The Raven Edition

THE WORKS OF

EDGAR ALLAN POE

IN FIVE VOLUMES

VOLUME I  Contents

Edgar Allan Poe, An Appreciation

Life of Poe, by James Russell Lowell

Death of Poe, by N. P. Willis

The Unparalled Adventures of One Hans Pfall

The Gold Bug

Four Beasts in One

The Murders in the Rue Morgue

The Mystery of Marie Rogêt

The Balloon Hoax

MS. Found in a Bottle

The Oval Portrait

EDGAR ALLAN POE

AN APPRECIATION

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "never--never more!"

THIS stanza from "The Raven" was recommended by James Russell Lowell

as an inscription upon the Baltimore monument which marks the resting

place of Edgar Allan Poe, the most interesting and original figure in

American letters. And, to signify that peculiar musical quality of

Poe's genius which inthralls every reader, Mr. Lowell suggested this

additional verse, from the "Haunted Palace":

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling ever more,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

Born in poverty at Boston, January 19 1809, dying under painful

circumstances at Baltimore, October 7, 1849, his whole literary

career of scarcely fifteen years a pitiful struggle for mere

subsistence, his memory malignantly misrepresented by his earliest

biographer, Griswold, how completely has truth at last routed

falsehood and how magnificently has Poe come into his own, For "The

Raven," first published in 1845, and, within a few months, read,

recited and parodied wherever the English language was spoken, the

half-starved poet received $10! Less than a year later his brother

poet, N. P. Willis, issued this touching appeal to the admirers of

genius on behalf of the neglected author, his dying wife and her

devoted mother, then living under very straitened circumstances in a

little cottage at Fordham, N. Y.:

"Here is one of the finest scholars, one of the most original men of

genius, and one of the most industrious of the literary profession of

our country, whose temporary suspension of labor, from bodily

illness, drops him immediately to a level with the common objects of

public charity. There is no intermediate stopping-place, no

respectful shelter, where, with the delicacy due to genius and

culture, be might secure aid, till, with returning health, he would

resume his labors, and his unmortified sense of independence."

And this was the tribute paid by the American public to the master

who had given to it such tales of conjuring charm, of witchery and

mystery as "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "Ligea; such

fascinating hoaxes as "The Unparalleled Adventure of Hans Pfaall,"

"MSS. Found in a Bottle," "A Descent Into a Maelstrom" and "The

Balloon Hoax"; such tales of conscience as "William Wilson," "The

Black Cat" and "The Tell-tale Heart," wherein the retributions of

remorse are portrayed with an awful fidelity; such tales of natural

beauty as "The Island of the Fay" and "The Domain of Arnheim"; such

marvellous studies in ratiocination as the "Gold-bug," "The Murders

in the Rue Morgue," "The Purloined Letter" and "The Mystery of Marie

Roget," the latter, a recital of fact, demonstrating the author's

wonderful capability of correctly analyzing the mysteries of the

human mind; such tales of illusion and banter as "The Premature

Burial" and "The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether"; such bits

of extravaganza as "The Devil in the Belfry" and "The Angel of the

Odd"; such tales of adventure as "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon

Pym"; such papers of keen criticism and review as won for Poe the

enthusiastic admiration of Charles Dickens, although they made him

many enemies among the over-puffed minor American writers so

mercilessly exposed by him; such poems of beauty and melody as "The

Bells," "The Haunted Palace," "Tamerlane," "The City in the Sea" and

"The Raven." What delight for the jaded senses of the reader is this

enchanted domain of wonder-pieces! What an atmosphere of beauty,

music, color! What resources of imagination, construction, analysis

and absolute art! One might almost sympathize with Sarah Helen

Whitman, who, confessing to a half faith in the old superstition of

the significance of anagrams, found, in the transposed letters of

Edgar Poe's name, the words "a God-peer." His mind, she says, was

indeed a "Haunted Palace," echoing to the footfalls of angels and

demons.

"No man," Poe himself wrote, "has recorded, no man has dared to

record, the wonders of his inner life."

In these twentieth century days -of lavish recognition-artistic,

popular and material-of genius, what rewards might not a Poe claim!

Edgar's father, a son of General David Poe, the American

revolutionary patriot and friend of Lafayette, had married Mrs.

Hopkins, an English actress, and, the match meeting with parental

disapproval, had himself taken to the stage as a profession.

Notwithstanding Mrs. Poe's beauty and talent the young couple had a

sorry struggle for existence. When Edgar, at the age of two years,

was orphaned, the family was in the utmost destitution. Apparently

the future poet was to be cast upon the world homeless and

friendless. But fate decreed that a few glimmers of sunshine were to

illumine his life, for the little fellow was adopted by John Allan, a

wealthy merchant of Richmond, Va. A brother and sister, the remaining

children, were cared for by others.

In his new home Edgar found all the luxury and advantages money could

provide. He was petted, spoiled and shown off to strangers. In Mrs.

Allan he found all the affection a childless wife could bestow. Mr.

Allan took much pride in the captivating, precocious lad. At the age

of five the boy recited, with fine effect, passages of English poetry

to the visitors at the Allan house.

From his eighth to his thirteenth year he attended the Manor House

school, at Stoke-Newington, a suburb of London. It was the Rev. Dr.

Bransby, head of the school, whom Poe so quaintly portrayed in

"William Wilson." Returning to Richmond in 1820 Edgar was sent to the

school of Professor Joseph H. Clarke. He proved an apt pupil. Years

afterward Professor Clarke thus wrote:

"While the other boys wrote mere mechanical verses, Poe wrote genuine

poetry; the boy was a born poet. As a scholar he was ambitious to

excel. He was remarkable for self-respect, without haughtiness. He

had a sensitive and tender heart and would do anything for a friend.

His nature was entirely free from selfishness."

At the age of seventeen Poe entered the University of Virginia at

Charlottesville. He left that institution after one session. Official

records prove that he was not expelled. On the contrary, he gained a

creditable record as a student, although it is admitted that he

contracted debts and had "an ungovernable passion for card-playing."

These debts may have led to his quarrel with Mr. Allan which

eventually compelled him to make his own way in the world.

Early in 1827 Poe made his first literary venture. He induced Calvin

Thomas, a poor and youthful printer, to publish a small volume of his

verses under the title "Tamerlane and Other Poems." In 1829 we find

Poe in Baltimore with another manuscript volume of verses, which was

soon published. Its title was "Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Other Poems."

Neither of these ventures seems to have attracted much attention.

Soon after Mrs. Allan's death, which occurred in 1829, Poe, through

the aid of Mr. Allan, secured admission to the United States Military

Academy at West Point. Any glamour which may have attached to cadet

life in Poe's eyes was speedily lost, for discipline at West Point

was never so severe nor were the accommodations ever so poor. Poe's

bent was more and more toward literature. Life at the academy daily

became increasingly distasteful. Soon he began to purposely neglect

his studies and to disregard his duties, his aim being to secure his

dismissal from the United States service. In this he succeeded. On

March 7, 1831, Poe found himself free. Mr. Allan's second marriage

had thrown the lad on his own resources. His literary career was to

begin.

Poe's first genuine victory was won in 1833, when .he was the

successful competitor for a prize of $100 offered by a Baltimore

periodical for the best prose story. "A MSS. Found in a Bottle" was

the winning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a volume. "Our

only difficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "was in

selecting from the rich contents of the volume."

During the fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connected with

various newspapers and magazines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New

York. He was faithful, punctual, industrious, thorough. N. P. Willis,

who for some time employed Poe as critic and sub-editor on the

"Evening Mirror," wrote thus:

"With the highest admiration for Poe's genius, and a willingness to

let it alone for more than ordinary irregularity, we were led by

common report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties,

and occasionally a scene of violence and difficulty. Time went on,

however, and he was invariably punctual and industrious. We saw but

one presentiment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious and most

gentlemanly person.

"We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in all

mention of his lamentable irregularities), that with a single glass

of wine his whole nature was reversed, the demon became 'uppermost,

and, though none of the usual signs of in

Poe's first genuine victory was won in 1833, when he was the

successful competitor for a prize of $100 offered by a Baltimore

periodical for the best prose story. "A MSS. Found in a Bottle" was

the winning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a volume. "Our

only difficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "was in

selecting from the rich contents of the volume."

During the fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connected with

various newspapers and magazines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New

York. He was faithful, punctual, industrious, thorough. N. P. Willis,

who for some time employed Poe as critic and sub-editor on the

"Evening Mirror," wrote thus:

"With the highest admiration for Poe's genius, and a willingness to

let it alone for more than ordinary irregularity, we were led by

common report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties,

and occasionally a scene of violence and difficulty. Time went on,

however, and he was invariably punctual and industrious. We saw but

one presentiment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious and most

gentlemanly person;

"We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in all

mention of his lamentable irregularities), that with a single glass

of wine his whole nature was reversed, the demon became uppermost,

and, though none of the usual signs of intoxication were visible, his

will was palpably insane. In this reversed character, we repeat, it

was never our chance to meet him."

On September 22, 1835, Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, in

Baltimore. She had barely turned thirteen years, Poe himself was but

twentysix. He then was a resident of Richmond and a regular

contributor to the "Southern Literary Messenger." It was not until a

year later that the bride and her widowed mother followed him thither.

Poe's devotion to his cbild-wife was one of the most beautiful

features of his life. Many of his famous poetic productions were

inspired by her beauty and charm. Consumption had marked her for its

victim, and the constant efforts of husband and mother were to secure

for her all the comfort and happiness their slender means permitted.

Virginia died January 30, 1847, when but twenty-five years of age. A

friend of the family pictures the death-bed scene-mother and husband

trying to impart warmth to her by chafing her hands and her feet,

while her pet cat was suffered to nestle upon her bosom for the sake

of added warmth.

These verses from "Annabel Lee," written by Poe in 1849, the last

year of his life, tell of his sorrow at the loss of his child-wife:

I was a child and _she_ was a child,

In a kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with _a _love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago;

In this kingdom by the sea.

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her high-born kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea,

Poe was connected at various times and in various capacities with the

"Southern Literary Messenger" in Richmond, Va.; "Graham's Magazine"

and the "Gentleman's Magazine" in Philadelphia.; the "Evening

Mirror," the "Broadway journal," and "Godey's Lady's Book" in New

York. Everywhere Poe's life was one of unremitting toil. No tales and

poems were ever produced at a greater cost of brain and spirit.

Poe's initial salary with the "Southern Literary Messenger," to which

he contributed the first drafts of a number of his best-known tales,

was $10 a week! Two years later his salary was but $600 a year. Even

in 1844, when his literary reputation was established securely, he

wrote to a friend expressing his pleasure because a magazine to which

he was to contribute had agreed to pay him $20 monthly for two pages

of criticism.

Those were discouraging times in American literature, but Poe never

lost faith. He was finally to triumph wherever pre-eminent talents

win admirers. His genius has had no better description than in this

stanza from William Winter's poem, read at the dedication exercises

of the Actors' Monument to Poe, May 4, 1885, in New York:

He was the voice of beauty and of woe,

Passion and mystery and the dread unknown;

Pure as the mountains of perpetual snow,

Cold as the icy winds that round them moan,

Dark as the eaves wherein earth's thunders groan,

Wild as the tempests of the upper sky,

Sweet as the faint, far-off celestial tone of angel

whispers, fluttering from on high,

And tender as love's tear when youth and beauty die.

In the two and a half score years that have elapsed since Poe's death

he has come fully into his own. For a while Griswold's malignant

misrepresentations colored the public estimate of Poe as man and as

writer. But, thanks to J. H. Ingram, W. F. Gill, Eugene Didier, Sarah

Helen Whitman and others these scandals have been dispelled and Poe

is seen as he actually was-not as a man without failings, it is true,

but as the finest and most original genius in American letters. As

the years go on his fame increases. His works have been translated

into many foreign languages. His is a household name in France and

England-in fact, the latter nation has often uttered the reproach

that Poe's own country has been slow to appreciate him. But that

reproach, if it ever was warranted, certainly is untrue.

