=
re
than feudal magnificence, thus discovered, a tendency to allay the irritable
feelings of the less ancient and less wealthy Berlifitzings. What wonder th=
en,
that the words, however silly, of that prediction, should have succeeded in
setting and keeping at variance two families already predisposed to quarrel=
by
every instigation of hereditary jealousy? The prophecy seemed to imply--if =
it
implied anything--a final triumph on the part of the already more powerful =
house;
and was of course remembered with the more bitter animosity by the weaker a=
nd
less influential.
Wilhelm, Count
Berlifitzing, although loftily descended, was, at the epoch of this narrati=
ve,
an infirm and doting old man, remarkable for nothing but an inordinate and
inveterate personal antipathy to the family of his rival, and so passionate=
a
love of horses, and of hunting, that neither bodily infirmity, great age, n=
or
mental incapacity, prevented his daily participation in the dangers of the
chase.
Frederick, Baron
Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet of age. His father, the
Minister G--, died young. His mother, the Lady Mary, followed him quickly
after. Frederick was, at that time, in his fifteenth year. In a city, fifte=
en
years are no long period--a child may be still a child in his third lustrum:
but in a wilderness--in so magnificent a wilderness as that old principalit=
y,
fifteen years have a far deeper meaning.
From some peculiar
circumstances attending the administration of his father, the young Baron, =
at
the decease of the former, entered immediately upon his vast possessions. S=
uch
estates were seldom held before by a nobleman of Hungary. His castles were
without number. The chief in point of splendor and extent was the "Cha=
teau
Metzengerstein." The boundary line of his dominions was never clearly
defined; but his principal park embraced a circuit of fifty miles.
Upon the successi=
on
of a proprietor so young, with a character so well known, to a fortune so
unparalleled, little speculation was afloat in regard to his probable cours=
e of
conduct. And, indeed, for the space of three days, the behavior of the heir
out-heroded Herod, and fairly surpassed the expectations of his most
enthusiastic admirers. Shameful debaucheries--flagrant treacheries--unheard=
-of
atrocities--gave his trembling vassals quickly to understand that no servile
submission on their part--no punctilios of conscience on his own--were
thenceforward to prove any security against the remorseless fangs of a petty
Caligula. On the night of the fourth day, the stables of the castle
Berlifitzing were discovered to be on fire; and the unanimous opinion of th=
e neighborhood
added the crime of the incendiary to the already hideous list of the Baron's
misdemeanors and enormities.
But during the tu=
mult
occasioned by this occurrence, the young nobleman himself sat apparently bu=
ried
in meditation, in a vast and desolate upper apartment of the family palace =
of
Metzengerstein. The rich although faded tapestry hangings which swung gloom=
ily
upon the walls, represented the shadowy and majestic forms of a thousand
illustrious ancestors. Here, rich-ermined priests, and pontifical dignitari=
es, familiarly
seated with the autocrat and the sovereign, put a veto on the wishes of a
temporal king, or restrained with the fiat of papal supremacy the rebellious
sceptre of the Arch-enemy. There, the dark, tall statures of the Princes
Metzengerstein--their muscular war-coursers plunging over the carcasses of
fallen foes--startled the steadiest nerves with their vigorous expression; =
and
here, again, the voluptuous and swan-like figures of the dames of days gone=
by,
floated away in the mazes of an unreal dance to the strains of imaginary
melody.
But as the Baron
listened, or affected to listen, to the gradually increasing uproar in the
stables of Berlifitzing--or perhaps pondered upon some more novel, some more
decided act of audacity--his eyes became unwittingly rivetted to the figure=
of
an enormous, and unnaturally colored horse, represented in the tapestry as
belonging to a Saracen ancestor of the family of his rival. The horse itsel=
f,
in the foreground of the design, stood motionless and statue-like--while
farther back, its discomfited rider perished by the dagger of a Metzengerst=
ein.
On Frederick's lip
arose a fiendish expression, as he became aware of the direction which his
glance had, without his consciousness, assumed. Yet he did not remove it. On
the contrary, he could by no means account for the overwhelming anxiety whi=
ch
appeared falling like a pall upon his senses. It was with difficulty that he
reconciled his dreamy and incoherent feelings with the certainty of being
awake. The longer he gazed the more absorbing became the spell--the more
impossible did it appear that he could ever withdraw his glance from the
fascination of that tapestry. But the tumult without becoming suddenly more
violent, with a compulsory exertion he diverted his attention to the glare =
of ruddy
light thrown full by the flaming stables upon the windows of the apartment.=
The action, howev=
er,
was but momentary, his gaze returned mechanically to the wall. To his extre=
me
horror and astonishment, the head of the gigantic steed had, in the meantim=
e,
altered its position. The neck of the animal, before arched, as if in
compassion, over the prostrate body of its lord, was now extended, at full
length, in the direction of the Baron. The eyes, before invisible, now wore=
an
energetic and human expression, while they gleamed with a fiery and unusual
red; and the distended lips of the apparently enraged horse left in full vi=
ew
his gigantic and disgusting teeth.
Stupified with
terror, the young nobleman tottered to the door. As he threw it open, a fla=
sh
of red light, streaming far into the chamber, flung his shadow with a clear
outline against the quivering tapestry, and he shuddered to perceive that
shadow--as he staggered awhile upon the threshold--assuming the exact posit=
ion,
and precisely filling up the contour, of the relentless and triumphant murd=
erer
of the Saracen Berlifitzing.
To lighten the
depression of his spirits, the Baron hurried into the open air. At the
principal gate of the palace he encountered three equerries. With much
difficulty, and at the imminent peril of their lives, they were restraining=
the
convulsive plunges of a gigantic and fiery-colored horse.
"Whose horse?
Where did you get him?" demanded the youth, in a querulous and husky t=
one
of voice, as he became instantly aware that the mysterious steed in the
tapestried chamber was the very counterpart of the furious animal before his
eyes.
"He is your =
own
property, sire," replied one of the equerries, "at least he is
claimed by no other owner. We caught him flying, all smoking and foaming wi=
th
rage, from the burning stables of the Castle Berlifitzing. Supposing him to
have belonged to the old Count's stud of foreign horses, we led him back as=
an
estray. But the grooms there disclaim any title to the creature; which is
strange, since he bears evident marks of having made a narrow escape from t=
he
flames.
"The letters=
W.
V. B. are also branded very distinctly on his forehead," interrupted a
second equerry, "I supposed them, of course, to be the initials of Wil=
helm
Von Berlifitzing--but all at the castle are positive in denying any knowled=
ge
of the horse."
"Extremely
singular!" said the young Baron, with a musing air, and apparently
unconscious of the meaning of his words. "He is, as you say, a remarka=
ble
horse--a prodigious horse! although, as you very justly observe, of a
suspicious and untractable character, let him be mine, however," he ad=
ded,
after a pause, "perhaps a rider like Frederick of Metzengerstein, may =
tame
even the devil from the stables of Berlifitzing."
"You are
mistaken, my lord; the horse, as I think we mentioned, is not from the stab=
les
of the Count. If such had been the case, we know our duty better than to br=
ing
him into the presence of a noble of your family."
"True!"
observed the Baron, dryly, and at that instant a page of the bedchamber came
from the palace with a heightened color, and a precipitate step. He whisper=
ed
into his master's ear an account of the sudden disappearance of a small por=
tion
of the tapestry, in an apartment which he designated; entering, at the same
time, into particulars of a minute and circumstantial character; but from t=
he
low tone of voice in which these latter were communicated, nothing escaped =
to
gratify the excited curiosity of the equerries.
The young Frederi=
ck,
during the conference, seemed agitated by a variety of emotions. He soon,
however, recovered his composure, and an expression of determined malignancy
settled upon his countenance, as he gave peremptory orders that a certain
chamber should be immediately locked up, and the key placed in his own
possession.
"Have you he=
ard
of the unhappy death of the old hunter Berlifitzing?" said one of his
vassals to the Baron, as, after the departure of the page, the huge steed w=
hich
that nobleman had adopted as his own, plunged and curvetted, with redoubled
fury, down the long avenue which extended from the chateau to the stables of
Metzengerstein.
"No!" s= aid the Baron, turning abruptly toward the speaker, "dead! say you?"<= o:p>
"It is indeed
true, my lord; and, to a noble of your name, will be, I imagine, no unwelco=
me
intelligence."
A rapid smile shot
over the countenance of the listener. "How died he?"
"In his rash
exertions to rescue a favorite portion of his hunting stud, he has himself
perished miserably in the flames."
"I-n-d-e-e-d=
-!"
ejaculated the Baron, as if slowly and deliberately impressed with the trut=
h of
some exciting idea.
"Indeed;&quo=
t;
repeated the vassal.
"Shocking!&q=
uot;
said the youth, calmly, and turned quietly into the chateau.
From this date a
marked alteration took place in the outward demeanor of the dissolute young
Baron Frederick Von Metzengerstein. Indeed, his behavior disappointed every
expectation, and proved little in accordance with the views of many a
manoeuvering mamma; while his habits and manner, still less than formerly,
offered any thing congenial with those of the neighboring aristocracy. He w=
as
never to be seen beyond the limits of his own domain, and, in this wide and
social world, was utterly companionless--unless, indeed, that unnatural,
impetuous, and fiery-colored horse, which he henceforward continually bestr=
ode,
had any mysterious right to the title of his friend.
Numerous invitati=
ons
on the part of the neighborhood for a long time, however, periodically came=
in.
"Will the Baron honor our festivals with his presence?" "Will
the Baron join us in a hunting of the boar?"--"Metzengerstein does
not hunt;" "Metzengerstein will not attend," were the haughty
and laconic answers.
These repeated
insults were not to be endured by an imperious nobility. Such invitations
became less cordial--less frequent--in time they ceased altogether. The wid=
ow
of the unfortunate Count Berlifitzing was even heard to express a hope
"that the Baron might be at home when he did not wish to be at home, s=
ince
he disdained the company of his equals; and ride when he did not wish to ri=
de,
since he preferred the society of a horse." This to be sure was a very
silly explosion of hereditary pique; and merely proved how singularly unmea=
ning
our sayings are apt to become, when we desire to be unusually energetic.
The charitable,
nevertheless, attributed the alteration in the conduct of the young noblema=
n to
the natural sorrow of a son for the untimely loss of his parents--forgettin=
g,
however, his atrocious and reckless behavior during the short period
immediately succeeding that bereavement. Some there were, indeed, who sugge=
sted
a too haughty idea of self-consequence and dignity. Others again (among them
may be mentioned the family physician) did not hesitate in speaking of morb=
id melancholy,
and hereditary ill-health; while dark hints, of a more equivocal nature, we=
re
current among the multitude.
Indeed, the Baron=
's
perverse attachment to his lately-acquired charger--an attachment which see=
med
to attain new strength from every fresh example of the animal's ferocious a=
nd
demon-like propensities--at length became, in the eyes of all reasonable me=
n, a
hideous and unnatural fervor. In the glare of noon--at the dead hour of
night--in sickness or in health--in calm or in tempest--the young
Metzengerstein seemed rivetted to the saddle of that colossal horse, whose
intractable audacities so well accorded with his own spirit.
There were
circumstances, moreover, which coupled with late events, gave an unearthly =
and
portentous character to the mania of the rider, and to the capabilities of =
the
steed. The space passed over in a single leap had been accurately measured,=
and
was found to exceed, by an astounding difference, the wildest expectations =
of
the most imaginative. The Baron, besides, had no particular name for the
animal, although all the rest in his collection were distinguished by
characteristic appellations. His stable, too, was appointed at a distance f=
rom
the rest; and with regard to grooming and other necessary offices, none but=
the
owner in person had ventured to officiate, or even to enter the enclosure of
that particular stall. It was also to be observed, that although the three =
grooms,
who had caught the steed as he fled from the conflagration at Berlifitzing,=
had
succeeded in arresting his course, by means of a chain-bridle and noose--ye=
t no
one of the three could with any certainty affirm that he had, during that
dangerous struggle, or at any period thereafter, actually placed his hand u=
pon
the body of the beast. Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor o=
f a
noble and high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting un=
reasonable
attention--especially among men who, daily trained to the labors of the cha=
se,
might appear well acquainted with the sagacity of a horse--but there were
certain circumstances which intruded themselves per force upon the most
skeptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there were times when the animal
caused the gaping crowd who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep =
and
impressive meaning of his terrible stamp--times when the young Metzengerste=
in
turned pale and shrunk away from the rapid and searching expression of his
earnest and human-looking eye.
Among all the ret=
inue
of the Baron, however, none were found to doubt the ardor of that extraordi=
nary
affection which existed on the part of the young nobleman for the fiery
qualities of his horse; at least, none but an insignificant and misshapen
little page, whose deformities were in everybody's way, and whose opinions =
were
of the least possible importance. He--if his ideas are worth mentioning at
all--had the effrontery to assert that his master never vaulted into the sa=
ddle
without an unaccountable and almost imperceptible shudder, and that, upon h=
is
return from every long-continued and habitual ride, an expression of triump=
hant
malignity distorted every muscle in his countenance.
One tempestuous
night, Metzengerstein, awaking from a heavy slumber, descended like a maniac
from his chamber, and, mounting in hot haste, bounded away into the mazes of
the forest. An occurrence so common attracted no particular attention, but =
his
return was looked for with intense anxiety on the part of his domestics, wh=
en,
after some hours' absence, the stupendous and magnificent battlements of the
Chateau Metzengerstein, were discovered crackling and rocking to their very
foundation, under the influence of a dense and livid mass of ungovernable f=
ire.
As the flames, wh=
en
first seen, had already made so terrible a progress that all efforts to save
any portion of the building were evidently futile, the astonished neighborh=
ood
stood idly around in silent and pathetic wonder. But a new and fearful obje=
ct
soon rivetted the attention of the multitude, and proved how much more inte=
nse
is the excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the contemplation o=
f human
agony, than that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of inanimate
matter.
Up the long avenu=
e of
aged oaks which led from the forest to the main entrance of the Chateau
Metzengerstein, a steed, bearing an unbonneted and disordered rider, was se=
en
leaping with an impetuosity which outstripped the very Demon of the Tempest=
.
The career of the
horseman was indisputably, on his own part, uncontrollable. The agony of his
countenance, the convulsive struggle of his frame, gave evidence of superhu=
man
exertion: but no sound, save a solitary shriek, escaped from his lacerated
lips, which were bitten through and through in the intensity of terror. One
instant, and the clattering of hoofs resounded sharply and shrilly above the
roaring of the flames and the shrieking of the winds--another, and, clearin=
g at
a single plunge the gate-way and the moat, the steed bounded far up the tot=
tering
staircases of the palace, and, with its rider, disappeared amid the whirlwi=
nd
of chaotic fire.
The fury of the
tempest immediately died away, and a dead calm sullenly succeeded. A white
flame still enveloped the building like a shroud, and, streaming far away i=
nto
the quiet atmosphere, shot forth a glare of preternatural light; while a cl=
oud
of smoke settled heavily over the battlements in the distinct colossal figu=
re
of--a horse.
THE SYSTEM OF DOCTOR TARR=
AND
PROFESSOR FETHER
DURING the autumn=
of
18--, while on a tour through the extreme southern provinces of France, my
route led me within a few miles of a certain Maison de Sante or private
mad-house, about which I had heard much in Paris from my medical friends. A=
s I
had never visited a place of the kind, I thought the opportunity too good t=
o be
lost; and so proposed to my travelling companion (a gentleman with whom I h=
ad
made casual acquaintance a few days before) that we should turn aside, for =
an
hour or so, and look through the establishment. To this he objected--pleadi=
ng haste
in the first place, and, in the second, a very usual horror at the sight of=
a
lunatic. He begged me, however, not to let any mere courtesy towards himself
interfere with the gratification of my curiosity, and said that he would ri=
de
on leisurely, so that I might overtake him during the day, or, at all event=
s,
during the next. As he bade me good-bye, I bethought me that there might be
some difficulty in obtaining access to the premises, and mentioned my fears=
on
this point. He replied that, in fact, unless I had personal knowledge of th=
e superintendent,
Monsieur Maillard, or some credential in the way of a letter, a difficulty
might be found to exist, as the regulations of these private mad-houses were
more rigid than the public hospital laws. For himself, he added, he had, so=
me
years since, made the acquaintance of Maillard, and would so far assist me =
as
to ride up to the door and introduce me; although his feelings on the subje=
ct
of lunacy would not permit of his entering the house.
I thanked him, an=
d,
turning from the main road, we entered a grass-grown by-path, which, in hal=
f an
hour, nearly lost itself in a dense forest, clothing the base of a mountain.
Through this dank and gloomy wood we rode some two miles, when the Maison de
Sante came in view. It was a fantastic chateau, much dilapidated, and indeed
scarcely tenantable through age and neglect. Its aspect inspired me with
absolute dread, and, checking my horse, I half resolved to turn back. I soo=
n,
however, grew ashamed of my weakness, and proceeded.
As we rode up to =
the
gate-way, I perceived it slightly open, and the visage of a man peering
through. In an instant afterward, this man came forth, accosted my companio=
n by
name, shook him cordially by the hand, and begged him to alight. It was
Monsieur Maillard himself. He was a portly, fine-looking gentleman of the o=
ld
school, with a polished manner, and a certain air of gravity, dignity, and
authority which was very impressive.
My friend, having
presented me, mentioned my desire to inspect the establishment, and received
Monsieur Maillard's assurance that he would show me all attention, now took
leave, and I saw him no more.
When he had gone,=
the
superintendent ushered me into a small and exceedingly neat parlor, contain=
ing,
among other indications of refined taste, many books, drawings, pots of
flowers, and musical instruments. A cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth. A=
t a
piano, singing an aria from Bellini, sat a young and very beautiful woman, =
who,
at my entrance, paused in her song, and received me with graceful courtesy.=
Her
voice was low, and her whole manner subdued. I thought, too, that I perceiv=
ed the
traces of sorrow in her countenance, which was excessively, although to my
taste, not unpleasingly, pale. She was attired in deep mourning, and excite=
d in
my bosom a feeling of mingled respect, interest, and admiration.
I had heard, at
Paris, that the institution of Monsieur Maillard was managed upon what is
vulgarly termed the "system of soothing"--that all punishments we=
re
avoided--that even confinement was seldom resorted to--that the patients, w=
hile
secretly watched, were left much apparent liberty, and that most of them we=
re
permitted to roam about the house and grounds in the ordinary apparel of
persons in right mind.
Keeping these impressions in view, I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; f= or I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain rest= less brilliancy about her eyes which half led me to imagine she was not. I confi= ned my remarks, therefore, to general topics, and to such as I thought would no= t be displeasing or exciting even to a lunatic. She replied in a perfectly ratio= nal manner to all that I said; and even her original observations were marked w= ith the soundest good sense, but a long acquaintance with the metaphysics of ma= nia, had taught me to put no faith in such evidence of sanity, and I continued to practise, throughout the interview, the caution with which I commenced it.<= o:p>
Presently a smart
footman in livery brought in a tray with fruit, wine, and other refreshment=
s,
of which I partook, the lady soon afterward leaving the room. As she depart=
ed I
turned my eyes in an inquiring manner toward my host.
"No," he
said, "oh, no--a member of my family--my niece, and a most accomplished
woman."
"I beg a
thousand pardons for the suspicion," I replied, "but of course you
will know how to excuse me. The excellent administration of your affairs he=
re
is well understood in Paris, and I thought it just possible, you know--
"Yes, yes--s=
ay
no more--or rather it is myself who should thank you for the commendable
prudence you have displayed. We seldom find so much of forethought in young
men; and, more than once, some unhappy contre-temps has occurred in consequ=
ence
of thoughtlessness on the part of our visitors. While my former system was =
in
operation, and my patients were permitted the privilege of roaming to and f=
ro
at will, they were often aroused to a dangerous frenzy by injudicious perso=
ns
who called to inspect the house. Hence I was obliged to enforce a rigid sys=
tem of
exclusion; and none obtained access to the premises upon whose discretion I
could not rely."
"While your
former system was in operation!" I said, repeating his words--"do=
I
understand you, then, to say that the 'soothing system' of which I have hea=
rd
so much is no longer in force?"
"It is
now," he replied, "several weeks since we have concluded to renou=
nce
it forever."
"Indeed! you
astonish me!"
"We found it,
sir," he said, with a sigh, "absolutely necessary to return to the
old usages. The danger of the soothing system was, at all times, appalling;=
and
its advantages have been much overrated. I believe, sir, that in this house=
it
has been given a fair trial, if ever in any. We did every thing that ration=
al
humanity could suggest. I am sorry that you could not have paid us a visit =
at
an earlier period, that you might have judged for yourself. But I presume y=
ou
are conversant with the soothing practice--with its details."
"Not altoget=
her.
What I have heard has been at third or fourth hand."
"I may state=
the
system, then, in general terms, as one in which the patients were
menages-humored. We contradicted no fancies which entered the brains of the=
mad.
On the contrary, we not only indulged but encouraged them; and many of our =
most
permanent cures have been thus effected. There is no argument which so touc=
hes
the feeble reason of the madman as the argumentum ad absurdum. We have had =
men,
for example, who fancied themselves chickens. The cure was, to insist upon =
the
thing as a fact--to accuse the patient of stupidity in not sufficiently
perceiving it to be a fact--and thus to refuse him any other diet for a week
than that which properly appertains to a chicken. In this manner a little c=
orn
and gravel were made to perform wonders."
"But was this
species of acquiescence all?"
"By no means=
. We
put much faith in amusements of a simple kind, such as music, dancing,
gymnastic exercises generally, cards, certain classes of books, and so fort=
h.
We affected to treat each individual as if for some ordinary physical disor=
der,
and the word 'lunacy' was never employed. A great point was to set each lun=
atic
to guard the actions of all the others. To repose confidence in the
understanding or discretion of a madman, is to gain him body and soul. In t=
his
way we were enabled to dispense with an expensive body of keepers."
"And you had=
no
punishments of any kind?"
"None."=
"And you nev=
er
confined your patients?"
"Very rarely.
Now and then, the malady of some individual growing to a crisis, or taking a
sudden turn of fury, we conveyed him to a secret cell, lest his disorder sh=
ould
infect the rest, and there kept him until we could dismiss him to his
friends--for with the raging maniac we have nothing to do. He is usually
removed to the public hospitals."
"And you have
now changed all this--and you think for the better?"
"Decidedly. =
The
system had its disadvantages, and even its dangers. It is now, happily,
exploded throughout all the Maisons de Sante of France."
"I am very m=
uch
surprised," I said, "at what you tell me; for I made sure that, at
this moment, no other method of treatment for mania existed in any portion =
of
the country."
"You are you=
ng
yet, my friend," replied my host, "but the time will arrive when =
you
will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without
trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you hear, and only one-ha=
lf
that you see. Now about our Maisons de Sante, it is clear that some ignoram=
us
has misled you. After dinner, however, when you have sufficiently recovered
from the fatigue of your ride, I will be happy to take you over the house, =
and
introduce to you a system which, in my opinion, and in that of every one wh=
o has
witnessed its operation, is incomparably the most effectual as yet
devised."
"Your own?&q=
uot;
I inquired--"one of your own invention?"
"I am
proud," he replied, "to acknowledge that it is--at least in some =
measure."
In this manner I
conversed with Monsieur Maillard for an hour or two, during which he showed=
me
the gardens and conservatories of the place.
"I cannot let
you see my patients," he said, "just at present. To a sensitive m=
ind
there is always more or less of the shocking in such exhibitions; and I do =
not
wish to spoil your appetite for dinner. We will dine. I can give you some v=
eal
a la Menehoult, with cauliflowers in veloute sauce--after that a glass of C=
los
de Vougeot--then your nerves will be sufficiently steadied."
At six, dinner was
announced; and my host conducted me into a large salle a manger, where a ve=
ry
numerous company were assembled--twenty-five or thirty in all. They were,
apparently, people of rank-certainly of high breeding--although their
habiliments, I thought, were extravagantly rich, partaking somewhat too muc=
h of
the ostentatious finery of the vielle cour. I noticed that at least two-thi=
rds
of these guests were ladies; and some of the latter were by no means accout=
red
in what a Parisian would consider good taste at the present day. Many femal=
es,
for example, whose age could not have been less than seventy were bedecked =
with
a profusion of jewelry, such as rings, bracelets, and earrings, and wore th=
eir
bosoms and arms shamefully bare. I observed, too, that very few of the dres=
ses
were well made--or, at least, that very few of them fitted the wearers. In
looking about, I discovered the interesting girl to whom Monsieur Maillard =
had presented
me in the little parlor; but my surprise was great to see her wearing a hoop
and farthingale, with high-heeled shoes, and a dirty cap of Brussels lace, =
so
much too large for her that it gave her face a ridiculously diminutive
expression. When I had first seen her, she was attired, most becomingly, in
deep mourning. There was an air of oddity, in short, about the dress of the
whole party, which, at first, caused me to recur to my original idea of the
"soothing system," and to fancy that Monsieur Maillard had been
willing to deceive me until after dinner, that I might experience no
uncomfortable feelings during the repast, at finding myself dining with
lunatics; but I remembered having been informed, in Paris, that the southern
provincialists were a peculiarly eccentric people, with a vast number of
antiquated notions; and then, too, upon conversing with several members of =
the
company, my apprehensions were immediately and fully dispelled.
The dining-room
itself, although perhaps sufficiently comfortable and of good dimensions, h=
ad
nothing too much of elegance about it. For example, the floor was uncarpete=
d;
in France, however, a carpet is frequently dispensed with. The windows, too,
were without curtains; the shutters, being shut, were securely fastened with
iron bars, applied diagonally, after the fashion of our ordinary shop-shutt=
ers.
The apartment, I observed, formed, in itself, a wing of the chateau, and th=
us
the windows were on three sides of the parallelogram, the door being at the
other. There were no less than ten windows in all.
The table was
superbly set out. It was loaded with plate, and more than loaded with
delicacies. The profusion was absolutely barbaric. There were meats enough =
to
have feasted the Anakim. Never, in all my life, had I witnessed so lavish, =
so
wasteful an expenditure of the good things of life. There seemed very littl=
e taste,
however, in the arrangements; and my eyes, accustomed to quiet lights, were
sadly offended by the prodigious glare of a multitude of wax candles, which=
, in
silver candelabra, were deposited upon the table, and all about the room, w=
herever
it was possible to find a place. There were several active servants in
attendance; and, upon a large table, at the farther end of the apartment, w=
ere
seated seven or eight people with fiddles, fifes, trombones, and a drum. Th=
ese
fellows annoyed me very much, at intervals, during the repast, by an infini=
te
variety of noises, which were intended for music, and which appeared to aff=
ord
much entertainment to all present, with the exception of myself.
Upon the whole, I
could not help thinking that there was much of the bizarre about every thin=
g I
saw--but then the world is made up of all kinds of persons, with all modes =
of
thought, and all sorts of conventional customs. I had travelled, too, so mu=
ch,
as to be quite an adept at the nil admirari; so I took my seat very coolly =
at
the right hand of my host, and, having an excellent appetite, did justice to
the good cheer set before me.
The conversation,=
in
the meantime, was spirited and general. The ladies, as usual, talked a great
deal. I soon found that nearly all the company were well educated; and my h=
ost
was a world of good-humored anecdote in himself. He seemed quite willing to
speak of his position as superintendent of a Maison de Sante; and, indeed, =
the
topic of lunacy was, much to my surprise, a favorite one with all present. A
great many amusing stories were told, having reference to the whims of the =
patients.
"We had a fe=
llow
here once," said a fat little gentleman, who sat at my right,--"a
fellow that fancied himself a tea-pot; and by the way, is it not especially=
singular
how often this particular crotchet has entered the brain of the lunatic? Th=
ere
is scarcely an insane asylum in France which cannot supply a human tea-pot.=
Our
gentleman was a Britannia--ware tea-pot, and was careful to polish himself
every morning with buckskin and whiting."
"And then,&q=
uot;
said a tall man just opposite, "we had here, not long ago, a person who
had taken it into his head that he was a donkey--which allegorically speaki=
ng,
you will say, was quite true. He was a troublesome patient; and we had much=
ado
to keep him within bounds. For a long time he would eat nothing but thistle=
s;
but of this idea we soon cured him by insisting upon his eating nothing els=
e.
Then he was perpetually kicking out his heels-so-so-"
"Mr. De Kock=
! I
will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted an old lady, who =
sat
next to the speaker. "Please keep your feet to yourself! You have spoi=
led
my brocade! Is it necessary, pray, to illustrate a remark in so practical a
style? Our friend here can surely comprehend you without all this. Upon my
word, you are nearly as great a donkey as the poor unfortunate imagined
himself. Your acting is very natural, as I live."
"Mille pardo=
ns!
Ma'm'selle!" replied Monsieur De Kock, thus addressed--"a thousand
pardons! I had no intention of offending. Ma'm'selle Laplace--Monsieur De K=
ock
will do himself the honor of taking wine with you."
Here Monsieur De =
Kock
bowed low, kissed his hand with much ceremony, and took wine with Ma'm'selle
Laplace.
"Allow me, m=
on
ami," now said Monsieur Maillard, addressing myself, "allow me to
send you a morsel of this veal a la St. Menhoult--you will find it particul=
arly
fine."
At this instant t=
hree
sturdy waiters had just succeeded in depositing safely upon the table an
enormous dish, or trencher, containing what I supposed to be the "mons=
trum
horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum." A closer scrutiny ass=
ured
me, however, that it was only a small calf roasted whole, and set upon its
knees, with an apple in its mouth, as is the English fashion of dressing a
hare.
"Thank you,
no," I replied; "to say the truth, I am not particularly partial =
to
veal a la St.--what is it?--for I do not find that it altogether agrees with
me. I will change my plate, however, and try some of the rabbit."
There were several
side-dishes on the table, containing what appeared to be the ordinary French
rabbit--a very delicious morceau, which I can recommend.
"Pierre,&quo=
t;
cried the host, "change this gentleman's plate, and give him a side-pi=
ece
of this rabbit au-chat."
"This
what?" said I.
"This rabbit
au-chat."
"Why, thank
you--upon second thoughts, no. I will just help myself to some of the
ham."
There is no knowi=
ng
what one eats, thought I to myself, at the tables of these people of the
province. I will have none of their rabbit au-chat--and, for the matter of
that, none of their cat-au-rabbit either.
"And then,&q=
uot;
said a cadaverous looking personage, near the foot of the table, taking up =
the
thread of the conversation where it had been broken off,--"and then, a=
mong
other oddities, we had a patient, once upon a time, who very pertinaciously
maintained himself to be a Cordova cheese, and went about, with a knife in =
his
hand, soliciting his friends to try a small slice from the middle of his
leg."
"He was a gr=
eat
fool, beyond doubt," interposed some one, "but not to be compared
with a certain individual whom we all know, with the exception of this stra=
nge
gentleman. I mean the man who took himself for a bottle of champagne, and
always went off with a pop and a fizz, in this fashion."
Here the speaker,
very rudely, as I thought, put his right thumb in his left cheek, withdrew =
it
with a sound resembling the popping of a cork, and then, by a dexterous
movement of the tongue upon the teeth, created a sharp hissing and fizzing,
which lasted for several minutes, in imitation of the frothing of champagne.
This behavior, I saw plainly, was not very pleasing to Monsieur Maillard; b=
ut
that gentleman said nothing, and the conversation was resumed by a very lean
little man in a big wig.
"And then th=
ere
was an ignoramus," said he, "who mistook himself for a frog, whic=
h,
by the way, he resembled in no little degree. I wish you could have seen hi=
m,
sir,"--here the speaker addressed myself--"it would have done your
heart good to see the natural airs that he put on. Sir, if that man was not=
a
frog, I can only observe that it is a pity he was not. His croak
thus--o-o-o-o-gh--o-o-o-o-gh! was the finest note in the world--B flat; and
when he put his elbows upon the table thus--after taking a glass or two of
wine--and distended his mouth, thus, and rolled up his eyes, thus, and wink=
ed
them with excessive rapidity, thus, why then, sir, I take it upon myself to
say, positively, that you would have been lost in admiration of the genius =
of
the man."
"I have no d=
oubt
of it," I said.
"And then,&q=
uot;
said somebody else, "then there was Petit Gaillard, who thought himsel=
f a
pinch of snuff, and was truly distressed because he could not take himself
between his own finger and thumb."
"And then th=
ere
was Jules Desoulieres, who was a very singular genius, indeed, and went mad
with the idea that he was a pumpkin. He persecuted the cook to make him up =
into
pies--a thing which the cook indignantly refused to do. For my part, I am b=
y no
means sure that a pumpkin pie a la Desoulieres would not have been very cap=
ital
eating indeed!"
"You astonish
me!" said I; and I looked inquisitively at Monsieur Maillard.
"Ha! ha!
ha!" said that gentleman--"he! he! he!--hi! hi! hi!--ho! ho! ho!-=
-hu!
hu! hu! hu!--very good indeed! You must not be astonished, mon ami; our fri=
end
here is a wit--a drole--you must not understand him to the letter."
"And then,&q=
uot;
said some other one of the party,--"then there was Bouffon Le
Grand--another extraordinary personage in his way. He grew deranged through
love, and fancied himself possessed of two heads. One of these he maintaine=
d to
be the head of Cicero; the other he imagined a composite one, being
Demosthenes' from the top of the forehead to the mouth, and Lord Brougham's
from the mouth to the chin. It is not impossible that he was wrong; but he
would have convinced you of his being in the right; for he was a man of gre=
at
eloquence. He had an absolute passion for oratory, and could not refrain fr=
om
display. For example, he used to leap upon the dinner-table thus,
and--and-"
Here a friend, at=
the
side of the speaker, put a hand upon his shoulder and whispered a few words=
in
his ear, upon which he ceased talking with great suddenness, and sank back
within his chair.
"And then,&q=
uot;
said the friend who had whispered, "there was Boullard, the tee-totum.=
I
call him the tee-totum because, in fact, he was seized with the droll but n=
ot
altogether irrational crotchet, that he had been converted into a tee-totum.
You would have roared with laughter to see him spin. He would turn round up=
on
one heel by the hour, in this manner--so--"
Here the friend w=
hom
he had just interrupted by a whisper, performed an exactly similar office f=
or
himself.
"But then,&q=
uot;
cried the old lady, at the top of her voice, "your Monsieur Boullard w=
as a
madman, and a very silly madman at best; for who, allow me to ask you, ever
heard of a human tee-totum? The thing is absurd. Madame Joyeuse was a more
sensible person, as you know. She had a crotchet, but it was instinct with
common sense, and gave pleasure to all who had the honor of her acquaintanc=
e.
She found, upon mature deliberation, that, by some accident, she had been
turned into a chicken-cock; but, as such, she behaved with propriety. She
flapped her wings with prodigious effect--so--so--and, as for her crow, it =
was
delicious!
Cock-a-doodle-doo=
!--cock-a-doodle-doo!--cock-a-doodle-de-doo
dooo-do-o-o-o-o-o-o!"
"Madame Joye=
use,
I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted our host, very
angrily. "You can either conduct yourself as a lady should do, or you =
can
quit the table forthwith-take your choice."
The lady (whom I =
was
much astonished to hear addressed as Madame Joyeuse, after the description =
of
Madame Joyeuse she had just given) blushed up to the eyebrows, and seemed
exceedingly abashed at the reproof. She hung down her head, and said not a
syllable in reply. But another and younger lady resumed the theme. It was my
beautiful girl of the little parlor.
"Oh, Madame
Joyeuse was a fool!" she exclaimed, "but there was really much so=
und
sense, after all, in the opinion of Eugenie Salsafette. She was a very
beautiful and painfully modest young lady, who thought the ordinary mode of
habiliment indecent, and wished to dress herself, always, by getting outside
instead of inside of her clothes. It is a thing very easily done, after all.
You have only to do so--and then so--so--so--and then so--so--so--and then
so--so--and then--
"Mon dieu!
Ma'm'selle Salsafette!" here cried a dozen voices at once. "What =
are
you about?--forbear!--that is sufficient!--we see, very plainly, how it is
done!--hold! hold!" and several persons were already leaping from their
seats to withhold Ma'm'selle Salsafette from putting herself upon a par with
the Medicean Venus, when the point was very effectually and suddenly
accomplished by a series of loud screams, or yells, from some portion of the
main body of the chateau.
My nerves were ve=
ry
much affected, indeed, by these yells; but the rest of the company I really
pitied. I never saw any set of reasonable people so thoroughly frightened i=
n my
life. They all grew as pale as so many corpses, and, shrinking within their
seats, sat quivering and gibbering with terror, and listening for a repetit=
ion
of the sound. It came again--louder and seemingly nearer--and then a third =
time
very loud, and then a fourth time with a vigor evidently diminished. At this
apparent dying away of the noise, the spirits of the company were immediate=
ly regained,
and all was life and anecdote as before. I now ventured to inquire the caus=
e of
the disturbance.
"A mere
bagtelle," said Monsieur Maillard. "We are used to these things, =
and
care really very little about them. The lunatics, every now and then, get u=
p a
howl in concert; one starting another, as is sometimes the case with a bevy=
of
dogs at night. It occasionally happens, however, that the concerto yells are
succeeded by a simultaneous effort at breaking loose, when, of course, some
little danger is to be apprehended."
"And how many
have you in charge?"
"At present =
we
have not more than ten, altogether."
"Principally
females, I presume?"
"Oh, no--eve=
ry
one of them men, and stout fellows, too, I can tell you."
"Indeed! I h=
ave
always understood that the majority of lunatics were of the gentler sex.&qu=
ot;
"It is gener=
ally
so, but not always. Some time ago, there were about twenty-seven patients h=
ere;
and, of that number, no less than eighteen were women; but, lately, matters
have changed very much, as you see."
"Yes--have
changed very much, as you see," here interrupted the gentleman who had
broken the shins of Ma'm'selle Laplace.
"Yes--have
changed very much, as you see!" chimed in the whole company at once.
"Hold your
tongues, every one of you!" said my host, in a great rage. Whereupon t=
he
whole company maintained a dead silence for nearly a minute. As for one lad=
y,
she obeyed Monsieur Maillard to the letter, and thrusting out her tongue, w=
hich
was an excessively long one, held it very resignedly, with both hands, until
the end of the entertainment.
"And this
gentlewoman," said I, to Monsieur Maillard, bending over and addressing
him in a whisper--"this good lady who has just spoken, and who gives us
the cock-a-doodle-de-doo--she, I presume, is harmless--quite harmless,
eh?"
"Harmless!&q=
uot;
ejaculated he, in unfeigned surprise, "why--why, what can you mean?&qu=
ot;
"Only slight=
ly
touched?" said I, touching my head. "I take it for granted that s=
he
is not particularly not dangerously affected, eh?"
"Mon dieu! w=
hat
is it you imagine? This lady, my particular old friend Madame Joyeuse, is as
absolutely sane as myself. She has her little eccentricities, to be sure--b=
ut
then, you know, all old women--all very old women--are more or less
eccentric!"
"To be
sure," said I,--"to be sure--and then the rest of these ladies and
gentlemen-"
"Are my frie=
nds
and keepers," interupted Monsieur Maillard, drawing himself up with
hauteur,--"my very good friends and assistants."
"What! all of
them?" I asked,--"the women and all?"
"Assuredly,&=
quot;
he said,--"we could not do at all without the women; they are the best
lunatic nurses in the world; they have a way of their own, you know; their
bright eyes have a marvellous effect;--something like the fascination of the
snake, you know."
"To be
sure," said I,--"to be sure! They behave a little odd, eh?--they =
are
a little queer, eh?--don't you think so?"
"Odd!--queer=
!--why,
do you really think so? We are not very prudish, to be sure, here in the
South--do pretty much as we please--enjoy life, and all that sort of thing,=
you
know-"
"To be
sure," said I,--"to be sure."
"And then,
perhaps, this Clos de Vougeot is a little heady, you know--a little strong-=
-you
understand, eh?"
"To be
sure," said I,--"to be sure. By the bye, Monsieur, did I understa=
nd
you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of the celebrated
soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?"
"By no means.
Our confinement is necessarily close; but the treatment--the medical treatm=
ent,
I mean--is rather agreeable to the patients than otherwise."
"And the new
system is one of your own invention?"
"Not altoget=
her.
Some portions of it are referable to Professor Tarr, of whom you have,
necessarily, heard; and, again, there are modifications in my plan which I =
am
happy to acknowledge as belonging of right to the celebrated Fether, with w=
hom,
if I mistake not, you have the honor of an intimate acquaintance."
"I am quite
ashamed to confess," I replied, "that I have never even heard the
names of either gentleman before."
"Good
heavens!" ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly, and upl=
ifting
his hands. "I surely do not hear you aright! You did not intend to say,
eh? that you had never heard either of the learned Doctor Tarr, or of the
celebrated Professor Fether?"
"I am forced=
to
acknowledge my ignorance," I replied; "but the truth should be he=
ld
inviolate above all things. Nevertheless, I feel humbled to the dust, not t=
o be
acquainted with the works of these, no doubt, extraordinary men. I will seek
out their writings forthwith, and peruse them with deliberate care. Monsieur
Maillard, you have really--I must confess it--you have really--made me asha=
med
of myself!"
And this was the
fact.
"Say no more=
, my
good young friend," he said kindly, pressing my hand,--"join me n=
ow
in a glass of Sauterne."
We drank. The com=
pany
followed our example without stint. They chatted--they jested--they
laughed--they perpetrated a thousand absurdities--the fiddles shrieked--the
drum row-de-dowed--the trombones bellowed like so many brazen bulls of
Phalaris--and the whole scene, growing gradually worse and worse, as the wi=
nes
gained the ascendancy, became at length a sort of pandemonium in petto. In =
the
meantime, Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of Sauterne and
Vougeot between us, continued our conversation at the top of the voice. A w=
ord spoken
in an ordinary key stood no more chance of being heard than the voice of a =
fish
from the bottom of Niagara Falls.
"And, sir,&q=
uot;
said I, screaming in his ear, "you mentioned something before dinner a=
bout
the danger incurred in the old system of soothing. How is that?"
"Yes," =
he
replied, "there was, occasionally, very great danger indeed. There is =
no
accounting for the caprices of madmen; and, in my opinion as well as in tha=
t of
Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, it is never safe to permit them to run at la=
rge
unattended. A lunatic may be 'soothed,' as it is called, for a time, but, in
the end, he is very apt to become obstreperous. His cunning, too, is prover=
bial
and great. If he has a project in view, he conceals his design with a
marvellous wisdom; and the dexterity with which he counterfeits sanity,
presents, to the metaphysician, one of the most singular problems in the st=
udy
of mind. When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to =
put him
in a straitjacket."
"But the dan=
ger,
my dear sir, of which you were speaking, in your own experience--during your
control of this house--have you had practical reason to think liberty hazar=
dous
in the case of a lunatic?"
"Here?--in my
own experience?--why, I may say, yes. For example:--no very long while ago,=
a
singular circumstance occurred in this very house. The 'soothing system,' y=
ou
know, was then in operation, and the patients were at large. They behaved
remarkably well-especially so, any one of sense might have known that some
devilish scheme was brewing from that particular fact, that the fellows beh=
aved
so remarkably well. And, sure enough, one fine morning the keepers found
themselves pinioned hand and foot, and thrown into the cells, where they we=
re
attended, as if they were the lunatics, by the lunatics themselves, who had
usurped the offices of the keepers."
"You don't t=
ell
me so! I never heard of any thing so absurd in my life!"
"Fact--it all
came to pass by means of a stupid fellow--a lunatic--who, by some means, had
taken it into his head that he had invented a better system of government t=
han
any ever heard of before--of lunatic government, I mean. He wished to give =
his
invention a trial, I suppose, and so he persuaded the rest of the patients =
to
join him in a conspiracy for the overthrow of the reigning powers."
"And he real=
ly
succeeded?"
"No doubt of=
it.
The keepers and kept were soon made to exchange places. Not that exactly
either--for the madmen had been free, but the keepers were shut up in cells
forthwith, and treated, I am sorry to say, in a very cavalier manner."=
"But I presu=
me a
counter-revolution was soon effected. This condition of things could not ha=
ve
long existed. The country people in the neighborhood-visitors coming to see=
the
establishment--would have given the alarm."