W. H. R.

~~~~~~ End of Text ~~~~~~

==========

EDGAR ALLAN POE{*1}

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

THE situation of American literature is anomalous. It has no centre,

or, if it have, it is like that of the sphere of Hermes. It is,

divided into many systems, each revolving round its several suns, and

often presenting to the rest only the faint glimmer of a

milk-and-water way. Our capital city, unlike London or Paris, is not

a great central heart from which life and vigor radiate to the

extremities, but resembles more an isolated umbilicus stuck down as

near a's may be to the centre of the land, and seeming rather to tell

a legend of former usefulness than to serve any present need. Boston,

New York, Philadelphia, each has its literature almost more distinct

than those of the different dialects of Germany; and the Young Queen

of the West has also one of her own, of which some articulate rumor

barely has reached us dwellers by the Atlantic.

Perhaps there is no task more difficult than the just criticism of

contemporary literature. It is even more grateful to give praise

where it is needed than where it is deserved, and friendship so often

seduces the iron stylus of justice into a vague flourish, that she

writes what seems rather like an epitaph than a criticism. Yet if

praise be given as an alms, we could not drop so poisonous a one into

any man's hat. The critic's ink may suffer equally from too large an

infusion of nutgalls or of sugar. But it is easier to be generous

than to be just, and we might readily put faith in that fabulous

direction to the hiding place of truth, did we judge from the amount

of water which we usually find mixed with it.

Remarkable experiences are usually confined to the inner life of

imaginative men, but Mr. Poe's biography displays a vicissitude and

peculiarity of interest such as is rarely met with. The offspring of

a romantic marriage, and left an orphan at an early age, he was

adopted by Mr. Allan, a wealthy Virginian, whose barren marriage-bed

seemed the warranty of a large estate to the young poet.

Having received a classical education in England, he returned home

and entered the University of Virginia, where, after an extravagant

course, followed by reformation at the last extremity, he was

graduated with the highest honors of his class. Then came a boyish

attempt to join the fortunes of the insurgent Greeks, which ended at

St. Petersburg, where he got into difficulties through want of a

passport, from which he was rescued by the American consul and sent

home. He now entered the military academy at West Point, from which

he obtained a dismissal on hearing of the birth of a son to his

adopted father, by a second marriage, an event which cut off his

expectations as an heir. The death of Mr. Allan, in whose will his

name was not mentioned, soon after relieved him of all doubt in this

regard, and he committed himself at once to authorship for a support.

Previously to this, however, he had published (in 1827) a small

volume of poems, which soon ran through three editions, and excited

high expectations of its author's future distinction in the minds of

many competent judges.

That no certain augury can be drawn from a poet's earliest lispings

there are instances enough to prove. Shakespeare's first poems,

though brimful of vigor and youth and picturesqueness, give but a

very faint promise of the directness, condensation and overflowing

moral of his maturer works. Perhaps, however, Shakespeare is hardly a

case in point, his "Venus and Adonis" having been published, we

believe, in his twenty-sixth year. Milton's Latin verses show

tenderness, a fine eye for nature, and a delicate appreciation of

classic models, .but give no hint of the author of a new style in

poetry. Pope's youthful pieces have all the sing-song, wholly

unrelieved by the glittering malignity and eloquent irreligion of his

later productions. Collins' callow namby-pamby died and gave no sign

of the vigorous and original genius which he afterward displayed. We

have never thought that the world lost more in the "marvellous boy,"

Chatterton, than a very ingenious imitator of obscure and antiquated

dulness. Where he becomes original (as it is called), the interest of

ingenuity ceases and he becomes stupid. Kirke White's promises were

indorsed by the respectable name of Mr. Southey, but surely with no

authority from Apollo. They have the merit of a traditional piety,

which to our mind, if uttered at all, had been less objectionable in

the retired closet of a diary, and in the sober raiment of prose.

They do not clutch hold of the memory with

the drowning pertinacity of Watts; neither have they the interest of

his occasional simple, lucky beauty. Burns having fortunately been

rescued by his humble station from the contaminating society of the

"Best models," wrote well and naturally from the first. Had he been

unfortunate enough to have had an educated taste, we should have had

a series of poems from which, as from his letters, we could sift here

and there a kernel from the mass of chaff. Coleridge's youthful

efforts give no promise whatever of that poetical genius which

produced at once the wildest, tenderest, most original and most

purely imaginative poems of modem times. Byron's "Hours of Idleness"

would never find a reader except from an intrepid and indefatigable

curiosity. In Wordsworth's first preludings there is but a dim

foreboding of the creator of an era. From Southey's early poems, a

safer augury might have been drawn. They show the patient

investigator, the close student of history, and the unwearied

explorer of the beauties of predecessors, but they give no assurances

of a man who should add aught to stock of household words, or to the

rarer and more sacred delights of the fireside or the arbor. The

earliest specimens of Shelley's poetic mind already, also, give

tokens of that ethereal sublimation in which the spirit seems to soar

above the regions of words, but leaves its body, the verse, to be

entombed, without hope of resurrection, in a mass of them. Cowley is

generally instanced as a wonder of precocity. But his early

insipidities show only a capacity for rhyming and for the metrical

arrangement of certain conventional combinations of words, a capacity

wholly dependent on a delicate physical organization, and an unhappy

memory. An early poem is only remarkable when it displays an effort

of _reason, _and the rudest verses in which we can trace some

conception of the ends of poetry, are worth all the miracles of

smooth juvenile versification. A school-boy, one would say, might

acquire the regular see-saw of Pope merely by an association with the

motion of the play-ground tilt.

Mr. Poe's early productions show that he could see through the verse

to the spirit beneath, and that he already had a feeling that all the

life and grace of the one must depend on and be modulated by the will

of the other. We call them the most remarkable boyish poems that we

have ever read. We know of none that can compare with them for

maturity of purpose, and a nice understanding of the effects of

language and metre. Such pieces are only valuable when they display

what we can only express by the contradictory phrase of _innate

experience. _We copy one of the shorter poems, written when the

author was only fourteen. There is a little dimness in the filling

up, but the grace and symmetry of the outline are such as few poets

ever attain. There is a smack of ambrosia about it.

TO HELEN

Helen, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore,

That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,

The weary, way-worn wanderer bore

To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home

To the glory that was Greece

And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche

How statue-like I see thee stand!

The agate lamp within thy hand,

Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which

Are Holy Land !

It is the tendency of_ _the young poet that impresses us. Here is no

"withering scorn," no heart "blighted" ere it has safely got into its

teens, none of the drawing-room sansculottism which Byron had brought

into vogue. All is limpid and serene, with a pleasant dash of the

Greek Helicon in it. The melody of the whole, too, is remarkable. It

is not of that kind which can be demonstrated arithmetically upon the

tips of the fingers. It is of that finer sort which the inner ear

alone _can _estimate. It seems simple, like a Greek column, because

of its perfection. In a poem named "Ligeia," under which title he

intended to personify the music of nature,, our boy-poet gives us the

following exquisite picture:

Ligeia ! Ligeia !

My beautiful one,

Whose harshest idea

Will to melody run,

Say, is it thy will,

On the breezes to toss,

Or, capriciously still,

Like the lone albatross,

Incumbent on night,

As she on the air,

To keep watch with delight

On the harmony there?

John Neal, himself a man of genius, and whose lyre has been too

long capriciously silent, appreciated the high merit of these and

similar passages, and drew a proud horoscope for their author.

Mr. Poe had that indescribable something which men have agreed to

call _genius. _No man could ever tell us precisely what it is, and

yet there is none who is not inevitably aware of its presence and its

power. Let talent writhe and contort itself as it may, it has no such

magnetism. Larger of bone and sinew it may be, but the wings are

wanting. Talent sticks fast to earth, and its most perfect works have

still one- foot of clay. Genius claims kindred with the very workings

of Nature herself, so that a sunset shall seem like a quotation from

Dante, and if Shakespeare be read in the very presence of the sea

itself, his verses shall but seem nobler for the sublime criticism of

ocean. Talent may make friends for itself, but only genius can give

to its creations the divine power of winning love and veneration.

Enthusiasm cannot cling to what itself is unenthusiastic, nor will he

ever have disciples who has not himself impulsive zeal enough to be a

disciple. Great wits are allied to madness only inasmuch as they are

possessed and carried away by their demon, While talent keeps him, as

Paracelsus did, securely prisoned in the pommel of his sword. To the

eye of genius, the veil of the spiritual world is ever rent asunder

that it may perceive the ministers of good and evil who throng

continually around it. No man of mere talent ever flung his inkstand

at the devil.

When we say that Mr. Poe had genius, we do not mean to say that he

has produced evidence of the highest. But to say that he possesses it

at all is to say that he needs only zeal, industry, and a reverence

for the trust reposed in him, to achieve the proudest triumphs and

the greenest laurels. If we may believe the Longinuses; and

Aristotles of our newspapers, we have quite too many geniuses of the

loftiest order to render a place among them at all desirable, whether

for its hardness of attainment or its seclusion. The highest peak of

our Parnassus is, according to these gentlemen, by far the most

thickly settled portion of the country, a circumstance which must

make it an uncomfortable residence for individuals of a poetical

temperament, if love of solitude be, as immemorial tradition asserts,

a necessary part of their idiosyncrasy.

Mr. Poe has two of the prime qualities of genius, a faculty of

vigorous yet minute analysis, and a wonderful fecundity of

imagination. The first of these faculties is as needful to the artist

in words, as a knowledge of anatomy is to the artist in colors or in

stone. This enables him to conceive truly, to maintain a proper

relation of parts, and to draw a correct outline, while the second

groups, fills up and colors. Both of these Mr. Poe has displayed with

singular distinctness in his prose works, the last predominating in

his earlier tales, and the first in his later ones. In judging of the

merit of an author, and assigning him his niche among our household

gods, we have a right to regard him from our own point of view, and

to measure him by our own standard. But, in estimating the amount of

power displayed in his works, we must be governed by his own design,

and placing them by the side of his own ideal, find how much is

wanting. We differ from Mr. Poe in his opinions of the objects of

art. He esteems that object to be the creation of Beauty, and perhaps

it is only in the definition of that word that we disagree with him.

But in what we shall say of his writings, we shall take his own

standard as our guide. The temple of the god of song is equally.

accessible from every side, and there is room enough in it for all

who bring offerings, or seek in oracle.

In his tales, Mr. Poe has chosen to exhibit his power chiefly in that

dim region which stretches from the very utmost limits of the

probable into the weird confines of superstition and unreality. He

combines in a very remarkable manner two faculties which are seldom

found united; a power of influencing the mind of the reader by the

impalpable shadows of mystery, and a minuteness of detail which does

not leave a pin or a button unnoticed. Both are, in truth, the

natural results of the predominating quality of his mind, to which we

have before alluded, analysis. It is this which distinguishes the

artist. His mind at once reaches forward to the effect to be

produced. Having resolved to bring about certain emotions in the

reader, he makes all subordinate parts tend strictly to the common

centre. Even his mystery is mathematical to his own mind. To him X is

a known quantity all along. In any picture that he paints he

understands the chemical properties of all his colors. However vague

some of his figures may seem, however formless the shadows, to him

the outline is as clear and distinct as that of a geometrical

diagram. For this reason Mr. Poe has no sympathy with Mysticism. The

Mystic dwells in the mystery, is enveloped with it; it colors all his

thoughts; it affects his optic nerve especially, and the commonest

things get a rainbow edging from it. Mr. Poe, on the other hand, is a

spectator _ab extra. _He analyzes, he dissects, he watches

"with an eye serene,

The very pulse of the machine,"

for such it practically is to him, with wheels and cogs and

piston-rods, all working to produce a certain end.

This analyzing tendency of his mind balances the poetical, and by

giving him the patience to be minute, enables him to throw a

wonderful reality into his most unreal fancies. A monomania he paints

with great power. He loves to dissect one of these cancers of the

mind, and to trace all the subtle ramifications of its roots. In

raising images of horror, also, he has strange success, conveying to

us sometimes by a dusky hint some terrible _doubt _which is the

secret of all horror. He leaves to imagination the task of finishing

the picture, a task to which only she is competent.

"For much imaginary work was there;

Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,

That for Achilles' image stood his spear

Grasped in an armed hand; himself behind

Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind."

Besides the merit of conception, Mr. Poe's writings have also that of

form.

His style is highly finished, graceful and truly classical. It would

be hard to find a living author who had displayed such varied powers.

As an example of his style we would refer to one of his tales, "The

House of Usher," in the first volume of his "Tales of the Grotesque

and Arabesque." It has a singular charm for us, and we think that no

one could read it without being strongly moved by its serene and

sombre beauty. Had its author written nothing else, it would alone

have been enough to stamp him as a man of genius, and the master of a

classic style. In this tale occurs, perhaps, the most beautiful of

his poems.

The great masters of imagination have seldom resorted to the vague

and the unreal as sources of effect. They have not used dread and

horror alone, but only in combination with other qualities, as means

of subjugating the fancies of their readers. The loftiest muse has

ever a household and fireside charm about her. Mr. Poe's secret lies

mainly in the skill with which he has employed the strange

fascination of mystery and terror. In this his success is so great

and striking as to deserve the name of art, not artifice. We cannot

call his materials the noblest or purest, but we must concede to him

the highest merit of construction.

As a critic, Mr. Poe was aesthetically deficient. Unerring in his

analysis of dictions, metres and plots, he seemed wanting in the

faculty of perceiving the profounder ethics of art. His criticisms

are, however, distinguished for scientific precision and coherence of

logic. They have the exactness, and at the same time, the coldness of

mathematical demonstrations. Yet they stand in strikingly refreshing

contrast with the vague generalisms and sharp personalities of the

day. If deficient in warmth, they are also without the heat of

partisanship. They are especially valuable as illustrating the great

truth, too generally overlooked, that analytic power is a subordinate

quality of the critic.

On the whole, it may be considered certain that Mr. Poe has attained

an individual eminence in our literature which he will keep. He has

given proof of power and originality. He has done that which could

only be done once with success or safety, and the imitation or

repetition of which would produce weariness.