"There you a=
re
out. The head rebel was too cunning for that. He admitted no visitors at
all--with the exception, one day, of a very stupid-looking young gentleman =
of
whom he had no reason to be afraid. He let him in to see the place--just by=
way
of variety,--to have a little fun with him. As soon as he had gammoned him
sufficiently, he let him out, and sent him about his business."
"And how lon=
g,
then, did the madmen reign?"
"Oh, a very =
long
time, indeed--a month certainly--how much longer I can't precisely say. In =
the
meantime, the lunatics had a jolly season of it--that you may swear. They
doffed their own shabby clothes, and made free with the family wardrobe and
jewels. The cellars of the chateau were well stocked with wine; and these
madmen are just the devils that know how to drink it. They lived well, I can
tell you."
"And the
treatment--what was the particular species of treatment which the leader of=
the
rebels put into operation?"
"Why, as for
that, a madman is not necessarily a fool, as I have already observed; and i=
t is
my honest opinion that his treatment was a much better treatment than that
which it superseded. It was a very capital system indeed--simple--neat--no
trouble at all--in fact it was delicious it was."
Here my host's
observations were cut short by another series of yells, of the same charact=
er
as those which had previously disconcerted us. This time, however, they see=
med
to proceed from persons rapidly approaching.
"Gracious
heavens!" I ejaculated--"the lunatics have most undoubtedly broken
loose."
"I very much
fear it is so," replied Monsieur Maillard, now becoming excessively pa=
le.
He had scarcely finished the sentence, before loud shouts and imprecations =
were
heard beneath the windows; and, immediately afterward, it became evident th=
at
some persons outside were endeavoring to gain entrance into the room. The d=
oor
was beaten with what appeared to be a sledge-hammer, and the shutters were
wrenched and shaken with prodigious violence.
A scene of the mo=
st
terrible confusion ensued. Monsieur Maillard, to my excessive astonishment
threw himself under the side-board. I had expected more resolution at his
hands. The members of the orchestra, who, for the last fifteen minutes, had
been seemingly too much intoxicated to do duty, now sprang all at once to t=
heir
feet and to their instruments, and, scrambling upon their table, broke out,
with one accord, into, "Yankee Doodle," which they performed, if =
not
exactly in tune, at least with an energy superhuman, during the whole of th=
e uproar.
Meantime, upon the
main dining-table, among the bottles and glasses, leaped the gentleman who,
with such difficulty, had been restrained from leaping there before. As soo=
n as
he fairly settled himself, he commenced an oration, which, no doubt, was a =
very
capital one, if it could only have been heard. At the same moment, the man =
with
the teetotum predilection, set himself to spinning around the apartment, wi=
th
immense energy, and with arms outstretched at right angles with his body; s=
o that
he had all the air of a tee-totum in fact, and knocked everybody down that
happened to get in his way. And now, too, hearing an incredible popping and
fizzing of champagne, I discovered at length, that it proceeded from the pe=
rson
who performed the bottle of that delicate drink during dinner. And then, ag=
ain,
the frog-man croaked away as if the salvation of his soul depended upon eve=
ry
note that he uttered. And, in the midst of all this, the continuous braying=
of
a donkey arose over all. As for my old friend, Madame Joyeuse, I really cou=
ld
have wept for the poor lady, she appeared so terribly perplexed. All she di=
d,
however, was to stand up in a corner, by the fireplace, and sing out
incessantly at the top of her voice, "Cock-a-doodle-de-dooooooh!"=
And now came the
climax--the catastrophe of the drama. As no resistance, beyond whooping and
yelling and cock-a-doodling, was offered to the encroachments of the party
without, the ten windows were very speedily, and almost simultaneously, bro=
ken
in. But I shall never forget the emotions of wonder and horror with which I
gazed, when, leaping through these windows, and down among us pele-mele,
fighting, stamping, scratching, and howling, there rushed a perfect army of
what I took to be Chimpanzees, Ourang-Outangs, or big black baboons of the =
Cape
of Good Hope.
I received a terr=
ible
beating--after which I rolled under a sofa and lay still. After lying there
some fifteen minutes, during which time I listened with all my ears to what=
was
going on in the room, I came to same satisfactory denouement of this traged=
y.
Monsieur Maillard, it appeared, in giving me the account of the lunatic who=
had
excited his fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his own exploits=
. This
gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years before, been the superintend=
ent
of the establishment, but grew crazy himself, and so became a patient. This
fact was unknown to the travelling companion who introduced me. The keepers,
ten in number, having been suddenly overpowered, were first well tarred,
then--carefully feathered, and then shut up in underground cells. They had =
been
so imprisoned for more than a month, during which period Monsieur Maillard =
had
generously allowed them not only the tar and feathers (which constituted his
"system"), but some bread and abundance of water. The latter was
pumped on them daily. At length, one escaping through a sewer, gave freedom=
to
all the rest.
The "soothing
system," with important modifications, has been resumed at the chateau;
yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard, that his own
"treatment" was a very capital one of its kind. As he justly obse=
rved,
it was "simple--neat--and gave no trouble at all--not the least."=
I have only to add
that, although I have searched every library in Europe for the works of Doc=
tor Tarr
and Professor Fether, I have, up to the present day, utterly failed in my
endeavors at procuring an edition.
HOW TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD
ARTICLE.
"In t=
he
name of the Prophet--figs!!"
Cry of the
Turkish fig-peddler.
I PRESUME everybo=
dy
has heard of me. My name is the Signora Psyche Zenobia. This I know to be a
fact. Nobody but my enemies ever calls me Suky Snobbs. I have been assured =
that
Suky is but a vulgar corruption of Psyche, which is good Greek, and means
"the soul" (that's me, I'm all soul) and sometimes "a
butterfly," which latter meaning undoubtedly alludes to my appearance =
in
my new crimson satin dress, with the sky-blue Arabian mantelet, and the
trimmings of green agraffas, and the seven flounces of orange-colored
auriculas. As for Snobbs--any person who should look at me would be instant=
ly
aware that my name wasn't Snobbs. Miss Tabitha Turnip propagated that report
through sheer envy. Tabitha Turnip indeed! Oh the little wretch! But what c=
an
we expect from a turnip? Wonder if she remembers the old adage about
"blood out of a turnip," &c.? [Mem. put her in mind of it the
first opportunity.] [Mem. again--pull her nose.] Where was I? Ah! I have be=
en
assured that Snobbs is a mere corruption of Zenobia, and that Zenobia was a
queen--(So am I. Dr. Moneypenny always calls me the Queen of the Hearts)--a=
nd
that Zenobia, as well as Psyche, is good Greek, and that my father was &quo=
t;a Greek,"
and that consequently I have a right to our patronymic, which is Zenobia and
not by any means Snobbs. Nobody but Tabitha Turnip calls me Suky Snobbs. I =
am
the Signora Psyche Zenobia.
As I said before,
everybody has heard of me. I am that very Signora Psyche Zenobia, so justly
celebrated as corresponding secretary to the "Philadelphia, Regular,
Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles, Lettres, Universal, Experimental,
Bibliographical, Association, To, Civilize, Humanity." Dr. Moneypenny =
made
the title for us, and says he chose it because it sounded big like an empty
rum-puncheon. (A vulgar man that sometimes--but he's deep.) We all sign the
initials of the society after our names, in the fashion of the R. S. A., Ro=
yal
Society of Arts--the S. D. U. K., Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge, &c, &c. Dr. Moneypenny says that S. stands for stale, and
that D. U. K. spells duck, (but it don't,) that S. D. U. K. stands for Stale
Duck and not for Lord Brougham's society--but then Dr. Moneypenny is such a
queer man that I am never sure when he is telling me the truth. At any rate=
we
always add to our names the initials P. R. E. T. T. Y. B. L. U. E. B. A. T.=
C. H.--that
is to say, Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles, Lett=
res,
Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To, Civilize,
Humanity--one letter for each word, which is a decided improvement upon Lord
Brougham. Dr. Moneypenny will have it that our initials give our true
character--but for my life I can't see what he means.
Notwithstanding t=
he
good offices of the Doctor, and the strenuous exertions of the association =
to
get itself into notice, it met with no very great success until I joined it.
The truth is, the members indulged in too flippant a tone of discussion. The
papers read every Saturday evening were characterized less by depth than
buffoonery. They were all whipped syllabub. There was no investigation of f=
irst
causes, first principles. There was no investigation of any thing at all. T=
here
was no attention paid to that great point, the "fitness of things.&quo=
t;
In short there was no fine writing like this. It was all low--very! No prof=
undity,
no reading, no metaphysics--nothing which the learned call spirituality, and
which the unlearned choose to stigmatize as cant. [Dr. M. says I ought to s=
pell
"cant" with a capital K--but I know better.]
When I joined the
society it was my endeavor to introduce a better style of thinking and writ=
ing,
and all the world knows how well I have succeeded. We get up as good papers=
now
in the P. R. E. T. T. Y. B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. as any to be found even=
in
Blackwood. I say, Blackwood, because I have been assured that the finest
writing, upon every subject, is to be discovered in the pages of that justl=
y celebrated
Magazine. We now take it for our model upon all themes, and are getting into
rapid notice accordingly. And, after all, it's not so very difficult a matt=
er
to compose an article of the genuine Blackwood stamp, if one only goes prop=
erly
about it. Of course I don't speak of the political articles. Everybody knows
how they are managed, since Dr. Moneypenny explained it. Mr. Blackwood has a
pair of tailor's-shears, and three apprentices who stand by him for orders.=
One
hands him the "Times," another the "Examiner" and a thi=
rd a
"Culley's New Compendium of Slang-Whang." Mr. B. merely cuts out =
and
intersperses. It is soon done--nothing but "Examiner,"
"Slang-Whang," and "Times"--then "Times," &qu=
ot;Slang-Whang,"
and "Examiner"--and then "Times," "Examiner,"=
and
"Slang-Whang."
But the chief mer=
it
of the Magazine lies in its miscellaneous articles; and the best of these c=
ome
under the head of what Dr. Moneypenny calls the bizarreries (whatever that =
may
mean) and what everybody else calls the intensities. This is a species of
writing which I have long known how to appreciate, although it is only sinc=
e my
late visit to Mr. Blackwood (deputed by the society) that I have been made
aware of the exact method of composition. This method is very simple, but n=
ot
so much so as the politics. Upon my calling at Mr. B.'s, and making known to
him the wishes of the society, he received me with great civility, took me =
into
his study, and gave me a clear explanation of the whole process.
"My dear
madam," said he, evidently struck with my majestic appearance, for I h=
ad
on the crimson satin, with the green agraffas, and orange-colored auriclas.
"My dear madam," said he, "sit down. The matter stands thus:=
In
the first place your writer of intensities must have very black ink, and a =
very
big pen, with a very blunt nib. And, mark me, Miss Psyche Zenobia!" he
continued, after a pause, with the most expressive energy and solemnity of
manner, "mark me!--that pen--must--never be mended! Herein, madam, lies
the secret, the soul, of intensity. I assume upon myself to say, that no
individual, of however great genius ever wrote with a good pen--understand
me,--a good article. You may take, it for granted, that when manuscript can=
be
read it is never worth reading. This is a leading principle in our faith, to
which if you cannot readily assent, our conference is at an end."
He paused. But, of
course, as I had no wish to put an end to the conference, I assented to a
proposition so very obvious, and one, too, of whose truth I had all along b=
een
sufficiently aware. He seemed pleased, and went on with his instructions.
"It may appe=
ar
invidious in me, Miss Psyche Zenobia, to refer you to any article, or set of
articles, in the way of model or study, yet perhaps I may as well call your
attention to a few cases. Let me see. There was 'The Dead Alive,' a capital
thing!--the record of a gentleman's sensations when entombed before the bre=
ath
was out of his body--full of tastes, terror, sentiment, metaphysics, and
erudition. You would have sworn that the writer had been born and brought u=
p in
a coffin. Then we had the 'Confessions of an Opium-eater'--fine, very
fine!--glorious imagination--deep philosophy acute speculation--plenty of f=
ire
and fury, and a good spicing of the decidedly unintelligible. That was a ni=
ce
bit of flummery, and went down the throats of the people delightfully. They
would have it that Coleridge wrote the paper--but not so. It was composed b=
y my
pet baboon, Juniper, over a rummer of Hollands and water, 'hot, without
sugar.'" [This I could scarcely have believed had it been anybody but =
Mr.
Blackwood, who assured me of it.] "Then there was 'The Involuntary
Experimentalist,' all about a gentleman who got baked in an oven, and came =
out
alive and well, although certainly done to a turn. And then there was 'The
Diary of a Late Physician,' where the merit lay in good rant, and indiffere=
nt
Greek--both of them taking things with the public. And then there was 'The =
Man
in the Bell,' a paper by-the-by, Miss Zenobia, which I cannot sufficiently
recommend to your attention. It is the history of a young person who goes to
sleep under the clapper of a church bell, and is awakened by its tolling fo=
r a
funeral. The sound drives him mad, and, accordingly, pulling out his tablet=
s,
he gives a record of his sensations. Sensations are the great things after =
all.
Should you ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensati=
ons--they
will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet. If you wish to write forcibly, Mi=
ss
Zenobia, pay minute attention to the sensations."
"That I
certainly will, Mr. Blackwood," said I.
"Good!"=
he
replied. "I see you are a pupil after my own heart. But I must put you=
au
fait to the details necessary in composing what may be denominated a genuine
Blackwood article of the sensation stamp--the kind which you will understan=
d me
to say I consider the best for all purposes.
"The first t=
hing
requisite is to get yourself into such a scrape as no one ever got into bef=
ore.
The oven, for instance,--that was a good hit. But if you have no oven or big
bell, at hand, and if you cannot conveniently tumble out of a balloon, or be
swallowed up in an earthquake, or get stuck fast in a chimney, you will hav=
e to
be contented with simply imagining some similar misadventure. I should pref=
er,
however, that you have the actual fact to bear you out. Nothing so well ass=
ists
the fancy, as an experimental knowledge of the matter in hand. 'Truth is
strange,' you know, 'stranger than fiction'--besides being more to the
purpose."
Here I assured hi=
m I
had an excellent pair of garters, and would go and hang myself forthwith.
"Good!"=
he
replied, "do so;--although hanging is somewhat hacknied. Perhaps you m=
ight
do better. Take a dose of Brandreth's pills, and then give us your sensatio=
ns.
However, my instructions will apply equally well to any variety of
misadventure, and in your way home you may easily get knocked in the head, =
or
run over by an omnibus, or bitten by a mad dog, or drowned in a gutter. But=
to
proceed.
"Having
determined upon your subject, you must next consider the tone, or manner, of
your narration. There is the tone didactic, the tone enthusiastic, the tone
natural--all common--place enough. But then there is the tone laconic, or c=
urt,
which has lately come much into use. It consists in short sentences. Somehow
thus: Can't be too brief. Can't be too snappish. Always a full stop. And ne=
ver
a paragraph.
"Then there =
is
the tone elevated, diffusive, and interjectional. Some of our best novelists
patronize this tone. The words must be all in a whirl, like a humming-top, =
and
make a noise very similar, which answers remarkably well instead of meaning.
This is the best of all possible styles where the writer is in too great a
hurry to think.
"The tone
metaphysical is also a good one. If you know any big words this is your cha=
nce
for them. Talk of the Ionic and Eleatic schools--of Archytas, Gorgias, and
Alcmaeon. Say something about objectivity and subjectivity. Be sure and abu=
se a
man named Locke. Turn up your nose at things in general, and when you let s=
lip
any thing a little too absurd, you need not be at the trouble of scratching=
it
out, but just add a footnote and say that you are indebted for the above
profound observation to the 'Kritik der reinem Vernunft,' or to the
'Metaphysithe Anfongsgrunde der Noturwissenchaft.' This would look erudite =
and--and--and
frank.
"There are
various other tones of equal celebrity, but I shall mention only two more--=
the
tone transcendental and the tone heterogeneous. In the former the merit
consists in seeing into the nature of affairs a very great deal farther than
anybody else. This second sight is very efficient when properly managed. A
little reading of the 'Dial' will carry you a great way. Eschew, in this ca=
se,
big words; get them as small as possible, and write them upside down. Look =
over
Channing's poems and quote what he says about a 'fat little man with a delu=
sive
show of Can.' Put in something about the Supernal Oneness. Don't say a syll=
able
about the Infernal Twoness. Above all, study innuendo. Hint everything--ass=
ert
nothing. If you feel inclined to say 'bread and butter,' do not by any means
say it outright. You may say any thing and every thing approaching to 'bread
and butter.' You may hint at buck-wheat cake, or you may even go so far as =
to
insinuate oat-meal porridge, but if bread and butter be your real meaning, =
be
cautious, my dear Miss Psyche, not on any account to say 'bread and
butter!'"
I assured him tha=
t I
should never say it again as long as I lived. He kissed me and continued:
"As for the =
tone
heterogeneous, it is merely a judicious mixture, in equal proportions, of a=
ll
the other tones in the world, and is consequently made up of every thing de=
ep,
great, odd, piquant, pertinent, and pretty.
"Let us supp=
ose
now you have determined upon your incidents and tone. The most important
portion--in fact, the soul of the whole business, is yet to be attended to-=
-I
allude to the filling up. It is not to be supposed that a lady, or gentleman
either, has been leading the life of a book worm. And yet above all things =
it
is necessary that your article have an air of erudition, or at least afford
evidence of extensive general reading. Now I'll put you in the way of
accomplishing this point. See here!" (pulling down some three or four
ordinary-looking volumes, and opening them at random). "By casting your
eye down almost any page of any book in the world, you will be able to perc=
eive
at once a host of little scraps of either learning or bel-espritism, which =
are the
very thing for the spicing of a Blackwood article. You might as well note d=
own
a few while I read them to you. I shall make two divisions: first, Piquant
Facts for the Manufacture of Similes, and, second, Piquant Expressions to be
introduced as occasion may require. Write now!"--and I wrote as he
dictated.
"PIQUANT FAC=
TS
FOR SIMILES. 'There were originally but three Muses--Melete, Mneme,
Aoede--meditation, memory, and singing.' You may make a good deal of that
little fact if properly worked. You see it is not generally known, and looks
recherche. You must be careful and give the thing with a downright improviso
air.
"Again. 'The
river Alpheus passed beneath the sea, and emerged without injury to the pur=
ity
of its waters.' Rather stale that, to be sure, but, if properly dressed and
dished up, will look quite as fresh as ever.
"Here is
something better. 'The Persian Iris appears to some persons to possess a sw=
eet
and very powerful perfume, while to others it is perfectly scentless.' Fine
that, and very delicate! Turn it about a little, and it will do wonders. We=
'll
have some thing else in the botanical line. There's nothing goes down so we=
ll,
especially with the help of a little Latin. Write!
"'The Epiden=
drum
Flos Aeris, of Java, bears a very beautiful flower, and will live when pull=
ed
up by the roots. The natives suspend it by a cord from the ceiling, and enj=
oy
its fragrance for years.' That's capital! That will do for the similes. Now=
for
the Piquant Expressions.
"PIQUANT
EXPRESSIONS. 'The Venerable Chinese novel Ju-Kiao-Li.' Good! By introducing
these few words with dexterity you will evince your intimate acquaintance w=
ith
the language and literature of the Chinese. With the aid of this you may ei=
ther
get along without either Arabic, or Sanscrit, or Chickasaw. There is no pas=
sing
muster, however, without Spanish, Italian, German, Latin, and Greek. I must
look you out a little specimen of each. Any scrap will answer, because you =
must
depend upon your own ingenuity to make it fit into your article. Now write!=
"'Aussi tend=
re
que Zaire'--as tender as Zaire-French. Alludes to the frequent repetition of
the phrase, la tendre Zaire, in the French tragedy of that name. Properly
introduced, will show not only your knowledge of the language, but your gen=
eral
reading and wit. You can say, for instance, that the chicken you were eating
(write an article about being choked to death by a chicken-bone) was not
altogether aussi tendre que Zaire. Write!
'Van muerte tan
escondida, =
Que
no te sienta venir, Porque el p=
lazer
del morir, =
No
mestorne a dar la vida.'
"That's
Spanish--from Miguel de Cervantes. 'Come quickly, O death! but be sure and
don't let me see you coming, lest the pleasure I shall feel at your appeara=
nce
should unfortunately bring me back again to life.' This you may slip in qui=
te a
propos when you are struggling in the last agonies with the chicken-bone.
Write!
'Il pover 'huomo =
che
non se'n era accorto, Andava combattendo, e era morto.'
"That's Ital=
ian,
you perceive--from Ariosto. It means that a great hero, in the heat of comb=
at,
not perceiving that he had been fairly killed, continued to fight valiantly,
dead as he was. The application of this to your own case is obvious--for I
trust, Miss Psyche, that you will not neglect to kick for at least an hour =
and
a half after you have been choked to death by that chicken-bone. Please to
write!
'Und sterb'ich do=
ch,
no sterb'ich denn
Durch sie--durch
sie!'
"That's
German--from Schiller. 'And if I die, at least I die--for thee--for thee!' =
Here
it is clear that you are apostrophizing the cause of your disaster, the
chicken. Indeed what gentleman (or lady either) of sense, wouldn't die, I
should like to know, for a well fattened capon of the right Molucca breed,
stuffed with capers and mushrooms, and served up in a salad-bowl, with
orange-jellies en mosaiques. Write! (You can get them that way at
Tortoni's)--Write, if you please!
"Here is a n=
ice
little Latin phrase, and rare too, (one can't be too recherche or brief in
one's Latin, it's getting so common--ignoratio elenchi. He has committed an
ignoratio elenchi--that is to say, he has understood the words of your
proposition, but not the idea. The man was a fool, you see. Some poor fellow
whom you address while choking with that chicken-bone, and who therefore di=
dn't
precisely understand what you were talking about. Throw the ignoratio elenc=
hi
in his teeth, and, at once, you have him annihilated. If he dares to reply,=
you
can tell him from Lucan (here it is) that speeches are mere anemonae verbor=
um, anemone
words. The anemone, with great brilliancy, has no smell. Or, if he begins to
bluster, you may be down upon him with insomnia Jovis, reveries of Jupiter-=
-a
phrase which Silius Italicus (see here!) applies to thoughts pompous and
inflated. This will be sure and cut him to the heart. He can do nothing but
roll over and die. Will you be kind enough to write?
"In Greek we must have some thing pretty--from Demosthenes, for example. [Greek phrase]<= o:p>
[Anerh o pheugoen=
kai
palin makesetai] There is a tolerably good translation of it in Hudibras
'For
he that flies may fight again, Which he can
never do that's slain.'
"In a Blackw=
ood
article nothing makes so fine a show as your Greek. The very letters have an
air of profundity about them. Only observe, madam, the astute look of that
Epsilon! That Phi ought certainly to be a bishop! Was ever there a smarter
fellow than that Omicron? Just twig that Tau! In short, there is nothing li=
ke
Greek for a genuine sensation-paper. In the present case your application is
the most obvious thing in the world. Rap out the sentence, with a huge oath,
and by way of ultimatum at the good-for-nothing dunder-headed villain who c=
ouldn't
understand your plain English in relation to the chicken-bone. He'll take t=
he
hint and be off, you may depend upon it."
These were all the
instructions Mr. B. could afford me upon the topic in question, but I felt =
they
would be entirely sufficient. I was, at length, able to write a genuine
Blackwood article, and determined to do it forthwith. In taking leave of me,
Mr. B. made a proposition for the purchase of the paper when written; but a=
s he
could offer me only fifty guineas a sheet, I thought it better to let our
society have it, than sacrifice it for so paltry a sum. Notwithstanding this
niggardly spirit, however, the gentleman showed his consideration for me in=
all
other respects, and indeed treated me with the greatest civility. His parti=
ng words
made a deep impression upon my heart, and I hope I shall always remember th=
em
with gratitude.
"My dear Miss
Zenobia," he said, while the tears stood in his eyes, "is there
anything else I can do to promote the success of your laudable undertaking?=
Let
me reflect! It is just possible that you may not be able, so soon as
convenient, to--to--get yourself drowned, or--choked with a chicken-bone,
or--or hung,--or--bitten by a--but stay! Now I think me of it, there are a
couple of very excellent bull-dogs in the yard--fine fellows, I assure
you--savage, and all that--indeed just the thing for your money--they'll ha=
ve
you eaten up, auricula and all, in less than five minutes (here's my
watch!)--and then only think of the sensations! Here! I
say--Tom!--Peter!--Dick, you villain!--let out those"--but as I was re=
ally
in a great hurry, and had not another moment to spare, I was reluctantly fo=
rced
to expedite my departure, and accordingly took leave at once--somewhat more
abruptly, I admit, than strict courtesy would have otherwise allowed.
It was my primary
object upon quitting Mr. Blackwood, to get into some immediate difficulty,
pursuant to his advice, and with this view I spent the greater part of the =
day
in wandering about Edinburgh, seeking for desperate adventures--adventures
adequate to the intensity of my feelings, and adapted to the vast character=
of
the article I intended to write. In this excursion I was attended by one
negro--servant, Pompey, and my little lap-dog Diana, whom I had brought wit=
h me
from Philadelphia. It was not, however, until late in the afternoon that I
fully succeeded in my arduous undertaking. An important event then happened=
of
which the following Blackwood article, in the tone heterogeneous, is the
substance and result.
What chance, good
lady, hath bereft you thus?
=
--COMUS.
IT was a quiet and
still afternoon when I strolled forth in the goodly city of Edina. The
confusion and bustle in the streets were terrible. Men were talking. Women =
were
screaming. Children were choking. Pigs were whistling. Carts they rattled.
Bulls they bellowed. Cows they lowed. Horses they neighed. Cats they
caterwauled. Dogs they danced. Danced! Could it then be possible? Danced! A=
las,
thought I, my dancing days are over! Thus it is ever. What a host of gloomy
recollections will ever and anon be awakened in the mind of genius and
imaginative contemplation, especially of a genius doomed to the everlasting=
and
eternal, and continual, and, as one might say, the--continued--yes, the
continued and continuous, bitter, harassing, disturbing, and, if I may be
allowed the expression, the very disturbing influence of the serene, and
godlike, and heavenly, and exalted, and elevated, and purifying effect of w=
hat may
be rightly termed the most enviable, the most truly enviable--nay! the most
benignly beautiful, the most deliciously ethereal, and, as it were, the most
pretty (if I may use so bold an expression) thing (pardon me, gentle reader=
!)
in the world--but I am always led away by my feelings. In such a mind, I
repeat, what a host of recollections are stirred up by a trifle! The dogs
danced! I--I could not! They frisked--I wept. They capered--I sobbed aloud.
Touching circumstances! which cannot fail to bring to the recollection of t=
he
classical reader that exquisite passage in relation to the fitness of thing=
s,
which is to be found in the commencement of the third volume of that admira=
ble
and venerable Chinese novel the Jo-Go-Slow.
In my solitary wa=
lk
through, the city I had two humble but faithful companions. Diana, my poodl=
e!
sweetest of creatures! She had a quantity of hair over her one eye, and a b=
lue
ribband tied fashionably around her neck. Diana was not more than five inch=
es
in height, but her head was somewhat bigger than her body, and her tail bei=
ng cut
off exceedingly close, gave an air of injured innocence to the interesting
animal which rendered her a favorite with all.
And Pompey, my
negro!--sweet Pompey! how shall I ever forget thee? I had taken Pompey's ar=
m.
He was three feet in height (I like to be particular) and about seventy, or
perhaps eighty, years of age. He had bow-legs and was corpulent. His mouth
should not be called small, nor his ears short. His teeth, however, were li=
ke
pearl, and his large full eyes were deliciously white. Nature had endowed h=
im
with no neck, and had placed his ankles (as usual with that race) in the mi=
ddle
of the upper portion of the feet. He was clad with a striking simplicity. H=
is sole
garments were a stock of nine inches in height, and a nearly--new drab over=
coat
which had formerly been in the service of the tall, stately, and illustrious
Dr. Moneypenny. It was a good overcoat. It was well cut. It was well made. =
The
coat was nearly new. Pompey held it up out of the dirt with both hands.
There were three
persons in our party, and two of them have already been the subject of rema=
rk.
There was a third--that person was myself. I am the Signora Psyche Zenobia.=
I
am not Suky Snobbs. My appearance is commanding. On the memorable occasion =
of
which I speak I was habited in a crimson satin dress, with a sky-blue Arabi=
an
mantelet. And the dress had trimmings of green agraffas, and seven graceful
flounces of the orange-colored auricula. I thus formed the third of the par=
ty.
There was the poodle. There was Pompey. There was myself. We were three. Th=
us it
is said there were originally but three Furies--Melty, Nimmy, and Hetty--Me=
ditation,
Memory, and Fiddling.
Leaning upon the =
arm
of the gallant Pompey, and attended at a respectable distance by Diana, I
proceeded down one of the populous and very pleasant streets of the now
deserted Edina. On a sudden, there presented itself to view a church--a Got=
hic
cathedral--vast, venerable, and with a tall steeple, which towered into the
sky. What madness now possessed me? Why did I rush upon my fate? I was seiz=
ed
with an uncontrollable desire to ascend the giddy pinnacle, and then survey=
the
immense extent of the city. The door of the cathedral stood invitingly open=
. My
destiny prevailed. I entered the ominous archway. Where then was my guardian
angel?--if indeed such angels there be. If! Distressing monosyllable! what
world of mystery, and meaning, and doubt, and uncertainty is there involved=
in
thy two letters! I entered the ominous archway! I entered; and, without inj=
ury
to my orange-colored auriculas, I passed beneath the portal, and emerged wi=
thin
the vestibule. Thus it is said the immense river Alfred passed, unscathed, =
and
unwetted, beneath the sea.
I thought the
staircase would never have an end. Round! Yes, they went round and up, and
round and up and round and up, until I could not help surmising, with the
sagacious Pompey, upon whose supporting arm I leaned in all the confidence =
of
early affection--I could not help surmising that the upper end of the
continuous spiral ladder had been accidentally, or perhaps designedly, remo=
ved.
I paused for breath; and, in the meantime, an accident occurred of too
momentous a nature in a moral, and also in a metaphysical point of view, to=
be
passed over without notice. It appeared to me--indeed I was quite confident=
of
the fact--I could not be mistaken--no! I had, for some moments, carefully a=
nd
anxiously observed the motions of my Diana--I say that I could not be
mistaken--Diana smelt a rat! At once I called Pompey's attention to the
subject, and he--he agreed with me. There was then no longer any reasonable
room for doubt. The rat had been smelled--and by Diana. Heavens! shall I ev=
er
forget the intense excitement of the moment? Alas! what is the boasted
intellect of man? The rat!--it was there--that is to say, it was somewhere.
Diana smelled the rat. I--I could not! Thus it is said the Prussian Isis ha=
s,
for some persons, a sweet and very powerful perfume, while to others it is
perfectly scentless.
The staircase had
been surmounted, and there were now only three or four more upward steps
intervening between us and the summit. We still ascended, and now only one =
step
remained. One step! One little, little step! Upon one such little step in t=
he
great staircase of human life how vast a sum of human happiness or misery
depends! I thought of myself, then of Pompey, and then of the mysterious and
inexplicable destiny which surrounded us. I thought of Pompey!--alas, I tho=
ught
of love! I thought of my many false steps which have been taken, and may be
taken again. I resolved to be more cautious, more reserved. I abandoned the=
arm
of Pompey, and, without his assistance, surmounted the one remaining step, =
and
gained the chamber of the belfry. I was followed immediately afterward by my
poodle. Pompey alone remained behind. I stood at the head of the staircase,=
and
encouraged him to ascend. He stretched forth to me his hand, and unfortunat=
ely
in so doing was forced to abandon his firm hold upon the overcoat. Will the
gods never cease their persecution? The overcoat is dropped, and, with one =
of
his feet, Pompey stepped upon the long and trailing skirt of the overcoat. =
He
stumbled and fell--this consequence was inevitable. He fell forward, and, w=
ith his
accursed head, striking me full in the--in the breast, precipitated me
headlong, together with himself, upon the hard, filthy, and detestable floo=
r of
the belfry. But my revenge was sure, sudden, and complete. Seizing him
furiously by the wool with both hands, I tore out a vast quantity of black,=
and
crisp, and curling material, and tossed it from me with every manifestation=
of
disdain. It fell among the ropes of the belfry and remained. Pompey arose, =
and
said no word. But he regarded me piteously with his large eyes and--sighed.=
Ye
Gods--that sigh! It sunk into my heart. And the hair--the wool! Could I have
reached that wool I would have bathed it with my tears, in testimony of reg=
ret.
But alas! it was now far beyond my grasp. As it dangled among the cordage of
the bell, I fancied it alive. I fancied that it stood on end with indignati=
on.
Thus the happy-dandy Flos Aeris of Java bears, it is said, a beautiful flow=
er,
which will live when pulled up by the roots. The natives suspend it by a co=
rd
from the ceiling and enjoy its fragrance for years.
Our quarrel was n=
ow
made up, and we looked about the room for an aperture through which to surv=
ey
the city of Edina. Windows there were none. The sole light admitted into the
gloomy chamber proceeded from a square opening, about a foot in diameter, a=
t a
height of about seven feet from the floor. Yet what will the energy of true
genius not effect? I resolved to clamber up to this hole. A vast quantity of
wheels, pinions, and other cabalistic--looking machinery stood opposite the=
hole,
close to it; and through the hole there passed an iron rod from the machine=
ry.
Between the wheels and the wall where the hole lay there was barely room fo=
r my
body--yet I was desperate, and determined to persevere. I called Pompey to =
my
side.
"You perceive
that aperture, Pompey. I wish to look through it. You will stand here just
beneath the hole--so. Now, hold out one of your hands, Pompey, and let me s=
tep
upon it--thus. Now, the other hand, Pompey, and with its aid I will get upon
your shoulders."
He did every thin=
g I
wished, and I found, upon getting up, that I could easily pass my head and =
neck
through the aperture. The prospect was sublime. Nothing could be more
magnificent. I merely paused a moment to bid Diana behave herself, and assu=
re
Pompey that I would be considerate and bear as lightly as possible upon his
shoulders. I told him I would be tender of his feelings--ossi tender que
beefsteak. Having done this justice to my faithful friend, I gave myself up
with great zest and enthusiasm to the enjoyment of the scene which so
obligingly spread itself out before my eyes.
Upon this subject,
however, I shall forbear to dilate. I will not describe the city of Edinbur=
gh.
Every one has been to the city of Edinburgh. Every one has been to
Edinburgh--the classic Edina. I will confine myself to the momentous detail=
s of
my own lamentable adventure. Having, in some measure, satisfied my curiosit=
y in
regard to the extent, situation, and general appearance of the city, I had
leisure to survey the church in which I was, and the delicate architecture =
of
the steeple. I observed that the aperture through which I had thrust my head
was an opening in the dial-plate of a gigantic clock, and must have appeare=
d, from
the street, as a large key-hole, such as we see in the face of the French
watches. No doubt the true object was to admit the arm of an attendant, to
adjust, when necessary, the hands of the clock from within. I observed also,
with surprise, the immense size of these hands, the longest of which could =
not
have been less than ten feet in length, and, where broadest, eight or nine
inches in breadth. They were of solid steel apparently, and their edges
appeared to be sharp. Having noticed these particulars, and some others, I
again turned my eyes upon the glorious prospect below, and soon became abso=
rbed
in contemplation.
From this, after =
some
minutes, I was aroused by the voice of Pompey, who declared that he could s=
tand
it no longer, and requested that I would be so kind as to come down. This w=
as
unreasonable, and I told him so in a speech of some length. He replied, but
with an evident misunderstanding of my ideas upon the subject. I accordingly
grew angry, and told him in plain words, that he was a fool, that he had
committed an ignoramus e-clench-eye, that his notions were mere insommary
Bovis, and his words little better than an ennemywerrybor'em. With this he
appeared satisfied, and I resumed my contemplations.
It might have been
half an hour after this altercation when, as I was deeply absorbed in the
heavenly scenery beneath me, I was startled by something very cold which
pressed with a gentle pressure on the back of my neck. It is needless to say
that I felt inexpressibly alarmed. I knew that Pompey was beneath my feet, =
and
that Diana was sitting, according to my explicit directions, upon her hind
legs, in the farthest corner of the room. What could it be? Alas! I but too
soon discovered. Turning my head gently to one side, I perceived, to my ext=
reme
horror, that the huge, glittering, scimetar-like minute-hand of the clock h=
ad,
in the course of its hourly revolution, descended upon my neck. There was, =
I knew,
not a second to be lost. I pulled back at once--but it was too late. There =
was
no chance of forcing my head through the mouth of that terrible trap in whi=
ch
it was so fairly caught, and which grew narrower and narrower with a rapidi=
ty
too horrible to be conceived. The agony of that moment is not to be imagine=
d. I
threw up my hands and endeavored, with all my strength, to force upward the
ponderous iron bar. I might as well have tried to lift the cathedral itself.
Down, down, down it came, closer and yet closer. I screamed to Pompey for a=
id;
but he said that I had hurt his feelings by calling him 'an ignorant old
squint-eye:' I yelled to Diana; but she only said 'bow-wow-wow,' and that I=
had
told her 'on no account to stir from the corner.' Thus I had no relief to e=
xpect
from my associates.
Meantime the
ponderous and terrific Scythe of Time (for I now discovered the literal imp=
ort
of that classical phrase) had not stopped, nor was it likely to stop, in it=
s career.
Down and still down, it came. It had already buried its sharp edge a full i=
nch
in my flesh, and my sensations grew indistinct and confused. At one time I
fancied myself in Philadelphia with the stately Dr. Moneypenny, at another =
in
the back parlor of Mr. Blackwood receiving his invaluable instructions. And
then again the sweet recollection of better and earlier times came over me,=
and
I thought of that happy period when the world was not all a desert, and Pom=
pey
not altogether cruel.
The ticking of the
machinery amused me. Amused me, I say, for my sensations now bordered upon
perfect happiness, and the most trifling circumstances afforded me pleasure.
The eternal click-clak, click-clak, click-clak of the clock was the most
melodious of music in my ears, and occasionally even put me in mind of the
graceful sermonic harangues of Dr. Ollapod. Then there were the great figur=
es
upon the dial-plate--how intelligent how intellectual, they all looked! And
presently they took to dancing the Mazurka, and I think it was the figure V.
who performed the most to my satisfaction. She was evidently a lady of
breeding. None of your swaggerers, and nothing at all indelicate in her
motions. She did the pirouette to admiration--whirling round upon her apex.=
I
made an endeavor to hand her a chair, for I saw that she appeared fatigued =
with
her exertions--and it was not until then that I fully perceived my lamentab=
le
situation. Lamentable indeed! The bar had buried itself two inches in my ne=
ck.
I was aroused to a sense of exquisite pain. I prayed for death, and, in the
agony of the moment, could not help repeating those exquisite verses of the
poet Miguel De Cervantes:
Vanny Buren, tan
escondida
Query no te senty
venny
Pork and pleasur=
e,
delly morry
Nommy, torny, da=
rry,
widdy!
But now a new hor=
ror
presented itself, and one indeed sufficient to startle the strongest nerves=
. My
eyes, from the cruel pressure of the machine, were absolutely starting from
their sockets. While I was thinking how I should possibly manage without th=
em,
one actually tumbled out of my head, and, rolling down the steep side of the
steeple, lodged in the rain gutter which ran along the eaves of the main
building. The loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent air of
independence and contempt with which it regarded me after it was out. There=
it
lay in the gutter just under my nose, and the airs it gave itself would have
been ridiculous had they not been disgusting. Such a winking and blinking w=
ere
never before seen. This behavior on the part of my eye in the gutter was not
only irritating on account of its manifest insolence and shameful ingratitu=
de,
but was also exceedingly inconvenient on account of the sympathy which alwa=
ys
exists between two eyes of the same head, however far apart. I was forced, =
in a
manner, to wink and to blink, whether I would or not, in exact concert with=
the
scoundrelly thing that lay just under my nose. I was presently relieved,
however, by the dropping out of the other eye. In falling it took the same =
direction
(possibly a concerted plot) as its fellow. Both rolled out of the gutter to=
gether,
and in truth I was very glad to get rid of them.
The bar was now f=
our
inches and a half deep in my neck, and there was only a little bit of skin =
to
cut through. My sensations were those of entire happiness, for I felt that =
in a
few minutes, at farthest, I should be relieved from my disagreeable situati=
on.
And in this expectation I was not at all deceived. At twenty-five minutes p=
ast five
in the afternoon, precisely, the huge minute-hand had proceeded sufficiently
far on its terrible revolution to sever the small remainder of my neck. I w=
as
not sorry to see the head which had occasioned me so much embarrassment at
length make a final separation from my body. It first rolled down the side =
of
the steeple, then lodge, for a few seconds, in the gutter, and then made its
way, with a plunge, into the middle of the street.
I will candidly
confess that my feelings were now of the most singular--nay, of the most
mysterious, the most perplexing and incomprehensible character. My senses w=
ere
here and there at one and the same moment. With my head I imagined, at one
time, that I, the head, was the real Signora Psyche Zenobia--at another I f=
elt
convinced that myself, the body, was the proper identity. To clear my ideas=
on
this topic I felt in my pocket for my snuff-box, but, upon getting it, and =
endeavoring
to apply a pinch of its grateful contents in the ordinary manner, I became
immediately aware of my peculiar deficiency, and threw the box at once down=
to
my head. It took a pinch with great satisfaction, and smiled me an
acknowledgement in return. Shortly afterward it made me a speech, which I c=
ould
hear but indistinctly without ears. I gathered enough, however, to know tha=
t it
was astonished at my wishing to remain alive under such circumstances. In t=
he concluding
sentences it quoted the noble words of Ariosto--
Il pover hommy c=
he non
sera corty
And have a combat
tenty erry morty; thus comparing me to the hero who, in the heat of the com=
bat,
not perceiving that he was dead, continued to contest the battle with
inextinguishable valor. There was nothing now to prevent my getting down fr=
om
my elevation, and I did so. What it was that Pompey saw so very peculiar in=
my
appearance I have never yet been able to find out. The fellow opened his mo=
uth
from ear to ear, and shut his two eyes as if he were endeavoring to crack n=
uts
between the lids. Finally, throwing off his overcoat, he made one spring for
the staircase and disappeared. I hurled after the scoundrel these vehement
words of Demosthenes--
Andrew O'Phlegeth=
on,
you really make haste to fly, and then turned to the darling of my heart, to
the one-eyed! the shaggy-haired Diana. Alas! what a horrible vision affront=
ed
my eyes? Was that a rat I saw skulking into his hole? Are these the picked
bones of the little angel who has been cruelly devoured by the monster? Ye
gods! and what do I behold--is that the departed spirit, the shade, the gho=
st,
of my beloved puppy, which I perceive sitting with a grace so melancholy, in
the corner? Hearken! for she speaks, and, heavens! it is in the German of
Schiller--
"Unt =
stubby
duk, so stubby dun Duk
she! duk she!"
Alas! and =
are
not her words too true?
"And =
if I
died, at least I died For
thee--for thee."
Sweet creature! s=
he
too has sacrificed herself in my behalf. Dogless, niggerless, headless, what
now remains for the unhappy Signora Psyche Zenobia? Alas--nothing! I have d=
one.
MYSTIFICATION
Slid, if these b=
e your
"passados" and "montantes," I'll have none o' the=
m.
--NED KNOWLES.
THE BARON RITZNER=
VON
JUNG was a noble Hungarian family, every member of which (at least as far b=
ack
into antiquity as any certain records extend) was more or less remarkable f=
or
talent of some description--the majority for that species of grotesquerie in
conception of which Tieck, a scion of the house, has given a vivid, althoug=
h by
no means the most vivid exemplifications. My acquaintance with Ritzner
commenced at the magnificent Chateau Jung, into which a train of droll
adventures, not to be made public, threw a place in his regard, and here, w=
ith
somewhat more difficulty, a partial insight into his mental conformation. I=
n later
days this insight grew more clear, as the intimacy which had at first permi=
tted
it became more close; and when, after three years of the character of the B=
aron
Ritzner von Jung.