~~~~~~ End of Text ~~~~~~

======

DEATH OF EDGAR A. POE

BY N. P. WILLIS

THE ancient fable of two antagonistic spirits imprisoned in one body,

equally powerful and having the complete mastery by turns-of one man,

that is to say, inhabited by both a devil and an angel seems to have

been realized, if all we hear is true, in the character of the

extraordinary man whose name we have written above. Our own

impression of the nature of Edgar A. Poe, differs in some important

degree, however, from that which has been generally conveyed in the

notices of his death. Let us, before telling what we personally know

of him, copy a graphic and highly finished portraiture, from the pen

of Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, which appeared in a recent number of the

"Tribune:"{*1}

"Edgar Allen Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore on Sunday, October

7th. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by

it. The poet was known, personally or by reputation, in all this

country; he had readers in England and in several of the states of

Continental Europe; but he had few or no friends; and the regrets for

his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in

him literary art has lost one of its most brilliant but erratic stars.

"His conversation was at times almost supramortal in its eloquence.

His voice was modulated with astonishing skill, and his large and

variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tumult into

theirs who listened, while his own face glowed, or was changeless in

pallor, as his imagination quickened his blood or drew it back frozen

to his heart. His imagery was from the worlds which no mortals can

see but with the vision of genius. Suddenly starting from a

proposition, exactly and sharply defined, in terms of utmost

simplicity and clearness, he rejected the forms of customary logic,

and by a crystalline process of accretion, built up his ocular

demonstrations in forms of gloomiest and ghastliest grandeur, or in

those of the most airy and delicious beauty, so minutely and

distinctly, yet so rapidly, that the attention which was yielded to

him was chained till it stood among his wonderful creations, till he

himself dissolved the spell, and brought his hearers back to common

and base existence, by vulgar fancies or exhibitions of the ignoblest

passion.

"He was at all times a dreamer-dwelling in ideal realms-in heaven or

hell-peopled with the creatures and the accidents of his brain. He

walked-the streets, in madness or melancholy, with lips moving in

indistinct curses, or with eyes upturned in passionate prayer (never

for himself, for he felt, or professed to feel, that he was already

damned, but) for their happiness who at the moment were objects of

his idolatry; or with his glances introverted to a heart gnawed with

anguish, and with a face shrouded in gloom, he would brave the

wildest storms, and all night, with drenched garments and arms

beating the winds and rains, would speak as if the spirits that at

such times only could be evoked by him from the Aidenn, close by

whose portals his disturbed soul sought to forget the ills to which

his constitution subjected him---close by the Aidenn where were those

he loved-the Aidenn which he might never see, but in fitful glimpses,

as its gates opened to receive the less fiery and more happy natures

whose destiny to sin did not involve the doom of death.

"He seemed, except when some fitful pursuit subjugated his will and

engrossed his faculties, always to bear the memory of some

controlling sorrow. The remarkable poem of 'The Raven' was probably

much more nearly than has been supposed, even by those who were very

intimate with him, a reflection and an echo of his own history. _He

_was that bird's

" ' unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never-never more.'

"Every genuine author in a greater or less degree leaves in his

works, whatever their design, traces of his personal character:

elements of his immortal being, in which the individual survives the

person. While we read the pages of the 'Fall of the House of Usher,'

or of 'Mesmeric Revelations,' we see in the solemn and stately gloom

which invests one, and in the subtle metaphysical analysis of both,

indications of the idiosyncrasies of what was most remarkable and

peculiar in the author's intellectual nature. But we see here only

the better phases of his nature, only the symbols of his juster

action, for his harsh experience had deprived him of all faith in man

or woman. He had made up his mind upon the numberless complexities of

the social world, and the whole system with him was an imposture.

This conviction gave a direction to his shrewd and naturally

unamiable character. Still, though he regarded society as composed

altogether of villains, the sharpness of his intellect was not of

that kind which enabled him to cope with villany, while it

continually caused him by overshots to fail of the success of

honesty. He was in many respects like Francis Vivian in Bulwer's

novel of 'The Caxtons.' Passion, in him, comprehended -many of the

worst emotions which militate against human happiness. You could not

contradict him, but you raised quick choler; you could not speak of

wealth, but his cheek paled with gnawing envy. The astonishing

natural advantages of this poor boy--his beauty, his readiness, the

daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere--had

raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arrogance that

turned his very claims to admiration into prejudices against him.

Irascible, envious--bad enough, but not the worst, for these salient

angles were all varnished over with a cold, repellant cynicism, his

passions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed to him no moral

susceptibility; and, what was more remarkable in a proud nature,

little or nothing of the true point of honor. He had, to a morbid

excess, that, desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambition, but

no wish for the esteem or the love of his species; only the hard wish

to succeed-not shine, not serve -succeed, that he might have the

right to despise a world which galled his self-conceit.

"We have suggested the influence of his aims and vicissitudes upon

his literature. It was more conspicuous in his later than in his

earlier writings. Nearly all that he wrote in the last two or three

years-including much of his best poetry-was in some sense

biographical; in draperies of his imagination, those who had taken

the trouble to trace his steps, could perceive, but slightly

concealed, the figure of himself."

Apropos of the disparaging portion of the above well-written sketch,

let us truthfully say:

Some four or five years since, when editing a daily paper in this

city, Mr. Poe was employed by us, for several months, as critic and

sub-editor. This was our first personal acquaintance with him. He

resided with his wife and mother at Fordham, a few miles out of town,

but was at his desk in the office, from nine in the morning till the

evening paper went to press. With the highest admiration for his

genius, and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordinary

irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a very

capricious attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of

violence and difficulty. Time went on, however, and he was invariably

punctual and industrious. With his pale, beautiful, and intellectual

face, as a reminder of what genius was in him, it was impossible, of

course, not to treat him always with deferential courtesy, and, to

our occasional request that he would not probe too deep in a

criticism, or that he would erase a passage colored too highly with

his resentments against society and mankind, he readily and

courteously assented-far more yielding than most men, we thought, on

points so excusably sensitive. With a prospect of taking the lead in

another periodical, he, at last, voluntarily gave up his employment

with us, and, through all this considerable period, we had seen but

one presentment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious, and most

gentlemanly person, commanding the utmost respect and good feeling by

his unvarying deportment and ability.

Residing as he did in the country, we never met Mr. Poe in hours of

leisure; but he frequently called on us afterward at our place of

business, and we met him often in the street-invariably the same sad

mannered, winning and refined gentleman , such as we had always known

him. It was by rumor only, up to the day of his death, that we knew

of any other development of manner or character. We heard, from one

who knew him well (what should be stated in all mention of his

lamentable irregularities), that, with a single glass of wine, his

whole nature was reversed, the demon became uppermost, and, though

none of the usual signs of intoxication were visible, his will was

palpably insane. Possessing his reasoning faculties in excited

activity, at such times, and seeking his acquaintances with his

wonted look and memory, he easily seemed personating only another

phase of his natural character, and was accused, accordingly, of

insulting arrogance and bad-heartedness. In this reversed character,

we repeat, it was never our chance to see him. We know it from

hearsay, and we mention it in connection with this sad infirmity of

physical constitution; which puts it upon very nearly the ground of a

temporary and almost irresponsible insanity.

The arrogance, vanity, and depravity of heart, of which Mr. Poe was

generally accused, seem to us referable altogether to this reversed

phase of his character. Under that degree of intoxication which only

acted upon him by demonizing his sense of truth and right, he

doubtless said and did much that was wholly irreconcilable with his

better nature; but, when himself, and as we knew him only, his

modesty and unaffected humility, as to his own deservings, were a

constant charm to his character. His letters, of which the constant

application for autographs has taken from us, we are sorry to

confess, the greater portion, exhibited this quality very strongly.

In one of the carelessly written notes of which we chance still to

retain possession, for instance, he speaks of "The Raven"--that

extraordinary poem which electrified the world of imaginative

readers, and has become the type of a school of poetry of its

own-and, in evident earnest, attributes its success to the few words

of commendation with which we had prefaced it in this paper. -It will

throw light on his sane character to give a literal copy of the note:

"FORDHAM, April 20, 1849

"My DEAR WILLIS--The poem which I inclose, and which I am so vain as

to hope you will like, in some respects, has been just published in a

paper for which sheer necessity compels me to write, now and then. It

pays well as times go-but unquestionably it ought to pay ten prices;

for whatever I send it I feel I am consigning to the tomb of the

Capulets. The verses accompanying this, may I beg you to take out of

the tomb, and bring them to light in the 'Home journal?' If you can

oblige me so far as to copy them, I do not think it will be necessary

to say 'From the ----, that would be too bad; and, perhaps, 'From a

late ---- paper,' would do.

"I have not forgotten how a 'good word in season' from you made 'The

Raven,' and made 'Ulalume' (which by-the-way, people have done me the

honor of attributing to you), therefore, I would ask you (if I dared)

to say something of these lines if they please you.

"Truly yours ever,

"EDGAR A. POE."

In double proof of his earnest disposition to do the best for

himself, and of the trustful and grateful nature which has been

denied him, we give another of the only three of his notes which we

chance to retain :

"FORDHAM, January 22, 1848.

"My DEAR MR. WILLiS-I am about to make an effort at re-establishing

myself in the literary world, and _feel _that I may depend upon your

aid.

"My general aim is to start a Magazine, to be called 'The Stylus,'

but it would be useless to me, even when established, if not entirely

out of the control of a publisher. I mean, therefore, to get up a

journal which shall be _my own_ at all points. With this end in view,

I must get a list of at least five hundred subscribers to begin with;

nearly two hundred I have already. I propose, however, to go South

and West, among my personal and literary friends--old college and

West Point acquaintances -and see what I can do. In order to get the

means of taking the first step, I propose to lecture at the Society

Library, on Thursday, the 3d of February, and, that there may be no

cause of _squabbling_, my subject shall _not be literary _at all. I

have chosen a broad text: 'The Universe.'

"Having thus given you _the facts _of the case, I leave all the rest

to the suggestions of your own tact and generosity. Gratefully, _most

gratefully,

_"Your friend always,

"EDGAR A. POE.''

Brief and chance-taken as these letters are, we think they

sufficiently prove the existence of the very qualities denied to Mr.

Poe-humility, willingness to persevere, belief in another's

friendship, and capability of cordial and grateful friendship! Such

he assuredly was when sane. Such only he has invariably seemed to us,

in all we have happened personally to know of him, through a

friendship of five or six years. And so much easier is it to believe

what we have seen and known, than what we hear of only, that we

remember him but with admiration and respect; these descriptions of

him, when morally insane, seeming to us like portraits, painted in

sickness, of a man we have only known in health.