I remember the bu=
zz
of curiosity which his advent excited within the college precincts on the n=
ight
of the twenty-fifth of June. I remember still more distinctly, that while he
was pronounced by all parties at first sight "the most remarkable man =
in
the world," no person made any attempt at accounting for his opinion. =
That
he was unique appeared so undeniable, that it was deemed impertinent to inq=
uire
wherein the uniquity consisted. But, letting this matter pass for the prese=
nt,
I will merely observe that, from the first moment of his setting foot within
the limits of the university, he began to exercise over the habits, manners,
persons, purses, and propensities of the whole community which surrounded h=
im,
an influence the most extensive and despotic, yet at the same time the most
indefinite and altogether unaccountable. Thus the brief period of his resid=
ence
at the university forms an era in its annals, and is characterized by all
classes of people appertaining to it or its dependencies as "that very=
extraordinary
epoch forming the domination of the Baron Ritzner von Jung." then of no
particular age, by which I mean that it was impossible to form a guess
respecting his age by any data personally afforded. He might have been fift=
een
or fifty, and was twenty-one years and seven months. He was by no means a
handsome man--perhaps the reverse. The contour of his face was somewhat ang=
ular
and harsh. His forehead was lofty and very fair; his nose a snub; his eyes
large, heavy, glassy, and meaningless. About the mouth there was more to be
observed. The lips were gently protruded, and rested the one upon the other,
after such a fashion that it is impossible to conceive any, even the most
complex, combination of human features, conveying so entirely, and so singl=
y,
the idea of unmitigated gravity, solemnity and repose.
It will be percei=
ved,
no doubt, from what I have already said, that the Baron was one of those hu=
man
anomalies now and then to be found, who make the science of mystification t=
he
study and the business of their lives. For this science a peculiar turn of =
mind
gave him instinctively the cue, while his physical appearance afforded him
unusual facilities for carrying his prospects into effect. I quaintly termed
the domination of the Baron Ritzner von Jung, ever rightly entered into the
mystery which overshadowed his character. I truly think that no person at t=
he university,
with the exception of myself, ever suspected him to be capable of a joke,
verbal or practical:--the old bull-dog at the garden-gate would sooner have
been accused,--the ghost of Heraclitus,--or the wig of the Emeritus Profess=
or
of Theology. This, too, when it was evident that the most egregious and
unpardonable of all conceivable tricks, whimsicalities and buffooneries were
brought about, if not directly by him, at least plainly through his
intermediate agency or connivance. The beauty, if I may so call it, of his =
art
mystifique, lay in that consummate ability (resulting from an almost intuit=
ive knowledge
of human nature, and a most wonderful self-possession,) by means of which he
never failed to make it appear that the drolleries he was occupied in bring=
ing
to a point, arose partly in spite, and partly in consequence of the laudable
efforts he was making for their prevention, and for the preservation of the
good order and dignity of Alma Mater. The deep, the poignant, the overwhelm=
ing
mortification, which upon each such failure of his praise worthy endeavors,
would suffuse every lineament of his countenance, left not the slightest ro=
om for
doubt of his sincerity in the bosoms of even his most skeptical companions.=
The
adroitness, too, was no less worthy of observation by which he contrived to
shift the sense of the grotesque from the creator to the created--from his =
own
person to the absurdities to which he had given rise. In no instance before
that of which I speak, have I known the habitual mystific escape the natural
consequence of his manoevres--an attachment of the ludicrous to his own
character and person. Continually enveloped in an atmosphere of whim, my fr=
iend
appeared to live only for the severities of society; and not even his own
household have for a moment associated other ideas than those of the rigid =
and
august with the memory of the Baron Ritzner von Jung, the demon of the dolce
far niente lay like an incubus upon the university. Nothing, at least, was =
done
beyond eating and drinking and making merry. The apartments of the students
were converted into so many pot-houses, and there was no pot-house of them =
all
more famous or more frequented than that of the Baron. Our carousals here w=
ere
many, and boisterous, and long, and never unfruitful of events.
Upon one occasion=
we
had protracted our sitting until nearly daybreak, and an unusual quantity of
wine had been drunk. The company consisted of seven or eight individuals
besides the Baron and myself. Most of these were young men of wealth, of hi=
gh connection,
of great family pride, and all alive with an exaggerated sense of honor. Th=
ey
abounded in the most ultra German opinions respecting the duello. To these
Quixotic notions some recent Parisian publications, backed by three or four
desperate and fatal conversation, during the greater part of the night, had=
run
wild upon the all--engrossing topic of the times. The Baron, who had been u=
nusually
silent and abstracted in the earlier portion of the evening, at length seem=
ed
to be aroused from his apathy, took a leading part in the discourse, and dw=
elt
upon the benefits, and more especially upon the beauties, of the received c=
ode
of etiquette in passages of arms with an ardor, an eloquence, an
impressiveness, and an affectionateness of manner, which elicited the warme=
st
enthusiasm from his hearers in general, and absolutely staggered even mysel=
f,
who well knew him to be at heart a ridiculer of those very points for which=
he
contended, and especially to hold the entire fanfaronade of duelling etique=
tte
in the sovereign contempt which it deserves.
Looking around me
during a pause in the Baron's discourse (of which my readers may gather some
faint idea when I say that it bore resemblance to the fervid, chanting,
monotonous, yet musical sermonic manner of Coleridge), I perceived symptoms=
of
even more than the general interest in the countenance of one of the party.
This gentleman, whom I shall call Hermann, was an original in every
respect--except, perhaps, in the single particular that he was a very great
fool. He contrived to bear, however, among a particular set at the universi=
ty,
a reputation for deep metaphysical thinking, and, I believe, for some logic=
al
talent. As a duellist he had acquired who had fallen at his hands; but they
were many. He was a man of courage undoubtedly. But it was upon his minute =
acquaintance
with the etiquette of the duello, and the nicety of his sense of honor, tha=
t he
most especially prided himself. These things were a hobby which he rode to =
the
death. To Ritzner, ever upon the lookout for the grotesque, his peculiariti=
es
had for a long time past afforded food for mystification. Of this, however,=
I
was not aware; although, in the present instance, I saw clearly that someth=
ing
of a whimsical nature was upon the tapis with my friend, and that Hermann w=
as its
especial object.
As the former
proceeded in his discourse, or rather monologue I perceived the excitement =
of
the latter momently increasing. At length he spoke; offering some objection=
to
a point insisted upon by R., and giving his reasons in detail. To these the
Baron replied at length (still maintaining his exaggerated tone of sentimen=
t)
and concluding, in what I thought very bad taste, with a sarcasm and a snee=
r.
The hobby of Hermann now took the bit in his teeth. This I could discern by=
the
studied hair-splitting farrago of his rejoinder. His last words I distinctly
remember. "Your opinions, allow me to say, Baron von Jung, although in=
the
main correct, are, in many nice points, discreditable to yourself and to the
university of which you are a member. In a few respects they are even unwor=
thy
of serious refutation. I would say more than this, sir, were it not for the
fear of giving you offence (here the speaker smiled blandly), I would say, =
sir,
that your opinions are not the opinions to be expected from a gentleman.&qu=
ot;
As Hermann comple=
ted
this equivocal sentence, all eyes were turned upon the Baron. He became pal=
e,
then excessively red; then, dropping his pocket-handkerchief, stooped to
recover it, when I caught a glimpse of his countenance, while it could be s=
een
by no one else at the table. It was radiant with the quizzical expression w=
hich
was its natural character, but which I had never seen it assume except when=
we
were alone together, and when he unbent himself freely. In an instant after=
ward
he stood erect, confronting Hermann; and so total an alteration of countena=
nce
in so short a period I certainly never saw before. For a moment I even fanc=
ied
that I had misconceived him, and that he was in sober earnest. He appeared =
to
be stifling with passion, and his face was cadaverously white. For a short =
time
he remained silent, apparently striving to master his emotion. Having at le=
ngth
seemingly succeeded, he reached a decanter which stood near him, saying as =
he
held it firmly clenched "The language you have thought proper to emplo=
y,
Mynheer Hermann, in addressing yourself to me, is objectionable in so many
particulars, that I have neither temper nor time for specification. That my
opinions, however, are not the opinions to be expected from a gentleman, is=
an
observation so directly offensive as to allow me but one line of conduct. S=
ome
courtesy, nevertheless, is due to the presence of this company, and to
yourself, at this moment, as my guest. You will pardon me, therefore, if, u=
pon this
consideration, I deviate slightly from the general usage among gentlemen in
similar cases of personal affront. You will forgive me for the moderate tax=
I
shall make upon your imagination, and endeavor to consider, for an instant,=
the
reflection of your person in yonder mirror as the living Mynheer Hermann
himself. This being done, there will be no difficulty whatever. I shall
discharge this decanter of wine at your image in yonder mirror, and thus fu=
lfil
all the spirit, if not the exact letter, of resentment for your insult, whi=
le
the necessity of physical violence to your real person will be obviated.&qu=
ot;
With these words =
he
hurled the decanter, full of wine, against the mirror which hung directly
opposite Hermann; striking the reflection of his person with great precisio=
n,
and of course shattering the glass into fragments. The whole company at once
started to their feet, and, with the exception of myself and Ritzner, took
their departure. As Hermann went out, the Baron whispered me that I should
follow him and make an offer of my services. To this I agreed; not knowing
precisely what to make of so ridiculous a piece of business.
The duellist acce=
pted
my aid with his stiff and ultra recherche air, and, taking my arm, led me to
his apartment. I could hardly forbear laughing in his face while he proceed=
ed
to discuss, with the profoundest gravity, what he termed "the refinedly
peculiar character" of the insult he had received. After a tiresome
harangue in his ordinary style, he took down from his book shelves a number=
of
musty volumes on the subject of the duello, and entertained me for a long t=
ime
with their contents; reading aloud, and commenting earnestly as he read. I =
can
just remember the titles of some of the works. There were the "Ordonna=
nce
of Philip le Bel on Single Combat"; the "Theatre of Honor," =
by
Favyn, and a treatise "On the Permission of Duels," by Andiguier.=
He
displayed, also, with much pomposity, Brantome's "Memoirs of
Duels,"--published at Cologne, 1666, in the types of Elzevir--a precio=
us and
unique vellum-paper volume, with a fine margin, and bound by Derome. But he
requested my attention particularly, and with an air of mysterious sagacity=
, to
a thick octavo, written in barbarous Latin by one Hedelin, a Frenchman, and
having the quaint title, "Duelli Lex Scripta, et non; aliterque."=
From
this he read me one of the drollest chapters in the world concerning
"Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se," about
half of which, he averred, was strictly applicable to his own "refined=
ly
peculiar" case, although not one syllable of the whole matter could I
understand for the life of me. Having finished the chapter, he closed the b=
ook,
and demanded what I thought necessary to be done. I replied that I had enti=
re
confidence in his superior delicacy of feeling, and would abide by what he
proposed. With this answer he seemed flattered, and sat down to write a not=
e to
the Baron. It ran thus:
Sir,--My friend, =
M.
P.-, will hand you this note. I find it incumbent upon me to request, at yo=
ur
earliest convenience, an explanation of this evening's occurrences at your
chambers. In the event of your declining this request, Mr. P. will be happy=
to
arrange, with any friend whom you may appoint, the steps preliminary to a
meeting.
With sentiments o=
f perfect
respect,
Your most humble
servant,
JOHANN HERMAN.
To the Baron Ritz=
ner
von Jung,
Not knowing what
better to do, I called upon Ritzner with this epistle. He bowed as I presen=
ted
it; then, with a grave countenance, motioned me to a seat. Having perused t=
he
cartel, he wrote the following reply, which I carried to Hermann.
SIR,--Through our
common friend, Mr. P., I have received your note of this evening. Upon due
reflection I frankly admit the propriety of the explanation you suggest. Th=
is
being admitted, I still find great difficulty, (owing to the refinedly pecu=
liar
nature of our disagreement, and of the personal affront offered on my part,=
) in
so wording what I have to say by way of apology, as to meet all the minute
exigencies, and all the variable shadows, of the case. I have great relianc=
e,
however, on that extreme delicacy of discrimination, in matters appertainin=
g to
the rules of etiquette, for which you have been so long and so pre-eminently
distinguished. With perfect certainty, therefore, of being comprehended, I =
beg
leave, in lieu of offering any sentiments of my own, to refer you to the
opinions of Sieur Hedelin, as set forth in the ninth paragraph of the chapt=
er
of "Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se," in
his "Duelli Lex scripta, et non; aliterque." The nicety of your
discernment in all the matters here treated, will be sufficient, I am assur=
ed,
to convince you that the mere circumstance of me referring you to this
admirable passage, ought to satisfy your request, as a man of honor, for
explanation.
With sentiments of
profound respect,
Your most obedient
servant,
VON JUNG.
The Herr Johann
Hermann
Hermann commenced=
the
perusal of this epistle with a scowl, which, however, was converted into a
smile of the most ludicrous self-complacency as he came to the rigmarole ab=
out
Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se. Having finished
reading, he begged me, with the blandest of all possible smiles, to be seat=
ed, while
he made reference to the treatise in question. Turning to the passage
specified, he read it with great care to himself, then closed the book, and
desired me, in my character of confidential acquaintance, to express to the
Baron von Jung his exalted sense of his chivalrous behavior, and, in that of
second, to assure him that the explanation offered was of the fullest, the =
most
honorable, and the most unequivocally satisfactory nature.
Somewhat amazed at
all this, I made my retreat to the Baron. He seemed to receive Hermann's
amicable letter as a matter of course, and after a few words of general
conversation, went to an inner room and brought out the everlasting treatise
"Duelli Lex scripta, et non; aliterque." He handed me the volume =
and
asked me to look over some portion of it. I did so, but to little purpose, =
not
being able to gather the least particle of meaning. He then took the book
himself, and read me a chapter aloud. To my surprise, what he read proved t=
o be
a most horribly absurd account of a duel between two baboons. He now explai=
ned
the mystery; showing that the volume, as it appeared prima facie, was writt=
en
upon the plan of the nonsense verses of Du Bartas; that is to say, the lang=
uage
was ingeniously framed so as to present to the ear all the outward signs of=
intelligibility,
and even of profundity, while in fact not a shadow of meaning existed. The =
key
to the whole was found in leaving out every second and third word alternate=
ly,
when there appeared a series of ludicrous quizzes upon a single combat as
practised in modern times.
The Baron afterwa=
rds
informed me that he had purposely thrown the treatise in Hermann's way two =
or
three weeks before the adventure, and that he was satisfied, from the gener=
al
tenor of his conversation, that he had studied it with the deepest attentio=
n,
and firmly believed it to be a work of unusual merit. Upon this hint he
proceeded. Hermann would have died a thousand deaths rather than acknowledge
his inability to understand anything and everything in the universe that had
ever been written about the duello.
=
&nb=
sp; =
Littleton Barry.
DIDDLING - CONSIDERED AS =
ONE
OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.
Hey, diddle
diddle The c=
at and
the fiddle
SINCE the world b=
egan
there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a Jeremiad about usury, and was
called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a
great man in a small way. The other gave name to the most important of the
Exact Sciences, and was a great man in a great way--I may say, indeed, in t=
he
very greatest of ways.
Diddling--or the
abstract idea conveyed by the verb to diddle--is sufficiently well understo=
od.
Yet the fact, the deed, the thing diddling, is somewhat difficult to define=
. We
may get, however, at a tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand,=
by
defining--not the thing, diddling, in itself--but man, as an animal that
diddles. Had Plato but hit upon this, he would have been spared the affront=
of
the picked chicken.
Very pertinently =
it
was demanded of Plato, why a picked chicken, which was clearly "a biped
without feathers," was not, according to his own definition, a man? Bu=
t I
am not to be bothered by any similar query. Man is an animal that diddles, =
and
there is no animal that diddles but man. It will take an entire hen-coop of
picked chickens to get over that.
What constitutes =
the
essence, the nare, the principle of diddling is, in fact, peculiar to the c=
lass
of creatures that wear coats and pantaloons. A crow thieves; a fox cheats; a
weasel outwits; a man diddles. To diddle is his destiny. "Man was made=
to
mourn," says the poet. But not so:--he was made to diddle. This is his
aim--his object--his end. And for this reason when a man's diddled we say h=
e's
"done."
Diddling, rightly
considered, is a compound, of which the ingredients are minuteness, interes=
t,
perseverance, ingenuity, audacity, nonchalance, originality, impertinence, =
and
grin.
Minuteness:--Your
diddler is minute. His operations are upon a small scale. His business is
retail, for cash, or approved paper at sight. Should he ever be tempted into
magnificent speculation, he then, at once, loses his distinctive features, =
and
becomes what we term "financier." This latter word conveys the
diddling idea in every respect except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus=
be
regarded as a banker in petto--a "financial operation," as a didd=
le
at Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to "Flaccus"--as=
a
Mastodon to a mouse--as the tail of a comet to that of a pig.
Interest:--Your
diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of
the diddle. He has an object in view--his pocket--and yours. He regards alw=
ays
the main chance. He looks to Number One. You are Number Two, and must look =
to
yourself.
Perseverance:--Yo=
ur
diddler perseveres. He is not readily discouraged. Should even the banks br=
eak,
he cares nothing about it. He steadily pursues his end, and 'Ut canis a cor=
io
nunquam absterrebitur uncto,' so he never lets go of his game.
Ingenuity:--Your
diddler is ingenious. He has constructiveness large. He understands plot. He
invents and circumvents. Were he not Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were he
not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for tro=
ut.
Audacity:--Your
diddler is audacious.--He is a bold man. He carries the war into Africa. He
conquers all by assault. He would not fear the daggers of Frey Herren. With=
a
little more prudence Dick Turpin would have made a good diddler; with a tri=
fle
less blarney, Daniel O'Connell; with a pound or two more brains Charles the
Twelfth.
Nonchalance:--Your
diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous. He never had any nerves. H=
e is
never seduced into a flurry. He is never put out--unless put out of doors. =
He
is cool--cool as a cucumber. He is calm--"calm as a smile from Lady
Bury." He is easy--easy as an old glove, or the damsels of ancient Bai=
ae.
Originality:--Your
diddler is original--conscientiously so. His thoughts are his own. He would
scorn to employ those of another. A stale trick is his aversion. He would
return a purse, I am sure, upon discovering that he had obtained it by an
unoriginal diddle.
Impertinence.--Yo=
ur
diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts h=
is
hands in his trowsers' pockets. He sneers in your face. He treads on your
corns. He eats your dinner, he drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he
pulls your nose, he kicks your poodle, and he kisses your wife.
Grin:--Your true
diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody sees but himself. He grins
when his daily work is done--when his allotted labors are accomplished--at
night in his own closet, and altogether for his own private entertainment. =
He
goes home. He locks his door. He divests himself of his clothes. He puts out
his candle. He gets into bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this
done, and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of cour=
se.
I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a grin.
The origin of the
diddle is referrable to the infancy of the Human Race. Perhaps the first
diddler was Adam. At all events, we can trace the science back to a very re=
mote
period of antiquity. The moderns, however, have brought it to a perfection
never dreamed of by our thick-headed progenitors. Without pausing to speak =
of
the "old saws," therefore, I shall content myself with a compendi=
ous
account of some of the more "modern instances."
A very good diddl=
e is
this. A housekeeper in want of a sofa, for instance, is seen to go in and o=
ut
of several cabinet warehouses. At length she arrives at one offering an exc=
ellent
variety. She is accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble
individual at the door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and upon
inquiring the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named at leas=
t twenty
per cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to make the purchase, ge=
ts a
bill and receipt, leaves her address, with a request that the article be se=
nt
home as speedily as possible, and retires amid a profusion of bows from the
shopkeeper. The night arrives and no sofa. A servant is sent to make inquiry
about the delay. The whole transaction is denied. No sofa has been sold--no
money received--except by the diddler, who played shop-keeper for the nonce=
.
Our cabinet
warehouses are left entirely unattended, and thus afford every facility for=
a
trick of this kind. Visiters enter, look at furniture, and depart unheeded =
and
unseen. Should any one wish to purchase, or to inquire the price of an arti=
cle,
a bell is at hand, and this is considered amply sufficient.
Again, quite a
respectable diddle is this. A well-dressed individual enters a shop, makes a
purchase to the value of a dollar; finds, much to his vexation, that he has
left his pocket-book in another coat pocket; and so says to the shopkeeper-=
-
"My dear sir,
never mind; just oblige me, will you, by sending the bundle home? But stay!=
I
really believe that I have nothing less than a five dollar bill, even there.
However, you can send four dollars in change with the bundle, you know.&quo=
t;
"Very good,
sir," replies the shop-keeper, who entertains, at once, a lofty opinio=
n of
the high-mindedness of his customer. "I know fellows," he says to
himself, "who would just have put the goods under their arm, and walked
off with a promise to call and pay the dollar as they came by in the
afternoon."
A boy is sent with
the parcel and change. On the route, quite accidentally, he is met by the
purchaser, who exclaims:
"Ah! This is=
my
bundle, I see--I thought you had been home with it, long ago. Well, go on! =
My
wife, Mrs. Trotter, will give you the five dollars--I left instructions with
her to that effect. The change you might as well give to me--I shall want s=
ome
silver for the Post Office. Very good! One, two, is this a good
quarter?--three, four--quite right! Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, an=
d be
sure now and do not loiter on the way."
The boy doesn't
loiter at all--but he is a very long time in getting back from his errand--=
for
no lady of the precise name of Mrs. Trotter is to be discovered. He consoles
himself, however, that he has not been such a fool as to leave the goods
without the money, and re-entering his shop with a self-satisfied air, feels
sensibly hurt and indignant when his master asks him what has become of the
change.
A very simple did=
dle,
indeed, is this. The captain of a ship, which is about to sail, is presente=
d by
an official looking person with an unusually moderate bill of city charges.
Glad to get off so easily, and confused by a hundred duties pressing upon h=
im
all at once, he discharges the claim forthwith. In about fifteen minutes,
another and less reasonable bill is handed him by one who soon makes it evi=
dent
that the first collector was a diddler, and the original collection a diddl=
e.
And here, too, is=
a
somewhat similar thing. A steamboat is casting loose from the wharf. A
traveller, portmanteau in hand, is discovered running toward the wharf, at =
full
speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead halt, stoops, and picks up something from =
the
ground in a very agitated manner. It is a pocket-book, and--"Has any
gentleman lost a pocketbook?" he cries. No one can say that he has exa=
ctly
lost a pocket-book; but a great excitement ensues, when the treasure trove =
is
found to be of value. The boat, however, must not be detained.
"Time and ti=
de
wait for no man," says the captain.
"For God's s=
ake,
stay only a few minutes," says the finder of the book--"the true
claimant will presently appear."
"Can't
wait!" replies the man in authority; "cast off there, d'ye
hear?"
"What am I to
do?" asks the finder, in great tribulation. "I am about to leave =
the
country for some years, and I cannot conscientiously retain this large amou=
nt
in my possession. I beg your pardon, sir," [here he addresses a gentle=
man
on shore,] "but you have the air of an honest man. Will you confer upo=
n me
the favor of taking charge of this pocket-book--I know I can trust you--and=
of
advertising it? The notes, you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The
owner will, no doubt, insist upon rewarding you for your trouble--
"Me!--no,
you!--it was you who found the book."
"Well, if you
must have it so--I will take a small reward--just to satisfy your scruples.=
Let
me see--why these notes are all hundreds--bless my soul! a hundred is too m=
uch
to take--fifty would be quite enough, I am sure--
"Cast off
there!" says the captain.
"But then I =
have
no change for a hundred, and upon the whole, you had better--
"Cast off
there!" says the captain.
"Never
mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who has been examining his own
pocket-book for the last minute or so--"never mind! I can fix it--here=
is
a fifty on the Bank of North America--throw the book."
And the
over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked reluctance, and throws
the gentleman the book, as desired, while the steamboat fumes and fizzes on=
her
way. In about half an hour after her departure, the "large amount"=
; is
seen to be a "counterfeit presentment," and the whole thing a cap=
ital
diddle.
A bold diddle is
this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is to be held at a certain spot
which is accessible only by means of a free bridge. A diddler stations hims=
elf
upon this bridge, respectfully informs all passers by of the new county law,
which establishes a toll of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses and
donkeys, and so forth, and so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the
diddler goes home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well earne=
d.
This taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an excessively troubleso=
me thing.
A neat diddle is
this. A friend holds one of the diddler's promises to pay, filled up and si=
gned
in due form, upon the ordinary blanks printed in red ink. The diddler purch=
ases
one or two dozen of these blanks, and every day dips one of them in his sou=
p,
makes his dog jump for it, and finally gives it to him as a bonne bouche. T=
he
note arriving at maturity, the diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon =
the
friend, and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion. The friend =
produces
it from his escritoire, and is in the act of reaching it to the diddler, wh=
en
up jumps the diddler's dog and devours it forthwith. The diddler is not only
surprised but vexed and incensed at the absurd behavior of his dog, and
expresses his entire readiness to cancel the obligation at any moment when =
the
evidence of the obligation shall be forthcoming.
A very mean diddl=
e is
this. A lady is insulted in the street by a diddler's accomplice. The diddl=
er
himself flies to her assistance, and, giving his friend a comfortable
thrashing, insists upon attending the lady to her own door. He bows, with h=
is
hand upon his heart, and most respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats him=
, as
her deliverer, to walk in and be introduced to her big brother and her papa.
With a sigh, he declines to do so. "Is there no way, then, sir," =
she
murmurs, "in which I may be permitted to testify my gratitude?"
"Why, yes,
madam, there is. Will you be kind enough to lend me a couple of
shillings?"
In the first
excitement of the moment the lady decides upon fainting outright. Upon seco=
nd
thought, however, she opens her purse-strings and delivers the specie. Now
this, I say, is a diddle minute--for one entire moiety of the sum borrowed =
has
to be paid to the gentleman who had the trouble of performing the insult, a=
nd
who had then to stand still and be thrashed for performing it.
Rather a small but
still a scientific diddle is this. The diddler approaches the bar of a tave=
rn,
and demands a couple of twists of tobacco. These are handed to him, when,
having slightly examined them, he says:
"I don't much
like this tobacco. Here, take it back, and give me a glass of brandy and wa=
ter
in its place." The brandy and water is furnished and imbibed, and the
diddler makes his way to the door. But the voice of the tavern-keeper arres=
ts
him.
"I believe, =
sir,
you have forgotten to pay for your brandy and water."
"Pay for my
brandy and water!--didn't I give you the tobacco for the brandy and water? =
What
more would you have?"
"But, sir, if
you please, I don't remember that you paid me for the tobacco."
"What do you
mean by that, you scoundrel?--Didn't I give you back your tobacco? Isn't th=
at
your tobacco lying there? Do you expect me to pay for what I did not
take?"
"But, sir,&q=
uot;
says the publican, now rather at a loss what to say, "but sir-"
"But me no b=
uts,
sir," interrupts the diddler, apparently in very high dudgeon, and
slamming the door after him, as he makes his escape.--"But me no buts,
sir, and none of your tricks upon travellers."
Here again is a v=
ery
clever diddle, of which the simplicity is not its least recommendation. A p=
urse,
or pocket-book, being really lost, the loser inserts in one of the daily pa=
pers
of a large city a fully descriptive advertisement.
Whereupon our did=
dler
copies the facts of this advertisement, with a change of heading, of general
phraseology and address. The original, for instance, is long, and verbose, =
is
headed "A Pocket-Book Lost!" and requires the treasure, when foun=
d,
to be left at No. 1 Tom Street. The copy is brief, and being headed with
"Lost" only, indicates No. 2 Dick, or No. 3 Harry Street, as the
locality at which the owner may be seen. Moreover, it is inserted in at lea=
st
five or six of the daily papers of the day, while in point of time, it makes
its appearance only a few hours after the original. Should it be read by the
loser of the purse, he would hardly suspect it to have any reference to his=
own
misfortune. But, of course, the chances are five or six to one, that the fi=
nder
will repair to the address given by the diddler, rather than to that pointe=
d out
by the rightful proprietor. The former pays the reward, pockets the treasure
and decamps.
Quite an analogous
diddle is this. A lady of ton has dropped, some where in the street, a diam=
ond
ring of very unusual value. For its recovery, she offers some forty or fifty
dollars reward--giving, in her advertisement, a very minute description of =
the
gem, and of its settings, and declaring that, on its restoration at No. so =
and
so, in such and such Avenue, the reward would be paid instanter, without a =
single
question being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a day or two
afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of No. so and so, in such and such
Avenue; a servant appears; the lady of the house is asked for and is declar=
ed
to be out, at which astounding information, the visitor expresses the most
poignant regret. His business is of importance and concerns the lady hersel=
f.
In fact, he had the good fortune to find her diamond ring. But perhaps it w=
ould
be as well that he should call again. "By no means!" says the
servant; and "By no means!" says the lady's sister and the lady's
sister-in-law, who are summoned forthwith. The ring is clamorously identifi=
ed,
the reward is paid, and the finder nearly thrust out of doors. The lady ret=
urns
and expresses some little dissatisfaction with her sister and sister-in-law,
because they happen to have paid forty or fifty dollars for a fac-simile of=
her
diamond ring--a fac-simile made out of real pinch-beck and unquestionable
paste.
But as there is
really no end to diddling, so there would be none to this essay, were I eve=
n to
hint at half the variations, or inflections, of which this science is
susceptible. I must bring this paper, perforce, to a conclusion, and this I
cannot do better than by a summary notice of a very decent, but rather
elaborate diddle, of which our own city was made the theatre, not very long
ago, and which was subsequently repeated with success, in other still more
verdant localities of the Union. A middle-aged gentleman arrives in town fr=
om
parts unknown. He is remarkably precise, cautious, staid, and deliberate in=
his
demeanor. His dress is scrupulously neat, but plain, unostentatious. He wea=
rs a
white cravat, an ample waistcoat, made with an eye to comfort alone; thick-=
soled
cosy-looking shoes, and pantaloons without straps. He has the whole air, in
fact, of your well-to-do, sober-sided, exact, and respectable "man of
business," Par excellence--one of the stern and outwardly hard, intern=
ally
soft, sort of people that we see in the crack high comedies--fellows whose
words are so many bonds, and who are noted for giving away guineas, in char=
ity,
with the one hand, while, in the way of mere bargain, they exact the utterm=
ost
fraction of a farthing with the other.
He makes much ado
before he can get suited with a boarding house. He dislikes children. He has
been accustomed to quiet. His habits are methodical--and then he would pref=
er
getting into a private and respectable small family, piously inclined. Term=
s,
however, are no object--only he must insist upon settling his bill on the f=
irst
of every month, (it is now the second) and begs his landlady, when he final=
ly obtains
one to his mind, not on any account to forget his instructions upon this
point--but to send in a bill, and receipt, precisely at ten o'clock, on the
first day of every month, and under no circumstances to put it off to the
second.
These arrangements
made, our man of business rents an office in a reputable rather than a
fashionable quarter of the town. There is nothing he more despises than
pretense. "Where there is much show," he says, "there is sel=
dom
any thing very solid behind"--an observation which so profoundly impre=
sses
his landlady's fancy, that she makes a pencil memorandum of it forthwith, in
her great family Bible, on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.
The next step is =
to
advertise, after some such fashion as this, in the principal business
six-pennies of the city--the pennies are eschewed as not
"respectable"--and as demanding payment for all advertisements in=
advance.
Our man of business holds it as a point of his faith that work should never=
be
paid for until done.
"WANTED--The
advertisers, being about to commence extensive business operations in this
city, will require the services of three or four intelligent and competent
clerks, to whom a liberal salary will be paid. The very best recommendation=
s,
not so much for capacity, as for integrity, will be expected. Indeed, as the
duties to be performed involve high responsibilities, and large amounts of
money must necessarily pass through the hands of those engaged, it is deeme=
d advisable
to demand a deposit of fifty dollars from each clerk employed. No person ne=
ed
apply, therefore, who is not prepared to leave this sum in the possession of
the advertisers, and who cannot furnish the most satisfactory testimonials =
of
morality. Young gentlemen piously inclined will be preferred. Application
should be made between the hours of ten and eleven A. M., and four and five=
P.
M., of Messrs.
"Bogs, Hogs
Logs, Frogs & Co.,
"No. 110 Dog
Street"
By the thirty-fir=
st
day of the month, this advertisement has brought to the office of Messrs. B=
ogs,
Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company, some fifteen or twenty young gentlemen piou=
sly
inclined. But our man of business is in no hurry to conclude a contract with
any--no man of business is ever precipitate--and it is not until the most r=
igid
catechism in respect to the piety of each young gentleman's inclination, th=
at
his services are engaged and his fifty dollars receipted for, just by way of
proper precaution, on the part of the respectable firm of Bogs, Hogs, Logs,=
Frogs,
and Company. On the morning of the first day of the next month, the landlady
does not present her bill, according to promise--a piece of neglect for whi=
ch
the comfortable head of the house ending in ogs would no doubt have chided =
her
severely, could he have been prevailed upon to remain in town a day or two =
for
that purpose.
As it is, the
constables have had a sad time of it, running hither and thither, and all t=
hey
can do is to declare the man of business most emphatically, a "hen knee
high"--by which some persons imagine them to imply that, in fact, he i=
s n.
e. i.--by which again the very classical phrase non est inventus, is suppos=
ed
to be understood. In the meantime the young gentlemen, one and all, are
somewhat less piously inclined than before, while the landlady purchases a
shilling's worth of the Indian rubber, and very carefully obliterates the
pencil memorandum that some fool has made in her great family Bible, on the
broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.
THE ANGEL OF THE ODD - AN
EXTRAVAGANZA.
IT was a chilly
November afternoon. I had just consummated an unusually hearty dinner, of w=
hich
the dyspeptic truffe formed not the least important item, and was sitting a=
lone
in the dining-room, with my feet upon the fender, and at my elbow a small t=
able
which I had rolled up to the fire, and upon which were some apologies for
dessert, with some miscellaneous bottles of wine, spirit and liqueur. In the
morning I had been reading Glover's "Leonidas," Wilkie's "Ep=
igoniad,"
Lamartine's "Pilgrimage," Barlow's "Columbiad,"
Tuckermann's "Sicily," and Griswold's "Curiosities"; I =
am
willing to confess, therefore, that I now felt a little stupid. I made effo=
rt
to arouse myself by aid of frequent Lafitte, and, all failing, I betook mys=
elf
to a stray newspaper in despair. Having carefully perused the column of
"houses to let," and the column of "dogs lost," and then
the two columns of "wives and apprentices runaway," I attacked wi=
th
great resolution the editorial matter, and, reading it from beginning to end
without understanding a syllable, conceived the possibility of its being
Chinese, and so re-read it from the end to the beginning, but with no more
satisfactory result. I was about throwing away, in disgust,
"This folio=
of
four pages, happy work Which not e=
ven
critics criticise,"
when I felt my
attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which follows:
"The avenues=
to
death are numerous and strange. A London paper mentions the decease of a pe=
rson
from a singular cause. He was playing at 'puff the dart,' which is played w=
ith
a long needle inserted in some worsted, and blown at a target through a tin
tube. He placed the needle at the wrong end of the tube, and drawing his br=
eath
strongly to puff the dart forward with force, drew the needle into his thro=
at.
It entered the lungs, and in a few days killed him."
Upon seeing this I
fell into a great rage, without exactly knowing why. "This thing,"=
; I
exclaimed, "is a contemptible falsehood--a poor hoax--the lees of the =
invention
of some pitiable penny-a-liner--of some wretched concoctor of accidents in
Cocaigne. These fellows, knowing the extravagant gullibility of the age, set
their wits to work in the imagination of improbable possibilities---of odd
accidents, as they term them; but to a reflecting intellect (like mine,&quo=
t; I
added, in parenthesis, putting my forefinger unconsciously to the side of m=
y nose,)
"to a contemplative understanding such as I myself possess, it seems
evident at once that the marvelous increase of late in these 'odd accidents=
' is
by far the oddest accident of all. For my own part, I intend to believe not=
hing
henceforward that has anything of the 'singular' about it."
"Mein Gott, =
den,
vat a vool you bees for dat!" replied one of the most remarkable voice=
s I
ever heard. At first I took it for a rumbling in my ears--such as a man
sometimes experiences when getting very drunk--but, upon second thought, I
considered the sound as more nearly resembling that which proceeds from an
empty barrel beaten with a big stick; and, in fact, this I should have
concluded it to be, but for the articulation of the syllables and words. I =
am
by no means naturally nervous, and the very few glasses of Lafitte which I =
had
sipped served to embolden me no little, so that I felt nothing of trepidati=
on,
but merely uplifted my eyes with a leisurely movement, and looked carefully
around the room for the intruder. I could not, however, perceive any one at
all.
"Humph!"
resumed the voice, as I continued my survey, "you mus pe so dronk as de
pig, den, for not zee me as I zit here at your zide."
Hereupon I bethou=
ght
me of looking immediately before my nose, and there, sure enough, confronti=
ng
me at the table sat a personage nondescript, although not altogether
indescribable. His body was a wine-pipe, or a rum-puncheon, or something of
that character, and had a truly Falstaffian air. In its nether extremity we=
re
inserted two kegs, which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs. For arms
there dangled from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably long bott=
les,
with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I saw the monster posse=
ssed
of was one of those Hessian canteens which resemble a large snuff-box with a
hole in the middle of the lid. This canteen (with a funnel on its top, like=
a
cavalier cap slouched over the eyes) was set on edge upon the puncheon, with
the hole toward myself; and through this hole, which seemed puckered up like
the mouth of a very precise old maid, the creature was emitting certain
rumbling and grumbling noises which he evidently intended for intelligible
talk.
"I zay,"
said he, "you mos pe dronk as de pig, vor zit dare and not zee me zit =
ere;
and I zay, doo, you mos pe pigger vool as de goose, vor to dispelief vat iz
print in de print. 'Tiz de troof---dat it iz--eberry vord ob it."
"Who are you,
pray?" said I, with much dignity, although somewhat puzzled; "how=
did
you get here? and what is it you are talking about?"
"Az vor ow I
com'd ere," replied the figure, "dat iz none of your pizzness; an=
d as
vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vat I tink proper; and as vor w=
ho I
be, vy dat is de very ting I com'd here for to let you zee for yourzelf.&qu=
ot;
"You are a
drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell and order my
footman to kick you into the street."
"He! he!
he!" said the fellow, "hu! hu! hu! dat you can't do."
"Can't do!&q=
uot;
said I, "what do you mean?--I can't do what?"
"Ring de pell;" he replied, attempting a grin with his little villanous mouth.<= o:p>
Upon this I made =
an
effort to get up, in order to put my threat into execution; but the ruffian
just reached across the table very deliberately, and hitting me a tap on the
forehead with the neck of one of the long bottles, knocked me back into the
arm-chair from which I had half arisen. I was utterly astounded; and, for a
moment, was quite at a loss what to do. In the meantime, he continued his t=
alk.
"You zee,&qu=
ot;
said he, "it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you shall know who I pe.
Look at me! zee! I am te Angel ov te Odd."
"And odd eno=
ugh,
too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always under the impression
that an angel had wings."
"Te wing!&qu=
ot;
he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein Gott! do you
take me vor a shicken?"
"No--oh
no!" I replied, much alarmed, "you are no chicken--certainly not.=
"
"Well, den, =
zit
still and pehabe yourself, or I'll rap you again mid me vist. It iz te shic=
ken
ab te wing, und te owl ab te wing, und te imp ab te wing, und te head-teuff=
el
ab te wing. Te angel ab not te wing, and I am te Angel ov te Odd."
"And your
business with me at present is--is"--
"My
pizzness!" ejaculated the thing, "vy vat a low bred buppy you mos=
pe vor
to ask a gentleman und an angel apout his pizziness!"
This language was
rather more than I could bear, even from an angel; so, plucking up courage,=
I
seized a salt-cellar which lay within reach, and hurled it at the head of t=
he
intruder. Either he dodged, however, or my aim was inaccurate; for all I
accomplished was the demolition of the crystal which protected the dial of =
the
clock upon the mantel-piece. As for the Angel, he evinced his sense of my
assault by giving me two or three hard consecutive raps upon the forehead as
before. These reduced me at once to submission, and I am almost ashamed to
confess that either through pain or vexation, there came a few tears into my
eyes.
"Mein
Gott!" said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened at my distr=
ess;
"mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry. You mos not tri=
nk
it so strong--you mos put te water in te wine. Here, trink dis, like a goot
veller, und don't gry now--don't!"
Hereupon the Ange=
l of
the Odd replenished my goblet (which was about a third full of Port) with a
colorless fluid that he poured from one of his hand bottles. I observed that
these bottles had labels about their necks, and that these labels were
inscribed "Kirschenwasser."
The considerate
kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little measure; and, aided by the
water with which he diluted my Port more than once, I at length regained
sufficient temper to listen to his very extraordinary discourse. I cannot
pretend to recount all that he told me, but I gleaned from what he said tha=
t he
was the genius who presided over the contretemps of mankind, and whose busi=
ness
it was to bring about the odd accidents which are continually astonishing t=
he
skeptic. Once or twice, upon my venturing to express my total incredulity in
respect to his pretensions, he grew very angry indeed, so that at length I =
considered
it the wiser policy to say nothing at all, and let him have his own way. He
talked on, therefore, at great length, while I merely leaned back in my cha=
ir
with my eyes shut, and amused myself with munching raisins and filliping the
stems about the room. But, by-and-by, the Angel suddenly construed this beh=
avior
of mine into contempt. He arose in a terrible passion, slouched his funnel =
down
over his eyes, swore a vast oath, uttered a threat of some character which I
did not precisely comprehend, and finally made me a low bow and departed, w=
ishing
me, in the language of the archbishop in Gil-Blas, "beaucoup de bonheu=
r et
un peu plus de bon sens."
His departure
afforded me relief. The very few glasses of Lafitte that I had sipped had t=
he
effect of rendering me drowsy, and I felt inclined to take a nap of some fi=
fteen
or twenty minutes, as is my custom after dinner. At six I had an appointmen=
t of
consequence, which it was quite indispensable that I should keep. The polic=
y of
insurance for my dwelling house had expired the day before; and, some dispu=
te
having arisen, it was agreed that, at six, I should meet the board of direc=
tors
of the company and settle the terms of a renewal. Glancing upward at the cl=
ock
on the mantel-piece, (for I felt too drowsy to take out my watch), I had the
pleasure to find that I had still twenty-five minutes to spare. It was half
past five; I could easily walk to the insurance office in five minutes; and=
my
usual siestas had never been known to exceed five and twenty. I felt
sufficiently safe, therefore, and composed myself to my slumbers forthwith.=
Having completed =
them
to my satisfaction, I again looked toward the time-piece and was half incli=
ned
to believe in the possibility of odd accidents when I found that, instead o=
f my
ordinary fifteen or twenty minutes, I had been dozing only three; for it st=
ill
wanted seven and twenty of the appointed hour. I betook myself again to my =
nap,
and at length a second time awoke, when, to my utter amazement, it still wa=
nted
twenty-seven minutes of six. I jumped up to examine the clock, and found th=
at
it had ceased running. My watch informed me that it was half past seven; an=
d,
of course, having slept two hours, I was too late for my appointment. "=
;It
will make no difference," I said: "I can call at the office in the
morning and apologize; in the meantime what can be the matter with the
clock?" Upon examining it I discovered that one of the raisin stems wh=
ich
I had been filliping about the room during the discourse of the Angel of the
Odd, had flown through the fractured crystal, and lodging, singularly enoug=
h,
in the key-hole, with an end projecting outward, had thus arrested the
revolution of the minute hand.
"Ah!" s=
aid
I, "I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A natural accident,
such as will happen now and then!"
I gave the matter=
no
further consideration, and at my usual hour retired to bed. Here, having pl=
aced
a candle upon a reading stand at the bed head, and having made an attempt to
peruse some pages of the "Omnipresence of the Deity," I unfortuna=
tely
fell asleep in less than twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it wa=
s.