But there is another, more touching, and far more forcible evidence

that there was _goodness _in Edgar A. Poe. To reveal it we are

obliged to venture upon the lifting of the veil which sacredly covers

grief and refinement in poverty; but we think it may be excused, if

so we can brighten the memory of the poet, even were there not a more

needed and immediate service which it may render to the nearest link

broken by his death.

Our first knowledge of Mr. Poe's removal to this city was by a call

which we received from a lady who introduced herself to us as the

mother of his wife. She was in search of employment for him, and she

excused her errand by mentioning that he was ill, that her daughter

was a confirmed invalid, and that their circumstances were such as

compelled her taking it upon herself. The countenance of this lady,

made beautiful and saintly with an evidently complete giving up of

her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness, her gentle and

mournful voice urging its plea, her long-forgotten but habitually and

unconsciously refined manners, and her appealing and yet appreciative

mention of the claims and abilities of her son, disclosed at once the

presence of one of those angels upon earth that women in adversity

can be. It was a hard fate that she was watching over. Mr. Poe wrote

with fastidious difficulty, and in a style too much above the popular

level to be well paid. He was always in pecuniary difficulty, and,

with his sick wife, frequently in want of the merest necessaries of

life. Winter after winter, for years, the most touching sight to us,

in this whole city, has been that tireless minister to genius, thinly

and insufficiently clad, going from office to office with a poem, or

an article on some literary subject, to sell, sometimes simply

pleading in a broken voice that he was ill, and begging for him,

mentioning nothing but that "he was ill," whatever might be the

reason for his writing nothing, and never, amid all her tears and

recitals of distress, suffering one syllable to escape her lips that

could convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessening of pride

in his genius and good intentions. Her daughter died a year and a

half since, but she did not desert him. She continued his ministering

angel--living with him, caring for him, guarding him against

exposure, and when he was carried away by temptation, amid grief and

the loneliness of feelings unreplied to, and awoke from his self

abandonment prostrated in destitution and suffering, _begging _for

him still. If woman's devotion, born with a first love, and fed with

human passion, hallow its object, as it is allowed to do, what does

not a devotion like this-pure, disinterested and holy as the watch of

an invisible spirit-say for him who inspired it?

We have a letter before us, written by this lady, Mrs. Clemm, on the

morning in which she heard of the death of this object of her

untiring care. It is merely a request that we would call upon her,

but we will copy a few of its words--sacred as its privacy is--to

warrant the truth of the picture we have drawn above, and add force

to the appeal we wish to make for her:

"I have this morning heard of the death of my darling Eddie. . . .

Can you give me any circumstances or particulars? . . . Oh! do not

desert your poor friend in his bitter affliction! . . . Ask -Mr. --

to come, as I must deliver a message to him from my poor Eddie. . . .

I need not ask you to notice his death and to speak well of him. I

know you will. But say what an affectionate son he was to me, his

poor desolate mother. . ."