My dreams were
terrifically disturbed by visions of the Angel of the Odd. Methought he sto=
od
at the foot of the couch, drew aside the curtains, and, in the hollow,
detestable tones of a rum puncheon, menaced me with the bitterest vengeance=
for
the contempt with which I had treated him. He concluded a long harangue by
taking off his funnel-cap, inserting the tube into my gullet, and thus delu=
ging
me with an ocean of Kirschenwässer, which he poured, in a continuous f=
lood,
from one of the long necked bottles that stood him instead of an arm. My ag=
ony
was at length insufferable, and I awoke just in time to perceive that a rat=
had
ran off with the lighted candle from the stand, but not in season to prevent
his making his escape with it through the hole. Very soon, a strong suffoca=
ting
odor assailed my nostrils; the house, I clearly perceived, was on fire. In a
few minutes the blaze broke forth with violence, and in an incredibly brief
period the entire building was wrapped in flames. All egress from my chambe=
r,
except through a window, was cut off. The crowd, however, quickly procured =
and
raised a long ladder. By means of this I was descending rapidly, and in
apparent safety, when a huge hog, about whose rotund stomach, and indeed ab=
out whose
whole air and physiognomy, there was something which reminded me of the Ang=
el
of the Odd,--when this hog, I say, which hitherto had been quietly slumberi=
ng
in the mud, took it suddenly into his head that his left shoulder needed sc=
ratching,
and could find no more convenient rubbing-post than that afforded by the fo=
ot
of the ladder. In an instant I was precipitated and had the misfortune to
fracture my arm.
This accident, wi=
th
the loss of my insurance, and with the more serious loss of my hair, the wh=
ole
of which had been singed off by the fire, predisposed me to serious
impressions, so that, finally, I made up my mind to take a wife. There was a
rich widow disconsolate for the loss of her seventh husband, and to her wou=
nded
spirit I offered the balm of my vows. She yielded a reluctant consent to my
prayers. I knelt at her feet in gratitude and adoration. She blushed and bo=
wed
her luxuriant tresses into close contact with those supplied me, temporaril=
y,
by Grandjean. I know not how the entanglement took place, but so it was. I
arose with a shining pate, wigless; she in disdain and wrath, half buried in
alien hair. Thus ended my hopes of the widow by an accident which could not=
have
been anticipated, to be sure, but which the natural sequence of events had
brought about.
Without despairin=
g,
however, I undertook the siege of a less implacable heart. The fates were a=
gain
propitious for a brief period; but again a trivial incident interfered. Mee=
ting
my betrothed in an avenue thronged with the élite of the city, I was
hastening to greet her with one of my best considered bows, when a small
particle of some foreign matter, lodging in the corner of my eye, rendered =
me,
for the moment, completely blind. Before I could recover my sight, the lady=
of
my love had disappeared--irreparably affronted at what she chose to conside=
r my
premeditated rudeness in passing her by ungreeted. While I stood bewildered=
at
the suddenness of this accident, (which might have happened, nevertheless, =
to
any one under the sun), and while I still continued incapable of sight, I w=
as
accosted by the Angel of the Odd, who proffered me his aid with a civility
which I had no reason to expect. He examined my disordered eye with much
gentleness and skill, informed me that I had a drop in it, and (whatever a
"drop" was) took it out, and afforded me relief.
I now considered =
it
high time to die, (since fortune had so determined to persecute me,) and
accordingly made my way to the nearest river. Here, divesting myself of my
clothes, (for there is no reason why we cannot die as we were born), I threw
myself headlong into the current; the sole witness of my fate being a solit=
ary
crow that had been seduced into the eating of brandy-saturated corn, and so=
had
staggered away from his fellows. No sooner had I entered the water than this
bird took it into its head to fly away with the most indispensable portion =
of
my apparel. Postponing, therefore, for the present, my suicidal design, I j=
ust
slipped my nether extremities into the sleeves of my coat, and betook mysel=
f to
a pursuit of the felon with all the nimbleness which the case required and =
its
circumstances would admit. But my evil destiny attended me still. As I ran =
at
full speed, with my nose up in the atmosphere, and intent only upon the
purloiner of my property, I suddenly perceived that my feet rested no longer
upon terra-firma; the fact is, I had thrown myself over a precipice, and sh=
ould
inevitably have been dashed to pieces but for my good fortune in grasping t=
he
end of a long guide-rope, which depended from a passing balloon.
As soon as I
sufficiently recovered my senses to comprehend the terrific predicament in
which I stood or rather hung, I exerted all the power of my lungs to make t=
hat
predicament known to the æronaut overhead. But for a long time I exer=
ted
myself in vain. Either the fool could not, or the villain would not perceive
me. Meantime the machine rapidly soared, while my strength even more rapidly
failed. I was soon upon the point of resigning myself to my fate, and dropp=
ing
quietly into the sea, when my spirits were suddenly revived by hearing a ho=
llow
voice from above, which seemed to be lazily humming an opera air. Looking u=
p, I
perceived the Angel of the Odd. He was leaning with his arms folded, over t=
he
rim of the car; and with a pipe in his mouth, at which he puffed leisurely,=
seemed
to be upon excellent terms with himself and the universe. I was too much
exhausted to speak, so I merely regarded him with an imploring air.
For several minut=
es,
although he looked me full in the face, he said nothing. At length removing
carefully his meerschaum from the right to the left corner of his mouth, he
condescended to speak.
"Who pe
you," he asked, "und what der teuffel you pe do dare?"
To this piece of
impudence, cruelty and affectation, I could reply only by ejaculating the
monosyllable "Help!"
"Elp!"
echoed the ruffian--"not I. Dare iz te pottle--elp yourself, und pe
tam'd!"
With these words =
he
let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwasser which, dropping precisely upon the
crown of my head, caused me to imagine that my brains were entirely knocked
out. Impressed with this idea, I was about to relinquish my hold and give up
the ghost with a good grace, when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, w=
ho
bade me hold on.
"Old on!&quo=
t;
he said; "don't pe in te urry--don't. Will you pe take de odder pottle=
, or
ave you pe got zober yet and come to your zenzes?"
I made haste,
hereupon, to nod my head twice--once in the negative, meaning thereby that I
would prefer not taking the other bottle at present--and once in the
affirmative, intending thus to imply that I was sober and had positively co=
me
to my senses. By these means I somewhat softened the Angel.
"Und you pel=
ief,
ten," he inquired, "at te last? You pelief, ten, in te possibilty=
of
te odd?"
I again nodded my
head in assent.
"Und you ave
pelief in me, te Angel of te Odd?"
I nodded again.
"Und you
acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk and te vool?"
I nodded once mor=
e.
"Put your ri=
ght
hand into your left hand preeches pocket, ten, in token ov your vull zubmiz=
zion
unto te Angel ov te Odd."
This thing, for v=
ery
obvious reasons, I found it quite impossible to do. In the first place, my =
left
arm had been broken in my fall from the ladder, and, therefore, had I let g=
o my
hold with the right hand, I must have let go altogether. In the second plac=
e, I
could have no breeches until I came across the crow. I was therefore oblige=
d,
much to my regret, to shake my head in the negative--intending thus to give=
the
Angel to understand that I found it inconvenient, just at that moment, to
comply with his very reasonable demand! No sooner, however, had I ceased
shaking my head than--
"Go to der
teuffel, ten!" roared the Angel of the Odd.
In pronouncing th=
ese
words, he drew a sharp knife across the guide-rope by which I was suspended,
and as we then happened to be precisely over my own house, (which, during my
peregrinations, had been handsomely rebuilt,) it so occurred that I tumbled
headlong down the ample chimney and alit upon the dining-room hearth.
Upon coming to my
senses, (for the fall had very thoroughly stunned me,) I found it about four
o'clock in the morning. I lay outstretched where I had fallen from the ball=
oon.
My head grovelled in the ashes of an extinguished fire, while my feet repos=
ed
upon the wreck of a small table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a
miscellaneous dessert, intermingled with a newspaper, some broken glass and
shattered bottles, and an empty jug of the Schiedam Kirschenwasser. Thus
revenged himself the Angel of the Odd.
[Mabbott states that Griswold
"obviously had a revised form" for use in the 1856 volume of Poe's
works. Mabbott does not substantiate this claim, but it is surely not
unreasonable. An editor, and even typographical errors, may have produced n=
early
all of the very minor changes made in this version. (Indeed, two very neces=
sary
words were clearly dropped by accident.) An editor might have corrected &qu=
ot;Wickliffe's
'Epigoniad'" to "Wilkie's 'Epigoniad'," but is unlikely to h=
ave
added "Tuckerman's 'Sicily'" to the list of books read by the nar=
rator.
Griswold was not above forgery (in Poe's letters) when it suited his purpos=
e,
but would have too little to gain by such an effort in this instance.]
MELLONTA TAUTA - TO THE
EDITORS OF THE LADY'S BOOK:
I have the honor =
of
sending you, for your magazine, an article which I hope you will be able to
comprehend rather more distinctly than I do myself. It is a translation, by=
my
friend, Martin Van Buren Mavis, (sometimes called the "Poughkeepsie
Seer") of an odd-looking MS. which I found, about a year ago, tightly
corked up in a jug floating in the Mare Tenebrarum--a sea well described by=
the
Nubian geographer, but seldom visited now-a-days, except for the
transcendentalists and divers for crotchets.
Truly yours,
EDGAR A. POE
{this paragraph not in the volume-=
-ED}
ON BOARD BALLOON
"SKYLARK"
April, 1, 2848
NOW, my dear
friend--now, for your sins, you are to suffer the infliction of a long
gossiping letter. I tell you distinctly that I am going to punish you for a=
ll
your impertinences by being as tedious, as discursive, as incoherent and as
unsatisfactory as possible. Besides, here I am, cooped up in a dirty balloo=
n,
with some one or two hundred of the canaille, all bound on a pleasure
excursion, (what a funny idea some people have of pleasure!) and I have no
prospect of touching terra firma for a month at least. Nobody to talk to.
Nothing to do. When one has nothing to do, then is the time to correspond w=
ith
ones friends. You perceive, then, why it is that I write you this letter--i=
t is
on account of my ennui and your sins.
Get ready your
spectacles and make up your mind to be annoyed. I mean to write at you every
day during this odious voyage.
Heigho! when will=
any
Invention visit the human pericranium? Are we forever to be doomed to the
thousand inconveniences of the balloon? Will nobody contrive a more expedit=
ious
mode of progress? The jog-trot movement, to my thinking, is little less than
positive torture. Upon my word we have not made more than a hundred miles t=
he
hour since leaving home! The very birds beat us--at least some of them. I
assure you that I do not exaggerate at all. Our motion, no doubt, seems slo=
wer
than it actually is--this on account of our having no objects about us by w=
hich
to estimate our velocity, and on account of our going with the wind. To be
sure, whenever we meet a balloon we have a chance of perceiving our rate, a=
nd
then, I admit, things do not appear so very bad. Accustomed as I am to this
mode of travelling, I cannot get over a kind of giddiness whenever a balloon
passes us in a current directly overhead. It always seems to me like an imm=
ense
bird of prey about to pounce upon us and carry us off in its claws. One went
over us this morning about sunrise, and so nearly overhead that its drag-ro=
pe
actually brushed the network suspending our car, and caused us very serious
apprehension. Our captain said that if the material of the bag had been the
trumpery varnished "silk" of five hundred or a thousand years ago=
, we
should inevitably have been damaged. This silk, as he explained it to me, w=
as a
fabric composed of the entrails of a species of earth-worm. The worm was
carefully fed on mulberries--kind of fruit resembling a water-melon--and, w=
hen
sufficiently fat, was crushed in a mill. The paste thus arising was called
papyrus in its primary state, and went through a variety of processes until=
it
finally became "silk." Singular to relate, it was once much admir=
ed
as an article of female dress! Balloons were also very generally constructed
from it. A better kind of material, it appears, was subsequently found in t=
he
down surrounding the seed-vessels of a plant vulgarly called euphorbium, an=
d at
that time botanically termed milk-weed. This latter kind of silk was design=
ated
as silk-buckingham, on account of its superior durability, and was usually =
prepared
for use by being varnished with a solution of gum caoutchouc--a substance w=
hich
in some respects must have resembled the gutta percha now in common use. Th=
is
caoutchouc was occasionally called Indian rubber or rubber of twist, and wa=
s no
doubt one of the numerous fungi. Never tell me again that I am not at heart=
an
antiquarian.
Talking of
drag-ropes--our own, it seems, has this moment knocked a man overboard from=
one
of the small magnetic propellers that swarm in ocean below us--a boat of ab=
out
six thousand tons, and, from all accounts, shamefully crowded. These diminu=
tive
barques should be prohibited from carrying more than a definite number of
passengers. The man, of course, was not permitted to get on board again, and
was soon out of sight, he and his life-preserver. I rejoice, my dear friend,
that we live in an age so enlightened that no such a thing as an individual=
is
supposed to exist. It is the mass for which the true Humanity cares. By-the=
-by,
talking of Humanity, do you know that our immortal Wiggins is not so origin=
al
in his views of the Social Condition and so forth, as his contemporaries are
inclined to suppose? Pundit assures me that the same ideas were put nearly =
in
the same way, about a thousand years ago, by an Irish philosopher called
Furrier, on account of his keeping a retail shop for cat peltries and other
furs. Pundit knows, you know; there can be no mistake about it. How very
wonderfully do we see verified every day, the profound observation of the
Hindoo Aries Tottle (as quoted by Pundit)--"Thus must we say that, not
once or twice, or a few times, but with almost infinite repetitions, the sa=
me
opinions come round in a circle among men."
April 2.--Spoke
to-day the magnetic cutter in charge of the middle section of floating
telegraph wires. I learn that when this species of telegraph was first put =
into
operation by Horse, it was considered quite impossible to convey the wires =
over
sea, but now we are at a loss to comprehend where the difficulty lay! So wa=
gs
the world. Tempora mutantur--excuse me for quoting the Etruscan. What would=
we
do without the Atalantic telegraph? (Pundit says Atlantic was the ancient a=
djective.)
We lay to a few minutes to ask the cutter some questions, and learned, among
other glorious news, that civil war is raging in Africa, while the plague is
doing its good work beautifully both in Yurope and Ayesher. Is it not truly
remarkable that, before the magnificent light shed upon philosophy by Human=
ity,
the world was accustomed to regard War and Pestilence as calamities? Do you
know that prayers were actually offered up in the ancient temples to the end
that these evils (!) might not be visited upon mankind? Is it not really di=
fficult
to comprehend upon what principle of interest our forefathers acted? Were t=
hey
so blind as not to perceive that the destruction of a myriad of individuals=
is
only so much positive advantage to the mass!
April 3.--It is
really a very fine amusement to ascend the rope-ladder leading to the summi=
t of
the balloon-bag, and thence survey the surrounding world. From the car below
you know the prospect is not so comprehensive--you can see little verticall=
y.
But seated here (where I write this) in the luxuriously-cushioned open piaz=
za
of the summit, one can see everything that is going on in all directions. J=
ust
now there is quite a crowd of balloons in sight, and they present a very
animated appearance, while the air is resonant with the hum of so many mill=
ions
of human voices. I have heard it asserted that when Yellow or (Pundit will =
have
it) Violet, who is supposed to have been the first aeronaut, maintained the
practicability of traversing the atmosphere in all directions, by merely
ascending or descending until a favorable current was attained, he was scar=
cely
hearkened to at all by his contemporaries, who looked upon him as merely an
ingenious sort of madman, because the philosophers (?) of the day declared =
the
thing impossible. Really now it does seem to me quite unaccountable how any
thing so obviously feasible could have escaped the sagacity of the ancient
savans. But in all ages the great obstacles to advancement in Art have been
opposed by the so-called men of science. To be sure, our men of science are=
not
quite so bigoted as those of old:--oh, I have something so queer to tell yo=
u on
this topic. Do you know that it is not more than a thousand years ago since=
the
metaphysicians consented to relieve the people of the singular fancy that t=
here
existed but two possible roads for the attainment of Truth! Believe it if y=
ou
can! It appears that long, long ago, in the night of Time, there lived a
Turkish philosopher (or Hindoo possibly) called Aries Tottle. This person
introduced, or at all events propagated what was termed the deductive or a
priori mode of investigation. He started with what he maintained to be axio=
ms
or "self-evident truths," and thence proceeded "logically&qu=
ot;
to results. His greatest disciples were one Neuclid, and one Cant. Well, Ar=
ies
Tottle flourished supreme until advent of one Hog, surnamed the "Ettri=
ck
Shepherd," who preached an entirely different system, which he called =
the
a posteriori or inductive. His plan referred altogether to Sensation. He
proceeded by observing, analyzing, and classifying facts-instantiae naturae=
, as
they were affectedly called--into general laws. Aries Tottle's mode, in a w=
ord,
was based on noumena; Hog's on phenomena. Well, so great was the admiration
excited by this latter system that, at its first introduction, Aries Tottle
fell into disrepute; but finally he recovered ground and was permitted to
divide the realm of Truth with his more modern rival. The savans now mainta=
ined
the Aristotelian and Baconian roads were the sole possible avenues to
knowledge. "Baconian," you must know, was an adjective invented as
equivalent to Hog-ian and more euphonious and dignified.
Now, my dear frie=
nd,
I do assure you, most positively, that I represent this matter fairly, on t=
he
soundest authority and you can easily understand how a notion so absurd on =
its
very face must have operated to retard the progress of all true
knowledge--which makes its advances almost invariably by intuitive bounds. =
The
ancient idea confined investigations to crawling; and for hundreds of years=
so
great was the infatuation about Hog especially, that a virtual end was put =
to
all thinking, properly so called. No man dared utter a truth to which he fe=
lt
himself indebted to his Soul alone. It mattered not whether the truth was e=
ven
demonstrably a truth, for the bullet-headed savans of the time regarded only
the road by which he had attained it. They would not even look at the end.
"Let us see the means," they cried, "the means!" If, up=
on
investigation of the means, it was found to come under neither the category
Aries (that is to say Ram) nor under the category Hog, why then the savans =
went
no farther, but pronounced the "theorist" a fool, and would have
nothing to do with him or his truth.
Now, it cannot be
maintained, even, that by the crawling system the greatest amount of truth =
would
be attained in any long series of ages, for the repression of imagination w=
as
an evil not to be compensated for by any superior certainty in the ancient
modes of investigation. The error of these Jurmains, these Vrinch, these
Inglitch, and these Amriccans (the latter, by the way, were our own immedia=
te
progenitors), was an error quite analogous with that of the wiseacre who
fancies that he must necessarily see an object the better the more closely =
he
holds it to his eyes. These people blinded themselves by details. When they=
proceeded
Hoggishly, their "facts" were by no means always facts--a matter =
of
little consequence had it not been for assuming that they were facts and mu=
st
be facts because they appeared to be such. When they proceeded on the path =
of
the Ram, their course was scarcely as straight as a ram's horn, for they ne=
ver
had an axiom which was an axiom at all. They must have been very blind not =
to
see this, even in their own day; for even in their own day many of the long
"established" axioms had been rejected. For example--"Ex nih=
ilo
nihil fit"; "a body cannot act where it is not"; "there
cannot exist antipodes"; "darkness cannot come out of
light"--all these, and a dozen other similar propositions, formerly ad=
mitted
without hesitation as axioms, were, even at the period of which I speak, se=
en
to be untenable. How absurd in these people, then, to persist in putting fa=
ith
in "axioms" as immutable bases of Truth! But even out of the mout=
hs
of their soundest reasoners it is easy to demonstrate the futility, the
impalpability of their axioms in general. Who was the soundest of their
logicians? Let me see! I will go and ask Pundit and be back in a minute....=
Ah,
here we have it! Here is a book written nearly a thousand years ago and lat=
ely
translated from the Inglitch--which, by the way, appears to have been the
rudiment of the Amriccan. Pundit says it is decidedly the cleverest ancient
work on its topic, Logic. The author (who was much thought of in his day) w=
as
one Miller, or Mill; and we find it recorded of him, as a point of some imp=
ortance,
that he had a mill-horse called Bentham. But let us glance at the treatise!=
Ah!--"Abilit=
y or
inability to conceive," says Mr. Mill, very properly, "is in no c=
ase
to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth." What modern in his
senses would ever think of disputing this truism? The only wonder with us m=
ust
be, how it happened that Mr. Mill conceived it necessary even to hint at any
thing so obvious. So far good--but let us turn over another paper. What hav=
e we
here?--"Contradictories cannot both be true--that is, cannot co-exist =
in
nature." Here Mr. Mill means, for example, that a tree must be either a
tree or not a tree--that it cannot be at the same time a tree and not a tre=
e.
Very well; but I ask him why. His reply is this--and never pretends to be a=
ny
thing else than this--"Because it is impossible to conceive that
contradictories can both be true." But this is no answer at all, by his
own showing, for has he not just admitted as a truism that "ability or=
inability
to conceive is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic
truth."
Now I do not comp=
lain
of these ancients so much because their logic is, by their own showing, utt=
erly
baseless, worthless and fantastic altogether, as because of their pompous a=
nd
imbecile proscription of all other roads of Truth, of all other means for i=
ts
attainment than the two preposterous paths--the one of creeping and the one=
of
crawling--to which they have dared to confine the Soul that loves nothing so
well as to soar.
By the by, my dear
friend, do you not think it would have puzzled these ancient dogmaticians to
have determined by which of their two roads it was that the most important =
and
most sublime of all their truths was, in effect, attained? I mean the truth=
of
Gravitation. Newton owed it to Kepler. Kepler admitted that his three laws =
were
guessed at--these three laws of all laws which led the great Inglitch
mathematician to his principle, the basis of all physical principle--to go
behind which we must enter the Kingdom of Metaphysics. Kepler guessed--that=
is
to say imagined. He was essentially a "theorist"--that word now o=
f so
much sanctity, formerly an epithet of contempt. Would it not have puzzled t=
hese
old moles too, to have explained by which of the two "roads" a cr=
yptographist
unriddles a cryptograph of more than usual secrecy, or by which of the two
roads Champollion directed mankind to those enduring and almost innumerable
truths which resulted from his deciphering the Hieroglyphics.
One word more on =
this
topic and I will be done boring you. Is it not passing strange that, with t=
heir
eternal prattling about roads to Truth, these bigoted people missed what we=
now
so clearly perceive to be the great highway--that of Consistency? Does it n=
ot
seem singular how they should have failed to deduce from the works of God t=
he
vital fact that a perfect consistency must be an absolute truth! How plain =
has
been our progress since the late announcement of this proposition!
Investigation has been taken out of the hands of the ground-moles and given=
, as
a task, to the true and only true thinkers, the men of ardent imagination. =
These
latter theorize. Can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which my words w=
ould
be received by our progenitors were it possible for them to be now looking =
over
my shoulder? These men, I say, theorize; and their theories are simply
corrected, reduced, systematized--cleared, little by little, of their dross=
of
inconsistency--until, finally, a perfect consistency stands apparent which =
even
the most stolid admit, because it is a consistency, to be an absolute and an
unquestionable truth.
April 4.--The new=
gas
is doing wonders, in conjunction with the new improvement with gutta percha.
How very safe, commodious, manageable, and in every respect convenient are =
our
modern balloons! Here is an immense one approaching us at the rate of at le=
ast
a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It seems to be crowded with people--perh=
aps
there are three or four hundred passengers--and yet it soars to an elevatio=
n of
nearly a mile, looking down upon poor us with sovereign contempt. Still a
hundred or even two hundred miles an hour is slow travelling after all. Do =
you
remember our flight on the railroad across the Kanadaw continent?--fully th=
ree
hundred miles the hour--that was travelling. Nothing to be seen though--not=
hing
to be done but flirt, feast and dance in the magnificent saloons. Do you
remember what an odd sensation was experienced when, by chance, we caught a
glimpse of external objects while the cars were in full flight? Every thing
seemed unique--in one mass. For my part, I cannot say but that I preferred =
the
travelling by the slow train of a hundred miles the hour. Here we were
permitted to have glass windows--even to have them open--and something like=
a distinct
view of the country was attainable.... Pundit says that the route for the g=
reat
Kanadaw railroad must have been in some measure marked out about nine hundr=
ed
years ago! In fact, he goes so far as to assert that actual traces of a road
are still discernible--traces referable to a period quite as remote as that
mentioned. The track, it appears was double only; ours, you know, has twelve
paths; and three or four new ones are in preparation. The ancient rails were
very slight, and placed so close together as to be, according to modern
notions, quite frivolous, if not dangerous in the extreme. The present widt=
h of
track--fifty feet--is considered, indeed, scarcely secure enough. For my pa=
rt,
I make no doubt that a track of some sort must have existed in very remote
times, as Pundit asserts; for nothing can be clearer, to my mind, than that=
, at
some period--not less than seven centuries ago, certainly--the Northern and
Southern Kanadaw continents were united; the Kanawdians, then, would have b=
een
driven, by necessity, to a great railroad across the continent.
April 5.--I am al=
most
devoured by ennui. Pundit is the only conversible person on board; and he, =
poor
soul! can speak of nothing but antiquities. He has been occupied all the da=
y in
the attempt to convince me that the ancient Amriccans governed themselves!-=
-did
ever anybody hear of such an absurdity?--that they existed in a sort of eve=
ry-man-for-himself
confederacy, after the fashion of the "prairie dogs" that we read=
of
in fable. He says that they started with the queerest idea conceivable, viz:
that all men are born free and equal--this in the very teeth of the laws of
gradation so visibly impressed upon all things both in the moral and physic=
al
universe. Every man "voted," as they called it--that is to say
meddled with public affairs--until at length, it was discovered that what is
everybody's business is nobody's, and that the "Republic" (so the
absurd thing was called) was without a government at all. It is related,
however, that the first circumstance which disturbed, very particularly, th=
e self-complacency
of the philosophers who constructed this "Republic," was the
startling discovery that universal suffrage gave opportunity for fraudulent
schemes, by means of which any desired number of votes might at any time be
polled, without the possibility of prevention or even detection, by any par=
ty
which should be merely villainous enough not to be ashamed of the fraud. A
little reflection upon this discovery sufficed to render evident the
consequences, which were that rascality must predominate--in a word, that a
republican government could never be any thing but a rascally one. While the
philosophers, however, were busied in blushing at their stupidity in not ha=
ving
foreseen these inevitable evils, and intent upon the invention of new theor=
ies,
the matter was put to an abrupt issue by a fellow of the name of Mob, who t=
ook
every thing into his own hands and set up a despotism, in comparison with w=
hich
those of the fabulous Zeros and Hellofagabaluses were respectable and
delectable. This Mob (a foreigner, by-the-by), is said to have been the most
odious of all men that ever encumbered the earth. He was a giant in
stature--insolent, rapacious, filthy, had the gall of a bullock with the he=
art
of a hyena and the brains of a peacock. He died, at length, by dint of his =
own
energies, which exhausted him. Nevertheless, he had his uses, as every thing
has, however vile, and taught mankind a lesson which to this day it is in no
danger of forgetting--never to run directly contrary to the natural analogi=
es.
As for Republicanism, no analogy could be found for it upon the face of the
earth--unless we except the case of the "prairie dogs," an except=
ion which
seems to demonstrate, if anything, that democracy is a very admirable form =
of
government--for dogs.
April 6.--Last ni=
ght
had a fine view of Alpha Lyrae, whose disk, through our captain's spy-glass,
subtends an angle of half a degree, looking very much as our sun does to the
naked eye on a misty day. Alpha Lyrae, although so very much larger than our
sun, by the by, resembles him closely as regards its spots, its atmosphere,=
and
in many other particulars. It is only within the last century, Pundit tells=
me,
that the binary relation existing between these two orbs began even to be s=
uspected.
The evident motion of our system in the heavens was (strange to say!) refer=
red
to an orbit about a prodigious star in the centre of the galaxy. About this
star, or at all events about a centre of gravity common to all the globes of
the Milky Way and supposed to be near Alcyone in the Pleiades, every one of
these globes was declared to be revolving, our own performing the circuit i=
n a
period of 117,000,000 of years! We, with our present lights, our vast
telescopic improvements, and so forth, of course find it difficult to
comprehend the ground of an idea such as this. Its first propagator was one
Mudler. He was led, we must presume, to this wild hypothesis by mere analog=
y in
the first instance; but, this being the case, he should have at least adher=
ed
to analogy in its development. A great central orb was, in fact, suggested;=
so
far Mudler was consistent. This central orb, however, dynamically, should h=
ave
been greater than all its surrounding orbs taken together. The question mig=
ht
then have been asked--"Why do we not see it?"--we, especially, who
occupy the mid region of the cluster--the very locality near which, at leas=
t,
must be situated this inconceivable central sun. The astronomer, perhaps, at
this point, took refuge in the suggestion of non-luminosity; and here analo=
gy
was suddenly let fall. But even admitting the central orb non-luminous, how=
did
he manage to explain its failure to be rendered visible by the incalculable
host of glorious suns glaring in all directions about it? No doubt what he
finally maintained was merely a centre of gravity common to all the revolvi=
ng
orbs--but here again analogy must have been let fall. Our system revolves, =
it
is true, about a common centre of gravity, but it does this in connection w=
ith
and in consequence of a material sun whose mass more than counterbalances t=
he
rest of the system. The mathematical circle is a curve composed of an infin=
ity
of straight lines; but this idea of the circle--this idea of it which, in
regard to all earthly geometry, we consider as merely the mathematical, in
contradistinction from the practical, idea--is, in sober fact, the practical
conception which alone we have any right to entertain in respect to those
Titanic circles with which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we supp=
ose
our system, with its fellows, revolving about a point in the centre of the
galaxy. Let the most vigorous of human imaginations but attempt to take a
single step toward the comprehension of a circuit so unutterable! I would s=
carcely
be paradoxical to say that a flash of lightning itself, travelling forever =
upon
the circumference of this inconceivable circle, would still forever be
travelling in a straight line. That the path of our sun along such a
circumference--that the direction of our system in such an orbit--would, to=
any
human perception, deviate in the slightest degree from a straight line even=
in
a million of years, is a proposition not to be entertained; and yet these
ancient astronomers were absolutely cajoled, it appears, into believing tha=
t a
decisive curvature had become apparent during the brief period of their
astronomical history--during the mere point--during the utter nothingness of
two or three thousand years! How incomprehensible, that considerations such=
as
this did not at once indicate to them the true state of affairs--that of the
binary revolution of our sun and Alpha Lyrae around a common centre of grav=
ity!
April 7.--Continu=
ed
last night our astronomical amusements. Had a fine view of the five Neptuni=
an
asteroids, and watched with much interest the putting up of a huge impost o=
n a
couple of lintels in the new temple at Daphnis in the moon. It was amusing =
to
think that creatures so diminutive as the lunarians, and bearing so little
resemblance to humanity, yet evinced a mechanical ingenuity so much superio=
r to
our own. One finds it difficult, too, to conceive the vast masses which the=
se
people handle so easily, to be as light as our own reason tells us they
actually are.
April 8.--Eureka!
Pundit is in his glory. A balloon from Kanadaw spoke us to-day and threw on
board several late papers; they contain some exceedingly curious information
relative to Kanawdian or rather Amriccan antiquities. You know, I presume, =
that
laborers have for some months been employed in preparing the ground for a n=
ew
fountain at Paradise, the Emperor's principal pleasure garden. Paradise, it
appears, has been, literally speaking, an island time out of mind--that is =
to
say, its northern boundary was always (as far back as any record extends) a=
rivulet,
or rather a very narrow arm of the sea. This arm was gradually widened unti=
l it
attained its present breadth--a mile. The whole length of the island is nine
miles; the breadth varies materially. The entire area (so Pundit says) was,
about eight hundred years ago, densely packed with houses, some of them twe=
nty
stories high; land (for some most unaccountable reason) being considered as
especially precious just in this vicinity. The disastrous earthquake, howev=
er,
of the year 2050, so totally uprooted and overwhelmed the town (for it was
almost too large to be called a village) that the most indefatigable of our
antiquarians have never yet been able to obtain from the site any sufficient
data (in the shape of coins, medals or inscriptions) wherewith to build up =
even
the ghost of a theory concerning the manners, customs, &c., &c.,
&c., of the aboriginal inhabitants. Nearly all that we have hitherto kn=
own
of them is, that they were a portion of the Knickerbocker tribe of savages =
infesting
the continent at its first discovery by Recorder Riker, a knight of the Gol=
den
Fleece. They were by no means uncivilized, however, but cultivated various =
arts
and even sciences after a fashion of their own. It is related of them that =
they
were acute in many respects, but were oddly afflicted with monomania for
building what, in the ancient Amriccan, was denominated "churches"=
;--a
kind of pagoda instituted for the worship of two idols that went by the nam=
es
of Wealth and Fashion. In the end, it is said, the island became, nine tent=
hs of
it, church. The women, too, it appears, were oddly deformed by a natural pr=
otuberance
of the region just below the small of the back--although, most unaccountabl=
y,
this deformity was looked upon altogether in the light of a beauty. One or =
two
pictures of these singular women have in fact, been miraculously preserved.
They look very odd, very--like something between a turkey-cock and a dromed=
ary.
Well, these few
details are nearly all that have descended to us respecting the ancient
Knickerbockers. It seems, however, that while digging in the centre of the
emperors garden, (which, you know, covers the whole island), some of the
workmen unearthed a cubical and evidently chiseled block of granite, weighi=
ng
several hundred pounds. It was in good preservation, having received,
apparently, little injury from the convulsion which entombed it. On one of =
its
surfaces was a marble slab with (only think of it!) an inscription--a legib=
le
inscription. Pundit is in ecstacies. Upon detaching the slab, a cavity
appeared, containing a leaden box filled with various coins, a long scroll =
of
names, several documents which appear to resemble newspapers, with other
matters of intense interest to the antiquarian! There can be no doubt that =
all
these are genuine Amriccan relics belonging to the tribe called Knickerbock=
er.
The papers thrown on board our balloon are filled with fac-similes of the
coins, MSS., typography, &c., &c. I copy for your amusement the
Knickerbocker inscription on the marble slab:--
=
This Corner Stone of a Monument to
=
The Memory of
=
GEORGE WASHINGTON
=
Was Laid With Appropriate Ceremonies
=
on the
=
19th Day of October, 1847
=
The anniversary of the surrender of
=
Lord
Cornwallis
=
to General Washington at Yorktown
=
A. D. 1781
=
Under the Auspices of the
=
Washington Monument Association of
=
the city of New York
This, as I give i=
t,
is a verbatim translation done by Pundit himself, so there can be no mistake
about it. From the few words thus preserved, we glean several important ite=
ms
of knowledge, not the least interesting of which is the fact that a thousand
years ago actual monuments had fallen into disuse--as was all very proper--=
the
people contenting themselves, as we do now, with a mere indication of the
design to erect a monument at some future time; a corner-stone being cautio=
usly
laid by itself "solitary and alone" (excuse me for quoting the gr=
eat
American poet Benton!), as a guarantee of the magnanimous intention. We
ascertain, too, very distinctly, from this admirable inscription, the how as
well as the where and the what, of the great surrender in question. As to t=
he where,
it was Yorktown (wherever that was), and as to the what, it was General
Cornwallis (no doubt some wealthy dealer in corn). He was surrendered. The
inscription commemorates the surrender of--what? why, "of Lord
Cornwallis." The only question is what could the savages wish him
surrendered for. But when we remember that these savages were undoubtedly
cannibals, we are led to the conclusion that they intended him for sausage.=
As
to the how of the surrender, no language can be more explicit. Lord Cornwal=
lis
was surrendered (for sausage) "under the auspices of the Washington
Monument Association"--no doubt a charitable institution for the
depositing of corner-stones.--But, Heaven bless me! what is the matter? Ah,=
I
see--the balloon has collapsed, and we shall have a tumble into the sea. I
have, therefore, only time enough to add that, from a hasty inspection of t=
he
fac-similes of newspapers, &c., &c., I find that the great men in t=
hose
days among the Amriccans, were one John, a smith, and one Zacchary, a tailo=
r.
Good-bye, until I=
see
you again. Whether you ever get this letter or not is point of little
importance, as I write altogether for my own amusement. I shall cork the MS=
. up
in a bottle, however, and throw it into the sea.
Yours everlasting=
ly,
PUND=
ITA.
And stepped at o=
nce
into a cooler clime.--Cowper
KEATS fell by a
criticism. Who was it died of "The Andromache"? {*1} Ignoble
souls!--De L'Omelette perished of an ortolan. L'histoire en est breve. Assi=
st
me, Spirit of Apicius!
A golden cage bore the little winged wanderer, enamored, melting, indolent, to the Chaussee D'Antin, from its home in far Peru. From its queenly possessor La Bellissim= a, to the Duc De L'Omelette, six peers of the empire conveyed the happy bird.<= o:p>
That night the Duc
was to sup alone. In the privacy of his bureau he reclined languidly on that
ottoman for which he sacrificed his loyalty in outbidding his king--the
notorious ottoman of Cadet.
He buries his fac=
e in
the pillow. The clock strikes! Unable to restrain his feelings, his Grace
swallows an olive. At this moment the door gently opens to the sound of soft
music, and lo! the most delicate of birds is before the most enamored of me=
n!
But what inexpressible dismay now overshadows the countenance of the
Duc?--"Horreur!--chien! Baptiste!--l'oiseau! ah, bon Dieu! cet oiseau
modeste que tu as deshabille de ses plumes, et que tu as servi sans
papier!" It is superfluous to say more:--the Duc expired in a paroxysm=
of
disgust.
"Ha! ha!
ha!" said his Grace on the third day after his decease.
"He! he!
he!" replied the Devil faintly, drawing himself up with an air of haut=
eur.
"Why, surely=
you
are not serious," retorted De L'Omelette. "I have sinned--c'est
vrai--but, my good sir, consider!--you have no actual intention of putting
such--such barbarous threats into execution."
"No what?&qu=
ot;
said his majesty--"come, sir, strip!"
"Strip, inde=
ed!
very pretty i' faith! no, sir, I shall not strip. Who are you, pray, that I,
Duc De L'Omelette, Prince de Foie-Gras, just come of age, author of the
'Mazurkiad,' and Member of the Academy, should divest myself at your biddin=
g of
the sweetest pantaloons ever made by Bourdon, the daintiest robe-de-chambre
ever put together by Rombert--to say nothing of the taking my hair out of
paper--not to mention the trouble I should have in drawing off my gloves?&q=
uot;
"Who am I?--=
ah,
true! I am Baal-Zebub, Prince of the Fly. I took thee, just now, from a
rose-wood coffin inlaid with ivory. Thou wast curiously scented, and labell=
ed
as per invoice. Belial sent thee,--my Inspector of Cemeteries. The pantaloo=
ns,
which thou sayest were made by Bourdon, are an excellent pair of linen draw=
ers,
and thy robe-de-chambre is a shroud of no scanty dimensions."
"Sir!"
replied the Duc, "I am not to be insulted with impunity!--Sir! I shall
take the earliest opportunity of avenging this insult!--Sir! you shall hear
from me! in the meantime au revoir!"--and the Duc was bowing himself o=
ut
of the Satanic presence, when he was interrupted and brought back by a
gentleman in waiting. Hereupon his Grace rubbed his eyes, yawned, shrugged =
his
shoulders, reflected. Having become satisfied of his identity, he took a bi=
rd's
eye view of his whereabouts.
The apartment was
superb. Even De L'Omelette pronounced it bien comme il faut. It was not its
length nor its breadth,--but its height--ah, that was appalling!--There was=
no
ceiling--certainly none--but a dense whirling mass of fiery-colored clouds.=
His
Grace's brain reeled as he glanced upward. From above, hung a chain of an
unknown blood-red metal--its upper end lost, like the city of Boston, parmi=
les
nues. From its nether extremity swung a large cresset. The Duc knew it to b=
e a
ruby; but from it there poured a light so intense, so still, so terrible,
Persia never worshipped such--Gheber never imagined such--Mussulman never
dreamed of such when, drugged with opium, he has tottered to a bed of poppi=
es,
his back to the flowers, and his face to the God Apollo. The Duc muttered a
slight oath, decidedly approbatory.
The corners of the
room were rounded into niches. Three of these were filled with statues of
gigantic proportions. Their beauty was Grecian, their deformity Egyptian, t=
heir
tout ensemble French. In the fourth niche the statue was veiled; it was not
colossal. But then there was a taper ankle, a sandalled foot. De L'Omelette
pressed his hand upon his heart, closed his eyes, raised them, and caught h=
is
Satanic Majesty--in a blush.
But the
paintings!--Kupris! Astarte! Astoreth!--a thousand and the same! And Rafael=
le
has beheld them! Yes, Rafaelle has been here, for did he not paint the--? a=
nd
was he not consequently damned? The paintings--the paintings! O luxury! O
love!--who, gazing on those forbidden beauties, shall have eyes for the dai=
nty
devices of the golden frames that besprinkled, like stars, the hyacinth and=
the
porphyry walls?
But the Duc's hea= rt is fainting within him. He is not, however, as you suppose, dizzy with magnificence, nor drunk with the ecstatic breath of those innumerable cense= rs. C'est vrai que de toutes ces choses il a pense beaucoup--mais! The Duc De L'Omelette is terror-stricken; for, through the lurid vista which a single uncurtained window is affording, lo! gleams the most ghastly of all fires!<= o:p>
Le pauvre Duc! He
could not help imagining that the glorious, the voluptuous, the never-dying
melodies which pervaded that hall, as they passed filtered and transmuted
through the alchemy of the enchanted window-panes, were the wailings and the
howlings of the hopeless and the damned! And there, too!--there!--upon the
ottoman!--who could he be?--he, the petitmaitre--no, the Deity--who sat as =
if
carved in marble, et qui sourit, with his pale countenance, si amerement?
Mais il faut
agir--that is to say, a Frenchman never faints outright. Besides, his Grace
hated a scene--De L'Omelette is himself again. There were some foils upon a
table--some points also. The Duc s'echapper. He measures two points, and, w=
ith
a grace inimitable, offers his Majesty the choice. Horreur! his Majesty does
not fence!
Mais il joue!--how
happy a thought!--but his Grace had always an excellent memory. He had dipp=
ed
in the "Diable" of Abbe Gualtier. Therein it is said "que le
Diable n'ose pas refuser un jeu d'ecarte."
But the chances--=
the
chances! True--desperate: but scarcely more desperate than the Duc. Besides,
was he not in the secret?--had he not skimmed over Pere Le Brun?--was he no=
t a
member of the Club Vingt-un? "Si je perds," said he, "je ser=
ai
deux fois perdu--I shall be doubly dammed--voila tout! (Here his Grace shru=
gged
his shoulders.) Si je gagne, je reviendrai a mes ortolans--que les cartes
soient preparees!"
His Grace was all
care, all attention--his Majesty all confidence. A spectator would have tho=
ught
of Francis and Charles. His Grace thought of his game. His Majesty did not =
think;
he shuffled. The Duc cut.
The cards were de=
alt.
The trump is turned--it is--it is--the king! No--it was the queen. His Maje=
sty
cursed her masculine habiliments. De L'Omelette placed his hand upon his he=
art.
They play. The Duc
counts. The hand is out. His Majesty counts heavily, smiles, and is taking
wine. The Duc slips a card.
"C'est a vou=
s a
faire," said his Majesty, cutting. His Grace bowed, dealt, and arose f=
rom
the table en presentant le Roi.
His Majesty looked
chagrined.
Had Alexander not
been Alexander, he would have been Diogenes; and the Duc assured his antago=
nist
in taking leave, "que s'il n'eut ete De L'Omelette il n'aurait point
d'objection d'etre le Diable."
SOME years ago, I
engaged passage from Charleston, S. C, to the city of New York, in the fine
packet-ship "Independence," Captain Hardy. We were to sail on the
fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and on the fourteenth, I
went on board to arrange some matters in my state-room.
I found that we w=
ere
to have a great many passengers, including a more than usual number of ladi=
es.
On the list were several of my acquaintances, and among other names, I was
rejoiced to see that of Mr. Cornelius Wyatt, a young artist, for whom I
entertained feelings of warm friendship. He had been with me a fellow-stude=
nt
at C-- University, where we were very much together. He had the ordinary
temperament of genius, and was a compound of misanthropy, sensibility, and
enthusiasm. To these qualities he united the warmest and truest heart which
ever beat in a human bosom.