To hedge round a grave with respect, what choice is there, between

the relinquished wealth and honors of the world, and the story of

such a woman's unrewarded devotion! Risking what we do, in delicacy,

by making it public, we feel--other reasons aside--that it betters

the world to make known that there are such ministrations to its

erring and gifted. What we have said will speak to some hearts. There

are those who will be glad to know how the lamp, whose light of

poetry has beamed on their far-away recognition, was watched over

with care and pain, that they may send to her, who is more darkened

than they by its extinction, some token of their sympathy. She is

destitute and alone. If any, far or near, will send to us what may

aid and cheer her through the remainder of her life, we will joyfully

place it in her bands.

~~~~~ End of Text ~~~~~~

==========

The Unparalleled Adventures of

One Hans Pfaal {*1}

BY late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high

state of philosophical excitement. Indeed, phenomena have there

occurred of a nature so completely unexpected -- so entirely novel --

so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions -- as to leave no

doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all

physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears.

It appears that on the -- -- day of -- -- (I am not positive about

the date), a vast crowd of people, for purposes not specifically

mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Exchange in the

well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm -- unusually so

for the season -- there was hardly a breath of air stirring; and the

multitude were in no bad humor at being now and then besprinkled with

friendly showers of momentary duration, that fell from large white

masses of cloud which chequered in a fitful manner the blue vault of

the firmament. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but remarkable

agitation became apparent in the assembly: the clattering of ten

thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an instant afterward, ten

thousand faces were upturned toward the heavens, ten thousand pipes

descended simultaneously from the corners of ten thousand mouths, and

a shout, which could be compared to nothing but the roaring of

Niagara, resounded long, loudly, and furiously, through all the

environs of Rotterdam.

The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From

behind the huge bulk of one of those sharply-defined masses of cloud

already mentioned, was seen slowly to emerge into an open area of

blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solid substance,

so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not to be in any

manner comprehended, and never to be sufficiently admired, by the

host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it

be? In the name of all the vrows and devils in Rotterdam, what could

it possibly portend? No one knew, no one could imagine; no one -- not

even the burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk -- had the

slightest clew by which to unravel the mystery; so, as nothing more

reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe

carefully in the corner of his mouth, and cocking up his right eye

towards the phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddled about, and grunted

significantly -- then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally --

puffed again.

In the meantime, however, lower and still lower toward the goodly

city, came the object of so much curiosity, and the cause of so much

smoke. In a very few minutes it arrived near enough to be accurately

discerned. It appeared to be -- yes! it was undoubtedly a species of

balloon; but surely no such balloon had ever been seen in Rotterdam

before. For who, let me ask, ever heard of a balloon manufactured

entirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland certainly; yet here,

under the very noses of the people, or rather at some distance above

their noses was the identical thing in question, and composed, I have

it on the best authority, of the precise material which no one had

ever before known to be used for a similar purpose. It was an

egregious insult to the good sense of the burghers of Rotterdam. As

to the shape of the phenomenon, it was even still more reprehensible.

Being little or nothing better than a huge foolscap turned upside

down. And this similitude was regarded as by no means lessened when,

upon nearer inspection, there was perceived a large tassel depending

from its apex, and, around the upper rim or base of the cone, a

circle of little instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a

continual tinkling to the tune of Betty Martin. But still worse.

Suspended by blue ribbons to the end of this fantastic machine, there

hung, by way of car, an enormous drab beaver bat, with a brim

superlatively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black band and

a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat remarkable that many

citizens of Rotterdam swore to having seen the same hat repeatedly

before; and indeed the whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes

of familiarity; while the vrow Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it,

uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise, and declared it to be the

identical hat of her good man himself. Now this was a circumstance

the more to be observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had

actually disappeared from Rotterdam about five years before, in a

very sudden and unaccountable manner, and up to the date of this

narrative all attempts had failed of obtaining any intelligence

concerning them whatsoever. To be sure, some bones which were thought

to be human, mixed up with a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had

been lately discovered in a retired situation to the east of

Rotterdam, and some people went so far as to imagine that in this

spot a foul murder had been committed, and that the sufferers were in

all probability Hans Pfaall and his associates. But to return.

The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now descended to within a

hundred feet of the earth, allowing the crowd below a sufficiently

distinct view of the person of its occupant. This was in truth a very

droll little somebody. He could not have been more than two feet in

height; but this altitude, little as it was, would have been

sufficient to destroy his equilibrium, and tilt him over the edge of

his tiny car, but for the intervention of a circular rim reaching as

high as the breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon. The

body of the little man was more than proportionately broad, giving to

his entire figure a rotundity highly absurd. His feet, of course,

could not be seen at all, although a horny substance of suspicious

nature was occasionally protruded through a rent in the bottom of the

car, or to speak more properly, in the top of the hat. His hands were

enormously large. His hair was extremely gray, and collected in a cue

behind. His nose was prodigiously long, crooked, and inflammatory;

his eyes full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks, although

wrinkled with age, were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any

kind or character there was not a semblance to be discovered upon any

portion of his head. This odd little gentleman was dressed in a loose

surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breeches to match, fastened

with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was of some bright yellow

material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his

head; and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red silk handkerchief

enveloped his throat, and fell down, in a dainty manner, upon his

bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of super-eminent dimensions.

Having descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feet from

the surface of the earth, the little old gentleman was suddenly

seized with a fit of trepidation, and appeared disinclined to make

any nearer approach to terra firma. Throwing out, therefore, a

quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which, he lifted with great

difficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then proceeded, in

a hurried and agitated manner, to extract from a side-pocket in his

surtout a large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in

his hand, then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise, and was

evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened it, and

drawing there from a huge letter sealed with red sealing-wax and tied

carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the feet of the

burgomaster, Superbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it

up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having

apparently no farther business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at

this moment to make busy preparations for departure; and it being

necessary to discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to

reascend, the half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another,

without taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every

one of them, most unfortunately upon the back of the burgomaster, and

rolled him over and over no less than one-and-twenty times, in the

face of every man in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed, however,

that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the

little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on the

contrary, that during each and every one of his one-and twenty

circumvolutions he emitted no less than one-and-twenty distinct and

furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole time

with all his might, and to which he intends holding fast until the

day of his death.

In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring far away

above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud similar to

that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost forever to

the wondering eyes of the good citiezns of Rotterdam. All attention

was now directed to the letter, the descent of which, and the

consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally subversive of

both person and personal dignity to his Excellency, the illustrious

Burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk. That functionary, however,

had not failed, during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a

thought upon the important subject of securing the packet in

question, which was seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the

most proper hands, being actually addressed to himself and Professor

Rub-a-dub, in their official capacities of President and

Vice-President of the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was

accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to

contain the following extraordinary, and indeed very serious,

communications.

To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rub-a-dub, President and

Vice-President of the States' College of Astronomers, in the city of

Rotterdam.

"Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember an humble artizan,

by name Hans Pfaall, and by occupation a mender of bellows, who, with

three others, disappeared from Rotterdam, about five years ago, in a

manner which must have been considered by all parties at once sudden,

and extremely unaccountable. If, however, it so please your

Excellencies, I, the writer of this communication, am the identical

Hans Pfaall himself. It is well known to most of my fellow citizens,

that for the period of forty years I continued to occupy the little

square brick building, at the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in

which I resided at the time of my disappearance. My ancestors have

also resided therein time out of mind -- they, as well as myself,

steadily following the respectable and indeed lucrative profession of

mending of bellows. For, to speak the truth, until of late years,

that the heads of all the people have been set agog with politics, no

better business than my own could an honest citizen of Rotterdam

either desire or deserve. Credit was good, employment was never

wanting, and on all hands there was no lack of either money or

good-will. But, as I was saying, we soon began to feel the effects of

liberty and long speeches, and radicalism, and all that sort of

thing. People who were formerly, the very best customers in the

world, had now not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had,

so they said, as much as they could do to read about the revolutions,

and keep up with the march of intellect and the spirit of the age. If

a fire wanted fanning, it could readily be fanned with a newspaper,

and as the government grew weaker, I have no doubt that leather and

iron acquired durability in proportion, for, in a very short time,

there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam that ever stood in

need of a stitch or required the assistance of a hammer. This was a

state of things not to be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat, and,

having a wife and children to provide for, my burdens at length

became intolerable, and I spent hour after hour in reflecting upon

the most convenient method of putting an end to my life. Duns, in the

meantime, left me little leisure for contemplation. My house was

literally besieged from morning till night, so that I began to rave,

and foam, and fret like a caged tiger against the bars of his

enclosure. There were three fellows in particular who worried me

beyond endurance, keeping watch continually about my door, and

threatening me with the law. Upon these three I internally vowed the

bitterest revenge, if ever I should be so happy as to get them within

my clutches; and I believe nothing in the world but the pleasure of

this anticipation prevented me from putting my plan of suicide into

immediate execution, by blowing my brains out with a blunderbuss. I

thought it best, however, to dissemble my wrath, and to treat them

with promises and fair words, until, by some good turn of fate, an

opportunity of vengeance should be afforded me.

"One day, having given my creditors the slip, and feeling more than

usually dejected, I continued for a long time to wander about the

most obscure streets without object whatever, until at length I

chanced to stumble against the corner of a bookseller's stall. Seeing

a chair close at hand, for the use of customers, I threw myself

doggedly into it, and, hardly knowing why, opened the pages of the

first volume which came within my reach. It proved to be a small

pamphlet treatise on Speculative Astronomy, written either by

Professor Encke of Berlin or by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name.

I had some little tincture of information on matters of this nature,

and soon became more and more absorbed in the contents of the book,

reading it actually through twice before I awoke to a recollection of

what was passing around me. By this time it began to grow dark, and I

directed my steps toward home. But the treatise had made an indelible

impression on my mind, and, as I sauntered along the dusky streets, I

revolved carefully over in my memory the wild and sometimes

unintelligible reasonings of the writer. There are some particular

passages which affected my imagination in a powerful and

extraordinary manner. The longer I meditated upon these the more

intense grew the interest which had been excited within me. The

limited nature of my education in general, and more especially my

ignorance on subjects connected with natural philosophy, so far from

rendering me diffident of my own ability to comprehend what I had

read, or inducing me to mistrust the many vague notions which had

arisen in consequence, merely served as a farther stimulus to

imagination; and I was vain enough, or perhaps reasonable enough, to

doubt whether those crude ideas which, arising in ill-regulated

minds, have all the appearance, may not often in effect possess all

the force, the reality, and other inherent properties, of instinct or

intuition; whether, to proceed a step farther, profundity itself

might not, in matters of a purely speculative nature, be detected as

a legitimate source of falsity and error. In other words, I believed,

and still do believe, that truth, is frequently of its own essence,

superficial, and that, in many cases, the depth lies more in the

abysses where we seek her, than in the actual situations wherein she

may be found. Nature herself seemed to afford me corroboration of

these ideas. In the contemplation of the heavenly bodies it struck me

forcibly that I could not distinguish a star with nearly as much

precision, when I gazed on it with earnest, direct and undeviating

attention, as when I suffered my eye only to glance in its vicinity

alone. I was not, of course, at that time aware that this apparent

paradox was occasioned by the center of the visual area being less

susceptible of feeble impressions of light than the exterior portions

of the retina. This knowledge, and some of another kind, came

afterwards in the course of an eventful five years, during which I

have dropped the prejudices of my former humble situation in life,

and forgotten the bellows-mender in far different occupations. But at

the epoch of which I speak, the analogy which a casual observation of

a star offered to the conclusions I had already drawn, struck me with

the force of positive conformation, and I then finally made up my

mind to the course which I afterwards pursued.

"It was late when I reached home, and I went immediately to bed. My

mind, however, was too much occupied to sleep, and I lay the whole

night buried in meditation. Arising early in the morning, and

contriving again to escape the vigilance of my creditors, I repaired

eagerly to the bookseller's stall, and laid out what little ready

money I possessed, in the purchase of some volumes of Mechanics and

Practical Astronomy. Having arrived at home safely with these, I

devoted every spare moment to their perusal, and soon made such

proficiency in studies of this nature as I thought sufficient for the

execution of my plan. In the intervals of this period, I made every

endeavor to conciliate the three creditors who had given me so much

annoyance. In this I finally succeeded -- partly by selling enough of

my household furniture to satisfy a moiety of their claim, and partly

by a promise of paying the balance upon completion of a little

project which I told them I had in view, and for assistance in which

I solicited their services. By these means -- for they were ignorant

men -- I found little difficulty in gaining them over to my purpose.

"Matters being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid of my wife and

with the greatest secrecy and caution, to dispose of what property I

had remaining, and to borrow, in small sums, under various pretences,

and without paying any attention to my future means of repayment, no

inconsiderable quantity of ready money. With the means thus accruing

I proceeded to procure at intervals, cambric muslin, very fine, in

pieces of twelve yards each; twine; a lot of the varnish of