I observed that h=
is
name was carded upon three state-rooms; and, upon again referring to the li=
st
of passengers, I found that he had engaged passage for himself, wife, and t=
wo
sisters--his own. The state-rooms were sufficiently roomy, and each had two
berths, one above the other. These berths, to be sure, were so exceedingly
narrow as to be insufficient for more than one person; still, I could not
comprehend why there were three state-rooms for these four persons. I was, =
just
at that epoch, in one of those moody frames of mind which make a man abnorm=
ally
inquisitive about trifles: and I confess, with shame, that I busied myself =
in a
variety of ill-bred and preposterous conjectures about this matter of the
supernumerary state-room. It was no business of mine, to be sure, but with =
none
the less pertinacity did I occupy myself in attempts to resolve the enigma.=
At
last I reached a conclusion which wrought in me great wonder why I had not
arrived at it before. "It is a servant of course," I said; "=
what
a fool I am, not sooner to have thought of so obvious a solution!" And
then I again repaired to the list--but here I saw distinctly that no servant
was to come with the party, although, in fact, it had been the original des=
ign
to bring one--for the words "and servant" had been first written =
and then
overscored. "Oh, extra baggage, to be sure," I now said to myself=
--"something
he wishes not to be put in the hold--something to be kept under his own
eye--ah, I have it--a painting or so--and this is what he has been bargaini=
ng
about with Nicolino, the Italian Jew." This idea satisfied me, and I
dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.
Wyatt's two siste=
rs I
knew very well, and most amiable and clever girls they were. His wife he ha=
d newly
married, and I had never yet seen her. He had often talked about her in my
presence, however, and in his usual style of enthusiasm. He described her a=
s of
surpassing beauty, wit, and accomplishment. I was, therefore, quite anxious=
to
make her acquaintance.
On the day in whi=
ch I
visited the ship (the fourteenth), Wyatt and party were also to visit it--so
the captain informed me--and I waited on board an hour longer than I had
designed, in hope of being presented to the bride, but then an apology came=
. "Mrs.
W. was a little indisposed, and would decline coming on board until to-morr=
ow,
at the hour of sailing."
The morrow having
arrived, I was going from my hotel to the wharf, when Captain Hardy met me =
and
said that, "owing to circumstances" (a stupid but convenient phra=
se),
"he rather thought the 'Independence' would not sail for a day or two,=
and
that when all was ready, he would send up and let me know." This I tho=
ught
strange, for there was a stiff southerly breeze; but as "the
circumstances" were not forthcoming, although I pumped for them with m=
uch
perseverance, I had nothing to do but to return home and digest my impatien=
ce
at leisure.
I did not receive=
the
expected message from the captain for nearly a week. It came at length,
however, and I immediately went on board. The ship was crowded with passeng=
ers,
and every thing was in the bustle attendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party
arrived in about ten minutes after myself. There were the two sisters, the
bride, and the artist--the latter in one of his customary fits of moody
misanthropy. I was too well used to these, however, to pay them any special
attention. He did not even introduce me to his wife--this courtesy devolvin=
g,
per force, upon his sister Marian--a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, =
in a
few hurried words, made us acquainted.
Mrs. Wyatt had be=
en
closely veiled; and when she raised her veil, in acknowledging my bow, I
confess that I was very profoundly astonished. I should have been much more=
so,
however, had not long experience advised me not to trust, with too implicit=
a
reliance, the enthusiastic descriptions of my friend, the artist, when
indulging in comments upon the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the the=
me,
I well knew with what facility he soared into the regions of the purely ide=
al.
The truth is, I c=
ould
not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly plain-looking woman. If not
positively ugly, she was not, I think, very far from it. She was dressed,
however, in exquisite taste--and then I had no doubt that she had captivate=
d my
friend's heart by the more enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She s=
aid
very few words, and passed at once into her state-room with Mr. W.
My old
inquisitiveness now returned. There was no servant--that was a settled poin=
t. I
looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After some delay, a cart arrived =
at
the wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was every thing that seemed to be
expected. Immediately upon its arrival we made sail, and in a short time we=
re
safely over the bar and standing out to sea.
The box in questi=
on
was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in length by two and a half in
breadth; I observed it attentively, and like to be precise. Now this shape =
was
peculiar; and no sooner had I seen it, than I took credit to myself for the
accuracy of my guessing. I had reached the conclusion, it will be remembere=
d,
that the extra baggage of my friend, the artist, would prove to be pictures=
, or
at least a picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in conference =
with
Nicolino:--and now here was a box, which, from its shape, could possibly co=
ntain
nothing in the world but a copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper;" and a
copy of this very "Last Supper," done by Rubini the younger, at
Florence, I had known, for some time, to be in the possession of Nicolino. =
This
point, therefore, I considered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled excessiv=
ely
when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time I had ever known Wyatt to
keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but here he evidently intended =
to
steal a march upon me, and smuggle a fine picture to New York, under my very
nose; expecting me to know nothing of the matter. I resolved to quiz him we=
ll,
now and hereafter.
One thing, howeve=
r,
annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into the extra state-room. It w=
as
deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too, it remained, occupying very nearly
the whole of the floor--no doubt to the exceeding discomfort of the artist =
and
his wife;--this the more especially as the tar or paint with which it was
lettered in sprawling capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my
fancy, a peculiarly disgusting odor. On the lid were painted the
words--"Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wy=
att,
Esq. This side up. To be handled with care."
Now, I was aware =
that
Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany, was the artist's wife's mother,--but then I
looked upon the whole address as a mystification, intended especially for
myself. I made up my mind, of course, that the box and contents would never=
get
farther north than the studio of my misanthropic friend, in Chambers Street,
New York.
For the first thr=
ee
or four days we had fine weather, although the wind was dead ahead; having
chopped round to the northward, immediately upon our losing sight of the co=
ast.
The passengers were, consequently, in high spirits and disposed to be socia=
l. I
must except, however, Wyatt and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I co=
uld
not help thinking, uncourteously to the rest of the party. Wyatt's conduct I
did not so much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual habit--in fact=
he
was morose--but in him I was prepared for eccentricity. For the sisters, ho=
wever,
I could make no excuse. They secluded themselves in their staterooms during=
the
greater part of the passage, and absolutely refused, although I repeatedly
urged them, to hold communication with any person on board.
Mrs. Wyatt herself
was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was chatty; and to be chatty is=
no
slight recommendation at sea. She became excessively intimate with most of =
the
ladies; and, to my profound astonishment, evinced no equivocal disposition =
to
coquet with the men. She amused us all very much. I say "amused"-=
-and
scarcely know how to explain myself. The truth is, I soon found that Mrs. W.
was far oftener laughed at than with. The gentlemen said little about her; =
but
the ladies, in a little while, pronounced her "a good-hearted thing,
rather indifferent looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly vulgar."=
The
great wonder was, how Wyatt had been entrapped into such a match. Wealth was
the general solution--but this I knew to be no solution at all; for Wyatt h=
ad
told me that she neither brought him a dollar nor had any expectations from=
any
source whatever. "He had married," he said, "for love, and f=
or love
only; and his bride was far more than worthy of his love." When I thou=
ght
of these expressions, on the part of my friend, I confess that I felt
indescribably puzzled. Could it be possible that he was taking leave of his
senses? What else could I think? He, so refined, so intellectual, so
fastidious, with so exquisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen an
appreciation of the beautiful! To be sure, the lady seemed especially fond =
of
him--particularly so in his absence--when she made herself ridiculous by
frequent quotations of what had been said by her "beloved husband, Mr.
Wyatt." The word "husband" seemed forever--to use one of her=
own
delicate expressions--forever "on the tip of her tongue." In the
meantime, it was observed by all on board, that he avoided her in the most
pointed manner, and, for the most part, shut himself up alone in his
state-room, where, in fact, he might have been said to live altogether, lea=
ving
his wife at full liberty to amuse herself as she thought best, in the public
society of the main cabin.
My conclusion, fr=
om
what I saw and heard, was, that, the artist, by some unaccountable freak of
fate, or perhaps in some fit of enthusiastic and fanciful passion, had been
induced to unite himself with a person altogether beneath him, and that the
natural result, entire and speedy disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the
bottom of my heart--but could not, for that reason, quite forgive his
incommunicativeness in the matter of the "Last Supper." For this I
resolved to have my revenge.
One day he came u=
pon
deck, and, taking his arm as had been my wont, I sauntered with him backward
and forward. His gloom, however (which I considered quite natural under the
circumstances), seemed entirely unabated. He said little, and that moodily,=
and
with evident effort. I ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening atte=
mpt
at a smile. Poor fellow!--as I thought of his wife, I wondered that he could
have heart to put on even the semblance of mirth. I determined to commence a
series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes, about the oblong box--just to=
let
him perceive, gradually, that I was not altogether the butt, or victim, of =
his
little bit of pleasant mystification. My first observation was by way of
opening a masked battery. I said something about the "peculiar shape of
that box-," and, as I spoke the words, I smiled knowingly, winked, and
touched him gently with my forefinger in the ribs.
The manner in whi=
ch
Wyatt received this harmless pleasantry convinced me, at once, that he was =
mad.
At first he stared at me as if he found it impossible to comprehend the
witticism of my remark; but as its point seemed slowly to make its way into=
his
brain, his eyes, in the same proportion, seemed protruding from their socke=
ts.
Then he grew very red--then hideously pale--then, as if highly amused with =
what
I had insinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which, to my astoni=
shment,
he kept up, with gradually increasing vigor, for ten minutes or more. In
conclusion, he fell flat and heavily upon the deck. When I ran to uplift hi=
m,
to all appearance he was dead.
I called assistan=
ce,
and, with much difficulty, we brought him to himself. Upon reviving he spoke
incoherently for some time. At length we bled him and put him to bed. The n=
ext
morning he was quite recovered, so far as regarded his mere bodily health. =
Of
his mind I say nothing, of course. I avoided him during the rest of the
passage, by advice of the captain, who seemed to coincide with me altogethe=
r in
my views of his insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this head to a=
ny
person on board.
Several circumsta=
nces
occurred immediately after this fit of Wyatt which contributed to heighten =
the
curiosity with which I was already possessed. Among other things, this: I h=
ad
been nervous--drank too much strong green tea, and slept ill at night--in f=
act,
for two nights I could not be properly said to sleep at all. Now, my state-=
room
opened into the main cabin, or dining-room, as did those of all the single =
men
on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the after-cabin, which was separated =
from
the main one by a slight sliding door, never locked even at night. As we we=
re
almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not a little stiff, the ship
heeled to leeward very considerably; and whenever her starboard side was to
leeward, the sliding door between the cabins slid open, and so remained, no=
body
taking the trouble to get up and shut it. But my berth was in such a positi=
on,
that when my own state-room door was open, as well as the sliding door in
question (and my own door was always open on account of the heat,) I could =
see
into the after-cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too,=
where
were situated the state-rooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two nights (not
consecutive) while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about eleven o'clock
upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-room of Mr. W., and enter =
the
extra room, where she remained until daybreak, when she was called by her
husband and went back. That they were virtually separated was clear. They h=
ad
separate apartments--no doubt in contemplation of a more permanent divorce;=
and
here, after all I thought was the mystery of the extra state-room.
There was another
circumstance, too, which interested me much. During the two wakeful nights =
in
question, and immediately after the disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the ex=
tra
state-room, I was attracted by certain singular cautious, subdued noises in
that of her husband. After listening to them for some time, with thoughtful
attention, I at length succeeded perfectly in translating their import. They
were sounds occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box, by mean=
s of
a chisel and mallet--the latter being apparently muffled, or deadened, by s=
ome
soft woollen or cotton substance in which its head was enveloped.
In this manner I
fancied I could distinguish the precise moment when he fairly disengaged the
lid--also, that I could determine when he removed it altogether, and when he
deposited it upon the lower berth in his room; this latter point I knew, for
example, by certain slight taps which the lid made in striking against the
wooden edges of the berth, as he endeavored to lay it down very gently--the=
re
being no room for it on the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, a=
nd I
heard nothing more, upon either occasion, until nearly daybreak; unless,
perhaps, I may mention a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so very much
suppressed as to be nearly inaudible--if, indeed, the whole of this latter
noise were not rather produced by my own imagination. I say it seemed to re=
semble
sobbing or sighing--but, of course, it could not have been either. I rather
think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no doubt, according to
custom, was merely giving the rein to one of his hobbies--indulging in one =
of
his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had opened his oblong box, in order to
feast his eyes on the pictorial treasure within. There was nothing in this,
however, to make him sob. I repeat, therefore, that it must have been simpl=
y a
freak of my own fancy, distempered by good Captain Hardy's green tea. Just
before dawn, on each of the two nights of which I speak, I distinctly heard=
Mr.
Wyatt replace the lid upon the oblong box, and force the nails into their o=
ld places
by means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he issued from his
state-room, fully dressed, and proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers.
We had been at sea
seven days, and were now off Cape Hatteras, when there came a tremendously
heavy blow from the southwest. We were, in a measure, prepared for it, howe=
ver,
as the weather had been holding out threats for some time. Every thing was =
made
snug, alow and aloft; and as the wind steadily freshened, we lay to, at len=
gth,
under spanker and foretopsail, both double-reefed.
In this trim we r=
ode
safely enough for forty-eight hours--the ship proving herself an excellent
sea-boat in many respects, and shipping no water of any consequence. At the=
end
of this period, however, the gale had freshened into a hurricane, and our
after--sail split into ribbons, bringing us so much in the trough of the wa=
ter
that we shipped several prodigious seas, one immediately after the other. By
this accident we lost three men overboard with the caboose, and nearly the
whole of the larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we recovered our senses, before
the foretopsail went into shreds, when we got up a storm stay--sail and wit=
h this
did pretty well for some hours, the ship heading the sea much more steadily
than before.
The gale still he=
ld
on, however, and we saw no signs of its abating. The rigging was found to be
ill-fitted, and greatly strained; and on the third day of the blow, about f=
ive
in the afternoon, our mizzen-mast, in a heavy lurch to windward, went by the
board. For an hour or more, we tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of
the prodigious rolling of the ship; and, before we had succeeded, the carpe=
nter
came aft and announced four feet of water in the hold. To add to our dilemm=
a,
we found the pumps choked and nearly useless.
All was now confu= sion and despair--but an effort was made to lighten the ship by throwing overboa= rd as much of her cargo as could be reached, and by cutting away the two masts that remained. This we at last accomplished--but we were still unable to do= any thing at the pumps; and, in the meantime, the leak gained on us very fast.<= o:p>
At sundown, the g=
ale
had sensibly diminished in violence, and as the sea went down with it, we s=
till
entertained faint hopes of saving ourselves in the boats. At eight P. M., t=
he
clouds broke away to windward, and we had the advantage of a full moon--a p=
iece
of good fortune which served wonderfully to cheer our drooping spirits.
After incredible
labor we succeeded, at length, in getting the longboat over the side without
material accident, and into this we crowded the whole of the crew and most =
of
the passengers. This party made off immediately, and, after undergoing much
suffering, finally arrived, in safety, at Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day
after the wreck.
Fourteen passenge=
rs,
with the captain, remained on board, resolving to trust their fortunes to t=
he
jolly-boat at the stern. We lowered it without difficulty, although it was =
only
by a miracle that we prevented it from swamping as it touched the water. It
contained, when afloat, the captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a
Mexican officer, wife, four children, and myself, with a negro valet.
We had no room, of
course, for any thing except a few positively necessary instruments, some
provisions, and the clothes upon our backs. No one had thought of even atte=
mpting
to save any thing more. What must have been the astonishment of all, then, =
when
having proceeded a few fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the
stern-sheets, and coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat should be =
put
back for the purpose of taking in his oblong box!
"Sit down, M=
r.
Wyatt," replied the captain, somewhat sternly, "you will capsize =
us
if you do not sit quite still. Our gunwhale is almost in the water now.&quo=
t;
"The box!&qu=
ot;
vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing--"the box, I say! Captain Hardy,=
you
cannot, you will not refuse me. Its weight will be but a trifle--it is
nothing--mere nothing. By the mother who bore you--for the love of Heaven--=
by
your hope of salvation, I implore you to put back for the box!"
The captain, for =
a moment,
seemed touched by the earnest appeal of the artist, but he regained his ste=
rn
composure, and merely said:
"Mr. Wyatt, =
you
are mad. I cannot listen to you. Sit down, I say, or you will swamp the boa=
t.
Stay--hold him--seize him!--he is about to spring overboard! There--I knew
it--he is over!"
As the captain sa=
id
this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from the boat, and, as we were yet in the =
lee
of the wreck, succeeded, by almost superhuman exertion, in getting hold of a
rope which hung from the fore-chains. In another moment he was on board, and
rushing frantically down into the cabin.
In the meantime, =
we
had been swept astern of the ship, and being quite out of her lee, were at =
the
mercy of the tremendous sea which was still running. We made a determined
effort to put back, but our little boat was like a feather in the breath of=
the
tempest. We saw at a glance that the doom of the unfortunate artist was sea=
led.
As our distance f=
rom
the wreck rapidly increased, the madman (for as such only could we regard h=
im)
was seen to emerge from the companion--way, up which by dint of strength th=
at
appeared gigantic, he dragged, bodily, the oblong box. While we gazed in the
extremity of astonishment, he passed, rapidly, several turns of a three-inch
rope, first around the box and then around his body. In another instant both
body and box were in the sea--disappearing suddenly, at once and forever.
We lingered awhile
sadly upon our oars, with our eyes riveted upon the spot. At length we pull=
ed
away. The silence remained unbroken for an hour. Finally, I hazarded a rema=
rk.
"Did you
observe, captain, how suddenly they sank? Was not that an exceedingly singu=
lar
thing? I confess that I entertained some feeble hope of his final deliveran=
ce,
when I saw him lash himself to the box, and commit himself to the sea."=
;
"They sank a=
s a
matter of course," replied the captain, "and that like a shot. Th=
ey
will soon rise again, however--but not till the salt melts."
"The salt!&q=
uot;
I ejaculated.
"Hush!"
said the captain, pointing to the wife and sisters of the deceased. "We
must talk of these things at some more appropriate time."
We suffered much,=
and
made a narrow escape, but fortune befriended us, as well as our mates in the
long-boat. We landed, in fine, more dead than alive, after four days of int=
ense
distress, upon the beach opposite Roanoke Island. We remained here a week, =
were
not ill-treated by the wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New Yo=
rk.
About a month aft= er the loss of the "Independence," I happened to meet Captain Hardy = in Broadway. Our conversation turned, naturally, upon the disaster, and especi= ally upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus learned the following particulars.<= o:p>
The artist had
engaged passage for himself, wife, two sisters and a servant. His wife was,
indeed, as she had been represented, a most lovely, and most accomplished
woman. On the morning of the fourteenth of June (the day in which I first
visited the ship), the lady suddenly sickened and died. The young husband w=
as
frantic with grief--but circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his
voyage to New York. It was necessary to take to her mother the corpse of his
adored wife, and, on the other hand, the universal prejudice which would
prevent his doing so openly was well known. Nine-tenths of the passengers w=
ould
have abandoned the ship rather than take passage with a dead body.
In this dilemma,
Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse, being first partially embalmed, and
packed, with a large quantity of salt, in a box of suitable dimensions, sho=
uld
be conveyed on board as merchandise. Nothing was to be said of the lady's
decease; and, as it was well understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage =
for
his wife, it became necessary that some person should personate her during =
the
voyage. This the deceased lady's-maid was easily prevailed on to do. The ex=
tra state-room,
originally engaged for this girl during her mistress' life, was now merely
retained. In this state-room the pseudo-wife, slept, of course, every night=
. In
the daytime she performed, to the best of her ability, the part of her
mistress--whose person, it had been carefully ascertained, was unknown to a=
ny
of the passengers on board.
My own mistake ar=
ose,
naturally enough, through too careless, too inquisitive, and too impulsive a
temperament. But of late, it is a rare thing that I sleep soundly at night.
There is a countenance which haunts me, turn as I will. There is an hysteri=
cal
laugh which will forever ring within my ears.
O Breathe not,
etc.
--Moore's Melodies
THE MOST notorious
ill-fortune must in the end yield to the untiring courage of philosophy--as=
the
most stubborn city to the ceaseless vigilance of an enemy. Shalmanezer, as =
we
have it in holy writings, lay three years before Samaria; yet it fell. Sard=
anapalus--see
Diodorus--maintained himself seven in Nineveh; but to no purpose. Troy expi=
red
at the close of the second lustrum; and Azoth, as Aristaeus declares upon h=
is
honour as a gentleman, opened at last her gates to Psammetichus, after havi=
ng
barred them for the fifth part of a century....
"Thou
wretch!--thou vixen!--thou shrew!" said I to my wife on the morning af=
ter
our wedding; "thou witch!--thou hag!--thou whippersnapper--thou sink of
iniquity!--thou fiery-faced quintessence of all that is abominable!--thou--=
thou-"
here standing upon tiptoe, seizing her by the throat, and placing my mouth
close to her ear, I was preparing to launch forth a new and more decided
epithet of opprobrium, which should not fail, if ejaculated, to convince he=
r of
her insignificance, when to my extreme horror and astonishment I discovered=
that
I had lost my breath.
The phrases "=
;I
am out of breath," "I have lost my breath," etc., are often
enough repeated in common conversation; but it had never occurred to me that
the terrible accident of which I speak could bona fide and actually happen!
Imagine--that is if you have a fanciful turn--imagine, I say, my wonder--my
consternation--my despair!
There is a good
genius, however, which has never entirely deserted me. In my most ungoverna=
ble
moods I still retain a sense of propriety, et le chemin des passions me
conduit--as Lord Edouard in the "Julie" says it did him--a la
philosophie veritable.
Although I could =
not
at first precisely ascertain to what degree the occurrence had affected me,=
I
determined at all events to conceal the matter from my wife, until further
experience should discover to me the extent of this my unheard of calamity.
Altering my countenance, therefore, in a moment, from its bepuffed and
distorted appearance, to an expression of arch and coquettish benignity, I =
gave
my lady a pat on the one cheek, and a kiss on the other, and without saying=
one
syllable (Furies! I could not), left her astonished at my drollery, as I pi=
rouetted
out of the room in a Pas de Zephyr.
Behold me then sa=
fely
ensconced in my private boudoir, a fearful instance of the ill consequences
attending upon irascibility--alive, with the qualifications of the dead--de=
ad,
with the propensities of the living--an anomaly on the face of the earth--b=
eing
very calm, yet breathless.
Yes! breathless. =
I am
serious in asserting that my breath was entirely gone. I could not have sti=
rred
with it a feather if my life had been at issue, or sullied even the delicac=
y of
a mirror. Hard fate!--yet there was some alleviation to the first overwhelm=
ing
paroxysm of my sorrow. I found, upon trial, that the powers of utterance wh=
ich,
upon my inability to proceed in the conversation with my wife, I then concl=
uded
to be totally destroyed, were in fact only partially impeded, and I discove=
red that
had I, at that interesting crisis, dropped my voice to a singularly deep
guttural, I might still have continued to her the communication of my
sentiments; this pitch of voice (the guttural) depending, I find, not upon =
the
current of the breath, but upon a certain spasmodic action of the muscles of
the throat.
Throwing myself u=
pon
a chair, I remained for some time absorbed in meditation. My reflections, be
sure, were of no consolatory kind. A thousand vague and lachrymatory fancies
took possession of my soul--and even the idea of suicide flitted across my
brain; but it is a trait in the perversity of human nature to reject the
obvious and the ready, for the far-distant and equivocal. Thus I shuddered =
at
self-murder as the most decided of atrocities while the tabby cat purred
strenuously upon the rug, and the very water dog wheezed assiduously under =
the
table, each taking to itself much merit for the strength of its lungs, and =
all obviously
done in derision of my own pulmonary incapacity.
Oppressed with a
tumult of vague hopes and fears, I at length heard the footsteps of my wife
descending the staircase. Being now assured of her absence, I returned with=
a
palpitating heart to the scene of my disaster.
Carefully locking=
the
door on the inside, I commenced a vigorous search. It was possible, I thoug=
ht,
that, concealed in some obscure corner, or lurking in some closet or drawer,
might be found the lost object of my inquiry. It might have a vapory--it mi=
ght
even have a tangible form. Most philosophers, upon many points of philosoph=
y,
are still very unphilosophical. William Godwin, however, says in his
"Mandeville," that "invisible things are the only
realities," and this, all will allow, is a case in point. I would have=
the
judicious reader pause before accusing such asseverations of an undue quant=
um
of absurdity. Anaxagoras, it will be remembered, maintained that snow is bl=
ack,
and this I have since found to be the case.
Long and earnestly
did I continue the investigation: but the contemptible reward of my industry
and perseverance proved to be only a set of false teeth, two pair of hips, =
an
eye, and a bundle of billets-doux from Mr. Windenough to my wife. I might as
well here observe that this confirmation of my lady's partiality for Mr. W.=
occasioned
me little uneasiness. That Mrs. Lackobreath should admire anything so
dissimilar to myself was a natural and necessary evil. I am, it is well kno=
wn,
of a robust and corpulent appearance, and at the same time somewhat diminut=
ive
in stature. What wonder, then, that the lath-like tenuity of my acquaintanc=
e,
and his altitude, which has grown into a proverb, should have met with all =
due
estimation in the eyes of Mrs. Lackobreath. But to return.
My exertions, as I
have before said, proved fruitless. Closet after closet--drawer after
drawer--corner after corner--were scrutinized to no purpose. At one time,
however, I thought myself sure of my prize, having, in rummaging a
dressing-case, accidentally demolished a bottle of Grandjean's Oil of Archa=
ngels--which,
as an agreeable perfume, I here take the liberty of recommending.
With a heavy hear=
t I
returned to my boudoir--there to ponder upon some method of eluding my wife=
's
penetration, until I could make arrangements prior to my leaving the countr=
y, for
to this I had already made up my mind. In a foreign climate, being unknown,=
I
might, with some probability of success, endeavor to conceal my unhappy
calamity--a calamity calculated, even more than beggary, to estrange the
affections of the multitude, and to draw down upon the wretch the well-meri=
ted indignation
of the virtuous and the happy. I was not long in hesitation. Being naturally
quick, I committed to memory the entire tragedy of "Metamora." I =
had
the good fortune to recollect that in the accentuation of this drama, or at
least of such portion of it as is allotted to the hero, the tones of voice =
in
which I found myself deficient were altogether unnecessary, and the deep
guttural was expected to reign monotonously throughout.
I practised for s=
ome
time by the borders of a well frequented marsh;--herein, however, having no
reference to a similar proceeding of Demosthenes, but from a design peculia=
rly
and conscientiously my own. Thus armed at all points, I determined to make =
my
wife believe that I was suddenly smitten with a passion for the stage. In t=
his,
I succeeded to a miracle; and to every question or suggestion found myself =
at liberty
to reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones with some passage from t=
he
tragedy--any portion of which, as I soon took great pleasure in observing,
would apply equally well to any particular subject. It is not to be suppose=
d,
however, that in the delivery of such passages I was found at all deficient=
in
the looking asquint--the showing my teeth--the working my knees--the shuffl=
ing
my feet--or in any of those unmentionable graces which are now justly
considered the characteristics of a popular performer. To be sure they spok=
e of
confining me in a strait-jacket--but, good God! they never suspected me of
having lost my breath.
Having at length =
put
my affairs in order, I took my seat very early one morning in the mail stage
for--, giving it to be understood, among my acquaintances, that business of=
the
last importance required my immediate personal attendance in that city.
The coach was cra=
mmed
to repletion; but in the uncertain twilight the features of my companions c=
ould
not be distinguished. Without making any effectual resistance, I suffered
myself to be placed between two gentlemen of colossal dimensions; while a
third, of a size larger, requesting pardon for the liberty he was about to
take, threw himself upon my body at full length, and falling asleep in an
instant, drowned all my guttural ejaculations for relief, in a snore which
would have put to blush the roarings of the bull of Phalaris. Happily the s=
tate
of my respiratory faculties rendered suffocation an accident entirely out o=
f the
question.
As, however, the =
day
broke more distinctly in our approach to the outskirts of the city, my
tormentor, arising and adjusting his shirt-collar, thanked me in a very
friendly manner for my civility. Seeing that I remained motionless (all my
limbs were dislocated and my head twisted on one side), his apprehensions b=
egan
to be excited; and arousing the rest of the passengers, he communicated, in=
a
very decided manner, his opinion that a dead man had been palmed upon them
during the night for a living and responsible fellow-traveller; here giving=
me a
thump on the right eye, by way of demonstrating the truth of his suggestion=
.
Hereupon all, one
after another (there were nine in company), believed it their duty to pull =
me
by the ear. A young practising physician, too, having applied a pocket-mirr=
or
to my mouth, and found me without breath, the assertion of my persecutor was
pronounced a true bill; and the whole party expressed a determination to en=
dure
tamely no such impositions for the future, and to proceed no farther with a=
ny
such carcasses for the present.
I was here,
accordingly, thrown out at the sign of the "Crow" (by which tavern
the coach happened to be passing), without meeting with any farther accident
than the breaking of both my arms, under the left hind wheel of the vehicle=
. I
must besides do the driver the justice to state that he did not forget to t=
hrow
after me the largest of my trunks, which, unfortunately falling on my head,
fractured my skull in a manner at once interesting and extraordinary.
The landlord of t=
he
"Crow," who is a hospitable man, finding that my trunk contained
sufficient to indemnify him for any little trouble he might take in my beha=
lf,
sent forthwith for a surgeon of his acquaintance, and delivered me to his c=
are
with a bill and receipt for ten dollars.
The purchaser too=
k me
to his apartments and commenced operations immediately. Having cut off my e=
ars,
however, he discovered signs of animation. He now rang the bell, and sent f=
or a
neighboring apothecary with whom to consult in the emergency. In case of his
suspicions with regard to my existence proving ultimately correct, he, in t=
he
meantime, made an incision in my stomach, and removed several of my viscera=
for
private dissection.
The apothecary ha=
d an
idea that I was actually dead. This idea I endeavored to confute, kicking a=
nd
plunging with all my might, and making the most furious contortions--for the
operations of the surgeon had, in a measure, restored me to the possession =
of
my faculties. All, however, was attributed to the effects of a new galvanic
battery, wherewith the apothecary, who is really a man of information,
performed several curious experiments, in which, from my personal share in
their fulfillment, I could not help feeling deeply interested. It was a cou=
rse of
mortification to me, nevertheless, that although I made several attempts at
conversation, my powers of speech were so entirely in abeyance, that I could
not even open my mouth; much less, then, make reply to some ingenious but
fanciful theories of which, under other circumstances, my minute acquaintan=
ce
with the Hippocratian pathology would have afforded me a ready confutation.=
Not being able to
arrive at a conclusion, the practitioners remanded me for farther examinati=
on.
I was taken up into a garret; and the surgeon's lady having accommodated me
with drawers and stockings, the surgeon himself fastened my hands, and tied=
up
my jaws with a pocket-handkerchief--then bolted the door on the outside as =
he
hurried to his dinner, leaving me alone to silence and to meditation.
I now discovered =
to
my extreme delight that I could have spoken had not my mouth been tied up w=
ith
the pocket-handkerchief. Consoling myself with this reflection, I was menta=
lly
repeating some passages of the "Omnipresence of the Deity," as is=
my
custom before resigning myself to sleep, when two cats, of a greedy and
vituperative turn, entering at a hole in the wall, leaped up with a flouris=
h a
la Catalani, and alighting opposite one another on my visage, betook themse=
lves
to indecorous contention for the paltry consideration of my nose.
But, as the loss =
of
his ears proved the means of elevating to the throne of Cyrus, the Magian or
Mige-Gush of Persia, and as the cutting off his nose gave Zopyrus possessio=
n of
Babylon, so the loss of a few ounces of my countenance proved the salvation=
of
my body. Aroused by the pain, and burning with indignation, I burst, at a
single effort, the fastenings and the bandage. Stalking across the room I c=
ast
a glance of contempt at the belligerents, and throwing open the sash to the=
ir
extreme horror and disappointment, precipitated myself, very dexterously, f=
rom
the window. this moment passing from the city jail to the scaffold erected =
for
his execution in the suburbs. His extreme infirmity and long continued ill
health had obtained him the privilege of remaining unmanacled; and habited =
in
his gallows costume--one very similar to my own,--he lay at full length in =
the
bottom of the hangman's cart (which happened to be under the windows of the
surgeon at the moment of my precipitation) without any other guard than the
driver, who was asleep, and two recruits of the sixth infantry, who were dr=
unk.
As ill-luck would
have it, I alit upon my feet within the vehicle. immediately, he bolted out
behind, and turning down an alley, was out of sight in the twinkling of an =
eye.
The recruits, aroused by the bustle, could not exactly comprehend the merit=
s of
the transaction. Seeing, however, a man, the precise counterpart of the fel=
on,
standing upright in the cart before their eyes, they were of (so they expre=
ssed
themselves,) and, having communicated this opinion to one another, they too=
k each
a dram, and then knocked me down with the butt-ends of their muskets.
It was not long e=
re
we arrived at the place of destination. Of course nothing could be said in =
my
defence. Hanging was my inevitable fate. I resigned myself thereto with a
feeling half stupid, half acrimonious. Being little of a cynic, I had all t=
he
sentiments of a dog. The hangman, however, adjusted the noose about my neck.
The drop fell.
I forbear to depi=
ct
my sensations upon the gallows; although here, undoubtedly, I could speak to
the point, and it is a topic upon which nothing has been well said. In fact=
, to
write upon such a theme it is necessary to have been hanged. Every author
should confine himself to matters of experience. Thus Mark Antony composed a
treatise upon getting drunk.
I may just mentio=
n,
however, that die I did not. My body was, but I had no breath to be, suspen=
ded;
and but for the knot under my left ear (which had the feel of a military st=
ock)
I dare say that I should have experienced very little inconvenience. As for=
the
jerk given to my neck upon the falling of the drop, it merely proved a
corrective to the twist afforded me by the fat gentleman in the coach.
For good reasons,
however, I did my best to give the crowd the worth of their trouble. My
convulsions were said to be extraordinary. My spasms it would have been
difficult to beat. The populace encored. Several gentlemen swooned; and a
multitude of ladies were carried home in hysterics. Pinxit availed himself =
of
the opportunity to retouch, from a sketch taken upon the spot, his admirable
painting of the "Marsyas flayed alive."
When I had afford=
ed
sufficient amusement, it was thought proper to remove my body from the
gallows;--this the more especially as the real culprit had in the meantime =
been
retaken and recognized, a fact which I was so unlucky as not to know.
Much sympathy was=
, of
course, exercised in my behalf, and as no one made claim to my corpse, it w=
as
ordered that I should be interred in a public vault.
Here, after due
interval, I was deposited. The sexton departed, and I was left alone. A lin=
e of
Marston's "Malcontent"--
Death's a good fe=
llow
and keeps open house--struck me at that moment as a palpable lie.
I knocked off,
however, the lid of my coffin, and stepped out. The place was dreadfully dr=
eary
and damp, and I became troubled with ennui. By way of amusement, I felt my =
way
among the numerous coffins ranged in order around. I lifted them down, one =
by
one, and breaking open their lids, busied myself in speculations about the
mortality within.
"This,"=
I
soliloquized, tumbling over a carcass, puffy, bloated, and rotund--"th=
is
has been, no doubt, in every sense of the word, an unhappy--an unfortunate =
man.
It has been his terrible lot not to walk but to waddle--to pass through life
not like a human being, but like an elephant--not like a man, but like a
rhinoceros.
"His attempt=
s at
getting on have been mere abortions, and his circumgyratory proceedings a
palpable failure. Taking a step forward, it has been his misfortune to take=
two
toward the right, and three toward the left. His studies have been confined=
to
the poetry of Crabbe. He can have no idea of the wonder of a pirouette. To =
him
a pas de papillon has been an abstract conception. He has never ascended the
summit of a hill. He has never viewed from any steeple the glories of a
metropolis. Heat has been his mortal enemy. In the dog-days his days have b=
een
the days of a dog. Therein, he has dreamed of flames and suffocation--of mo=
untains
upon mountains--of Pelion upon Ossa. He was short of breath--to say all in a
word, he was short of breath. He thought it extravagant to play upon wind
instruments. He was the inventor of self-moving fans, wind-sails, and
ventilators. He patronized Du Pont the bellows-maker, and he died miserably=
in
attempting to smoke a cigar. His was a case in which I feel a deep interest=
--a
lot in which I sincerely sympathize.
"But
here,"--said I--"here"--and I dragged spitefully from its re=
ceptacle
a gaunt, tall and peculiar-looking form, whose remarkable appearance struck=
me
with a sense of unwelcome familiarity--"here is a wretch entitled to no
earthly commiseration." Thus saying, in order to obtain a more distinct
view of my subject, I applied my thumb and forefinger to its nose, and caus=
ing
it to assume a sitting position upon the ground, held it thus, at the lengt=
h of
my arm, while I continued my soliloquy.
"Entitled,&q=
uot;
I repeated, "to no earthly commiseration. Who indeed would think of
compassioning a shadow? Besides, has he not had his full share of the bless=
ings
of mortality? He was the originator of tall monuments--shot-towers--lightni=
ng-rods--Lombardy
poplars. His treatise upon "Shades and Shadows" has immortalized =
him.
He edited with distinguished ability the last edition of "South on the
Bones." He went early to college and studied pneumatics. He then came
home, talked eternally, and played upon the French-horn. He patronized the
bagpipes. Captain Barclay, who walked against Time, would not walk against =
him.
Windham and Allbreath were his favorite writers,--his favorite artist, Phiz=
. He
died gloriously while inhaling gas--levique flatu corrupitur, like the fama
pudicitae in Hieronymus. {*1} He was indubitably a"--
"How can
you?--how--can--you?"--interrupted the object of my animadversions,
gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate exertion, the bandage
around its jaws--"how can you, Mr. Lackobreath, be so infernally cruel=
as
to pinch me in that manner by the nose? Did you not see how they had fasten=
ed
up my mouth--and you must know--if you know any thing--how vast a superflui=
ty
of breath I have to dispose of! If you do not know, however, sit down and y=
ou
shall see. In my situation it is really a great relief to be able to open o=
nes
mouth--to be able to expatiate--to be able to communicate with a person like
yourself, who do not think yourself called upon at every period to interrupt
the thread of a gentleman's discourse. Interruptions are annoying and shoul=
d undoubtedly
be abolished--don't you think so?--no reply, I beg you,--one person is enou=
gh
to be speaking at a time.--I shall be done by and by, and then you may
begin.--How the devil sir, did you get into this place?--not a word I besee=
ch
you--been here some time myself--terrible accident!--heard of it, I
suppose?--awful calamity!--walking under your windows--some short while
ago--about the time you were stage-struck--horrible occurrence!--heard of
"catching one's breath," eh?--hold your tongue I tell you!--I cau=
ght
somebody elses!--had always too much of my own--met Blab at the corner of t=
he
street--wouldn't give me a chance for a word--couldn't get in a syllable
edgeways--attacked, consequently, with epilepsis--Blab made his escape--damn
all fools!--they took me up for dead, and put me in this place--pretty doin=
gs
all of them!--heard all you said about me--every word a lie--horrible!--won=
derful--outrageous!--hideous!--incomprehensible!--et
cetera--et cetera--et cetera--et cetera-"
It is impossible =
to
conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a discourse, or the joy with whic=
h I
became gradually convinced that the breath so fortunately caught by the
gentleman (whom I soon recognized as my neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, =
the
identical expiration mislaid by myself in the conversation with my wife. Ti=
me,
place, and circumstances rendered it a matter beyond question. I did not at=
least
during the long period in which the inventor of Lombardy poplars continued =
to
favor me with his explanations.
In this respect I=
was
actuated by that habitual prudence which has ever been my predominating tra=
it.
I reflected that many difficulties might still lie in the path of my
preservation which only extreme exertion on my part would be able to surmou=
nt.
Many persons, I considered, are prone to estimate commodities in their
possession--however valueless to the then proprietor--however troublesome, =
or
distressing--in direct ratio with the advantages to be derived by others fr=
om
their attainment, or by themselves from their abandonment. Might not this be
the case with Mr. Windenough? In displaying anxiety for the breath of which=
he
was at present so willing to get rid, might I not lay myself open to the ex=
actions
of his avarice? There are scoundrels in this world, I remembered with a sig=
h,
who will not scruple to take unfair opportunities with even a next door
neighbor, and (this remark is from Epictetus) it is precisely at that time =
when
men are most anxious to throw off the burden of their own calamities that t=
hey
feel the least desirous of relieving them in others.
Upon consideratio=
ns
similar to these, and still retaining my grasp upon the nose of Mr. W., I
accordingly thought proper to model my reply.
"Monster!&qu=
ot;
I began in a tone of the deepest indignation--"monster and double-wind=
ed
idiot!--dost thou, whom for thine iniquities it has pleased heaven to accur=
se
with a two-fold respimtion--dost thou, I say, presume to address me in the
familiar language of an old acquaintance?--'I lie,' forsooth! and 'hold my
tongue,' to be sure!--pretty conversation indeed, to a gentleman with a sin=
gle breath!--all
this, too, when I have it in my power to relieve the calamity under which t=
hou
dost so justly suffer--to curtail the superfluities of thine unhappy
respiration."
Like Brutus, I pa=
used
for a reply--with which, like a tornado, Mr. Windenough immediately overwhe=
lmed
me. Protestation followed upon protestation, and apology upon apology. There
were no terms with which he was unwilling to comply, and there were none of
which I failed to take the fullest advantage.
Preliminaries bei=
ng
at length arranged, my acquaintance delivered me the respiration; for which
(having carefully examined it) I gave him afterward a receipt.
I am aware that by
many I shall be held to blame for speaking in a manner so cursory, of a
transaction so impalpable. It will be thought that I should have entered mo=
re minutely,
into the details of an occurrence by which--and this is very true--much new
light might be thrown upon a highly interesting branch of physical philosop=
hy.
To all this I am
sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is the only answer which I am permitted to
make. There were circumstances--but I think it much safer upon consideratio=
n to
say as little as possible about an affair so delicate--so delicate, I repea=
t,
and at the time involving the interests of a third party whose sulphurous
resentment I have not the least desire, at this moment, of incurring.
We were not long
after this necessary arrangement in effecting an escape from the dungeons of
the sepulchre. The united strength of our resuscitated voices was soon
sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the Whig editor, republished a treatise up=
on
"the nature and origin of subterranean noises." A
reply--rejoinder--confutation--and justification--followed in the columns o=
f a
Democratic Gazette. It was not until the opening of the vault to decide the
controversy, that the appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both
parties to have been decidedly in the wrong.
I cannot conclude these details of some very singular passages in a life at all times sufficiently eventful, without again recalling to the attention of the read= er the merits of that indiscriminate philosophy which is a sure and ready shie= ld against those shafts of calamity which can neither be seen, felt nor fully understood. It was in the spirit of this wisdom that, among the ancient Hebrews, it was believed the gates of Heaven would be inevitably opened to = that sinner, or saint, who, with good lungs and implicit confidence, should vociferate the word "Amen!" It was in the spirit of this wisdom t= hat, when a great plague raged at Athens, and every means had been in vain attem= pted for its removal, Epimenides, as Laertius relates, in his second book, of th= at philosopher, advised the erection of a shrine and temple "to the proper God."<= o:p>
LYTTLETON BARRY - THE MAN
THAT WAS USED UP - A TALE OF THE LATE BUGABOO AND KICKAPOO CAMPAIGN.=
Pleurez, pleurez=
, mes
yeux, et fondez vous en eau!
La moitié=
; de
ma vie a mis l' autre au tombeau.
CORNEILLE.=
I CANNOT just now
remember when or where I first made the acquaintance of that truly fine-loo=
king
fellow, Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. Some one did introduc=
e me
to the gentleman, I am sure--at some public meeting, I know very well--held
about something of great importance, no doubt--at some place or other, I fe=
el
convinced,--whose name I have unaccountably forgotten. The truth is--that t=
he
introduction was attended, upon my part, with a degree of anxious embarrass=
ment
which operated to prevent any definite impressions of either time or place.=
I am
constitutionally nervous--this, with me, is a family failing, and I can't h=
elp
it. In especial, the slightest appearance of mystery--of any point I cannot
exactly comprehend--puts me at once into a pitiable state of agitation.
There was somethi=
ng,
as it were, remarkable--yes, remarkable, although this is but a feeble term=
to
express my full meaning--about the entire individuality of the personage in
question. He was, perhaps, six feet in height, and of a presence singularly
commanding. There was an air distingué pervading the whole man, which
spoke of high breeding, and hinted at high birth. Upon this topic--the topi=
c of
Smith's personal appearance--I have a kind of melancholy satisfaction in be=
ing
minute. His head of hair would have done honor to a Brutus;--nothing could =
be more
richly flowing, or possess a brighter gloss. It was of a jetty black;--which
was also the color, or more properly the no color of his unimaginable whisk=
ers.
You perceive I cannot speak of these latter without enthusiasm; it is not t=
oo
much to say that they were the handsomest pair of whiskers under the sun. At
all events, they encircled, and at times partially overshadowed, a mouth
utterly unequalled. Here were the most entirely even, and the most brillian=
tly white
of all conceivable teeth. From between them, upon every proper occasion, is=
sued
a voice of surpassing clearness, melody, and strength. In the matter of eye=
s,
also, my acquaintance was pre-eminently endowed. Either one of such a pair =
was
worth a couple of the ordinary ocular organs. They were of a deep hazel, ex=
ceedingly
large and lustrous; and there was perceptible about them, ever and anon, ju=
st
that amount of interesting obliquity which gives pregnancy to expression.
The bust of the
General was unquestionably the finest bust I ever saw. For your life you co=
uld
not have found a fault with its wonderful proportion. This rare peculiarity=
set
off to great advantage a pair of shoulders which would have called up a blu=
sh
of conscious inferiority into the countenance of the marble Apollo. I have a
passion for fine shoulders, and may say that I never beheld them in perfect=
ion
before. The arms altogether were admirably modelled. Nor were the lower lim=
bs less
superb. These were, indeed, the ne plus ultra of good legs. Every connoisse=
ur
in such matters admitted the legs to be good. There was neither too much fl=
esh,
nor too little,--neither rudeness nor fragility. I could not imagine a more
graceful curve than that of the os femoris, and there was just that due gen=
tle
prominence in the rear of the fibula which goes to the conformation of a
properly proportioned calf. I wish to God my young and talented friend
Chiponchipino, the sculptor, had but seen the legs of Brevet Brigadier Gene=
ral
John A. B. C. Smith.
But although men =
so
absolutely fine-looking are neither as plenty as reasons or blackberries, s=
till
I could not bring myself to believe that the remarkable something to which I
alluded just now,--that the odd air of je ne sais quoi which hung about my =
new
acquaintance,--lay altogether, or indeed at all, in the supreme excellence =
of
his bodily endowments. Perhaps it might be traced to the manner;--yet here
again I could not pretend to be positive. There was a primness, not to say
stiffness, in his carriage--a degree of measured, and, if I may so express =
it,
of rectangular precision, attending his every movement, which, observed in a
more diminutive figure, would have had the least little savor in the world,=
of
affectation, pomposity or constraint, but which noticed in a gentleman of h=
is
undoubted dimensions, was readily placed to the account of reserve, hauteur=
--of
a commendable sense, in short, of what is due to the dignity of colossal
proportion.
The kind friend w=
ho
presented me to General Smith whispered in my ear some few words of comment
upon the man. He was a remarkable man--a very remarkable man--indeed one of=
the
most remarkable men of the age. He was an especial favorite, too, with the
ladies--chiefly on account of his high reputation for courage.
"In that poi=
nt
he is unrivalled--indeed he is a perfect desperado--a down-right fire-eater,
and no mistake," said my friend, here dropping his voice excessively l=
ow,
and thrilling me with the mystery of his tone.
"A downright
fire-eater, and no mistake. Showed that, I should say, to some purpose, in =
the
late tremendous swamp-fight away down South, with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
Indians." [Here my friend opened his eyes to some extent.] "Bless=
my
soul!--blood and thunder, and all that!--prodigies of valor!--heard of him =
of
course?--you know he's the man"--
"Man alive, =
how
do you do? why, how are ye? very glad to see ye, indeed!" here interru=
pted
the General himself, seizing my companion by the hand as he drew near, and
bowing stiffly, but profoundly, as I was presented. I then thought, (and I
think so still,) that I never heard a clearer nor a stronger voice, nor beh=
eld
a finer set of teeth: but I must say that I was sorry for the interruption =
just
at that moment, as, owing to the whispers and insinuations aforesaid, my
interest had been greatly excited in the hero of the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
campaign.
However, the
delightfully luminous conversation of Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.
Smith soon completely dissipated this chagrin. My friend leaving us
immediately, we had quite a long tête-à-tête, and I was =
not
only pleased but really--instructed. I never heard a more fluent talker, or=
a
man of greater general information. With becoming modesty, he forebore,
nevertheless, to touch upon the theme I had just then most at heart--I mean=
the
mysterious circumstances attending the Bugaboo war--and, on my own part, wh=
at I
conceive to be a proper sense of delicacy forbade me to broach the subject;
although, in truth, I was exceedingly tempted to do so. I perceived, too, t=
hat
the gallant soldier preferred topics of philosophical interest, and that he
delighted, especially, in commenting upon the rapid march of mechanical
invention. Indeed, lead him where I would, this was a point to which he
invariably came back.
"There is
nothing at all like it," he would say; "we are a wonderful people,
and live in a wonderful age. Parachutes and rail-roads--man-traps and
spring-guns! Our steam-boats are upon every sea, and the Nassau balloon pac=
ket
is about to run regular trips (fare either way only twenty pounds sterling)
between London and Timbuctoo. And who shall calculate the immense influence
upon social life--upon arts--upon commerce--upon literature--which will be =
the
immediate result of the great principles of electro magnetics! Nor, is this
all, let me assure you! There is really no end to the march of invention. T=
he
most wonderful--the most ingenious--and let me add, Mr.--Mr.--Thompson, I b=
elieve,
is your name--let me add, I say, the most useful--the most truly useful
mechanical contrivances, are daily springing up like mushrooms, if I may so
express myself, or, more figuratively, like--ah--grasshoppers--like
grasshoppers, Mr. Thompson--about us and ah--ah--ah--around us!"
Thompson, to be s=
ure,
is not my name; but it is needless to say that I left General Smith with a
heightened interest in the man, with an exalted opinion of his conversation=
al
powers, and a deep sense of the valuable privileges we enjoy in living in t=
his
age of mechanical invention. My curiosity, however, had not been altogether
satisfied, and I resolved to prosecute immediate inquiry among my acquainta=
nces
touching the Brevet Brigadier General himself, and particularly respecting =
the
tremendous events quorum pars magna fuit, during the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
campaign.
The first opportu=
nity
which presented itself, and which (horresco referens) I did not in the least
scruple to seize, occurred at the Church of the Reverend Doctor Drummummupp,
where I found myself established, one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only=
in
the pew, but by the side, of that worthy and communicative little friend of
mine, Miss Tabitha T. Thus seated, I congratulated myself, and with much re=
ason,
upon the very flattering state of affairs. If any person knew anything about
Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith, that person, it was clear to =
me,
was Miss Tabitha T. We telegraphed a few signals, and then commenced, soto
voce, a brisk tête-à-tête.
"Smith!"
said she, in reply to my very earnest inquiry; "Smith!--why, not Gener=
al
John A. B. C.? Bless me, I thought you knew all about him! This is a wonder=
fully
inventive age! Horrid affair that!--a bloody set of wretches, those
Kickapoos!--fought like a hero--prodigies of valor--immortal renown.
Smith!--Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.! why, you know he's the
man"--
"Man," =
here
broke in Doctor Drummummupp, at the top of his voice, and with a thump that
came near knocking the pulpit about our ears; "man that is born of a w=
oman
hath but a short time to live; he cometh up and is cut down like a
flower!" I started to the extremity of the pew, and perceived by the
animated looks of the divine, that the wrath which had nearly proved fatal =
to
the pulpit had been excited by the whispers of the lady and myself. There w=
as
no help for it; so I submitted with a good grace, and listened, in all the
martyrdom of dignified silence, to the balance of that very capital discour=
se.
Next evening foun=
d me
a somewhat late visitor at the Rantipole theatre, where I felt sure of
satisfying my curiosity at once, by merely stepping into the box of those
exquisite specimens of affability and omniscience, the Misses Arabella and
Miranda Cognoscenti. That fine tragedian, Climax, was doing Iago to a very
crowded house, and I experienced some little difficulty in making my wishes
understood; especially, as our box was next the slips, and completely
overlooked the stage.
"Smith?"
said Miss Arabella, as she at length comprehended the purport of my query;
"Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.?"
"Smith?"
inquired Miranda, musingly. "God bless me, did you ever behold a finer
figure?"
"Never, mada=
m,
but do tell me"--
"Or so
inimitable grace?"
"Never, upon=
my
word!--But pray inform me"--
"Or so just =
an
appreciation of stage effect?"
"Madam!"=
;
"Or a more
delicate sense of the true beauties of Shakespeare? Be so good as to look at
that leg!"
"The
devil!" and I turned again to her sister.
"Smith?"
said she, "why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid affair that, wasn't
it?--great wretches, those Bugaboos--savage and so on--but we live in a
wonderfully inventive age!--Smith!--O yes! great man!--perfect desperado--i=
mmortal
renown--prodigies of valor! Never heard!" [This was given in a scream.]
"Bless my soul! why, he's the man"--
=
&nb=
sp;
"-----mandragora Nor all the
drowsy syrups of the world Shall ever
medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou =
owd'st
yesterday!"
here roared our
Climax just in my ear, and shaking his fist in my face all the time, in a w=
ay
that I couldn't stand, and I wouldn't. I left the Misses Cognoscenti
immediately, went behind the scenes forthwith, and gave the beggarly scound=
rel
such a thrashing as I trust he will remember to the day of his death.
At the soir&eacut=
e;e
of the lovely widow, Mrs. Kathleen O'Trump, I was confident that I should m=
eet
with no similar disappointment. Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at the
card-table, with my pretty hostess for a vis-à-vis, than I propounded
those questions the solution of which had become a matter so essential to my
peace.
"Smith?"
said my partner, "why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid affair that,
wasn't it?--diamonds, did you say?--terrible wretches those Kickapoos!--we =
are
playing whist, if you please, Mr. Tattle--however, this is the age of
invention, most certainly the age, one may say--the age par excellence--spe=
ak
French?--oh, quite a hero--perfect desperado!--no hearts, Mr. Tattle? I don=
't
believe it!--immortal renown and all that!--prodigies of valor! Never heard=
!!--why,
bless me, he's the man"--
"Mann?--Capt=
ain
Mann?" here screamed some little feminine interloper from the farthest=
corner
of the room. "Are you talking about Captain Mann and the duel?--oh, I =
must
hear--do tell--go on, Mrs. O'Trump!--do now go on!" And go on Mrs. O'T=
rump
did--all about a certain Captain Mann, who was either shot or hung, or shou=
ld
have been both shot and hung. Yes! Mrs. O'Trump, she went on, and I--I went
off. There was no chance of hearing anything farther that evening in regard=
to
Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith.
Still I consoled
myself with the reflection that the tide of ill luck would not run against =
me
forever, and so determined to make a bold push for information at the rout =
of
that bewitching little angel, the graceful Mrs. Pirouette.
"Smith?"
said Mrs. P., as we twirled about together in a pas de zephyr,
"Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.? Dreadful business that of the
Bugaboos, wasn't it?--dreadful creatures, those Indians!--do turn out your
toes! I really am ashamed of you--man of great courage, poor fellow!--but t=
his
is a wonderful age for invention--O dear me, I'm out of breath--quite a
desperado--prodigies of valor--never heard!!--can't believe it--I shall hav=
e to
sit down and enlighten you--Smith! why, he's the man"--
"Man-Fred, I tell you!" here bawled out Miss Bas-Bleu, as I led Mrs. Pirouette to a seat. "Did ever anybody hear the like? It's Man-Fred, I say, and not at all by any means Man-Friday." Here Miss Bas-Bleu beckoned to me in a v= ery peremptory manner; and I was obliged, will I nill I, to leave Mrs. P. for t= he purpose of deciding a dispute touching the title of a certain poetical dram= a of Lord Byron's. Although I pronounced, with great promptness, that the true t= itle was Man-Friday, and not by any means Man-Fred, yet when I returned to seek = Mrs. Pirouette she was not to be discovered, and I made my retreat from the hous= e in a very bitter spirit of animosity against the whole race of the Bas-Bleus.<= o:p>
Matters had now
assumed a really serious aspect, and I resolved to call at once upon my
particular friend, Mr. Theodore Sinivate; for I knew that here at least I
should get something like definite information.
"Smith?"
said he, in his well-known peculiar way of drawling out his syllables;
"Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.? Savage affair that with the
Kickapo-o-o-os, wasn't it? Say! don't you think so?--perfect despera-a-ado-=
-great
pity, 'pon my honor!--wonderfully inventive age!--pro-o-odigies of valor! By
the by, did you ever hear about Captain Ma-a-a-a-n?"
"Captain Man=
n be
d--d!" said I; "please to go on with your story."
"Hem!--oh
well!--quite la même cho-o-ose, as we say in France. Smith, eh?
Brigadier-General John A. B. C.? I say"--[here Mr. S. thought proper to
put his finger to the side of his nose]--"I say, you don't mean to ins=
inuate
now, really and truly, and conscientiously, that you don't know all about t=
hat
affair of Smith's, as well as I do, eh? Smith? John A-B-C.? Why, bless me, =
he's
the ma-a-an"--
"Mr.
Sinivate," said I, imploringly, "is he the man in the mask?"=
"No-o-o!&quo=
t;
said he, looking wise, "nor the man in the mo-o-on."
This reply I
considered a pointed and positive insult, and so left the house at once in =
high
dudgeon, with a firm resolve to call my friend, Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy
account for his ungentlemanly conduct and ill-breeding.
In the meantime,
however, I had no notion of being thwarted touching the information I desir=
ed.
There was one resource left me yet. I would go to the fountain-head. I would
call forthwith upon the General himself, and demand, in explicit terms, a
solution of this abominable piece of mystery. Here, at least, there should =
be
no chance for equivocation. I would be plain, positive, peremptory--as shor=
t as
pie-crust--as concise as Tacitus or Montesquieu.
It was early when=
I
called, and the General was dressing; but I pleaded urgent business, and was
shown at once into his bed-room by an old negro valet, who remained in
attendance during my visit. As I entered the chamber, I looked about, of
course, for the occupant, but did not immediately perceive him. There was a
large and exceedingly odd-looking bundle of something which lay close by my
feet on the floor, and, as I was not in the best humor in the world, I gave=
it
a kick out of the way.
"Hem! ahem!
rather civil that, I should say!" said the bundle, in one of the small=
est,
and altogether the funniest little voices, between a squeak and a whistle, =
that
I ever heard in all the days of my existence.
"Ahem! rather
civil that, I should observe."
I fairly shouted =
with
terror, and made off, at a tangent, into the farthest extremity of the room=
.
"God bless m=
e!
my dear fellow," here again whistled the bundle, "what--what--wha=
t--why,
what is the matter? I really believe you don't know me at all."
What could I say =
to
all this--what could I? I staggered into an arm-chair, and, with staring ey=
es
and open mouth, awaited the solution of the wonder.
"Strange you
shouldn't know me though, isn't it?" presently re-squeaked the
nondescript, which I now perceived was performing, upon the floor, some
inexplicable evolution, very analogous to the drawing on of a stocking. The=
re
was only a single leg, however, apparent.
"Strange you
shouldn't know me, though, isn't it? Pompey, bring me that leg!" Here
Pompey handed the bundle, a very capital cork leg, already dressed, which it
screwed on in a trice; and then it stood up before my eyes.
"And a bloody
action it was," continued the thing, as if in a soliloquy; "but t=
hen
one mustn't fight with the Bugaboos and Kickapoos, and think of coming off =
with
a mere scratch. Pompey, I'll thank you now for that arm. Thomas" [turn=
ing
to me] "is decidedly the best hand at a cork leg; but if you should ev=
er
want an arm, my dear fellow, you must really let me recommend you to
Bishop." Here Pompey screwed on an arm.
"We had rath=
er
hot work of it, that you may say. Now, you dog, slip on my shoulders and bo=
som!
Pettitt makes the best shoulders, but for a bosom you will have to go to
Ducrow."
"Bosom!"
said I.
"Pompey, will
you never be ready with that wig? Scalping is a rough process after all; but
then you can procure such a capital scratch at De L'Orme's."
"Scratch!&qu=
ot;
"Now, you
nigger, my teeth! For a good set of these you had better go to Parmly's at
once; high prices, but excellent work. I swallowed some very capital articl=
es,
though, when the big Bugaboo rammed me down with the butt end of his
rifle."
"Butt end! r=
am
down!! my eye!!"
"O yes,
by-the-by, my eye--here, Pompey, you scamp, screw it in ! Those Kickapoos a=
re
not so very slow at a gouge; but he's a belied man, that Dr. Williams, after
all; you can't imagine how well I see with the eyes of his make."
I now began very
clearly to perceive that the object before me was nothing more nor less tha=
n my
new acquaintance, Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. The
manipulations of Pompey had made, I must confess, a very striking differenc=
e in
the appearance of the personal man. The voice, however, still puzzled me no
little; but even this apparent mystery was speedily cleared up.
"Pompey, you
black rascal," squeaked the General, "I really do believe you wou=
ld
let me go out without my palate."
Hereupon, the neg=
ro,
grumbling out an apology, went up to his master, opened his mouth with the
knowing air of a horse-jockey, and adjusted therein a somewhat singular-loo=
king
machine, in a very dexterous manner, that I could not altogether comprehend.
The alteration, however, in the entire expression of the General's countena=
nce
was instantaneous and surprising. When he again spoke, his voice had resumed
all that rich melody and strength which I had noticed upon our original
introduction.
"D--n the
vagabonds!" said he, in so clear a tone that I positively started at t=
he
change, "D--n the vagabonds! they not only knocked in the roof of my
mouth, but took the trouble to cut off at least seven-eighths of my tongue.
There isn't Bonfanti's equal, however, in America, for really good articles=
of
this description. I can recommend you to him with confidence," [here t=
he
General bowed,] "and assure you that I have the greatest pleasure in so
doing."
I acknowledged his
kindness in my best manner, and took leave of him at once, with a perfect
understanding of the true state of affairs--with a full comprehension of the
mystery which had troubled me so long. It was evident. It was a clear case.
Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith was the man--was the man that =
was
used up.
Method is the so=
ul of
business.--OLD SAYING.
I AM a business m=
an.
I am a methodical man. Method is the thing, after all. But there are no peo=
ple
I more heartily despise than your eccentric fools who prate about method wi=
thout
understanding it; attending strictly to its letter, and violating its spiri=
t.
These fellows are always doing the most out-of-the-way things in what they =
call
an orderly manner. Now here, I conceive, is a positive paradox. True method=
appertains
to the ordinary and the obvious alone, and cannot be applied to the outre. =
What
definite idea can a body attach to such expressions as "methodical Jac=
k o'
Dandy," or "a systematical Will o' the Wisp"?
My notions upon t=
his
head might not have been so clear as they are, but for a fortunate accident
which happened to me when I was a very little boy. A good-hearted old Irish
nurse (whom I shall not forget in my will) took me up one day by the heels,
when I was making more noise than was necessary, and swinging me round two =
or
knocked my head into a cocked hat against the bedpost. This, I say, decided=
my
fate, and made my fortune. A bump arose at once on my sinciput, and turned =
out
to be as pretty an organ of order as one shall see on a summer's day. Hence=
that
positive appetite for system and regularity which has made me the distingui=
shed
man of business that I am.
If there is any t=
hing
on earth I hate, it is a genius. Your geniuses are all arrant asses--the
greater the genius the greater the ass--and to this rule there is no except=
ion
whatever. Especially, you cannot make a man of business out of a genius, any
more than money out of a Jew, or the best nutmegs out of pine-knots. The
creatures are always going off at a tangent into some fantastic employment,=
or
ridiculous speculation, entirely at variance with the "fitness of
things," and having no business whatever to be considered as a busines=
s at
all. Thus you may tell these characters immediately by the nature of their
occupations. If you ever perceive a man setting up as a merchant or a
manufacturer, or going into the cotton or tobacco trade, or any of those
eccentric pursuits; or getting to be a drygoods dealer, or soap-boiler, or =
something
of that kind; or pretending to be a lawyer, or a blacksmith, or a physician=
--any
thing out of the usual way--you may set him down at once as a genius, and t=
hen,
according to the rule-of-three, he's an ass.
Now I am not in a=
ny
respect a genius, but a regular business man. My Day-book and Ledger will
evince this in a minute. They are well kept, though I say it myself; and, i=
n my
general habits of accuracy and punctuality, I am not to be beat by a clock.
Moreover, my occupations have been always made to chime in with the ordinary
habitudes of my fellowmen. Not that I feel the least indebted, upon this sc=
ore,
to my exceedingly weak-minded parents, who, beyond doubt, would have made a=
n arrant
genius of me at last, if my guardian angel had not come, in good time, to t=
he
rescue. In biography the truth is every thing, and in autobiography it is
especially so--yet I scarcely hope to be believed when I state, however
solemnly, that my poor father put me, when I was about fifteen years of age,
into the counting-house of what be termed "a respectable hardware and
commission merchant doing a capital bit of business!" A capital bit of
fiddlestick! However, the consequence of this folly was, that in two or thr=
ee
days, I had to be sent home to my button-headed family in a high state of
fever, and with a most violent and dangerous pain in the sinciput, all arou=
nd
about my organ of order. It was nearly a gone case with me then--just
touch-and-go for six weeks--the physicians giving me up and all that sort of
thing. But, although I suffered much, I was a thankful boy in the main. I w=
as
saved from being a "respectable hardware and commission merchant, doin=
g a capital
bit of business," and I felt grateful to the protuberance which had be=
en
the means of my salvation, as well as to the kindhearted female who had
originally put these means within my reach.
The most of boys =
run
away from home at ten or twelve years of age, but I waited till I was sixte=
en.
I don't know that I should have gone even then, if I had not happened to he=
ar
my old mother talk about setting me up on my own hook in the grocery way. T=
he grocery
way!--only think of that! I resolved to be off forthwith, and try and estab=
lish
myself in some decent occupation, without dancing attendance any longer upon
the caprices of these eccentric old people, and running the risk of being m=
ade
a genius of in the end. In this project I succeeded perfectly well at the f=
irst
effort, and by the time I was fairly eighteen, found myself doing an extens=
ive
and profitable business in the Tailor's Walking-Advertisement line.
I was enabled to
discharge the onerous duties of this profession, only by that rigid adheren=
ce
to system which formed the leading feature of my mind. A scrupulous method
characterized my actions as well as my accounts. In my case it was method--=
not
money--which made the man: at least all of him that was not made by the tai=
lor
whom I served. At nine, every morning, I called upon that individual for the
clothes of the day. Ten o'clock found me in some fashionable promenade or o=
ther
place of public amusement. The precise regularity with which I turned my
handsome person about, so as to bring successively into view every portion =
of the
suit upon my back, was the admiration of all the knowing men in the trade. =
Noon
never passed without my bringing home a customer to the house of my employe=
rs,
Messrs. Cut & Comeagain. I say this proudly, but with tears in my eyes-=
-for
the firm proved themselves the basest of ingrates. The little account, about
which we quarreled and finally parted, cannot, in any item, be thought
overcharged, by gentlemen really conversant with the nature of the business.
Upon this point, however, I feel a degree of proud satisfaction in permitti=
ng
the reader to judge for himself. My bill ran thus:
Messrs. Cut & Comeagain, Merch=
ant
Tailors. To Peter Proff=
it,
Walking Advertiser, Drs. JULY 10.--to promenade, as usual and
customer brought home...
00 25 JULY 11.--To do do do 25 JULY 12.--To one lie, second =
class;
damaged black cloth sold for invisible
green............................................... 25
JULY 13.--To one lie, first class,=
extra
quality and size; recom=
mended
milled satinet as broadcloth...................... 75
JULY 20.--To purchasing bran new p=
aper
shirt collar or dickey, to set off gray
Petersham..................................... 02
AUG. 15.--To wearing double-padded
bobtail frock, (thermometer 106 in the
shade)............................................. 25
AUG. 16.--Standing on one leg three
hours, to show off new-style strapped pants at 12 1/2 cent=
s per
leg per hour............. 37 1/2
AUG. 17.--To promenade, as usual, =
and
large customer brought (fat man).........................=
............................
50
AUG. 18.--To do do (medium
size)................. 25
AUG. 19.--To do do (small man and =
bad
pay)....... 06
TOTAL [sic]
2 95 1/2
The item chiefly
disputed in this bill was the very moderate charge of two pennies for the
dickey. Upon my word of honor, this was not an unreasonable price for that
dickey. It was one of the cleanest and prettiest little dickeys I ever saw;=
and
I have good reason to believe that it effected the sale of three Petershams.
The elder partner of the firm, however, would allow me only one penny of the
charge, and took it upon himself to show in what manner four of the same si=
zed
conveniences could be got out of a sheet of foolscap. But it is needless to=
say
that I stood upon the principle of the thing. Business is business, and sho=
uld
be done in a business way. There was no system whatever in swindling me out=
of
a penny--a clear fraud of fifty per cent--no method in any respect. I left =
at
once the employment of Messrs. Cut & Comeagain, and set up in the Eye-S=
ore
line by myself--one of the most lucrative, respectable, and independent of =
the
ordinary occupations.
My strict integri=
ty,
economy, and rigorous business habits, here again came into play. I found
myself driving a flourishing trade, and soon became a marked man upon 'Chan=
ge.
The truth is, I never dabbled in flashy matters, but jogged on in the good =
old
sober routine of the calling--a calling in which I should, no doubt, have
remained to the present hour, but for a little accident which happened to m=
e in
the prosecution of one of the usual business operations of the profession. =
Whenever
a rich old hunks or prodigal heir or bankrupt corporation gets into the not=
ion
of putting up a palace, there is no such thing in the world as stopping eit=
her
of them, and this every intelligent person knows. The fact in question is
indeed the basis of the Eye-Sore trade. As soon, therefore, as a building-p=
roject
is fairly afoot by one of these parties, we merchants secure a nice corner =
of
the lot in contemplation, or a prime little situation just adjoining, or ti=
ght
in front. This done, we wait until the palace is half-way up, and then we p=
ay
some tasty architect to run us up an ornamental mud hovel, right against it=
; or
a Down-East or Dutch Pagoda, or a pig-sty, or an ingenious little bit of fa=
ncy
work, either Esquimau, Kickapoo, or Hottentot. Of course we can't afford to
take these structures down under a bonus of five hundred per cent upon the
prime cost of our lot and plaster. Can we? I ask the question. I ask it of
business men. It would be irrational to suppose that we can. And yet there =
was
a rascally corporation which asked me to do this very thing--this very thin=
g! I
did not reply to their absurd proposition, of course; but I felt it a duty =
to
go that same night, and lamp-black the whole of their palace. For this the
unreasonable villains clapped me into jail; and the gentlemen of the Eye-So=
re
trade could not well avoid cutting my connection when I came out.
The
Assault-and-Battery business, into which I was now forced to adventure for a
livelihood, was somewhat ill-adapted to the delicate nature of my constitut=
ion;
but I went to work in it with a good heart, and found my account here, as
heretofore, in those stern habits of methodical accuracy which had been thu=
mped
into me by that delightful old nurse--I would indeed be the basest of men n=
ot
to remember her well in my will. By observing, as I say, the strictest syst=
em
in all my dealings, and keeping a well-regulated set of books, I was enable=
d to
get over many serious difficulties, and, in the end, to establish myself ve=
ry
decently in the profession. The truth is, that few individuals, in any line,
did a snugger little business than I. I will just copy a page or so out of =
my
Day-Book; and this will save me the necessity of blowing my own trumpet--a
contemptible practice of which no high-minded man will be guilty. Now, the
Day-Book is a thing that don't lie.
"Jan. 1.--New
Year's Day. Met Snap in the street, groggy. Mem--he'll do. Met Gruff shortly
afterward, blind drunk. Mem--he'll answer, too. Entered both gentlemen in my
Ledger, and opened a running account with each.
"Jan. 2.--Saw
Snap at the Exchange, and went up and trod on his toe. Doubled his fist and
knocked me down. Good!--got up again. Some trifling difficulty with Bag, my
attorney. I want the damages at a thousand, but he says that for so simple a
knock down we can't lay them at more than five hundred. Mem--must get rid of
Bag--no system at all.
"Jan. 3--Wen=
t to
the theatre, to look for Gruff. Saw him sitting in a side box, in the second
tier, between a fat lady and a lean one. Quizzed the whole party through an
opera-glass, till I saw the fat lady blush and whisper to G. Went round, th=
en,
into the box, and put my nose within reach of his hand. Wouldn't pull it--no
go. Blew it, and tried again--no go. Sat down then, and winked at the lean
lady, when I had the high satisfaction of finding him lift me up by the nap=
e of
the neck, and fling me over into the pit. Neck dislocated, and right leg
capitally splintered. Went home in high glee, drank a bottle of champagne, =
and booked
the young man for five thousand. Bag says it'll do.
"Feb.
15--Compromised the case of Mr. Snap. Amount entered in Journal--fifty
cents--which see.
"Feb. 16.--C=
ast
by that ruffian, Gruff, who made me a present of five dollars. Costs of sui=
t,
four dollars and twenty-five cents. Nett profit,--see Journal,--seventy-five
cents."
Now, here is a cl=
ear
gain, in a very brief period, of no less than one dollar and twenty-five
cents--this is in the mere cases of Snap and Gruff; and I solemnly assure t=
he
reader that these extracts are taken at random from my Day-Book.
It's an old sayin=
g, and
a true one, however, that money is nothing in comparison with health. I fou=
nd
the exactions of the profession somewhat too much for my delicate state of
body; and, discovering, at last, that I was knocked all out of shape, so th=
at I
didn't know very well what to make of the matter, and so that my friends, w=
hen
they met me in the street, couldn't tell that I was Peter Proffit at all, it
occurred to me that the best expedient I could adopt was to alter my line of
business. I turned my attention, therefore, to Mud-Dabbling, and continued =
it
for some years.
The worst of this
occupation is, that too many people take a fancy to it, and the competition=
is
in consequence excessive. Every ignoramus of a fellow who finds that he has=
n't
brains in sufficient quantity to make his way as a walking advertiser, or an
eye-sore prig, or a salt-and-batter man, thinks, of course, that he'll answ=
er
very well as a dabbler of mud. But there never was entertained a more erron=
eous
idea than that it requires no brains to mud-dabble. Especially, there is no=
thing
to be made in this way without method. I did only a retail business myself,=
but
my old habits of system carried me swimmingly along. I selected my
street-crossing, in the first place, with great deliberation, and I never p=
ut
down a broom in any part of the town but that. I took care, too, to have a =
nice
little puddle at hand, which I could get at in a minute. By these means I g=
ot
to be well known as a man to be trusted; and this is one-half the battle, l=
et
me tell you, in trade. Nobody ever failed to pitch me a copper, and got ove=
r my
crossing with a clean pair of pantaloons. And, as my business habits, in th=
is respect,
were sufficiently understood, I never met with any attempt at imposition. I
wouldn't have put up with it, if I had. Never imposing upon any one myself,=
I
suffered no one to play the possum with me. The frauds of the banks of cour=
se I
couldn't help. Their suspension put me to ruinous inconvenience. These,
however, are not individuals, but corporations; and corporations, it is very
well known, have neither bodies to be kicked nor souls to be damned.
I was making mone=
y at
this business when, in an evil moment, I was induced to merge it in the
Cur-Spattering--a somewhat analogous, but, by no means, so respectable a pr=
ofession.
My location, to be sure, was an excellent one, being central, and I had cap=
ital
blacking and brushes. My little dog, too, was quite fat and up to all varie=
ties
of snuff. He had been in the trade a long time, and, I may say, understood =
it.
Our general routine was this:--Pompey, having rolled himself well in the mu=
d,
sat upon end at the shop door, until he observed a dandy approaching in bri=
ght
boots. He then proceeded to meet him, and gave the Wellingtons a rub or two
with his wool. Then the dandy swore very much, and looked about for a
boot-black. There I was, full in his view, with blacking and brushes. It was
only a minute's work, and then came a sixpence. This did moderately well fo=
r a
time;--in fact, I was not avaricious, but my dog was. I allowed him a third=
of
the profit, but he was advised to insist upon half. This I couldn't stand--=
so
we quarrelled and parted.
I next tried my h=
and
at the Organ-Grinding for a while, and may say that I made out pretty well.=
It
is a plain, straightforward business, and requires no particular abilities.=
You
can get a music-mill for a mere song, and to put it in order, you have but =
to
open the works, and give them three or four smart raps with a hammer. In
improves the tone of the thing, for business purposes, more than you can
imagine. This done, you have only to stroll along, with the mill on your ba=
ck,
until you see tanbark in the street, and a knocker wrapped up in buckskin. =
Then
you stop and grind; looking as if you meant to stop and grind till doomsday=
. Presently
a window opens, and somebody pitches you a sixpence, with a request to
"Hush up and go on," etc. I am aware that some grinders have actu=
ally
afforded to "go on" for this sum; but for my part, I found the ne=
cessary
outlay of capital too great to permit of my "going on" under a sh=
illing.
At this occupatio=
n I
did a good deal; but, somehow, I was not quite satisfied, and so finally
abandoned it. The truth is, I labored under the disadvantage of having no
monkey--and American streets are so muddy, and a Democratic rabble is so
obstrusive, and so full of demnition mischievous little boys.
I was now out of
employment for some months, but at length succeeded, by dint of great inter=
est,
in procuring a situation in the Sham-Post. The duties, here, are simple, and
not altogether unprofitable. For example:--very early in the morning I had =
to
make up my packet of sham letters. Upon the inside of each of these I had to
scrawl a few lines on any subject which occurred to me as sufficiently
mysterious--signing all the epistles Tom Dobson, or Bobby Tompkins, or anyt=
hing
in that way. Having folded and sealed all, and stamped them with sham
postmarks--New Orleans, Bengal, Botany Bay, or any other place a great way
off--I set out, forthwith, upon my daily route, as if in a very great hurry=
. I always
called at the big houses to deliver the letters, and receive the postage.
Nobody hesitates at paying for a letter--especially for a double one--people
are such fools--and it was no trouble to get round a corner before there was
time to open the epistles. The worst of this profession was, that I had to =
walk
so much and so fast; and so frequently to vary my route. Besides, I had ser=
ious
scruples of conscience. I can't bear to hear innocent individuals abused--a=
nd
the way the whole town took to cursing Tom Dobson and Bobby Tompkins was re=
ally
awful to hear. I washed my hands of the matter in disgust.
My eighth and last
speculation has been in the Cat-Growing way. I have found that a most pleas=
ant
and lucrative business, and, really, no trouble at all. The country, it is =
well
known, has become infested with cats--so much so of late, that a petition f=
or
relief, most numerously and respectably signed, was brought before the
Legislature at its late memorable session. The Assembly, at this epoch, was
unusually well-informed, and, having passed many other wise and wholesome e=
nactments,
it crowned all with the Cat-Act. In its original form, this law offered a
premium for cat-heads (fourpence a-piece), but the Senate succeeded in amen=
ding
the main clause, so as to substitute the word "tails" for
"heads." This amendment was so obviously proper, that the House
concurred in it nem. con.
As soon as the
governor had signed the bill, I invested my whole estate in the purchase of
Toms and Tabbies. At first I could only afford to feed them upon mice (which
are cheap), but they fulfilled the scriptural injunction at so marvellous a
rate, that I at length considered it my best policy to be liberal, and so
indulged them in oysters and turtle. Their tails, at a legislative price, n=
ow
bring me in a good income; for I have discovered a way, in which, by means =
of
Macassar oil, I can force three crops in a year. It delights me to find, to=
o,
that the animals soon get accustomed to the thing, and would rather have the
appendages cut off than otherwise. I consider myself, therefore, a made man,
and am bargaining for a country seat on the Hudson.
The garden like =
a lady
fair was cut That lay as=
if
she slumbered in delight, And to the =
open
skies her eyes did shut; The azure f=
ields
of heaven were 'sembled right In a large =
round
set with flow'rs of light: The flowers=
de
luce and the round sparks of dew That hung u=
pon
their azure leaves, did show Like twinkl=
ing
stars that sparkle in the ev'ning blue. =
--GILES
FLETCHER
NO MORE remarkable
man ever lived than my friend, the young Ellison. He was remarkable in the
entire and continuous profusion of good gifts ever lavished upon him by for=
tune.
From his cradle to his grave, a gale of the blandest prosperity bore him al=
ong.
Nor do I use the word Prosperity in its mere wordly or external sense. I me=
an
it as synonymous with happiness. The person of whom I speak, seemed born for
the purpose of foreshadowing the wild doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley,
and Condorcet--of exemplifying, by individual instance, what has been deemed
the mere chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence of Ellison, I
fancy, that I have seen refuted the dogma--that in man's physical and spiri=
tual
nature, lies some hidden principle, the antagonist of Bliss. An intimate and
anxious examination of his career, has taught me to understand that, in
general, from the violation of a few simple laws of Humanity, arises the
Wretchedness of mankind; that, as a species, we have in our possession the =
as
yet unwrought elements of Content,--and that even now, in the present blind=
ness
and darkness of all idea on the great question of the Social Condition, it =
is
not impossible that Man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly f=
ortuitous
conditions, may be happy.
With opinions suc=
h as
these was my young friend fully imbued; and thus is it especially worthy of
observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment which distinguished his life w=
as
in great part the result of preconcert. It is, indeed evident, that with le=
ss
of the instinctive philosophy which, now and then, stands so well in the st=
ead
of experience, Mr. Ellison would have found himself precipitated, by the ve=
ry
extraordinary successes of his life, into the common vortex of Unhappiness
which yawns for those of preeminent endowments. But it is by no means my
present object to pen an essay on Happiness. The ideas of my friend may be =
summed
up in a few words. He admitted but four unvarying laws, or rather elementary
principles, of Bliss. That which he considered chief, was (strange to say!)=
the
simple and purely physical one of free exercise in the open air. "The
health," he said, "attainable by other means than this is scarcely
worth the name." He pointed to the tillers of the earth--the only peop=
le
who, as a class, are proverbially more happy than others--and then he insta=
nced
the high ecstasies of the fox-hunter. His second principle was the love of
woman. His third was the contempt of ambition. His fourth was an object of
unceasing pursuit; and he held that, other things being equal, the extent of
happiness was proportioned to the spirituality of this object.
I have said that
Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion of good gifts lavished u=
pon
him by Fortune. In personal grace and beauty he exceeded all men. His intel=
lect
was of that order to which the attainment of knowledge is less a labor than=
a
necessity and an intuition. His family was one of the most illustrious of t=
he
empire. His bride was the loveliest and most devoted of women. His possessi=
ons
had been always ample; but, upon the attainment of his one and twentieth ye=
ar,
it was discovered that one of those extraordinary freaks of Fate had been
played in his behalf which startle the whole social world amid which they
occur, and seldom fail radically to alter the entire moral constitution of
those who are their objects. It appears that about one hundred years prior =
to
Mr. Ellison's attainment of his majority, there had died, in a remote provi=
nce,
one Mr. Seabright Ellison. This gentlemen had amassed a princely fortune, a=
nd,
having no very immediate connexions, conceived the whim of suffering his we=
alth
to accumulate for a century after his decease. Minutely and sagaciously
directing the various modes of investment, he bequeathed the aggregate amou=
nt
to the nearest of blood, bearing the name Ellison, who should be alive at t=
he end
of the hundred years. Many futile attempts had been made to set aside this
singular bequest; their ex post facto character rendered them abortive; but=
the
attention of a jealous government was aroused, and a decree finally obtaine=
d,
forbidding all similar accumulations. This act did not prevent young Elliso=
n,
upon his twenty-first birth-day, from entering into possession, as the heir=
of
his ancestor, Seabright, of a fortune of four hundred and fifty millions of
dollars. {*1}
When it had become
definitely known that such was the enormous wealth inherited, there were, of
course, many speculations as to the mode of its disposal. The gigantic
magnitude and the immediately available nature of the sum, dazzled and
bewildered all who thought upon the topic. The possessor of any appreciable
amount of money might have been imagined to perform any one of a thousand
things. With riches merely surpassing those of any citizen, it would have b=
een
easy to suppose him engaging to supreme excess in the fashionable extravaga=
nces
of his time; or busying himself with political intrigues; or aiming at mini=
sterial
power, or purchasing increase of nobility, or devising gorgeous architectur=
al
piles; or collecting large specimens of Virtu; or playing the munificent pa=
tron
of Letters and Art; or endowing and bestowing his name upon extensive
institutions of charity. But, for the inconceivable wealth in the actual
possession of the young heir, these objects and all ordinary objects were f=
elt
to be inadequate. Recourse was had to figures; and figures but sufficed to
confound. It was seen, that even at three per cent, the annual income of the
inheritance amounted to no less than thirteen millions and five hundred
thousand dollars; which was one million and one hundred and twenty-five
thousand per month; or thirty-six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six per
day, or one thousand five hundred and forty-one per hour, or six and twenty
dollars for every minute that flew. Thus the usual track of supposition was=
thoroughly
broken up. Men knew not what to imagine. There were some who even conceived
that Mr. Ellison would divest himself forthwith of at least two-thirds of h=
is
fortune as of utterly superfluous opulence; enriching whole troops of his
relatives by division of his superabundance.
I was not surpris=
ed,
however, to perceive that he had long made up his mind upon a topic which h=
ad
occasioned so much of discussion to his friends. Nor was I greatly astonish=
ed
at the nature of his decision. In the widest and noblest sense, he was a po=
et.
He comprehended, moreover, the true character, the august aims, the supreme
majesty and dignity of the poetic sentiment. The proper gratification of the
sentiment he instinctively felt to lie in the creation of novel forms of
Beauty. Some peculiarities, either in his early education, or in the nature=
of
his intellect, had tinged with what is termed materialism the whole cast of=
his
ethical speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, which imperceptibly led
him to perceive that the most advantageous, if not the sole legitimate field
for the exercise of the poetic sentiment, was to be found in the creation of
novel moods of purely physical loveliness. Thus it happened that he became
neither musician nor poet; if we use this latter term in its every--day
acceptation. Or it might have been that he became neither the one nor the
other, in pursuance of an idea of his which I have already mentioned--the i=
dea,
that in the contempt of ambition lay one of the essential principles of
happiness on earth. Is it not, indeed, possible that while a high order of
genius is necessarily ambitious, the highest is invariably above that which=
is termed
ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far greater than Milton, have
contentedly remained "mute and inglorious?" I believe the world h=
as
never yet seen, and that, unless through some series of accidents goading t=
he
noblest order of mind into distasteful exertion, the world will never behol=
d,
that full extent of triumphant execution, in the richer productions of Art,=
of
which the human nature is absolutely capable.
Mr. Ellison became
neither musician nor poet; although no man lived more profoundly enamored b=
oth
of Music and the Muse. Under other circumstances than those which invested =
him,
it is not impossible that he would have become a painter. The field of
sculpture, although in its nature rigidly poetical, was too limited in its
extent and in its consequences, to have occupied, at any time, much of his
attention. And I have now mentioned all the provinces in which even the most
liberal understanding of the poetic sentiment has declared this sentiment c=
apable
of expatiating. I mean the most liberal public or recognized conception of =
the
idea involved in the phrase "poetic sentiment." But Mr. Ellison
imagined that the richest, and altogether the most natural and most suitable
province, had been blindly neglected. No definition had spoken of the
Landscape-Gardener, as of the poet; yet my friend could not fail to perceive
that the creation of the Landscape-Garden offered to the true muse the most
magnificent of opportunities. Here was, indeed, the fairest field for the
display of invention, or imagination, in the endless combining of forms of
novel Beauty; the elements which should enter into combination being, at all
times, and by a vast superiority, the most glorious which the earth could
afford. In the multiform of the tree, and in the multicolor of the flower, =
he recognized
the most direct and the most energetic efforts of Nature at physical
loveliness. And in the direction or concentration of this effort, or, still
more properly, in its adaption to the eyes which were to behold it upon ear=
th,
he perceived that he should be employing the best means--laboring to the
greatest advantage--in the fulfilment of his destiny as Poet.