caoutchouc; a large and deep basket of wicker-work, made to order;

and several other articles necessary in the construction and

equipment of a balloon of extraordinary dimensions. This I directed

my wife to make up as soon as possible, and gave her all requisite

information as to the particular method of proceeding. In the

meantime I worked up the twine into a net-work of sufficient

dimensions; rigged it with a hoop and the necessary cords; bought a

quadrant, a compass, a spy-glass, a common barometer with some

important modifications, and two astronomical instruments not so

generally known. I then took opportunities of conveying by night, to

a retired situation east of Rotterdam, five iron-bound casks, to

contain about fifty gallons each, and one of a larger size; six

tinned ware tubes, three inches in diameter, properly shaped, and ten

feet in length; a quantity of a particular metallic substance, or

semi-metal, which I shall not name, and a dozen demijohns of a very

common acid. The gas to be formed from these latter materials is a

gas never yet generated by any other person than myself -- or at

least never applied to any similar purpose. The secret I would make

no difficulty in disclosing, but that it of right belongs to a

citizen of Nantz, in France, by whom it was conditionally

communicated to myself. The same individual submitted to me, without

being at all aware of my intentions, a method of constructing

balloons from the membrane of a certain animal, through which

substance any escape of gas was nearly an impossibility. I found it,

however, altogether too expensive, and was not sure, upon the whole,

whether cambric muslin with a coating of gum caoutchouc, was not

equally as good. I mention this circumstance, because I think it

probable that hereafter the individual in question may attempt a

balloon ascension with the novel gas and material I have spoken of,

and I do not wish to deprive him of the honor of a very singular

invention.

"On the spot which I intended each of the smaller casks to occupy

respectively during the inflation of the balloon, I privately dug a

hole two feet deep; the holes forming in this manner a circle

twenty-five feet in diameter. In the centre of this circle, being the

station designed for the large cask, I also dug a hole three feet in

depth. In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited a canister

containing fifty pounds, and in the larger one a keg holding one

hundred and fifty pounds, of cannon powder. These -- the keg and

canisters -- I connected in a proper manner with covered trains; and

having let into one of the canisters the end of about four feet of

slow match, I covered up the hole, and placed the cask over it,

leaving the other end of the match protruding about an inch, and

barely visible beyond the cask. I then filled up the remaining holes,

and placed the barrels over them in their destined situation.

"Besides the articles above enumerated, I conveyed to the depot, and

there secreted, one of M. Grimm's improvements upon the apparatus for

condensation of the atmospheric air. I found this machine, however,

to require considerable alteration before it could be adapted to the

purposes to which I intended making it applicable. But, with severe

labor and unremitting perseverance, I at length met with entire

success in all my preparations. My balloon was soon completed. It

would contain more than forty thousand cubic feet of gas; would take

me up easily, I calculated, with all my implements, and, if I managed

rightly, with one hundred and seventy-five pounds of ballast into the

bargain. It had received three coats of varnish, and I found the

cambric muslin to answer all the purposes of silk itself, quite as

strong and a good deal less expensive.

"Everything being now ready, I exacted from my wife an oath of

secrecy in relation to all my actions from the day of my first visit

to the bookseller's stall; and promising, on my part, to return as

soon as circumstances would permit, I gave her what little money I

had left, and bade her farewell. Indeed I had no fear on her account.

She was what people call a notable woman, and could manage matters in

the world without my assistance. I believe, to tell the truth, she

always looked upon me as an idle boy, a mere make-weight, good for

nothing but building castles in the air, and was rather glad to get

rid of me. It was a dark night when I bade her good-bye, and taking

with me, as aides-de-camp, the three creditors who had given me so

much trouble, we carried the balloon, with the car and accoutrements,

by a roundabout way, to the station where the other articles were

deposited. We there found them all unmolested, and I proceeded

immediately to business.

"It was the first of April. The night, as I said before, was dark;

there was not a star to be seen; and a drizzling rain, falling at

intervals, rendered us very uncomfortable. But my chief anxiety was

concerning the balloon, which, in spite of the varnish with which it

was defended, began to grow rather heavy with the moisture; the

powder also was liable to damage. I therefore kept my three duns

working with great diligence, pounding down ice around the central

cask, and stirring the acid in the others. They did not cease,

however, importuning me with questions as to what I intended to do

with all this apparatus, and expressed much dissatisfaction at the

terrible labor I made them undergo. They could not perceive, so they

said, what good was likely to result from their getting wet to the

skin, merely to take a part in such horrible incantations. I began to

get uneasy, and worked away with all my might, for I verily believe

the idiots supposed that I had entered into a compact with the devil,

and that, in short, what I was now doing was nothing better than it

should be. I was, therefore, in great fear of their leaving me

altogether. I contrived, however, to pacify them by promises of

payment of all scores in full, as soon as I could bring the present

business to a termination. To these speeches they gave, of course,

their own interpretation; fancying, no doubt, that at all events I

should come into possession of vast quantities of ready money; and

provided I paid them all I owed, and a trifle more, in consideration

of their services, I dare say they cared very little what became of

either my soul or my carcass.

"In about four hours and a half I found the balloon sufficiently

inflated. I attached the car, therefore, and put all my implements in

it -- not forgetting the condensing apparatus, a copious supply of

water, and a large quantity of provisions, such as pemmican, in which

much nutriment is contained in comparatively little bulk. I also

secured in the car a pair of pigeons and a cat. It was now nearly

daybreak, and I thought it high time to take my departure. Dropping a

lighted cigar on the ground, as if by accident, I took the

opportunity, in stooping to pick it up, of igniting privately the

piece of slow match, whose end, as I said before, protruded a very

little beyond the lower rim of one of the smaller casks. This

manoeuvre was totally unperceived on the part of the three duns; and,

jumping into the car, I immediately cut the single cord which held me

to the earth, and was pleased to find that I shot upward, carrying

with all ease one hundred and seventy-five pounds of leaden ballast,

and able to have carried up as many more.

"Scarcely, however, had I attained the height of fifty yards, when,

roaring and rumbling up after me in the most horrible and tumultuous

manner, came so dense a hurricane of fire, and smoke, and sulphur,

and legs and arms, and gravel, and burning wood, and blazing metal,

that my very heart sunk within me, and I fell down in the bottom of

the car, trembling with unmitigated terror. Indeed, I now perceived

that I had entirely overdone the business, and that the main

consequences of the shock were yet to be experienced. Accordingly, in

less than a second, I felt all the blood in my body rushing to my

temples, and immediately thereupon, a concussion, which I shall never

forget, burst abruptly through the night and seemed to rip the very

firmament asunder. When I afterward had time for reflection, I did

not fail to attribute the extreme violence of the explosion, as

regarded myself, to its proper cause -- my situation directly above

it, and in the line of its greatest power. But at the time, I thought

only of preserving my life. The balloon at first collapsed, then

furiously expanded, then whirled round and round with horrible

velocity, and finally, reeling and staggering like a drunken man,

hurled me with great force over the rim of the car, and left me

dangling, at a terrific height, with my head downward, and my face

outwards, by a piece of slender cord about three feet in length,

which hung accidentally through a crevice near the bottom of the

wicker-work, and in which, as I fell, my left foot became most

providentially entangled. It is impossible -- utterly impossible --

to form any adequate idea of the horror of my situation. I gasped

convulsively for breath -- a shudder resembling a fit of the ague

agitated every nerve and muscle of my frame -- I felt my eyes

starting from their sockets -- a horrible nausea overwhelmed me --

and at length I fainted away.

"How long I remained in this state it is impossible to say. It must,

however, have been no inconsiderable time, for when I partially

recovered the sense of existence, I found the day breaking, the

balloon at a prodigious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a

trace of land to be discovered far and wide within the limits of the

vast horizon. My sensations, however, upon thus recovering, were by

no means so rife with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed,

there was much of incipient madness in the calm survey which I began

to take of my situation. I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one

after the other, and wondered what occurrence could have given rise

to the swelling of the veins, and the horrible blackness of the

fingemails. I afterward carefully examined my head, shaking it

repeatedly, and feeling it with minute attention, until I succeeded

in satisfying myself that it was not, as I had more than half

suspected, larger than my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt

in both my breeches pockets, and, missing therefrom a set of tablets

and a toothpick case, endeavored to account for their disappearance,

and not being able to do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. It now

occurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of my

left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation began to glimmer

through my mind. But, strange to say! I was neither astonished nor

horror-stricken. If I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind of

chuckling satisfaction at the cleverness I was about to display in

extricating myself from this dilemma; and I never, for a moment,

looked upon my ultimate safety as a question susceptible of doubt.

For a few minutes I remained wrapped in the profoundest meditation. I

have a distinct recollection of frequently compressing my lips,

putting my forefinger to the side of my nose, and making use of other

gesticulations and grimaces common to men who, at ease in their

arm-chairs, meditate upon matters of intricacy or importance. Having,

as I thought, sufficiently collected my ideas, I now, with great

caution and deliberation, put my hands behind my back, and unfastened

the large iron buckle which belonged to the waistband of my

inexpressibles. This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat

rusty, turned with great difficulty on their axis. I brought them,

however, after some trouble, at right angles to the body of the

buckle, and was glad to find them remain firm in that position.

Holding the instrument thus obtained within my teeth, I now proceeded

to untie the knot of my cravat. I had to rest several times before I

could accomplish this manoeuvre, but it was at length accomplished.

To one end of the cravat I then made fast the buckle, and the other

end I tied, for greater security, tightly around my wrist. Drawing

now my body upwards, with a prodigious exertion of muscular force, I

succeeded, at the very first trial, in throwing the buckle over the

car, and entangling it, as I had anticipated, in the circular rim of

the wicker-work.

"My body was now inclined towards the side of the car, at an angle of

about forty-five degrees; but it must not be understood that I was

therefore only forty-five degrees below the perpendicular. So far

from it, I still lay nearly level with the plane of the horizon; for

the change of situation which I had acquired, had forced the bottom

of the car considerably outwards from my position, which was

accordingly one of the most imminent and deadly peril. It should be

remembered, however, that when I fell in the first instance, from the

car, if I had fallen with my face turned toward the balloon, instead

of turned outwardly from it, as it actually was; or if, in the second

place, the cord by which I was suspended had chanced to hang over the

upper edge, instead of through a crevice near the bottom of the car,

-- I say it may be readily conceived that, in either of these

supposed cases, I should have been unable to accomplish even as much

as I had now accomplished, and the wonderful adventures of Hans

Pfaall would have been utterly lost to posterity, I had therefore

every reason to be grateful; although, in point of fact, I was still

too stupid to be anything at all, and hung for, perhaps, a quarter of

an hour in that extraordinary manner, without making the slightest

farther exertion whatsoever, and in a singularly tranquil state of

idiotic enjoyment. But this feeling did not fail to die rapidly away,

and thereunto succeeded horror, and dismay, and a chilling sense of

utter helplessness and ruin. In fact, the blood so long accumulating

in the vessels of my head and throat, and which had hitherto buoyed

up my spirits with madness and delirium, had now begun to retire

within their proper channels, and the distinctness which was thus

added to my perception of the danger, merely served to deprive me of

the self-possession and courage to encounter it. But this weakness

was, luckily for me, of no very long duration. In good time came to

my rescue the spirit of despair, and, with frantic cries and

struggles, I jerked my way bodily upwards, till at length, clutching

with a vise-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my person over

it, and fell headlong and shuddering within the car.

"It was not until some time afterward that I recovered myself

sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares of the balloon. I then,

however, examined it with attention, and found it, to my great

relief, uninjured. My implements were all safe, and, fortunately, I

had lost neither ballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so well

secured them in their places, that such an accident was entirely out

of the question. Looking at my watch, I found it six o'clock. I was

still rapidly ascending, and my barometer gave a present altitude of

three and three-quarter miles. Immediately beneath me in the ocean,

lay a small black object, slightly oblong in shape, seemingly about

the size, and in every way bearing a great resemblance to one of

those childish toys called a domino. Bringing my telescope to bear

upon it, I plainly discerned it to be a British ninety four-gun ship,

close-hauled, and pitching heavily in the sea with her head to the

W.S.W. Besides this ship, I saw nothing but the ocean and the sky,

and the sun, which had long arisen.

"It is now high time that I should explain to your Excellencies the

object of my perilous voyage. Your Excellencies will bear in mind

that distressed circumstances in Rotterdam had at length driven me to

the resolution of committing suicide. It was not, however, that to

life itself I had any, positive disgust, but that I was harassed

beyond endurance by the adventitious miseries attending my situation.

In this state of mind, wishing to live, yet wearied with life, the

treatise at the stall of the bookseller opened a resource to my

imagination. I then finally made up my mind. I determined to depart,

yet live -- to leave the world, yet continue to exist -- in short, to

drop enigmas, I resolved, let what would ensue, to force a passage,

if I could, to the moon. Now, lest I should be supposed more of a

madman than I actually am, I will detail, as well as I am able, the

considerations which led me to believe that an achievement of this

nature, although without doubt difficult, and incontestably full of

danger, was not absolutely, to a bold spirit, beyond the confines of

the possible.

"The moon's actual distance from the earth was the first thing to be

attended to. Now, the mean or average interval between the centres of

the two planets is 59.9643 of the earth's equatorial radii, or only

about 237,000 miles. I say the mean or average interval. But it must

be borne in mind that the form of the moon's orbit being an ellipse

of eccentricity amounting to no less than 0.05484 of the major

semi-axis of the ellipse itself, and the earth's centre being

situated in its focus, if I could, in any manner, contrive to meet

the moon, as it were, in its perigee, the above mentioned distance

would be materially diminished. But, to say nothing at present of

this possibility, it was very certain that, at all events, from the

237,000 miles I would have to deduct the radius of the earth, say

4,000, and the radius of the moon, say 1080, in all 5,080, leaving an

actual interval to be traversed, under average circumstances, of

231,920 miles. Now this, I reflected, was no very extraordinary

distance. Travelling on land has been repeatedly accomplished at the

rate of thirty miles per hour, and indeed a much greater speed may be

anticipated. But even at this velocity, it would take me no more than

322 days to reach the surface of the moon. There were, however, many

particulars inducing me to believe that my average rate of travelling

might possibly very much exceed that of thirty miles per hour, and,

as these considerations did not fail to make a deep impression upon

my mind, I will mention them more fully hereafter.

"The next point to be regarded was a matter of far greater

importance. From indications afforded by the barometer, we find that,

in ascensions from the surface of the earth we have, at the height of

1,000 feet, left below us about one-thirtieth of the entire mass of

atmospheric air, that at 10,600 we have ascended through nearly

one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not far from the elevation of

Cotopaxi, we have surmounted one-half the material, or, at all

events, one-half the ponderable, body of air incumbent upon our

globe. It is also calculated that at an altitude not exceeding the

hundredth part of the earth's diameter -- that is, not exceeding

eighty miles -- the rarefaction would be so excessive that animal

life could in no manner be sustained, and, moreover, that the most

delicate means we possess of ascertaining the presence of the

atmosphere would be inadequate to assure us of its existence. But I

did not fail to perceive that these latter calculations are founded

altogether on our experimental knowledge of the properties of air,

and the mechanical laws regulating its dilation and compression, in

what may be called, comparatively speaking, the immediate vicinity of

the earth itself; and, at the same time, it is taken for granted that

animal life is and must be essentially incapable of modification at

any given unattainable distance from the surface. Now, all such

reasoning and from such data must, of course, be simply analogical.

The greatest height ever reached by man was that of 25,000 feet,

attained in the aeronautic expedition of Messieurs Gay-Lussac and

Biot. This is a moderate altitude, even when compared with the eighty

miles in question; and I could not help thinking that the subject

admitted room for doubt and great latitude for speculation.

"But, in point of fact, an ascension being made to any given

altitude, the ponderable quantity of air surmounted in any farther

ascension is by no means in proportion to the additional height

ascended (as may be plainly seen from what has been stated before),

but in a ratio constantly decreasing. It is therefore evident that,

ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally speaking, arrive at a

limit beyond which no atmosphere is to be found. It must exist, I

argued; although it may exist in a state of infinite rarefaction.

"On the other hand, I was aware that arguments have not been wanting

to prove the existence of a real and definite limit to the

atmosphere, beyond which there is absolutely no air whatsoever. But a

circumstance which has been left out of view by those who contend for

such a limit seemed to me, although no positive refutation of their

creed, still a point worthy very serious investigation. On comparing

the intervals between the successive arrivals of Encke's comet at its

perihelion, after giving credit, in the most exact manner, for all

the disturbances due to the attractions of the planets, it appears

that the periods are gradually diminishing; that is to say, the major

axis of the comet's ellipse is growing shorter, in a slow but

perfectly regular decrease. Now, this is precisely what ought to be

the case, if we suppose a resistance experienced from the comet from

an extremely rare ethereal medium pervading the regions of its orbit.

For it is evident that such a medium must, in retarding the comet's

velocity, increase its centripetal, by weakening its centrifugal

force. In other words, the sun's attraction would be constantly

attaining greater power, and the comet would be drawn nearer at every

revolution. Indeed, there is no other way of accounting for the

variation in question. But again. The real diameter of the same

comet's nebulosity is observed to contract rapidly as it approaches

the sun, and dilate with equal rapidity in its departure towards its

aphelion. Was I not justifiable in supposing with M. Valz, that this

apparent condensation of volume has its origin in the compression of

the same ethereal medium I have spoken of before, and which is only

denser in proportion to its solar vicinity? The lenticular-shaped

phenomenon, also called the zodiacal light, was a matter worthy of

attention. This radiance, so apparent in the tropics, and which

cannot be mistaken for any meteoric lustre, extends from the horizon

obliquely upward, and follows generally the direction of the sun's

equator. It appeared to me evidently in the nature of a rare

atmosphere extending from the sun outward, beyond the orbit of Venus

at least, and I believed indefinitely farther.{*2} Indeed, this

medium I could not suppose confined to the path of the comet's

ellipse, or to the immediate neighborhood of the sun. It was easy, on

the contrary, to imagine it pervading the entire regions of our

planetary system, condensed into what we call atmosphere at the

planets themselves, and perhaps at some of them modified by

considerations, so to speak, purely geological.

Having adopted this view of the subject, I had little further

hesitation. Granting that on my passage I should meet with atmosphere

essentially the same as at the surface of the earth, I conceived

that, by means of the very ingenious apparatus of M. Grimm, I should

readily be enabled to condense it in sufficient quantity for the

purposes of respiration. This would remove the chief obstacle in a

journey to the moon. I had indeed spent some money and great labor in

adapting the apparatus to the object intended, and confidently looked

forward to its successful application, if I could manage to complete

the voyage within any reasonable period. This brings me back to the

rate at which it might be possible to travel.

"It is true that balloons, in the first stage of their ascensions

from the earth, are known to rise with a velocity comparatively

moderate. Now, the power of elevation lies altogether in the superior

lightness of the gas in the balloon compared with the atmospheric

air; and, at first sight, it does not appear probable that, as the

balloon acquires altitude, and consequently arrives successively in

atmospheric strata of densities rapidly diminishing -- I say, it does

not appear at all reasonable that, in this its progress upwards, the

original velocity should be accelerated. On the other hand, I was not

aware that, in any recorded ascension, a diminution was apparent in

the absolute rate of ascent; although such should have been the case,

if on account of nothing else, on account of the escape of gas

through balloons ill-constructed, and varnished with no better

material than the ordinary varnish. It seemed, therefore, that the

effect of such escape was only sufficient to counterbalance the

effect of some accelerating power. I now considered that, provided in

my passage I found the medium I had imagined, and provided that it

should prove to be actually and essentially what we denominate

atmospheric air, it could make comparatively little difference at

what extreme state of rarefaction I should discover it -- that is to

say, in regard to my power of ascending -- for the gas in the balloon

would not only be itself subject to rarefaction partially similar (in

proportion to the occurrence of which, I could suffer an escape of so

much as would be requisite to prevent explosion), but, being what it

was, would, at all events, continue specifically lighter than any

compound whatever of mere nitrogen and oxygen. In the meantime, the

force of gravitation would be constantly diminishing, in proportion

to the squares of the distances, and thus, with a velocity

prodigiously accelerating, I should at length arrive in those distant

regions where the force of the earth's attraction would be superseded

by that of the moon. In accordance with these ideas, I did not think

it worth while to encumber myself with more provisions than would be

sufficient for a period of forty days.

"There was still, however, another difficulty, which occasioned me

some little disquietude. It has been observed, that, in balloon

ascensions to any considerable height, besides the pain attending

respiration, great uneasiness is experienced about the head and body,

often accompanied with bleeding at the nose, and other symptoms of an

alarming kind, and growing more and more inconvenient in proportion

to the altitude attained.{*3} This was a reflection of a nature

somewhat startling. Was it not probable that these symptoms would

increase indefinitely, or at least until terminated by death itself?

I finally thought not. Their origin was to be looked for in the

progressive removal of the customary atmospheric pressure upon the

surface of the body, and consequent distention of the superficial

blood-vessels -- not in any positive disorganization of the animal

system, as in the case of difficulty in breathing, where the

atmospheric density is chemically insufficient for the due renovation

of blood in a ventricle of the heart. Unless for default of this

renovation, I could see no reason, therefore, why life could not be

sustained even in a vacuum; for the expansion and compression of

chest, commonly called breathing, is action purely muscular, and the

cause, not the effect, of respiration. In a word, I conceived that,

as the body should become habituated to the want of atmospheric

pressure, the sensations of pain would gradually diminish -- and to

endure them while they continued, I relied with confidence upon the

iron hardihood of my constitution.

"Thus, may it please your Excellencies, I have detailed some, though

by no means all, the considerations which led me to form the project

of a lunar voyage. I shall now proceed to lay before you the result

of an attempt so apparently audacious in conception, and, at all

events, so utterly unparalleled in the annals of mankind.

"Having attained the altitude before mentioned, that is to say three

miles and three-quarters, I threw out from the car a quantity of

feathers, and found that I still ascended with sufficient rapidity;

there was, therefore, no necessity for discharging any ballast. I was

glad of this, for I wished to retain with me as much weight as I

could carry, for reasons which will be explained in the sequel. I as

yet suffered no bodily inconvenience, breathing with great freedom,

and feeling no pain whatever in the head. The cat was lying very

demurely upon my coat, which I had taken off, and eyeing the pigeons

with an air of nonchalance. These latter being tied by the leg, to

prevent their escape, were busily employed in picking up some grains

of rice scattered for them in the bottom of the car.

"At twenty minutes past six o'clock, the barometer showed an

elevation of 26,400 feet, or five miles to a fraction. The prospect

seemed unbounded. Indeed, it is very easily calculated by means of

spherical geometry, what a great extent of the earth's area I beheld.

The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to the entire

surface of the sphere itself, as the versed sine of the segment to

the diameter of the sphere. Now, in my case, the versed sine -- that

is to say, the thickness of the segment beneath me -- was about equal

to my elevation, or the elevation of the point of sight above the

surface. "As five miles, then, to eight thousand," would express the

proportion of the earth's area seen by me. In other words, I beheld

as much as a sixteen-hundredth part of the whole surface of the

globe. The sea appeared unruffled as a mirror, although, by means of

the spy-glass, I could perceive it to be in a state of violent

agitation. The ship was no longer visible, having drifted away,

apparently to the eastward. I now began to experience, at intervals,

severe pain in the head, especially about the ears -- still, however,

breathing with tolerable freedom. The cat and pigeons seemed to

suffer no inconvenience whatsoever.

"At twenty minutes before seven, the balloon entered a long series of

dense cloud, which put me to great trouble, by damaging my condensing

apparatus and wetting me to the skin. This was, to be sure, a

singular recontre, for I had not believed it possible that a cloud of

this nature could be sustained at so great an elevation. I thought it

best, however, to throw out two five-pound pieces of ballast,

reserving still a weight of one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Upon

so doing, I soon rose above the difficulty, and perceived

immediately, that I had obtained a great increase in my rate of

ascent. In a few seconds after my leaving the cloud, a flash of vivid

lightning shot from one end of it to the other, and caused it to

kindle up, throughout its vast extent, like a mass of ignited and

glowing charcoal. This, it must be remembered, was in the broad light

of day. No fancy may picture the sublimity which might have been

exhibited by a similar phenomenon taking place amid the darkness of

the night. Hell itself might have been found a fitting image. Even as

it was, my hair stood on end, while I gazed afar down within the

yawning abysses, letting imagination descend, as it were, and stalk

about in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddy gulfs, and red ghastly

chasms of the hideous and unfathomable fire. I had indeed made a

narrow escape. Had the balloon remained a very short while longer

within the cloud -- that is to say -- had not the inconvenience of

getting wet, determined me to discharge the ballast, inevitable ruin

would have been the consequence. Such perils, although little

considered, are perhaps the greatest which must be encountered in

balloons. I had by this time, however, attained too great an

elevation to be any longer uneasy on this head.

"I was now rising rapidly, and by seven o'clock the barometer

indicated an altitude of no less than nine miles and a half. I began

to find great difficulty in drawing my breath. My head, too, was

excessively painful; and, having felt for some time a moisture about

my cheeks, I at length discovered it to be blood, which was oozing

quite fast from the drums of my ears. My eyes, also, gave me great

uneasiness. Upon passing the hand over them they seemed to have

protruded from their sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all

objects in the car, and even the balloon itself, appeared distorted

to my vision. These symptoms were more than I had expected, and

occasioned me some alarm. At this juncture, very imprudently, and

without consideration, I threw out from the car three five-pound

pieces of ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus obtained,

carried me too rapidly, and without sufficient gradation, into a

highly rarefied stratum of the atmosphere, and the result had nearly

proved fatal to my expedition and to myself. I was suddenly seized

with a spasm which lasted for more than five minutes, and even when

this, in a measure, ceased, I could catch my breath only at long

intervals, and in a gasping manner -- bleeding all the while

copiously at the nose and ears, and even slightly at the eyes. The

pigeons appeared distressed in the extreme, and struggled to escape;

while the cat mewed piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out of

her mouth, staggered to and fro in the car as if under the influence

of poison. I now too late discovered the great rashness of which I

had been guilty in discharging the ballast, and my agitation was

excessive. I anticipated nothing less than death, and death in a few

minutes. The physical suffering I underwent contributed also to

render me nearly incapable of making any exertion for the

preservation of my life. I had, indeed, little power of reflection

left, and the violence of the pain in my head seemed to be greatly on

the increase. Thus I found that my senses would shortly give way

altogether, and I had already clutched one of the valve ropes with

the view of attempting a descent, when the recollection of the trick

I had played the three creditors, and the possible consequences to

myself, should I return, operated to deter me for the moment. I lay

down in the bottom of the car, and endeavored to collect my

faculties. In this I so far succeeded as to determine upon the

experiment of losing blood. Having no lancet, however, I was

constrained to perform the operation in the best manner I was able,

and finally succeeded in opening a vein in my right arm, with the

blade of my penknife. The blood had hardly commenced flowing when I

experienced a sensible relief, and by the time I had lost about half

a moderate basin full, most of the worst symptoms had abandoned me

entirely. I nevertheless did not think it expedient to attempt

getting on my feet immediately; but, having tied up my arm as well as

I could, I lay still for about a quarter of an hour. At the end of

this time I arose, and found myself freer from absolute pain of any

kind than I had been during the last hour and a quarter of my

ascension. The difficulty of breathing, however, was diminished in a

very slight degree, and I found that it would soon be positively

necessary to make use of my condenser. In the meantime, looking

toward the cat, who was again snugly stowed away upon my coat, I

discovered to my infinite surprise, that she had taken the

opportunity of my indisposition to bring into light a litter of three

little kittens. This was an addition to the number of passengers on

my part altogether unexpected; but I was pleased at the occurrence.

It would afford me a chance of bringing to a kind of test the truth

of a surmise, which, more than anything else, had influenced me in

attempting this ascension. I had imagined that the habitual endurance

of the atmospheric pressure at the surface of the earth was the

cause, or nearly so, of the pain attending animal existence at a

distance above the surface. Should the kittens be found to suffer

uneasiness in an equal degree with their mother, I must consider my

theory in fault, but a failure to do so I should look upon as a

strong confirmation of my idea.

"By eight o'clock I had actually attained an elevation of seventeen

miles above the surface of the earth. Thus it seemed to me evident

that my rate of ascent was not only on the increase, but that the

progression would have been apparent in a slight degree even had I

not discharged the ballast which I did. The pains in my head and ears

returned, at intervals, with violence, and I still continued to bleed

occasionally at the nose; but, upon the whole, I suffered much less

than might have been expected. I breathed, however, at every moment,

with more and more difficulty, and each inhalation was attended with

a troublesome spasmodic action of the chest. I now unpacked the

condensing apparatus, and got it ready for immediate use.

"The view of the earth, at this period of my ascension, was beautiful

indeed. To the westward, the northward, and the southward, as far as

I could see, lay a boundless sheet of apparently unruffled ocean,

which every moment gained a deeper and a deeper tint of blue and

began already to assume a slight appearance of convexity. At a vast

distance to the eastward, although perfectly discernible, extended

the islands of Great Britain, the entire Atlantic coasts of France

and Spain, with a small portion of the northern part of the continent

of Africa. Of individual edifices not a trace could be discovered,

and the proudest cities of mankind had utterly faded away from the

face of the earth. From the rock of Gibraltar, now dwindled into a

dim speck, the dark Mediterranean sea, dotted with shining islands as

the heaven is dotted with stars, spread itself out to the eastward as

far as my vision extended, until its entire mass of waters seemed at

length to tumble headlong over the abyss of the horizon, and I found

myself listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the mighty cataract.

Overhead, the sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were

brilliantly visible.

"The pigeons about this time seeming to undergo much suffering, I

determined upon giving them their liberty. I first untied one of

them, a beautiful gray-mottled pigeon, and placed him upon the rim of

the wicker-work. He appeared extremely uneasy, looking anxiously

around him, fluttering his wings, and making a loud cooing noise, but

could not be persuaded to trust himself from off the car. I took him