"Its adaptat=
ion
to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth." In his explanation of
this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much towards solving what has always seem=
ed
to me an enigma. I mean the fact (which none but the ignorant dispute,) tha=
t no
such combinations of scenery exist in Nature as the painter of genius has in
his power to produce. No such Paradises are to be found in reality as have
glowed upon the canvass of Claude. In the most enchanting of natural
landscapes, there will always be found a defect or an excess--many excesses=
and
defects. While the component parts may exceed, individually, the highest sk=
ill
of the artist, the arrangement of the parts will always be susceptible of i=
mprovement.
In short, no position can be attained, from which an artistical eye, looking
steadily, will not find matter of offence, in what is technically termed the
composition of a natural landscape. And yet how unintelligible is this! In =
all
other matters we are justly instructed to regard Nature as supreme. With her
details we shrink from competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors=
of
the tulip, or to improve the proportions of the lily of the valley? The
criticism which says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that "Nature is =
to
be exalted rather than imitated," is in error. No pictorial or sculptu=
ral combinations
of points of human loveliness, do more than approach the living and breathi=
ng
human beauty as it gladdens our daily path. Byron, who often erred, erred n=
ot
in saying, I've seen more living beauty, ripe and real, than all the nonsen=
se
of their stone ideal. In landscape alone is the principle of the critic tru=
e;
and, having felt its truth here, it is but the headlong spirit of
generalization which has induced him to pronounce it true throughout all the
domains of Art. Having, I say, felt its truth here. For the feeling is no
affectation or chimera. The mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrati=
ons,
than the sentiment of his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes, b=
ut
positively knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary arrangements of
matter, or form, constitute, and alone constitute, the true Beauty. Yet his=
reasons
have not yet been matured into expression. It remains for a more profound
analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to investigate and express them.
Nevertheless is he confirmed in his instinctive opinions, by the concurrenc=
e of
all his compeers. Let a composition be defective, let an emendation be wrou=
ght
in its mere arrangement of form; let this emendation be submitted to every
artist in the world; by each will its necessity be admitted. And even far m=
ore
than this, in remedy of the defective composition, each insulated member of=
the
fraternity will suggest the identical emendation.
I repeat that in
landscape arrangements, or collocations alone, is the physical Nature
susceptible of "exaltation" and that, therefore, her susceptibili=
ty
of improvement at this one point, was a mystery which, hitherto I had been
unable to solve. It was Mr. Ellison who first suggested the idea that what =
we
regarded as improvement or exaltation of the natural beauty, was really suc=
h,
as respected only the mortal or human point of view; that each alteration or
disturbance of the primitive scenery might possibly effect a blemish in the
picture, if we could suppose this picture viewed at large from some remote
point in the heavens. "It is easily understood," says Mr. Ellison,
"that what might improve a closely scrutinized detail, might, at the s=
ame
time, injure a general and more distantly--observed effect." He spoke =
upon
this topic with warmth: regarding not so much its immediate or obvious
importance, (which is little,) as the character of the conclusions to which=
it might
lead, or of the collateral propositions which it might serve to corroborate=
or
sustain. There might be a class of beings, human once, but now to humanity
invisible, for whose scrutiny and for whose refined appreciation of the
beautiful, more especially than for our own, had been set in order by God t=
he
great landscape-garden of the whole earth.
In the course of =
our
discussion, my young friend took occasion to quote some passages from a wri=
ter
who has been supposed to have well treated this theme.
"There are,
properly," he writes, "but two styles of landscape-gardening, the
natural and the artificial. One seeks to recall the original beauty of the
country, by adapting its means to the surrounding scenery; cultivating tree=
s in
harmony with the hills or plain of the neighboring land; detecting and brin=
ging
into practice those nice relations of size, proportion and color which, hid
from the common observer, are revealed everywhere to the experienced studen=
t of
nature. The result of the natural style of gardening, is seen rather in the
absence of all defects and incongruities--in the prevalence of a beautiful
harmony and order, than in the creation of any special wonders or miracles.=
The
artificial style has as many varieties as there are different tastes to
gratify. It has a certain general relation to the various styles of buildin=
g.
There are the stately avenues and retirements of Versailles; Italian terrac=
es;
and a various mixed old English style, which bears some relation to the
domestic Gothic or English Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said
against the abuses of the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure=
art
in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to th=
e eye,
by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, with an old
moss-covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fair forms that h=
ave
passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition of art is an evidence =
of
care and human interest."
"From what I
have already observed," said Mr. Ellison, "you will understand th=
at I
reject the idea, here expressed, of 'recalling the original beauty of the
country.' The original beauty is never so great as that which may be
introduced. Of course, much depends upon the selection of a spot with
capabilities. What is said in respect to the 'detecting and bringing into
practice those nice relations of size, proportion and color,' is a mere
vagueness of speech, which may mean much, or little, or nothing, and which
guides in no degree. That the true 'result of the natural style of gardenin=
g is
seen rather in the absence of all defects and incongruities, than in the
creation of any special wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suite=
d to
the grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of the m=
an
of genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and appertains to that
hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate Addison into apotheosis=
. In
truth, while that merit which consists in the mere avoiding demerit, appeals
directly to the understanding, and can thus be foreshadowed in Rule, the
loftier merit, which breathes and flames in invention or creation, can be
apprehended solely in its results. Rule applies but to the excellences of
avoidance--to the virtues which deny or refrain. Beyond these the critical =
art
can but suggest. We may be instructed to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain
that we are told how to conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus
Bound,' a 'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of=
Shelley.
But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the capacity for apprehen=
sion
becomes universal. The sophists of the negative school, who, through inabil=
ity
to create, have scoffed at creation, are now found the loudest in applause.
What, in its chrysalis condition of principle, affronted their demure reaso=
n,
never fails, in its maturity of accomplishment, to extort admiration from t=
heir
instinct of the beautiful or of the sublime.
"Our author's
observations on the artificial style of gardening," continued Mr. Elli=
son,
"are less objectionable. 'A mixture of pure art in a garden scene, add=
s to
it a great beauty.' This is just; and the reference to the sense of human
interest is equally so. I repeat that the principle here expressed, is
incontrovertible; but there may be something even beyond it. There may be an
object in full keeping with the principle suggested--an object unattainable=
by
the means ordinarily in possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would
lend a charm to the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that which a
merely human interest could bestow. The true poet possessed of very unusual
pecuniary resources, might possibly, while retaining the necessary idea of =
art or
interest or culture, so imbue his designs at once with extent and novelty of
Beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spiritual interference. It will be se=
en
that, in bringing about such result, he secures all the advantages of inter=
est
or design, while relieving his work of all the harshness and technicality of
Art. In the most rugged of wildernesses--in the most savage of the scenes of
pure Nature--there is apparent the art of a Creator; yet is this art appare=
nt
only to reflection; in no respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. No=
w, if
we imagine this sense of the Almighty Design to be harmonized in a measurab=
le
degree, if we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness, vastness,
definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea of culture, or car=
e,
or superintendence, on the part of intelligences superior yet akin to
humanity--then the sentiment of interest is preserved, while the Art is mad=
e to
assume the air of an intermediate or secondary Nature--a Nature which is not
God, nor an emanation of God, but which still is Nature, in the sense that =
it
is the handiwork of the angels that hover between man and God."
It was in devoting
his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment of a vision such as this--in
the free exercise in the open air, which resulted from personal direction of
his plans--in the continuous and unceasing object which these plans afford-=
-in
the contempt of ambition which it enabled him more to feel than to affect--=
and,
lastly, it was in the companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife, that
Ellison thought to find, and found, an exemption from the ordinary cares of
Humanity, with a far greater amount of positive happiness than ever glowed =
in
the rapt day-dreams of De Stael.
PERHAPS no exhibi=
tion
of the kind has ever elicited so general attention as the Chess-Player of
Maelzel. Wherever seen it has been an object of intense curiosity, to all
persons who think. Yet the question of its modus operandi is still undeterm=
ined.
Nothing has been written on this topic which can be considered as decisive-=
-and
accordingly we find every where men of mechanical genius, of great general
acuteness, and discriminative understanding, who make no scruple in pronoun=
cing
the Automaton a pure machine, unconnected with human agency in its movement=
s,
and consequently, beyond all comparison, the most astonishing of the invent=
ions
of mankind. And such it would undoubtedly be, were they right in their
supposition. Assuming this hypothesis, it would be grossly absurd to compare
with the Chess-Player, any similar thing of either modern or ancient days. =
Yet
there have been many and wonderful automata. In Brewster's Letters on Natur=
al
Magic, we have an account of the most remarkable. Among these may be mentio=
ned,
as having beyond doubt existed, firstly, the coach invented by M. Camus for=
the
amusement of Louis XIV when a child. A table, about four feet square, was i=
ntroduced,
into the room appropriated for the exhibition. Upon this table was placed a=
carriage,
six inches in length, made of wood, and drawn by two horses of the same
material. One window being down, a lady was seen on the back seat. A coachm=
an
held the reins on the box, and a footman and page were in their places behi=
nd.
M. Camus now touched a spring; whereupon the coachman smacked his whip, and=
the
horses proceeded in a natural manner, along the edge of the table, drawing =
after
them the carriage. Having gone as far as possible in this direction, a sudd=
en
turn was made to the left, and the vehicle was driven at right angles to its
former course, and still closely along the edge of the table. In this way t=
he
coach proceeded until it arrived opposite the chair of the young prince. It
then stopped, the page descended and opened the door, the lady alighted, and
presented a petition to her sovereign. She then re-entered. The page put up=
the
steps, closed the door, and resumed his station. The coachman whipped his
horses, and the carriage was driven back to its original position.
The magician of M.
Maillardet is also worthy of notice. We copy the following account of it fr=
om
the Letters before mentioned of Dr. B., who derived his information princip=
ally
from the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia.
"One of the =
most
popular pieces of mechanism which we have seen, Is the Magician constructed=
by
M. Maillardet, for the purpose of answering certain given questions. A figu=
re,
dressed like a magician, appears seated at the bottom of a wall, holding a =
wand
in one hand, and a book in the other A number of questions, ready prepared,=
are
inscribed on oval medallions, and the spectator takes any of these he choos=
es
and to which he wishes an answer, and having placed it in a drawer ready to=
receive
it, the drawer shuts with a spring till the answer is returned. The magicia=
n then
arises from his seat, bows his head, describes circles with his wand, and
consulting the book as If in deep thought, he lifts it towards his face. Ha=
ving
thus appeared to ponder over the proposed question he raises his wand, and
striking with it the wall above his head, two folding doors fly open, and
display an appropriate answer to the question. The doors again close, the
magician resumes his original position, and the drawer opens to return the
medallion. There are twenty of these medallions, all containing different
questions, to which the magician returns the most suitable and striking
answers. The medallions are thin plates of brass, of an elliptical form,
exactly resembling each other. Some of the medallions have a question inscr=
ibed
on each side, both of which the magician answered in succession. If the dra=
wer
is shut without a medallion being put into it, the magician rises, consults=
his
book, shakes his head, and resumes his seat. The folding doors remain shut,=
and
the drawer is returned empty. If two medallions are put into the drawer
together, an answer is returned only to the lower one. When the machinery is
wound up, the movements continue about an hour, during which time about fif=
ty
questions may be answered. The inventor stated that the means by which the
different medallions acted upon the machinery, so as to produce the proper
answers to the questions which they contained, were extremely simple."=
The duck of Vauca=
nson
was still more remarkable. It was of the size of life, and so perfect an
imitation of the living animal that all the spectators were deceived. It
executed, says Brewster, all the natural movements and gestures, it ate and
drank with avidity, performed all the quick motions of the head and throat
which are peculiar to the duck, and like it muddled the water which it drank
with its bill. It produced also the sound of quacking in the most natural
manner. In the anatomical structure the artist exhibited the highest skill.
Every bone in the real duck had its representative In the automaton, and its
wings were anatomically exact. Every cavity, apophysis, and curvature was
imitated, and each bone executed its proper movements. When corn was thrown
down before it, the duck stretched out its neck to pick it up, swallowed, a=
nd digested
it. {*1}
But if these mach=
ines
were ingenious, what shall we think of the calculating machine of Mr. Babba=
ge?
What shall we think of an engine of wood and metal which can not only compu=
te
astronomical and navigation tables to any given extent, but render the
exactitude of its operations mathematically certain through its power of
correcting its possible errors? What shall we think of a machine which can =
not
only accomplish all this, but actually print off its elaborate results, when
obtained, without the slightest intervention of the intellect of man? It wi=
ll, perhaps,
be said, in reply, that a machine such as we have described is altogether a=
bove
comparison with the Chess-Player of Maelzel. By no means--it is altogether
beneath it--that is to say provided we assume (what should never for a mome=
nt
be assumed) that the Chess-Player is a pure machine, and performs its
operations without any immediate human agency. Arithmetical or algebraical
calculations are, from their very nature, fixed and determinate. Certain da=
ta
being given, certain results necessarily and inevitably follow. These resul=
ts
have dependence upon nothing, and are influenced by nothing but the data
originally given. And the question to be solved proceeds, or should proceed=
, to
its final determination, by a succession of unerring steps liable to no cha=
nge,
and subject to no modification. This being the case, we can without difficu=
lty
conceive the possibility of so arranging a piece of mechanism, that upon
starting In accordance with the data of the question to be solved, it should
continue its movements regularly, progressively, and undeviatingly towards =
the
required solution, since these movements, however complex, are never imagin=
ed
to be otherwise than finite and determinate. But the case is widely differe=
nt
with the Chess-Player. With him there is no determinate progression. No one
move in chess necessarily follows upon any one other. From no particular di=
sposition
of the men at one period of a game can we predicate their disposition at a =
different
period. Let us place the first move in a game of chess, in juxta-position w=
ith
the data of an algebraical question, and their great difference will be
immediately perceived. From the latter--from the data--the second step of t=
he
question, dependent thereupon, inevitably follows. It is modelled by the da=
ta.
It must be thus and not otherwise. But from the first move in the game of c=
hess
no especial second move follows of necessity. In the algebraical question, =
as
it proceeds towards solution, the certainty of its operations remains
altogether unimpaired. The second step having been a consequence of the dat=
a,
the third step is equally a consequence of the second, the fourth of the th=
ird,
the fifth of the fourth, and so on, and not possibly otherwise, to the end.=
But
in proportion to the progress made in a game of chess, is the uncertainty of
each ensuing move. A few moves having been made, no step is certain. Differ=
ent spectators
of the game would advise different moves. All is then dependent upon the va=
riable
judgment of the players. Now even granting (what should not be granted) that
the movements of the Automaton Chess-Player were in themselves determinate,
they would be necessarily interrupted and disarranged by the indeterminate =
will
of his antagonist. There is then no analogy whatever between the operations=
of
the Chess-Player, and those of the calculating machine of Mr. Babbage, and =
if
we choose to call the former a pure machine we must be prepared to admit th=
at
it is, beyond all comparison, the most wonderful of the inventions of manki=
nd.
Its original projector, however, Baron Kempelen, had no scruple in declarin=
g it
to be a "very ordinary piece of mechanism--a bagatelle whose effects
appeared so marvellous only from the boldness of the conception, and the
fortunate choice of the methods adopted for promoting the illusion." B=
ut
it is needless to dwell upon this point. It is quite certain that the
operations of the Automaton are regulated by mind, and by nothing else. Ind=
eed
this matter is susceptible of a mathematical demonstration, a priori. The o=
nly question
then is of the manner in which human agency is brought to bear. Before ente=
ring
upon this subject it would be as well to give a brief history and descripti=
on
of the Chess-Player for the benefit of such of our readers as may never have
had an opportunity of witnessing Mr. Maelzel's exhibition.
The Automaton
Chess-Player was invented in 1769, by Baron Kempelen, a nobleman of Presbur=
g,
in Hungary, who afterwards disposed of it, together with the secret of its
operations, to its present possessor. {2*} Soon after its completion it was
exhibited in Presburg, Paris, Vienna, and other continental cities. In 1783=
and
1784, it was taken to London by Mr. Maelzel. Of late years it has visited t=
he
principal towns in the United States. Wherever seen, the most intense curio=
sity
was excited by its appearance, and numerous have been the attempts, by men =
of
all classes, to fathom the mystery of its evolutions. The cut on this page
gives a tolerable representation of the figure as seen by the citizens of
Richmond a few weeks ago. The right arm, however, should lie more at length
upon the box, a chess-board should appear upon it, and the cushion should n=
ot
be seen while the pipe is held. Some immaterial alterations have been made =
in
the costume of the player since it came into the possession of Maelzel--the
plume, for example, was not originally worn. {image of automaton}
At the hour appoi= nted for exhibition, a curtain is withdrawn, or folding doors are thrown open, a= nd the machine rolled to within about twelve feet of the nearest of the spectators, between whom and it (the machine) a rope is stretched. A figure= is seen habited as a Turk, and seated, with its legs crossed, at a large box apparently of maple wood, which serves it as a table. The exhibiter will, if requested, roll the machine to any portion of the room, suffer it to remain altogether on any designated spot, or even shift its location repeatedly du= ring the progress of a game. The bottom of the box is elevated considerably abov= e the floor by means of the castors or brazen rollers on which it moves, a clear = view of the surface immediately beneath the Automaton being thus afforded to the spectators. The chair on which the figure sits is affixed permanently to the box. On the top of this latter is a chess-board, also permanently affixed. = The right arm of the Chess-Player is extended at full length before him, at rig= ht angles with his body, and lying, in an apparently careless position, by the side of the board. The back of the hand is upwards. The board itself is eighteen inches square. The left arm of the figure is bent at the elbow, an= d in the left hand is a pipe. A green drapery conceals the back of the Turk, and falls partially over the front of both shoulders. To judge from the externa= l appearance of the box, it is divided into five compartments--three cupboards of equal dimensions, and two drawers occupying that portion of the chest lying benea= th the cupboards. The foregoing observations apply to the appearance of the Automaton upon its first introduction into the presence of the spectators.<= o:p>
Maelzel now infor=
ms
the company that he will disclose to their view the mechanism of the machin=
e.
Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys he unlocks with one of them, door ma=
rked
~ in the cut above, and throws the cupboard fully open to the inspection of=
all
present. Its whole interior is apparently filled with wheels, pinions, leve=
rs,
and other machinery, crowded very closely together, so that the eye can
penetrate but a little distance into the mass. Leaving this door open to its
full extent, he goes now round to the back of the box, and raising the drap=
ery
of the figure, opens another door situated precisely in the rear of the one
first opened. Holding a lighted candle at this door, and shifting the posit=
ion
of the whole machine repeatedly at the same time, a bright light is thrown
entirely through the cupboard, which is now clearly seen to be full, comple=
tely
full, of machinery. The spectators being satisfied of this fact, Maelzel cl=
oses
the back door, locks it, takes the key from the lock, lets fall the drapery=
of
the figure, and comes round to the front. The door marked I, it will be
remembered, is still open. The exhibiter now proceeds to open the drawer wh=
ich
lies beneath the cupboards at the bottom of the box--for although there are=
apparently
two drawers, there is really only one--the two handles and two key holes be=
ing
intended merely for ornament. Having opened this drawer to its full extent,=
a
small cushion, and a set of chessmen, fixed in a frame work made to support
them perpendicularly, are discovered. Leaving this drawer, as well as cupbo=
ard
No. 1 open, Maelzel now unlocks door No. 2, and door No. 3, which are
discovered to be folding doors, opening into one and the same compartment. =
To
the right of this compartment, however, (that is to say the spectators' rig=
ht)
a small division, six inches wide, and filled with machinery, is partitione=
d off.
The main compartment itself (in speaking of that portion of the box visible
upon opening doors 2 and 3, we shall always call it the main compartment) is
lined with dark cloth and contains no machinery whatever beyond two pieces =
of
steel, quadrant-shaped, and situated one in each of the rear top corners of=
the
compartment. A small protuberance about eight inches square, and also cover=
ed
with dark cloth, lies on the floor of the compartment near the rear corner =
on
the spectators' left hand. Leaving doors No. 2 and No. 3 open as well as the
drawer, and door No. I, the exhibiter now goes round to the back of the main
compartment, and, unlocking another door there, displays clearly all the
interior of the main compartment, by introducing a candle behind it and wit=
hin
it. The whole box being thus apparently disclosed to the scrutiny of the co=
mpany,
Maelzel, still leaving the doors and drawer open, rolls the Automaton entir=
ely
round, and exposes the back of the Turk by lifting up the drapery. A door a=
bout
ten inches square is thrown open in the loins of the figure, and a smaller =
one also
in the left thigh. The interior of the figure, as seen through these apertu=
res,
appears to be crowded with machinery. In general, every spectator is now
thoroughly satisfied of having beheld and completely scrutinized, at one and
the same time, every individual portion of the Automaton, and the idea of a=
ny
person being concealed in the interior, during so complete an exhibition of
that interior, if ever entertained, is immediately dismissed as preposterou=
s in
the extreme.
M. Maelzel, having
rolled the machine back into its original position, now informs the company
that the Automaton will play a game of chess with any one disposed to encou=
nter
him. This challenge being accepted, a small table is prepared for the
antagonist, and placed close by the rope, but on the spectators' side of it,
and so situated as not to prevent the company from obtaining a full view of=
the
Automaton. From a drawer in this table is taken a set of chess-men, and Mae=
lzel
arranges them generally, but not always, with his own hands, on the chess
board, which consists merely of the usual number of squares painted upon th=
e table.
The antagonist having taken his seat, the exhibiter approaches the drawer of
the box, and takes therefrom the cushion, which, after removing the pipe fr=
om
the hand of the Automaton, he places under its left arm as a support. Then
taking also from the drawer the Automaton's set of chess-men, he arranges t=
hem
upon the chessboard before the figure. He now proceeds to close the doors a=
nd
to lock them--leaving the bunch of keys in door No. 1. He also closes the
drawer, and, finally, winds up the machine, by applying a key to an apertur=
e in
the left end (the spectators' left) of the box. The game now commences--the
Automaton taking the first move. The duration of the contest is usually lim=
ited
to half an hour, but if it be not finished at the expiration of this period,
and the antagonist still contend that he can beat the Automaton, M. Maelzel=
has
seldom any objection to continue it. Not to weary the company, is the osten=
sible,
and no doubt the real object of the limitation. It Wits of course be unders=
tood
that when a move is made at his own table, by the antagonist, the correspon=
ding
move is made at the box of the Automaton, by Maelzel himself, who then acts=
as
the representative of the antagonist. On the other hand, when the Turk move=
s,
the corresponding move is made at the table of the antagonist, also by M.
Maelzel, who then acts as the representative of the Automaton. In this mann=
er
it is necessary that the exhibiter should often pass from one table to the
other. He also frequently goes in rear of the figure to remove the chess-men
which it has taken, and which it deposits, when taken, on the box to the le=
ft
(to its own left) of the board. When the Automaton hesitates in relation to=
its
move, the exhibiter is occasionally seen to place himself very near its rig=
ht side,
and to lay his hand, now and then, in a careless manner upon the box. He has
also a peculiar shuffle with his feet, calculated to induce suspicion of co=
llusion
with the machine in minds which are more cunning than sagacious. These
peculiarities are, no doubt, mere mannerisms of M. Maelzel, or, if he is aw=
are
of them at all, he puts them in practice with a view of exciting in the
spectators a false idea of the pure mechanism in the Automaton.
The Turk plays wi=
th
his left hand. All the movements of the arm are at right angles. In this
manner, the hand (which is gloved and bent in a natural way,) being brought
directly above the piece to be moved, descends finally upon it, the fingers
receiving it, in most cases, without difficulty. Occasionally, however, when
the piece is not precisely in its proper situation, the Automaton fails in =
his
attempt at seizing it. When this occurs, no second effort is made, but the =
arm continues
its movement in the direction originally intended, precisely as if the piece
were in the fingers. Having thus designated the spot whither the move should
have been made, the arm returns to its cushion, and Maelzel performs the
evolution which the Automaton pointed out. At every movement of the figure
machinery is heard in motion. During the progress of the game, the figure n=
ow
and then rolls its eyes, as if surveying the board, moves its head, and
pronounces the word echec (check) when necessary. {*3} If a false move be m=
ade
by his antagonist, he raps briskly on the box with the fingers of his right
hand, shakes his head roughly, and replacing the piece falsely moved, in its
former situation, assumes the next move himself. Upon beating the game, he =
waves
his head with an air of triumph, looks round complacently upon the spectato=
rs,
and drawing his left arm farther back than usual, suffers his fingers alone=
to
rest upon the cushion. In general, the Turk is victorious--once or twice he=
has
been beaten. The game being ended, Maelzel will again if desired, exhibit t=
he
mechanism of the box, in the same manner as before. The machine is then rol=
led
back, and a curtain hides it from the view of the company.
There have been m=
any
attempts at solving the mystery of the Automaton. The most general opinion =
in
relation to it, an opinion too not unfrequently adopted by men who should h=
ave
known better, was, as we have before said, that no immediate human agency w=
as
employed--in other words, that the machine was purely a machine and nothing
else. Many, however maintained that the exhibiter himself regulated the
movements of the figure by mechanical means operating through the feet of t=
he box.
Others again, spoke confidently of a magnet. Of the first of these opinions=
we
shall say nothing at present more than we have already said. In relation to=
the
second it is only necessary to repeat what we have before stated, that the
machine is rolled about on castors, and will, at the request of a spectator=
, be
moved to and fro to any portion of the room, even during the progress of a
game. The supposition of the magnet is also untenable--for if a magnet were=
the
agent, any other magnet in the pocket of a spectator would disarrange the
entire mechanism. The exhibiter, however, will suffer the most powerful
loadstone to remain even upon the box during the whole of the exhibition.
The first attempt=
at
a written explanation of the secret, at least the first attempt of which we
ourselves have any knowledge, was made in a large pamphlet printed at Paris=
in
1785. The author's hypothesis amounted to this--that a dwarf actuated the
machine. This dwarf he supposed to conceal himself during the opening of the
box by thrusting his legs into two hollow cylinders, which were represented=
to
be (but which are not) among the machinery in the cupboard No. I, while his
body was out of the box entirely, and covered by the drapery of the Turk. W=
hen
the doors were shut, the dwarf was enabled to bring his body within the
box--the noise produced by some portion of the machinery allowing him to do=
so
unheard, and also to close the door by which he entered. The interior of the
automaton being then exhibited, and no person discovered, the spectators, s=
ays
the author of this pamphlet, are satisfied that no one is within any portio=
n of
the machine. This whole hypothesis was too obviously absurd to require comm=
ent,
or refutation, and accordingly we find that it attracted very little attent=
ion.
In 1789 a book was
published at Dresden by M. I. F. Freyhere in which another endeavor was mad=
e to
unravel the mystery. Mr. Freyhere's book was a pretty large one, and copiou=
sly
illustrated by colored engravings. His supposition was that "a well-ta=
ught
boy very thin and tall of his age (sufficiently so that he could be conceal=
ed
in a drawer almost immediately under the chess-board") played the game=
of
chess and effected all the evolutions of the Automaton. This idea, although=
even
more silly than that of the Parisian author, met with a better reception, a=
nd
was in some measure believed to be the true solution of the wonder, until t=
he
inventor put an end to the discussion by suffering a close examination of t=
he
top of the box.
These bizarre
attempts at explanation were followed by others equally bizarre. Of late ye=
ars
however, an anonymous writer, by a course of reasoning exceedingly
unphilosophical, has contrived to blunder upon a plausible solution--althou=
gh
we cannot consider it altogether the true one. His Essay was first publishe=
d in
a Baltimore weekly paper, was illustrated by cuts, and was entitled "An
attempt to analyze the Automaton Chess-Player of M. Maelzel." This Ess=
ay
we suppose to have been the original of the pamphlet to which Sir David
Brewster alludes in his letters on Natural Magic, and which he has no
hesitation in declaring a thorough and satisfactory explanation. The result=
s of
the analysis are undoubtedly, in the main, just; but we can only account for
Brewster's pronouncing the Essay a thorough and satisfactory explanation, by
supposing him to have bestowed upon it a very cursory and inattentive perus=
al.
In the compendium of the Essay, made use of in the Letters on Natural Magic=
, it
is quite impossible to arrive at any distinct conclusion in regard to the
adequacy or inadequacy of the analysis, on account of the gross misarrangem=
ent
and deficiency of the letters of reference employed. The same fault is to be
found in the "Attempt &c.," as we originally saw it. The solu=
tion
consists in a series of minute explanations, (accompanied by wood-cuts, the=
whole
occupying many pages) in which the object is to show the possibility of so
shifting the partitions of the box, as to allow a human being, concealed in=
the
interior, to move portions of his body from one part of the box to another,
during the exhibition of the mechanism--thus eluding the scrutiny of the
spectators. There can be no doubt, as we have before observed, and as we wi=
ll
presently endeavor to show, that the principle, or rather the result, of th=
is
solution is the true one. Some person is concealed in the box during the wh=
ole
time of exhibiting the interior. We object, however, to the whole verbose
description of the manner in which the partitions are shifted, to accommoda=
te
the movements of the person concealed. We object to it as a mere theory ass=
umed
in the first place, and to which circumstances are afterwards made to adapt=
themselves.
It was not, and could not have been, arrived at by any inductive reasoning.=
In
whatever way the shifting is managed, it is of course concealed at every st=
ep
from observation. To show that certain movements might possibly be effected=
in
a certain way, is very far from showing that they are actually so effected.
There may be an infinity of other methods by which the same results may be
obtained. The probability of the one assumed proving the correct one is the=
n as
unity to infinity. But, in reality, this particular point, the shifting of =
the
partitions, is of no consequence whatever. It was altogether unnecessary to
devote seven or eight pages for the purpose of proving what no one in his s=
enses
would deny--viz: that the wonderful mechanical genius of Baron Kempelen cou=
ld
invent the necessary means for shutting a door or slipping aside a pannel, =
with
a human agent too at his service in actual contact with the pannel or the d=
oor,
and the whole operations carried on, as the author of the Essay himself sho=
ws,
and as we shall attempt to show more fully hereafter, entirely out of reach=
of
the observation of the spectators.
In attempting
ourselves an explanation of the Automaton, we will, in the first place,
endeavor to show how its operations are effected, and afterwards describe, =
as
briefly as possible, the nature of the observations from which we have dedu=
ced
our result.
It will be necess=
ary
for a proper understanding of the subject, that we repeat here in a few wor=
ds,
the routine adopted by the exhibiter in disclosing the interior of the box-=
-a
routine from which he never deviates in any material particular. In the fir=
st
place he opens the door No. I. Leaving this open, he goes round to the rear=
of
the box, and opens a door precisely at the back of door No. I. To this back
door he holds a lighted candle. He then closes the back door, locks it, and=
, coming
round to the front, opens the drawer to its full extent. This done, he opens
the doors No. 2 and No. 3, (the folding doors) and displays the interior of=
the
main compartment. Leaving open the main compartment, the drawer, and the fr=
ont
door of cupboard No. I, he now goes to the rear again, and throws open the =
back
door of the main compartment. In shutting up the box no particular order is
observed, except that the folding doors are always closed before the drawer=
.
Now, let us suppo=
se
that when the machine is first rolled into the presence of the spectators, a
man is already within it. His body is situated behind the dense machinery in
cupboard No. T. (the rear portion of which machinery is so contrived as to =
slip
en masse, from the main compartment to the cupboard No. I, as occasion may
require,) and his legs lie at full length in the main compartment. When Mae=
lzel
opens the door No. I, the man within is not in any danger of discovery, for=
the
keenest eye cannot penetrate more than about two inches into the darkness
within. But the case is otherwise when the back door of the cupboard No. I,=
is
opened. A bright light then pervades the cupboard, and the body of the man
would be discovered if it were there. But it is not. The putting the key in=
the
lock of the back door was a signal on hearing which the person concealed br=
ought
his body forward to an angle as acute as possible--throwing it altogether, =
or
nearly so, into the main compartment. This, however, is a painful position,=
and
cannot be long maintained. Accordingly we find that Maelzel closes the back
door. This being done, there is no reason why the body of the man may not r=
esume
its former situation--for the cupboard is again so dark as to defy scrutiny.
The drawer is now opened, and the legs of the person within drop down behin=
d it
in the space it formerly occupied. {*4} There is, consequently, now no long=
er
any part of the man in the main compartment--his body being behind the
machinery in cupboard No. 1, and his legs in the space occupied by the draw=
er.
The exhibiter, therefore, finds himself at liberty to display the main
compartment. This he does--opening both its back and front doors--and no pe=
rson
Is discovered. The spectators are now satisfied that the whole of the box is
exposed to view--and exposed too, all portions of it at one and the same ti=
me.
But of course this is not the case. They neither see the space behind the
drawer, nor the interior of cupboard No. 1--the front door of which latter =
the
exhibiter virtually shuts in shutting its back door. Maelzel, having now ro=
lled
the machine around, lifted up the drapery of the Turk, opened the doors in =
his
back and thigh, and shown his trunk to be full of machinery, brings the who=
le
back into its original position, and closes the doors. The man within is no=
w at
liberty to move about. He gets up into the body of the Turk just so high as=
to
bring his eyes above the level of the chess-board. It is very probable that=
he
seats himself upon the little square block or protuberance which is seen in=
a
corner of the main compartment when the doors are open. In this position he=
sees
the chess-board through the bosom of the Turk which is of gauze. Bringing h=
is
right arm across his breast he actuates the little machinery necessary to g=
uide
the left arm and the fingers of the figure. This machinery is situated just
beneath the left shoulder of the Turk, and is consequently easily reached b=
y the
right hand of the man concealed, if we suppose his right arm brought across=
the
breast. The motions of the head and eyes, and of the right arm of the figur=
e,
as well as the sound echec are produced by other mechanism in the interior,=
and
actuated at will by the man within. The whole of this mechanism--that is to=
say
all the mechanism essential to the machine--is most probably contained with=
in
the little cupboard (of about six inches in breadth) partitioned off at the
right (the spectators' right) of the main compartment.
In this analysis =
of
the operations of the Automaton, we have purposely avoided any allusion to =
the
manner in which the partitions are shifted, and it will now be readily comp=
rehended
that this point is a matter of no importance, since, by mechanism within the
ability of any common carpenter, it might be effected in an infinity of
different ways, and since we have shown that, however performed, it is
performed out of the view of the spectators. Our result is founded upon the
following observations taken during frequent visits to the exhibition of Ma=
elzel.
{*5}
I. The moves of t=
he
Turk are not made at regular intervals of time, but accommodate themselves =
to
the moves of the antagonist--although this point (of regularity) so importa=
nt
in all kinds of mechanical contrivance, might have been readily brought abo=
ut
by limiting the time allowed for the moves of the antagonist. For example, =
if
this limit were three minutes, the moves of the Automaton might be made at =
any
given intervals longer than three minutes. The fact then of irregularity, w=
hen
regularity might have been so easily attained, goes to prove that regularit=
y is
unimportant to the action of the Automaton--in other words, that the Automa=
ton
is not a pure machine.
2. When the Autom= aton is about to move a piece, a distinct motion is observable just beneath the = left shoulder, and which motion agitates in a slight degree, the drapery covering the front of the left shoulder. This motion invariably precedes, by about t= wo seconds, the movement of the arm itself--and the arm never, in any instance, moves without this preparatory motion in the shoulder. Now let the antagoni= st move a piece, and let the corresponding move be made by Maelzel, as usual, = upon the board of the Automaton. Then let the antagonist narrowly watch the Auto= maton, until he detect the preparatory motion in the shoulder. Immediately upon detecting this motion, and before the arm itself begins to move, let him withdraw his piece, as if perceiving an error in his manoeuvre. It will the= n be seen that the movement of the arm, which, in all other cases, immediately succeeds the motion in the shoulder, is withheld--is not made--although Mae= lzel has not yet performed, on the board of the Automaton, any move correspondin= g to the withdrawal of the antagonist. In this case, that the Automaton was abou= t to move is evident--and that he did not move, was an effect plainly produced by the withdrawal of the antagonist, and without any intervention of Maelzel.<= o:p>
This fact fully
proves, 1--that the intervention of Maelzel, in performing the moves of the
antagonist on the board of the Automaton, is not essential to the movements=
of
the Automaton, 2--that its movements are regulated by mind--by some person =
who
sees the board of the antagonist, 3--that its movements are not regulated by
the mind of Maelzel, whose back was turned towards the antagonist at the
withdrawal of his move.
3. The Automaton =
does
not invariably win the game. Were the machine a pure machine this would not=
be
the case--it would always win. The principle being discovered by which a
machine can be made to play a game of chess, an extension of the same princ=
iple
would enable it to win a game--a farther extension would enable it to win a=
ll
games--that is, to beat any possible game of an antagonist. A little
consideration will convince any one that the difficulty of making a machine
beat all games, Is not in the least degree greater, as regards the principl=
e of
the operations necessary, than that of making it beat a single game. If the=
n we
regard the Chess-Player as a machine, we must suppose, (what is highly
improbable,) that its inventor preferred leaving it incomplete to perfecting
it--a supposition rendered still more absurd, when we reflect that the leav=
ing
it incomplete would afford an argument against the possibility of its being=
a
pure machine--the very argument we now adduce.
4. When the situa=
tion
of the game is difficult or complex, we never perceive the Turk either shake
his head or roll his eyes. It is only when his next move is obvious, or when
the game is so circumstanced that to a man in the Automaton's place there w=
ould
be no necessity for reflection. Now these peculiar movements of the head and
eyes are movements customary with persons engaged in meditation, and the in=
genious
Baron Kempelen would have adapted these movements (were the machine a pure
machine) to occasions proper for their display--that is, to occasions of
complexity. But the reverse is seen to be the case, and this reverse applies
precisely to our supposition of a man in the interior. When engaged in
meditation about the game he has no time to think of setting in motion the
mechanism of the Automaton by which are moved the head and the eyes. When t=
he
game, however, is obvious, he has time to look about him, and, accordingly,=
we
see the head shake and the eyes roll.
5. When the machi=
ne
is rolled round to allow the spectators an examination of the back of the T=
urk,
and when his drapery is lifted up and the doors in the trunk and thigh thro=
wn
open, the interior of the trunk is seen to be crowded with machinery. In
scrutinizing this machinery while the Automaton was in motion, that is to s=
ay
while the whole machine was moving on the castors, it appeared to us that
certain portions of the mechanism changed their shape and position in a deg=
ree too
great to be accounted for by the simple laws of perspective; and subsequent
examinations convinced us that these undue alterations were attributable to
mirrors in the interior of the trunk. The introduction of mirrors among the
machinery could not have been intended to influence, in any degree, the
machinery itself. Their operation, whatever that operation should prove to =
be,
must necessarily have reference to the eye of the spectator. We at once
concluded that these mirrors were so placed to multiply to the vision some =
few
pieces of machinery within the trunk so as to give it the appearance of bei=
ng crowded
with mechanism. Now the direct inference from this is that the machine is n=
ot a
pure machine. For if it were, the inventor, so far from wishing its mechani=
sm
to appear complex, and using deception for the purpose of giving it this
appearance, would have been especially desirous of convincing those who
witnessed his exhibition, of the simplicity of the means by which results so
wonderful were brought about.
6. The external
appearance, and, especially, the deportment of the Turk, are, when we consi=
der
them as imitations of life, but very indifferent imitations. The countenance
evinces no ingenuity, and is surpassed, in its resemblance to the human fac=
e,
by the very commonest of wax-works. The eyes roll unnaturally in the head,
without any corresponding motions of the lids or brows. The arm, particular=
ly,
performs its operations in an exceedingly stiff, awkward, jerking, and
rectangular manner. Now, all this is the result either of inability in Mael=
zel
to do better, or of intentional neglect--accidental neglect being out of the
question, when we consider that the whole time of the ingenious proprietor =
is
occupied in the improvement of his machines. Most assuredly we must not ref=
er the
unlife-like appearances to inability--for all the rest of Maelzel's automata
are evidence of his full ability to copy the motions and peculiarities of l=
ife
with the most wonderful exactitude. The rope-dancers, for example, are
inimitable. When the clown laughs, his lips, his eyes, his eye-brows, and
eyelids--indeed, all the features of his countenance--are imbued with their
appropriate expressions. In both him and his companion, every gesture is so
entirely easy, and free from the semblance of artificiality, that, were it =
not
for the diminutiveness of their size, and the fact of their being passed fr=
om
one spectator to another previous to their exhibition on the rope, it would=
be
difficult to convince any assemblage of persons that these wooden automata =
were
not living creatures. We cannot, therefore, doubt Mr. Maelzel's ability, an=
d we
must necessarily suppose that he intentionally suffered his Chess Player to
remain the same artificial and unnatural figure which Baron Kempelen (no do=
ubt
also through design) originally made it. What this design was it is not
difficult to conceive. Were the Automaton life-like in its motions, the
spectator would be more apt to attribute its operations to their true cause,
(that is, to human agency within) than he is now, when the awkward and
rectangular manoeuvres convey the idea of pure and unaided mechanism.
7. When, a short = time previous to the commencement of the game, the Automaton is wound up by the exhibiter as usual, an ear in any degree accustomed to the sounds produced = in winding up a system of machinery, will not fail to discover, instantaneousl= y, that the axis turned by the key in the box of the Chess-Player, cannot poss= ibly be connected with either a weight, a spring, or any system of machinery whatever. The inference here is the same as in our last observation. The winding up is inessential to the operations of the Automaton, and is perfor= med with the design of exciting in the spectators the false idea of mechanism.<= o:p>
8. When the quest=
ion
is demanded explicitly of Maelzel--"Is the Automaton a pure machine or
not?" his reply is invariably the same--"I will say nothing about
it." Now the notoriety of the Automaton, and the great curiosity it has
every where excited, are owing more especially to the prevalent opinion tha=
t it
is a pure machine, than to any other circumstance. Of course, then, it is t=
he
interest of the proprietor to represent it as a pure machine. And what more
obvious, and more effectual method could there be of impressing the spectat=
ors
with this desired idea, than a positive and explicit declaration to that
effect? On the other hand, what more obvious and effectual method could the=
re be
of exciting a disbelief in the Automaton's being a pure machine, than by wi=
thholding
such explicit declaration? For, people will naturally reason thus,--It is
Maelzel's interest to represent this thing a pure machine--he refuses to do=
so,
directly, in words, although he does not scruple, and is evidently anxious =
to
do so, indirectly by actions--were it actually what he wishes to represent =
it
by actions, he would gladly avail himself of the more direct testimony of
words--the inference is, that a consciousness of its not being a pure machi=
ne,
is the reason of his silence--his actions cannot implicate him in a
falsehood--his words may.
9. When, in
exhibiting the interior of the box, Maelzel has thrown open the door No. I,=
and
also the door immediately behind it, he holds a lighted candle at the back =
door
(as mentioned above) and moves the entire machine to and fro with a view of
convincing the company that the cupboard No. 1 is entirely filled with
machinery. When the machine is thus moved about, it will be apparent to any
careful observer, that whereas that portion of the machinery near the front
door No. 1, is perfectly steady and unwavering, the portion farther within
fluctuates, in a very slight degree, with the movements of the machine. Thi=
s circumstance
first aroused in us the suspicion that the more remote portion of the machi=
nery
was so arranged as to be easily slipped, en masse, from its position when
occasion should require it. This occasion we have already stated to occur w=
hen
the man concealed within brings his body into an erect position upon the
closing of the back door.
10. Sir David
Brewster states the figure of the Turk to be of the size of life--but in fa=
ct
it is far above the ordinary size. Nothing is more easy than to err in our
notions of magnitude. The body of the Automaton is generally insulated, and,
having no means of immediately comparing it with any human form, we suffer
ourselves to consider it as of ordinary dimensions. This mistake may, howev=
er,
be corrected by observing the Chess-Player when, as is sometimes the case, =
the
exhibiter approaches it. Mr. Maelzel, to be sure, is not very tall, but upon
drawing near the machine, his head will be found at least eighteen inches b=
elow
the head of the Turk, although the latter, it will be remembered, is in a
sitting position.
11. The box behind
which the Automaton is placed, is precisely three feet six inches long, two
feet four inches deep, and two feet six inches high. These dimensions are f=
ully
sufficient for the accommodation of a man very much above the common size--=
and
the main compartment alone is capable of holding any ordinary man in the
position we have mentioned as assumed by the person concealed. As these are
facts, which any one who doubts them may prove by actual calculation, we de=
em
it unnecessary to dwell upon them. We will only suggest that, although the =
top
of the box is apparently a board of about three inches in thickness, the
spectator may satisfy himself by stooping and looking up at it when the mai=
n compartment
is open, that it is in reality very thin. The height of the drawer also wil=
l be
misconceived by those who examine it in a cursory manner. There is a space =
of
about three inches between the top of the drawer as seen from the exterior,=
and
the bottom of the cupboard--a space which must be included in the height of=
the
drawer. These contrivances to make the room within the box appear less than=
it actually
is, are referrible to a design on the part of the inventor, to impress the
company again with a false idea, viz. that no human being can be accommodat=
ed
within the box.
12. The interior =
of
the main compartment is lined throughout with cloth. This cloth we suppose =
to
have a twofold object. A portion of it may form, when tightly stretched, the
only partitions which there is any necessity for removing during the change=
s of
the man's position, viz: the partition between the rear of the main compart=
ment
and the rear of the cupboard No. 1, and the partition between the main
compartment, and the space behind the drawer when open. If we imagine this =
to
be the case, the difficulty of shifting the partitions vanishes at once, if=
indeed
any such difficulty could be supposed under any circumstances to exist. The
second object of the cloth is to deaden and render indistinct all sounds
occasioned by the movements of the person within.
13. The antagonist
(as we have before observed) is not suffered to play at the board of the
Automaton, but is seated at some distance from the machine. The reason whic=
h,
most probably, would be assigned for this circumstance, if the question were
demanded, is, that were the antagonist otherwise situated, his person would
intervene between the machine and the spectators, and preclude the latter f=
rom
a distinct view. But this difficulty might be easily obviated, either by
elevating the seats of the company, or by turning the end of the box towards
them during the game. The true cause of the restriction is, perhaps, very d=
ifferent.
Were the antagonist seated in contact with the box, the secret would be lia=
ble
to discovery, by his detecting, with the aid of a quick car, the breathings=
of
the man concealed.
14. Although M.
Maelzel, in disclosing the interior of the machine, sometimes slightly devi=
ates
from the routine which we have pointed out, yet reeler in any instance does=
he
so deviate from it as to interfere with our solution. For example, he has b=
een
known to open, first of all, the drawer--but he never opens the main
compartment without first closing the back door of cupboard No. 1--he never
opens the main compartment without first pulling out the drawer--he never s=
huts
the drawer without first shutting the main compartment--he never opens the =
back
door of cupboard No. 1 while the main compartment is open--and the game of
chess is never commenced until the whole machine is closed. Now if it were
observed that never, in any single instance, did M. Maelzel differ from the
routine we have pointed out as necessary to our solution, it would be one of
the strongest possible arguments in corroboration of it--but the argument
becomes infinitely strengthened if we duly consider the circumstance that he
does occasionally deviate from the routine but never does so deviate as to
falsify the solution.
15. There are six
candles on the board of the Automaton during exhibition. The question natur=
ally
arises--"Why are so many employed, when a single candle, or, at farthe=
st,
two, would have been amply sufficient to afford the spectators a clear view=
of
the board, in a room otherwise so well lit up as the exhibition room always
is--when, moreover, if we suppose the machine a pure machine, there can be =
no necessity
for so much light, or indeed any light at all, to enable it to perform its
operations--and when, especially, only a single candle is placed upon the t=
able
of the antagonist?" The first and most obvious inference is, that so
strong a light is requisite to enable the man within to see through the
transparent material (probably fine gauze) of which the breast of the Turk =
is
composed. But when we consider the arrangement of the candles, another reas=
on
immediately presents itself. There are six lights (as we have said before) =
in
all. Three of these are on each side of the figure. Those most remote from =
the
spectators are the longest--those in the middle are about two inches
shorter--and those nearest the company about two inches shorter still--and =
the
candles on one side differ in height from the candles respectively opposite=
on
the other, by a ratio different from two inches--that is to say, the longes=
t candle
on one side is about three inches shorter than the longest candle on the ot=
her,
and so on. Thus it will be seen that no two of the candles are of the same
height, and thus also the difficulty of ascertaining the material of the br=
east
of the figure (against which the light is especially directed) is greatly
augmented by the dazzling effect of the complicated crossings of the
rays--crossings which are brought about by placing the centres of radiation=
all
upon different levels.
16. While the Chess-Player was in possession of Baron Kempelen, it was more than once observed, first, that an Italian in the suite of the Baron was never visible during the playing of a game at chess by the Turk, and, secondly, that the Italian being taken seriously ill, the exhibition was suspended until his recovery. This Italian professed a total ignorance of the game of chess, although all others of the suite played well. Similar observations have been made since the Automaton has been purchased by Maelzel. There is a man, Schlumberoer, who attends him wherever he goes, but who has no ostensible occupation other than that of assisting in the packing and unpacking of the automata. This man is about the medium size, and has a remarkable stoop in = the shoulders. Whether he professes to play chess or not, we are not informed. = It is quite certain, however, that he is never to be seen during the exhibition of the Chess-Player, although frequently visible just before and just after the exhibition. Moreover, some years ago Maelzel visited Richmond with his automata, and exhibited them, we believe, in the house now occupied by M. Bossieux as a Dancing Academy. Schlumberger was suddenly taken ill, and dur= ing his illness there was no exhibition of the Chess-Player. These facts are we= ll known to many of our citizens. The reason assigned for the suspension of the Chess-Player's performances, was not the illness of Schlumberger. The inferences from all this we leave, without farther comment, to the reader.<= o:p>
17. The Turk plays
with his left arm. A circumstance so remarkable cannot be accidental. Brews=
ter
takes no notice of it whatever beyond a mere statement, we believe, that su=
ch
is the fact. The early writers of treatises on the Automaton, seem not to h=
ave
observed the matter at all, and have no reference to it. The author of the
pamphlet alluded to by Brewster, mentions it, but acknowledges his inabilit=
y to
account for it. Yet it is obviously from such prominent discrepancies or
incongruities as this that deductions are to be made (if made at all) which
shall lead us to the truth.
The circumstance =
of
the Automaton's playing with his left hand cannot have connexion with the
operations of the machine, considered merely as such. Any mechanical
arrangement which would cause the figure to move, in any given manner, the =
left
arm--could, if reversed, cause it to move, in the same manner, the right. B=
ut
these principles cannot be extended to the human organization, wherein ther=
e is
a marked and radical difference in the construction, and, at all events, in=
the
powers, of the right and left arms. Reflecting upon this latter fact, we
naturally refer the incongruity noticeable in the Chess-Player to this
peculiarity in the human organization. If so, we must imagine some
reversion--for the Chess-Player plays precisely as a man would not. These
ideas, once entertained, are sufficient of themselves, to suggest the notio=
n of
a man in the interior. A few more imperceptible steps lead us, finally, to =
the
result. The Automaton plays with his left arm, because under no other circu=
mstances
could the man within play with his right--a desideratum of course. Let us, =
for
example, imagine the Automaton to play with his right arm. To reach the
machinery which moves the arm, and which we have before explained to lie ju=
st
beneath the shoulder, it would be necessary for the man within either to use
his right arm in an exceedingly painful and awkward position, (viz. brought=
up
close to his body and tightly compressed between his body and the side of t=
he Automaton,)
or else to use his left arm brought across his breast. In neither case coul=
d he
act with the requisite ease or precision. On the contrary, the Automaton
playing, as it actually does, with the left arm, all difficulties vanish. T=
he
right arm of the man within is brought across his breast, and his right fin=
gers
act, without any constraint, upon the machinery in the shoulder of the figu=
re.
We do not believe
that any reasonable objections can be urged against this solution of the
Automaton Chess-Player.
OINOS. Pardon, Ag=
athos,
the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with immortality!
AGATHOS. You have
spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be demanded. Not even here=
is
knowledge thing of intuition. For wisdom, ask of the angels freely, that it=
may
be given!
OINOS. But in this
existence, I dreamed that I should be at once cognizant of all things, and =
thus
at once be happy in being cognizant of all.
AGATHOS. Ah, not =
in
knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of knowledge! In for ever
knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know all were the curse of a fiend=
.
OINOS. But does n=
ot
The Most High know all?
AGATHOS. That (si=
nce
he is The Most Happy) must be still the one thing unknown even to Him.
OINOS. But, since=
we
grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all things be known?
AGATHOS. Look down
into the abysmal distances!--attempt to force the gaze down the multitudino=
us
vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly through them thus--and thus--and th=
us!
Even the spiritual vision, is it not at all points arrested by the continuo=
us
golden walls of the universe?--the walls of the myriads of the shining bodi=
es
that mere number has appeared to blend into unity?
OINOS. I clearly
perceive that the infinity of matter is no dream.
AGATHOS. There ar=
e no
dreams in Aidenn--but it is here whispered that, of this infinity of matter,
the sole purpose is to afford infinite springs, at which the soul may allay=
the
thirst to know, which is for ever unquenchable within it--since to quench i=
t,
would be to extinguish the soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely =
and
without fear. Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleia=
des,
and swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, whe=
re,
for pansies and violets, and heart's--ease, are the beds of the triplicate =
and
triple--tinted suns.
OINOS. And now,
Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me!--speak to me in the earth's familiar
tones. I understand not what you hinted to me, just now, of the modes or of=
the
method of what, during mortality, we were accustomed to call Creation. Do y=
ou
mean to say that the Creator is not God?
AGATHOS. I mean to
say that the Deity does not create.
OINOS. Explain.
AGATHOS. In the
beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures which are now, throughout=
the
universe, so perpetually springing into being, can only be considered as the
mediate or indirect, not as the direct or immediate results of the Divine
creative power.
OINOS. Among men,=
my
Agathos, this idea would be considered heretical in the extreme.
AGATHOS. Among
angels, my Oinos, it is seen to be simply true.
OINOS. I can
comprehend you thus far--that certain operations of what we term Nature, or=
the
natural laws, will, under certain conditions, give rise to that which has a=
ll
the appearance of creation. Shortly before the final overthrow of the earth,
there were, I well remember, many very successful experiments in what some
philosophers were weak enough to denominate the creation of animalculae.
AGATHOS. The case=
s of
which you speak were, in fact, instances of the secondary creation--and of =
the
only species of creation which has ever been, since the first word spoke in=
to
existence the first law.
OINOS. Are not the
starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity, burst hourly forth into the
heavens--are not these stars, Agathos, the immediate handiwork of the King?=
AGATHOS. Let me
endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the conception I intend. =
You
are well aware that, as no thought can perish, so no act is without infinite
result. We moved our hands, for example, when we were dwellers on the earth,
and, in so doing, gave vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This
vibration was indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle=
of
the earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one
movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe well knew. =
They
made the special effects, indeed, wrought in the fluid by special impulses,=
the
subject of exact calculation--so that it became easy to determine in what
precise period an impulse of given extent would engirdle the orb, and impre=
ss
(for ever) every atom of the atmosphere circumambient. Retrograding, they f=
ound
no difficulty, from a given effect, under given conditions, in determining =
the
value of the original impulse. Now the mathematicians who saw that the resu=
lts
of any given impulse were absolutely endless--and who saw that a portion of
these results were accurately traceable through the agency of algebraic
analysis--who saw, too, the facility of the retrogradation--these men saw, =
at
the same time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a
capacity for indefinite progress--that there were no bounds conceivable to =
its advancement
and applicability, except within the intellect of him who advanced or appli=
ed
it. But at this point our mathematicians paused.
OINOS. And why,
Agathos, should they have proceeded?
AGATHOS. Because
there were some considerations of deep interest beyond. It was deducible fr=
om
what they knew, that to a being of infinite understanding--one to whom the
perfection of the algebraic analysis lay unfolded--there could be no diffic=
ulty
in tracing every impulse given the air--and the ether through the air--to t=
he
remotest consequences at any even infinitely remote epoch of time. It is in=
deed
demonstrable that every such impulse given the air, must, in the end, impre=
ss
every individual thing that exists within the universe;--and the being of i=
nfinite
understanding--the being whom we have imagined--might trace the remote
undulations of the impulse--trace them upward and onward in their influences
upon all particles of an matter--upward and onward for ever in their
modifications of old forms--or, in other words, in their creation of new--u=
ntil
he found them reflected--unimpressive at last--back from the throne of the
Godhead. And not only could such a thing do this, but at any epoch, should a
given result be afforded him--should one of these numberless comets, for
example, be presented to his inspection--he could have no difficulty in
determining, by the analytic retrogradation, to what original impulse it was
due. This power of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and perfection--t=
his
faculty of referring at all epochs, all effects to all causes--is of course=
the
prerogative of the Deity alone--but in every variety of degree, short of the
absolute perfection, is the power itself exercised by the whole host of the
Angelic intelligences.
OINOS. But you sp=
eak
merely of impulses upon the air.
AGATHOS. In speak=
ing
of the air, I referred only to the earth; but the general proposition has
reference to impulses upon the ether--which, since it pervades, and alone
pervades all space, is thus the great medium of creation.
OINOS. Then all
motion, of whatever nature, creates?
AGATHOS. It must:=
but
a true philosophy has long taught that the source of all motion is thought-=
-and
the source of all thought is--
OINOS. God.
AGATHOS. I have
spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child of the fair Earth which lately perished=
--of
impulses upon the atmosphere of the Earth.
OINOS. You did.
AGATHOS. And whil=
e I
thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of the physical powe=
r of
words? Is not every word an impulse on the air?
OINOS. But why,
Agathos, do you weep--and why, oh why do your wings droop as we hover above
this fair star--which is the greenest and yet most terrible of all we have
encountered in our flight? Its brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream--b=
ut
its fierce volcanoes like the passions of a turbulent heart.
AGATHOS. They
are!--they are! This wild star--it is now three centuries since, with clasp=
ed
hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my beloved--I spoke it--with=
a
few passionate sentences--into birth. Its brilliant flowers are the dearest=
of
all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the mo=
st
turbulent and unhallowed of hearts.
THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND=
UNA
"These; thi=
ngs
are in the future."
=
Sophocles--Antig:
Una. "Born again?"
Monos. Yes, fairest and best belove=
d Una,
"born again." These were the words upon whose mystical meaning I =
had
so long pondered, rejecting the explanations of the priesthood, until Death
himself resolved for me the secret.
Una. Death!
Monos. How strang=
ely,
sweet Una, you echo my words! I observe, too, a vacillation in your step--a
joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are confused and oppressed by the majes=
tic
novelty of the Life Eternal. Yes, it was of Death I spoke. And here how
singularly sounds that word which of old was wont to bring terror to all
hearts--throwing a mildew upon all pleasures!
Una. Ah, Death, the spectre which s=
ate at
all feasts! How often, Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its
nature! How mysteriously did it act as a check to human bliss--saying unto =
it
"thus far, and no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my own Mono=
s,
which burned within our bosoms how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling=
happy
in its first up-springing, that our happiness would strengthen with its
strength! Alas! as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of that evil ho=
ur
which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus, in time, it became painful=
to
love. Hate would have been mercy then.
Monos. Speak not here of these grie=
fs,
dear Una--mine, mine, forever now!
Una. But the memory of past sorrow-=
-is it
not present joy? I have much to say yet of the things which have been. Above
all, I burn to know the incidents of your own passage through the dark Vall=
ey
and Shadow.
Monos. And when did the radiant Una=
ask
anything of her Monos in vain? I will be minute in relating all--but at what
point shall the weird narrative begin?
Una. At what poin=
t?
Monos. You have s=
aid.
Una. Monos, I
comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the propensity of man to defi=
ne
the indefinable. I will not say, then, commence with the moment of life's
cessation--but commence with that sad, sad instant when, the fever having
abandoned you, you sank into a breathless and motionless torpor, and I pres=
sed
down your pallid eyelids with the passionate fingers of love.
Monos. One word first, my Una, in r=
egard
to man's general condition at this epoch. You will remember that one or two=
of
the wise among our forefathers--wise in fact, although not in the world's
esteem--had ventured to doubt the propriety of the term
"improvement," as applied to the progress of our civilization. Th=
ere
were periods in each of the five or six centuries immediately preceding our
dissolution, when arose some vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those
principles whose truth appears now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utter=
ly obvious--principles
which should have taught our race to submit to the guidance of the natural
laws, rather than attempt their control. At long intervals some masterminds
appeared, looking upon each advance in practical science as a retro-gradati=
on
in the true utility. Occasionally the poetic intellect--that intellect whic=
h we
now feel to have been the most exalted of all--since those truths which to =
us
were of the most enduring importance could only be reached by that analogy
which speaks in proof tones to the imagination alone and to the unaided rea=
son
bears no weight--occasionally did this poetic intellect proceed a step fart=
her in
the evolving of the vague idea of the philosophic, and find in the mystic p=
arable
that tells of the tree of knowledge, and of its forbidden fruit,
death-producing, a distinct intimation that knowledge was not meet for man =
in
the infant condition of his soul. And these men--the poets--living and
perishing amid the scorn of the "utilitarians"--of rough pedants,=
who
arrogated to themselves a title which could have been properly applied only=
to
the scorned--these men, the poets, pondered piningly, yet not unwisely, upon
the ancient days when our wants were not more simple than our enjoyments we=
re
keen--days when mirth was a word unknown, so solemnly deep-toned was
happiness--holy, august and blissful days, when blue rivers ran undammed,
between hills unhewn, into far forest solitudes, primæval, odorous, a=
nd
unexplored.
Yet these noble
exceptions from the general misrule served but to strengthen it by oppositi=
on.
Alas! we had fallen upon the most evil of all our evil days. The great
"movement"--that was the cant term--went on: a diseased commotion,
moral and physical. Art--the Arts--arose supreme, and, once enthroned, cast
chains upon the intellect which had elevated them to power. Man, because he
could not but acknowledge the majesty of Nature, fell into childish exultat=
ion
at his acquired and still-increasing dominion over her elements. Even while=
he
stalked a God in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over him. As m=
ight
be supposed from the origin of his disorder, he grew infected with system, =
and
with abstraction. He enwrapped himself in generalities. Among other odd ide=
as,
that of universal equality gained ground; and in the face of analogy and of
God--in despite of the loud warning voice of the laws of gradation so visib=
ly
pervading all things in Earth an Heaven--wild attempts at an omni-prevalent
Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang necessarily from the leading evil,
Knowledge. Man could not both know and succumb. Meantime huge smoking cities
arose, innumerable. Green leaves shrank before the hot breath of furnaces. =
The
fair face of Nature was deformed as with the ravages of some loathsome dise=
ase.
And methinks, sweet Una, even our slumbering sense of the forced and of the=
far-fetched
might have arrested us here. But now it appears that we had worked out our =
own
destruction in the perversion of our taste, or rather in the blind neglect =
of
its culture in the schools. For, in truth, it was at this crisis that taste
alone--that faculty which, holding a middle position between the pure intel=
lect
and the moral sense, could never safely have been disregarded--it was now t=
hat
taste alone could have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature, and to Life.
But alas for the pure contemplative spirit and majestic intuition of Plato!
Alas for the which he justly regarded as an all-sufficient education for th=
e soul!
Alas for him and for it!--since both were most desperately needed when both
were most entirely forgotten or despised. {*1}
Pascal, a philoso=
pher
whom we both love, has said, how truly!--"que tout notre raisonnement =
se
rèduit à céder au sentiment;" and it is not impos=
sible
that the sentiment of the natural, had time permitted it, would have regain=
ed
its old ascendancy over the harsh mathematical reason of the schools. But t=
his
thing was not to be. Prematurely induced by intemperance of knowledge the o=
ld
age of the world drew on. This the mass of mankind saw not, or, living lust=
ily
although unhappily, affected not to see. But, for myself, the Earth's recor=
ds
had taught me to look for widest ruin as the price of highest civilization.=
I
had imbibed a prescience of our Fate from comparison of China the simple and
enduring, with Assyria the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia,
more crafty than either, the turbulent mother of all Arts. In history {*2} =
of
these regions I met with a ray from the Future. The individual artificialit=
ies
of the three latter were local diseases of the Earth, and in their individu=
al
overthrows we had seen local remedies applied; but for the infected world at
large I could anticipate no regeneration save in death. That man, as a race,
should not become extinct, I saw that he must be "born again."
And now it was,
fairest and dearest, that we wrapped our spirits, daily, in dreams. Now it =
was
that, in twilight, we discoursed of the days to come, when the Art-scarred
surface of the Earth, having undergone that purification {*3} which alone c=
ould
efface its rectangular obscenities, should clothe itself anew in the verdure
and the mountain-slopes and the smiling waters of Paradise, and be rendered=
at
length a fit dwelling-place for man:--for man the Death purged--for man to
whose now exalted intellect there should be poison in knowledge no more--for
the redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal, but still for the ma=
terial,
man.
Una. Well do I
remember these conversations, dear Monos; but the epoch of the fiery overth=
row
was not so near at hand as we believed, and as the corruption you indicate =
did
surely warrant us in believing. Men lived; and died individually. You yours=
elf
sickened, and passed into the grave; and thither your constant Una speedily=
followed
you. And though the century which has since elapsed, and whose conclusion
brings us thus together once more, tortured our slumbering senses with no
impatience of duration, yet, my Monos, it was a century still.
Monos. Say, rathe= r, a point in the vague infinity. Unquestionably, it was in the Earth's dotage t= hat I died. Wearied at heart with anxieties which had their origin in the gener= al turmoil and decay, I succumbed to the fierce fever. After some few days of pain, and many of dreamy delirium replete with ecstasy, the manifestations = of which you mistook for pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive you--after some days there came upon me, as you have said, a breathless and motionless torpor; and this was termed Death by those who stood around me.<= o:p>
Words are vague
things. My condition did not deprive me of sentience. It appeared to me not
greatly dissimilar to the extreme quiescence of him, who, having slumbered =
long
and profoundly, lying motionless and fully prostrate in a midsummer noon, b=
egins
to steal slowly back into consciousness, through the mere sufficiency of his
sleep, and without being awakened by external disturbances.
I breathed no lon=
ger.
The pulses were still. The heart had ceased to beat. Volition had not depar=
ted,
but was powerless. The senses were unusually active, although eccentrically
so--assuming often each other's functions at random. The taste and the smell
were inextricably confounded, and became one sentiment, abnormal and intens=
e.
The rose-water with which your tenderness had moistened my lips to the last=
, affected
me with sweet fancies of flowers--fantastic flowers, far more lovely than a=
ny
of the old Earth, but whose prototypes we have here blooming around us. The
eyelids, transparent and bloodless, offered no complete impediment to visio=
n.
As volition was in abeyance, the balls could not roll in their sockets but =
all
objects within the range of the visual hemisphere were seen with more or le=
ss
distinctness; the rays which fell upon the external retina, or into the cor=
ner
of the eye, producing a more vivid effect than those which struck the front=
or interior
surface. Yet, in the former instance, this effect was so far anomalous that=
I
appreciated it only as sound--sound sweet or discordant as the matters
presenting themselves at my side were light or dark in shade--curved or ang=
ular
in outline. The hearing, at the same time, although excited in degree, was =
not
irregular in action--estimating real sounds with an extravagance of precisi=
on,
not less than of sensibility. Touch had undergone a modification more pecul=
iar.
Its impressions were tardily received, but pertinaciously retained, and
resulted always in the highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure of your
sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at first only recognised through vision, at
length, long after their removal, filled my whole being with a sensual deli=
ght immeasurable.
I say with a sensual delight. All my perceptions were purely sensual. The
materials furnished the passive brain by the senses were not in the least
degree wrought into shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain there was =
some
little; of pleasure there was much; but of moral pain or pleasure none at a=
ll.
Thus your wild sobs floated into my ear with all their mournful cadences, a=
nd
were appreciated in their every variation of sad tone; but they were soft m=
usical
sounds and no more; they conveyed to the extinct reason no intimation of the
sorrows which gave them birth; while the large and constant tears which fell
upon my face, telling the bystanders of a heart which broke, thrilled every
fibre of my frame with ecstasy alone. And this was in truth the Death of wh=
ich
these bystanders spoke reverently, in low whispers--you, sweet Una, gasping=
ly,
with loud cries.
They attired me f=
or
the coffin--three or four dark figures which flitted busily to and fro. As
these crossed the direct line of my vision they affected me as forms; but u=
pon
passing to my side their images impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groa=
ns,
and other dismal expressions of terror, of horror, or of wo. You alone, hab=
ited
in a white robe, passed in all directions musically about me.
The day waned; an=
d,
as its light faded away, I became possessed by a vague uneasiness--an anxie=
ty
such as the sleeper feels when sad real sounds fall continuously within his
ear--low distant bell-tones, solemn, at long but equal intervals, and mingl=
ing
with melancholy dreams. Night arrived; and with its shadows a heavy discomf=
ort.
It oppressed my limbs with the oppression of some dull weight, and was palp=
able.
There was also a moaning sound, not unlike the distant reverberation of sur=
f,
but more continuous, which, beginning with the first twilight, had grown in=
strength
with the darkness. Suddenly lights were brought into the room, and this
reverberation became forthwith interrupted into frequent unequal bursts of =
the
same sound, but less dreary and less distinct. The ponderous oppression was=
in
a great measure relieved; and, issuing from the flame of each lamp, (for th=
ere
were many,) there flowed unbrokenly into my ears a strain of melodious
monotone. And when now, dear Una, approaching the bed upon which I lay
outstretched, you sat gently by my side, breathing odor from your sweet lip=
s,
and pressing them upon my brow, there arose tremulously within my bosom, and
mingling with the merely physical sensations which circumstances had called
forth, a something akin to sentiment itself--a feeling that, half appreciat=
ing,
half responded to your earnest love and sorrow; but this feeling took no ro=
ot
in the pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather a shadow than a reality, a=
nd
faded quickly away, first into extreme quiescence, and then into a purely
sensual pleasure as before.
And now, from the
wreck and the chaos of the usual senses, there appeared to have arisen with=
in
me a sixth, all perfect. In its exercise I found a wild delight--yet a deli=
ght
still physical, inasmuch as the understanding had in it no part. Motion in =
the
animal frame had fully ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no ar=
tery
throbbed. But there seemed to have sprung up in the brain, that of which no
words could convey to the merely human intelligence even an indistinct conc=
eption.
Let me term it a mental pendulous pulsation. It was the moral embodiment of
man's abstract idea of Time. By the absolute equalization of this movement-=
-or
of such as this--had the cycles of the firmamental orbs themselves, been
adjusted. By its aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon the
mantel, and of the watches of the attendants. Their tickings came sonorousl=
y to
my ears. The slightest deviations from the true proportion--and these
deviations were omni-prævalent--affected me just as violations of
abstract truth were wont, on earth, to affect the moral sense. Although no =
two
of the time-pieces in the chamber struck the individual seconds accurately =
together,
yet I had no difficulty in holding steadily in mind the tones, and the
respective momentary errors of each. And this--this keen, perfect,
self-existing sentiment of duration--this sentiment existing (as man could =
not
possibly have conceived it to exist) independently of any succession of
events--this idea--this sixth sense, upspringing from the ashes of the rest,
was the first obvious and certain step of the intemporal soul upon the
threshold of the temporal Eternity.
It was midnight; =
and
you still sat by my side. All others had departed from the chamber of Death.
They had deposited me in the coffin. The lamps burned flickeringly; for thi=
s I
knew by the tremulousness of the monotonous strains. But, suddenly these
strains diminished in distinctness and in volume. Finally they ceased. The
perfume in my nostrils died away. Forms affected my vision no longer. The
oppression of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull shock like
that of electricity pervaded my frame, and was followed by total loss of th=
e idea
of contact. All of what man has termed sense was merged in the sole conscio=
usness
of entity, and in the one abiding sentiment of duration. The mortal body had
been at length stricken with the hand of the deadly Decay.
Yet had not all of
sentience departed; for the consciousness and the sentiment remaining suppl=
ied
some of its functions by a lethargic intuition. I appreciated the direful
change now in operation upon the flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aw=
are
of the bodily presence of one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still du=
lly
felt that you sat by my side. So, too, when the noon of the second day came=
, I
was not unconscious of those movements which displaced you from my side, wh=
ich confined
me within the coffin, which deposited me within the hearse, which bore me to
the grave, which lowered me within it, which heaped heavily the mould upon =
me,
and which thus left me, in blackness and corruption, to my sad and solemn
slumbers with the worm.
And here, in the
prison-house which has few secrets to disclose, there rolled away days and
weeks and months; and the soul watched narrowly each second as it flew, and,
without effort, took record of its flight--without effort and without objec=
t.
A year passed. The
consciousness of being had grown hourly more indistinct, and that of mere
locality had, in great measure, usurped its position. The idea of entity was
becoming merged in that of place. The narrow space immediately surrounding =
what
had been the body, was now growing to be the body itself. At length, as oft=
en
happens to the sleeper (by sleep and its world alone is Death imaged)--at
length, as sometimes happened on Earth to the deep slumberer, when some
flitting light half startled him into awaking, yet left him half enveloped =
in dreams--so
to me, in the strict embrace of the Shadow came that light which alone might
have had power to startle--the light of enduring Love. Men toiled at the gr=
ave
in which I lay darkling. They upthrew the damp earth. Upon my mouldering bo=
nes
there descended the coffin of Una.
And now again all=
was
void. That nebulous light had been extinguished. That feeble thrill had
vibrated itself into quiescence. Many lustra had supervened. Dust had retur=
ned
to dust. The worm had food no more. The sense of being had at length utterly
departed, and there reigned in its stead--instead of all things--dominant a=
nd
perpetual--the autocrats Place and Time. For that which was not--for that w=
hich
had no form--for that which had no thought--for that which had no
sentience--for that which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no
portion--for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the grave =
was
still a home, and the corrosive hours, co-mates.
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS=
AND
CHARMION
I will bring fir=
e to
thee.
=
Euripides--Androm:
EIROS.
Why do you call me
Eiros?
CHARMION
So henceforward w=
ill
you always be called. You must forget too, my earthly name, and speak to me=
as
Charmion.
EIROS.
This is indeed no
dream!
CHARMION.
Dreams are with u=
s no
more;--but of these mysteries anon. I rejoice to see you looking life-like =
and
rational. The film of the shadow has already passed from off your eyes. Be =
of
heart and fear nothing. Your allotted days of stupor have expired and,
to-morrow, I will myself induct you into the full joys and wonders of your
novel existence.
EIROS.
True--I feel no
stupor--none at all. The wild sickness and the terrible darkness have left =
me,
and I hear no longer that mad, rushing, horrible sound, like the "voic=
e of
many waters." Yet my senses are bewildered, Charmion, with the keennes=
s of
their perception of the new.
CHARMION.
A few days will
remove all this;--but I fully understand you, and feel for you. It is now t=
en
earthly years since I underwent what you undergo--yet the remembrance of it
hangs by me still. You have now suffered all of pain, however, which you wi=
ll
suffer in Aidenn.
EIROS.
In Aidenn?
CHARMION.
In Aidenn.
EIROS.
Oh God!--pity me,
Charmion!--I am overburthened with the majesty of all things--of the unknown
now known--of the speculative Future merged in the august and certain Prese=
nt.
CHARMION.
Grapple not now w=
ith
such thoughts. To-morrow we will speak of this. Your mind wavers, and its
agitation will find relief in the exercise of simple memories. Look not aro=
und,
nor forward--but back. I am burning with anxiety to hear the details of that
stupendous event which threw you among us. Tell me of it. Let us converse of
familiar things, in the old familiar language of the world which has so
fearfully perished.
EIROS.
Most fearfully,
fearfully!--this is indeed no dream.
CHARMION.
Dreams are no mor=
e.
Was I much mourned, my Eiros?
EIROS.
Mourned,
Charmion?--oh deeply. To that last hour of all, there hung a cloud of inten=
se
gloom and devout sorrow over your household.
CHARMION.
And that last
hour--speak of it. Remember that, beyond the naked fact of the catastrophe
itself, I know nothing. When, coming out from among mankind, I passed into
Night through the Grave--at that period, if I remember aright, the calamity
which overwhelmed you was utterly unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew little=
of
the speculative philosophy of the day.
EIROS.
The individual
calamity was as you say entirely unanticipated; but analogous misfortunes h=
ad
been long a subject of discussion with astronomers. I need scarce tell you,=
my
friend, that, even when you left us, men had agreed to understand those
passages in the most holy writings which speak of the final destruction of =
all
things by fire, as having reference to the orb of the earth alone. But in
regard to the immediate agency of the ruin, speculation had been at fault f=
rom
that epoch in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were divested of t=
he
terrors of flame. The very moderate density of these bodies had been well
established. They had been observed to pass among the satellites of Jupiter,
without bringing about any sensible alteration either in the masses or in t=
he
orbits of these secondary planets. We had long regarded the wanderers as va=
pory
creations of inconceivable tenuity, and as altogether incapable of doing in=
jury
to our substantial globe, even in the event of contact. But contact was not=
in
any degree dreaded; for the elements of all the comets were accurately know=
n.
That among them we should look for the agency of the threatened fiery
destruction had been for many years considered an inadmissible idea. But
wonders and wild fancies had been, of late days, strangely rife among manki=
nd;
and, although it was only with a few of the ignorant that actual apprehensi=
on prevailed,
upon the announcement by astronomers of a new comet, yet this announcement =
was
generally received with I know not what of agitation and mistrust.
The elements of t=
he
strange orb were immediately calculated, and it was at once conceded by all
observers, that its path, at perihelion, would bring it into very close
proximity with the earth. There were two or three astronomers, of secondary
note, who resolutely maintained that a contact was inevitable. I cannot very
well express to you the effect of this intelligence upon the people. For a =
few
short days they would not believe an assertion which their intellect so long
employed among worldly considerations could not in any manner grasp. But the
truth of a vitally important fact soon makes its way into the understanding=
of
even the most stolid. Finally, all men saw that astronomical knowledge lied
not, and they awaited the comet. Its approach was not, at first, seemingly
rapid; nor was its appearance of very unusual character. It was of a dull r=
ed,
and had little perceptible train. For seven or eight days we saw no material
increase in its apparent diameter, and but a partial alteration in its colo=
r.
Meantime, the ordinary affairs of men were discarded and all interests abso=
rbed
in a growing discussion, instituted by the philosophic, in respect to the
cometary nature. Even the grossly ignorant aroused their sluggish capacitie=
s to
such considerations. The learned now gave their intellect--their soul--to n=
o such
points as the allaying of fear, or to the sustenance of loved theory. They
sought--they panted for right views. They groaned for perfected knowledge.
Truth arose in the purity of her strength and exceeding majesty, and the wi=
se
bowed down and adored.
That material inj=
ury
to our globe or to its inhabitants would result from the apprehended contac=
t,
was an opinion which hourly lost ground among the wise; and the wise were n=
ow
freely permitted to rule the reason and the fancy of the crowd. It was
demonstrated, that the density of the comet's nucleus was far less than tha=
t of
our rarest gas; and the harmless passage of a similar visitor among the
satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly insisted upon, and which served
greatly to allay terror. Theologists with an earnestness fear-enkindled, dw=
elt
upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded them to the people with a
directness and simplicity of which no previous instance had been known. That
the final destruction of the earth must be brought about by the agency of f=
ire,
was urged with a spirit that enforced every where conviction; and that the
comets were of no fiery nature (as all men now knew) was a truth which reli=
eved
all, in a great measure, from the apprehension of the great calamity foreto=
ld.
It is noticeable that the popular prejudices and vulgar errors in regard to
pestilences and wars--errors which were wont to prevail upon every appearan=
ce
of a comet--were now altogether unknown. As if by some sudden convulsive
exertion, reason had at once hurled superstition from her throne. The feebl=
est
intellect had derived vigor from excessive interest.
What minor evils
might arise from the contact were points of elaborate question. The learned
spoke of slight geological disturbances, of probable alterations in climate,
and consequently in vegetation, of possible magnetic and electric influence=
s.
Many held that no visible or perceptible effect would in any manner be
produced. While such discussions were going on, their subject gradually
approached, growing larger in apparent diameter, and of a more brilliant
lustre. Mankind grew paler as it came. All human operations were suspended.=
There was an epoc=
h in
the course of the general sentiment when the comet had attained, at length,=
a
size surpassing that of any previously recorded visitation. The people now,
dismissing any lingering hope that the astronomers were wrong, experienced =
all
the certainty of evil. The chimerical aspect of their terror was gone. The
hearts of the stoutest of our race beat violently within their bosoms. A ve=
ry
few days sufficed, however, to merge even such feelings in sentiments more
unendurable We could no longer apply to the strange orb any accustomed
thoughts. Its historical attributes had disappeared. It oppressed us with a
hideous novelty of emotion. We saw it not as an astronomical phenomenon in =
the
heavens, but as an incubus upon our hearts, and a shadow upon our brains. It
had taken, with inconceivable rapidity, the character of a gigantic mantle =
of
rare flame, extending from horizon to horizon.
Yet a day, and men
breathed with greater freedom. It was clear that we were already within the
influence of the comet; yet we lived. We even felt an unusual elasticity of
frame and vivacity of mind. The exceeding tenuity of the object of our dread
was apparent; for all heavenly objects were plainly visible through it.
Meantime, our vegetation had perceptibly altered; and we gained faith, from
this predicted circumstance, in the foresight of the wise. A wild luxurianc=
e of
foliage, utterly unknown before, burst out upon every vegetable thing.
Yet another day--=
and
the evil was not altogether upon us. It was now evident that its nucleus wo=
uld
first reach us. A wild change had come over all men; and the first sense of
pain was the wild signal for general lamentation and horror. This first sen=
se
of pain lay in a rigorous constriction of the breast and lungs, and an
insufferable dryness of the skin. It could not be denied that our atmosphere
was radically affected; the conformation of this atmosphere and the possibl=
e modifications
to which it might be subjected, were now the topics of discussion. The resu=
lt
of investigation sent an electric thrill of the intensest terror through the
universal heart of man.
It had been long
known that the air which encircled us was a compound of oxygen and nitrogen
gases, in the proportion of twenty-one measures of oxygen, and seventy-nine=
of
nitrogen in every one hundred of the atmosphere. Oxygen, which was the
principle of combustion, and the vehicle of heat, was absolutely necessary =
to
the support of animal life, and was the most powerful and energetic agent in
nature. Nitrogen, on the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal
life or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would result, it had been
ascertained in just such an elevation of the animal spirits as we had latte=
rly experienced.
It was the pursuit, the extension of the idea, which had engendered awe. Wh=
at
would be the result of a total extraction of the nitrogen? A combustion
irresistible, all-devouring, omni-prevalent, immediate;--the entire fulfilm=
ent,
in all their minute and terrible details, of the fiery and horror-inspiring
denunciations of the prophecies of the Holy Book.
Why need I paint,
Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy of mankind? That tenuity in the comet
which had previously inspired us with hope, was now the source of the
bitterness of despair. In its impalpable gaseous character we clearly perce=
ived
the consummation of Fate. Meantime a day again passed--bearing away with it=
the
last shadow of Hope. We gasped in the rapid modification of the air. The red
blood bounded tumultuously through its strict channels. A furious delirium
possessed all men; and, with arms rigidly outstretched towards the threaten=
ing
heavens, they trembled and shrieked aloud. But the nucleus of the destroyer=
was
now upon us;--even here in Aidenn, I shudder while I speak. Let me be brief=
--brief
as the ruin that overwhelmed. For a moment there was a wild lurid light alo=
ne,
visiting and penetrating all things. Then--let us bow down Charmion, before=
the
excessive majesty of the great God!--then, there came a shouting and pervad=
ing
sound, as if from the mouth itself of HIM; while the whole incumbent mass of
ether in which we existed, burst at once into a species of intense flame, f=
or
whose surpassing brilliancy and all-fervid heat even the angels in the high
Heaven of pure knowledge have no name. Thus ended all.
SHADOW--A PARABLE
Yea, though I wa=
lk
through the valley of the Shadow:
=
--Psalm of David.
YE who read are s=
till
among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the
region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall happen, and secret thing=
s be
known, and many centuries shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of m=
en.
And, when seen, there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and ye=
t a
few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a
stylus of iron.
The year had been=
a
year of terror, and of feelings more intense than terror for which there is=
no
name upon the earth. For many prodigies and signs had taken place, and far =
and
wide, over sea and land, the black wings of the Pestilence were spread abro=
ad.
To those, nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the
heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among others, it=
was
evident that now had arrived the alternation of that seven hundred and
ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries, the planet Jupiter is
conjoined with the red ring of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of
the skies, if I mistake not greatly, made itself manifest, not only in the
physical orb of the earth, but in the souls, imaginations, and meditations =
of
mankind.
Over some flasks =
of
the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble hall, in a dim city called
Ptolemais, we sat, at night, a company of seven. And to our chamber there w=
as
no entrance save by a lofty door of brass: and the door was fashioned by the
artisan Corinnos, and, being of rare workmanship, was fastened from within.
Black draperies, likewise, in the gloomy room, shut out from our view the m=
oon,
the lurid stars, and the peopleless streets--but the boding and the memory =
of
Evil they would not be so excluded. There were things around us and about o=
f which
I can render no distinct account--things material and spiritual--heaviness =
in
the atmosphere--a sense of suffocation--anxiety--and, above all, that terri=
ble
state of existence which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly
living and awake, and meanwhile the powers of thought lie dormant. A dead
weight hung upon us. It hung upon our limbs--upon the household furniture--=
upon
the goblets from which we drank; and all things were depressed, and borne d=
own
thereby--all things save only the flames of the seven lamps which illumined=
our
revel. Uprearing themselves in tall slender lines of light, they thus remai=
ned
burning all pallid and motionless; and in the mirror which their lustre for=
med
upon the round table of ebony at which we sat, each of us there assembled
beheld the pallor of his own countenance, and the unquiet glare in the down=
cast
eyes of his companions. Yet we laughed and were merry in our proper way--wh=
ich
was hysterical; and sang the songs of Anacreon--which are madness; and dran=
k deeply--although
the purple wine reminded us of blood. For there was yet another tenant of o=
ur
chamber in the person of young Zoilus. Dead, and at full length he lay,
enshrouded; the genius and the demon of the scene. Alas! he bore no portion=
in
our mirth, save that his countenance, distorted with the plague, and his ey=
es,
in which Death had but half extinguished the fire of the pestilence, seemed=
to
take such interest in our merriment as the dead may haply take in the merri=
ment
of those who are to die. But although I, Oinos, felt that the eyes of the
departed were upon me, still I forced myself not to perceive the bitterness=
of their
expression, and gazing down steadily into the depths of the ebony mirror, s=
ang
with a loud and sonorous voice the songs of the son of Teios. But gradually=
my
songs they ceased, and their echoes, rolling afar off among the sable drape=
ries
of the chamber, became weak, and undistinguishable, and so faded away. And =
lo!
from among those sable draperies where the sounds of the song departed, the=
re
came forth a dark and undefined shadow--a shadow such as the moon, when low=
in
heaven, might fashion from the figure of a man: but it was the shadow neith=
er of
man nor of God, nor of any familiar thing. And quivering awhile among the
draperies of the room, it at length rested in full view upon the surface of=
the
door of brass. But the shadow was vague, and formless, and indefinite, and =
was
the shadow neither of man nor of God--neither God of Greece, nor God of
Chaldaea, nor any Egyptian God. And the shadow rested upon the brazen doorw=
ay,
and under the arch of the entablature of the door, and moved not, nor spoke=
any
word, but there became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the
shadow rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the young
Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having seen the shado=
w as
it came out from among the draperies, dared not steadily behold it, but cast
down our eyes, and gazed continually into the depths of the mirror of ebony=
. And
at length I, Oinos, speaking some low words, demanded of the shadow its
dwelling and its appellation. And the shadow answered, "I am SHADOW, a=
nd
my dwelling is near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim pl=
ains
of Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal." And then did =
we,
the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and shudder=
ing,
and aghast, for the tones in the voice of the shadow were not the tones of =
any
one being, but of a multitude of beings, and, varying in their cadences from
syllable to syllable fell duskly upon our ears in the well-remembered and
familiar accents of many thousand departed friends.