up at last, and threw him to about half a dozen yards from the

balloon. He made, however, no attempt to descend as I had expected,

but struggled with great vehemence to get back, uttering at the same

time very shrill and piercing cries. He at length succeeded in

regaining his former station on the rim, but had hardly done so when

his head dropped upon his breast, and be fell dead within the car.

The other one did not prove so unfortunate. To prevent his following

the example of his companion, and accomplishing a return, I threw him

downward with all my force, and was pleased to find him continue his

descent, with great velocity, making use of his wings with ease, and

in a perfectly natural manner. In a very short time he was out of

sight, and I have no doubt he reached home in safety. Puss, who

seemed in a great measure recovered from her illness, now made a

hearty meal of the dead bird and then went to sleep with much

apparent satisfaction. Her kittens were quite lively, and so far

evinced not the slightest sign of any uneasiness whatever.

"At a quarter-past eight, being no longer able to draw breath without

the most intolerable pain, I proceeded forthwith to adjust around the

car the apparatus belonging to the condenser. This apparatus will

require some little explanation, and your Excellencies will please to

bear in mind that my object, in the first place, was to surround

myself and cat entirely with a barricade against the highly rarefied

atmosphere in which I was existing, with the intention of introducing

within this barricade, by means of my condenser, a quantity of this

same atmosphere sufficiently condensed for the purposes of

respiration. With this object in view I had prepared a very strong

perfectly air-tight, but flexible gum-elastic bag. In this bag, which

was of sufficient dimensions, the entire car was in a manner placed.

That is to say, it (the bag) was drawn over the whole bottom of the

car, up its sides, and so on, along the outside of the ropes, to the

upper rim or hoop where the net-work is attached. Having pulled the

bag up in this way, and formed a complete enclosure on all sides, and

at botttom, it was now necessary to fasten up its top or mouth, by

passing its material over the hoop of the net-work -- in other words,

between the net-work and the hoop. But if the net-work were separated

from the hoop to admit this passage, what was to sustain the car in

the meantime? Now the net-work was not permanently fastened to the

hoop, but attached by a series of running loops or nooses. I

therefore undid only a few of these loops at one time, leaving the

car suspended by the remainder. Having thus inserted a portion of the

cloth forming the upper part of the bag, I refastened the loops --

not to the hoop, for that would have been impossible, since the cloth

now intervened -- but to a series of large buttons, affixed to the

cloth itself, about three feet below the mouth of the bag, the

intervals between the buttons having been made to correspond to the

intervals between the loops. This done, a few more of the loops were

unfastened from the rim, a farther portion of the cloth introduced,

and the disengaged loops then connected with their proper buttons. In

this way it was possible to insert the whole upper part of the bag

between the net-work and the hoop. It is evident that the hoop would

now drop down within the car, while the whole weight of the car

itself, with all its contents, would be held up merely by the

strength of the buttons. This, at first sight, would seem an

inadequate dependence; but it was by no means so, for the buttons

were not only very strong in themselves, but so close together that a

very slight portion of the whole weight was supported by any one of

them. Indeed, had the car and contents been three times heavier than

they were, I should not have been at all uneasy. I now raised up the

hoop again within the covering of gum-elastic, and propped it at

nearly its former height by means of three light poles prepared for

the occasion. This was done, of course, to keep the bag distended at

the top, and to preserve the lower part of the net-work in its proper

situation. All that now remained was to fasten up the mouth of the

enclosure; and this was readily accomplished by gathering the folds

of the material together, and twisting them up very tightly on the

inside by means of a kind of stationary tourniquet.

"In the sides of the covering thus adjusted round the car, had been

inserted three circular panes of thick but clear glass, through which

I could see without difficulty around me in every horizontal

direction. In that portion of the cloth forming the bottom, was

likewise, a fourth window, of the same kind, and corresponding with a

small aperture in the floor of the car itself. This enabled me to see

perpendicularly down, but having found it impossible to place any

similar contrivance overhead, on account of the peculiar manner of

closing up the opening there, and the consequent wrinkles in the

cloth, I could expect to see no objects situated directly in my

zenith. This, of course, was a matter of little consequence; for had

I even been able to place a window at top, the balloon itself would

have prevented my making any use of it.

"About a foot below one of the side windows was a circular opening,

eight inches in diameter, and fitted with a brass rim adapted in its

inner edge to the windings of a screw. In this rim was screwed the

large tube of the condenser, the body of the machine being, of

course, within the chamber of gum-elastic. Through this tube a

quantity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent being drawn by means of

a vacuum created in the body of the machine, was thence discharged,

in a state of condensation, to mingle with the thin air already in

the chamber. This operation being repeated several times, at length

filled the chamber with atmosphere proper for all the purposes of

respiration. But in so confined a space it would, in a short time,

necessarily become foul, and unfit for use from frequent contact with

the lungs. It was then ejected by a small valve at the bottom of the

car -- the dense air readily sinking into the thinner atmosphere

below. To avoid the inconvenience of making a total vacuum at any

moment within the chamber, this purification was never accomplished

all at once, but in a gradual manner -- the valve being opened only

for a few seconds, then closed again, until one or two strokes from

the pump of the condenser had supplied the place of the atmosphere

ejected. For the sake of experiment I had put the cat and kittens in

a small basket, and suspended it outside the car to a button at the

bottom, close by the valve, through which I could feed them at any

moment when necessary. I did this at some little risk, and before

closing the mouth of the chamber, by reaching under the car with one

of the poles before mentioned to which a hook had been attached.

"By the time I had fully completed these arrangements and filled the

chamber as explained, it wanted only ten minutes of nine o'clock.

During the whole period of my being thus employed, I endured the most

terrible distress from difficulty of respiration, and bitterly did I

repent the negligence or rather fool-hardiness, of which I had been

guilty, of putting off to the last moment a matter of so much

importance. But having at length accomplished it, I soon began to

reap the benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed with perfect

freedom and ease -- and indeed why should I not? I was also agreeably

surprised to find myself, in a great measure, relieved from the

violent pains which had hitherto tormented me. A slight headache,

accompanied with a sensation of fulness or distention about the

wrists, the ankles, and the throat, was nearly all of which I had now

to complain. Thus it seemed evident that a greater part of the

uneasiness attending the removal of atmospheric pressure had actually

worn off, as I had expected, and that much of the pain endured for

the last two hours should have been attributed altogether to the

effects of a deficient respiration.

"At twenty minutes before nine o'clock -- that is to say, a short

time prior to my closing up the mouth of the chamber, the mercury

attained its limit, or ran down, in the barometer, which, as I

mentioned before, was one of an extended construction. It then

indicated an altitude on my part of 132,000 feet, or five-and-twenty

miles, and I consequently surveyed at that time an extent of the

earth's area amounting to no less than the three

hundred-and-twentieth part of its entire superficies. At nine o'clock

I had again lost sight of land to the eastward, but not before I

became aware that the balloon was drifting rapidly to the N. N. W.

The convexity of the ocean beneath me was very evident indeed,

although my view was often interrupted by the masses of cloud which

floated to and fro. I observed now that even the lightest vapors

never rose to more than ten miles above the level of the sea.

"At half past nine I tried the experiment of throwing out a handful

of feathers through the valve. They did not float as I had expected;

but dropped down perpendicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and with

the greatest velocity -- being out of sight in a very few seconds. I

did not at first know what to make of this extraordinary phenomenon;

not being able to believe that my rate of ascent had, of a sudden,

met with so prodigious an acceleration. But it soon occurred to me

that the atmosphere was now far too rare to sustain even the

feathers; that they actually fell, as they appeared to do, with great

rapidity; and that I had been surprised by the united velocities of

their descent and my own elevation.

"By ten o'clock I found that I had very little to occupy my immediate

attention. Affairs went swimmingly, and I believed the balloon to be

going upward witb a speed increasing momently although I had no

longer any means of ascertaining the progression of the increase. I

suffered no pain or uneasiness of any kind, and enjoyed better

spirits than I had at any period since my departure from Rotterdam,

busying myself now in examining the state of my various apparatus,

and now in regenerating the atmosphere within the chamber. This

latter point I determined to attend to at regular intervals of forty

minutes, more on account of the preservation of my health, than from

so frequent a renovation being absolutely necessary. In the meanwhile

I could not help making anticipations. Fancy revelled in the wild and

dreamy regions of the moon. Imagination, feeling herself for once

unshackled, roamed at will among the ever-changing wonders of a

shadowy and unstable land. Now there were boary and time-honored

forests, and craggy precipices, and waterfalls tumbling with a loud

noise into abysses without a bottom. Then I came suddenly into still

noonday solitudes, where no wind of heaven ever intruded, and where

vast meadows of poppies, and slender, lily-looking flowers spread

themselves out a weary distance, all silent and motionless forever.

Then again I journeyed far down away into another country where it

was all one dim and vague lake, with a boundary line of clouds. And

out of this melancholy water arose a forest of tall eastern trees,

like a wilderness of dreams. And I have in mind that the shadows of

the trees which fell upon the lake remained not on the surface where

they fell, but sunk slowly and steadily down, and commingled with the

waves, while from the trunks of the trees other shadows were

continually coming out, and taking the place of their brothers thus

entombed. "This then," I said thoughtfully, "is the very reason why

the waters of this lake grow blacker with age, and more melancholy as

the hours run on." But fancies such as these were not the sole

possessors of my brain. Horrors of a nature most stern and most

appalling would too frequently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and

shake the innermost depths of my soul with the bare supposition of

their possibility. Yet I would not suffer my thoughts for any length

of time to dwell upon these latter speculations, rightly judging the

real and palpable dangers of the voyage sufficient for my undivided

attention.

"At five o'clock, p.m., being engaged in regenerating the atmosphere

within the chamber, I took that opportunity of observing the cat and

kittens through the valve. The cat herself appeared to suffer again

very much, and I had no hesitation in attributing her uneasiness

chiefly to a difficulty in breathing; but my experiment with the

kittens had resulted very strangely. I had expected, of course, to

see them betray a sense of pain, although in a less degree than their

mother, and this would have been sufficient to confirm my opinion

concerning the habitual endurance of atmospheric pressure. But I was

not prepared to find them, upon close examination, evidently enjoying

a high degree of health, breathing with the greatest ease and perfect

regularity, and evincing not the slightest sign of any uneasiness

whatever. I could only account for all this by extending my theory,

and supposing that the highly rarefied atmosphere around might

perhaps not be, as I had taken for granted, chemically insufficient

for the purposes of life, and that a person born in such a medium

might, possibly, be unaware of any inconvenience attending its

inhalation, while, upon removal to the denser strata near the earth,

he might endure tortures of a similar nature to those I had so lately

experienced. It has since been to me a matter of deep regret that an

awkward accident, at this time, occasioned me the loss of my little

family of cats, and deprived me of the insight into this matter which

a continued experiment might have afforded. In passing my hand

through the valve, with a cup of water for the old puss, the sleeves

of my shirt became entangled in the loop which sustained the basket,

and thus, in a moment, loosened it from the bottom. Had the whole

actually vanished into air, it could not have shot from my sight in a

more abrupt and instantaneous manner. Positively, there could not

have intervened the tenth part of a second between the disengagement

of the basket and its absolute and total disappearance with all that

it contained. My good wishes followed it to the earth, but of course,

I had no hope that either cat or kittens would ever live to tell the

tale of their misfortune.

"At six o'clock, I perceived a great portion of the earth's visible

area to the eastward involved in thick shadow, which continued to

advance with great rapidity, until, at five minutes before seven, the

whole surface in view was enveloped in the darkness of night. It was

not, however, until long after this time that the rays of the setting

sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and this circumstance, although

of course fully anticipated, did not fail to give me an infinite deal

of pleasure. It was evident that, in the morning, I should behold the

rising luminary many hours at least before the citizens of Rotterdam,

in spite of their situation so much farther to the eastward, and

thus, day after day, in proportion to the height ascended, would I

enjoy the light of the sun for a longer and a longer period. I now

determined to keep a journal of my passage, reckoning the days from

one to twenty-four hours continuously, without taking into

consideration the intervals of darkness.

"At ten o'clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie down for the

rest of the night; but here a difficulty presented itself, which,

obvious as it may appear, had escaped my attention up to the very

moment of which I am now speaking. If I went to sleep as I proposed,

how could the atmosphere in the chamber be regenerated in the

interim? To breathe it for more than an hour, at the farthest, would

be a matter of impossibility, or, if even this term could be extended

to an hour and a quarter, the most ruinous consequences might ensue.

The consideration of this dilemma gave me no little disquietude; and

it will hardly be believed, that, after the dangers I had undergone,

I should look upon this business in so serious a light, as to give up

all hope of accomplishing my ultimate design, and finally make up my

mind to the necessity of a descent. But this hesitation was only

momentary. I reflected that man is the veriest slave of custom, and

that many points in the routine of his existence are deemed

essentially important, which are only so at all by his having

rendered them habitual. It was very certain that I could not do

without sleep; but I might easily bring myself to feel no

inconvenience from being awakened at intervals of an hour during the

whole period of my repose. It would require but five minutes at most

to regenerate the atmosphere in the fullest manner, and the only real

difficulty was to contrive a method of arousing myself at the proper

moment for so doing. But this was a question which, I am willing to

confess, occasioned me no little trouble in its solution. To be sure,

I had heard of the student who, to prevent his falling asleep over

his books, held in one hand a ball of copper, the din of whose

descent into a basin of the same metal on the floor beside his chair,

served effectually to startle him up, if, at any moment, he should be

overcome with drowsiness. My own case, however, was very different

indeed, and left me no room for any similar idea; for I did not wish

to keep awake, but to be aroused from slumber at regular intervals of

time. I at length hit upon the following expedient, which, simple as

it may seem, was hailed by me, at the moment of discovery, as an

invention fully equal to that of the telescope, the steam-engine, or

the art of printing itself.

"It is necessary to premise, that the balloon, at the elevation now

attained, continued its course upward with an even and undeviating

ascent, and the car consequently followed with a steadiness so

perfect that it would have been impossible to detect in it the

slightest vacillation whatever. This circumstance favored me greatly

in the project I now determined to adopt. My supply of water had been

put on board in kegs containing five gallons each, and ranged very

securely around the interior of the car. I unfastened one of these,

and taking two ropes tied them tightly across the rim of the

wicker-work from one side to the other; placing them about a foot

apart and parallel so as to form a kind of shelf, upon which I placed

the keg, and steadied it in a horizontal position. About eight inches

immediately below these ropes, and four feet from the bottom of the

car I fastened another shelf -- but made of thin plank, being the

only similar piece of wood I had. Upon this latter shelf, and exactly

beneath one of the rims of the keg, a small earthern pitcher was

deposited. I now bored a hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher,

and fitted in a plug of soft wood, cut in a tapering or conical

shape. This plug I pushed in or pulled out, as might happen, until,

after a few experiments, it arrived at that exact degree of

tightness, at which the water, oozing from the hole, and falling into

the pitcher below, would fill the latter to the brim in the period of

sixty minutes. This, of course, was a matter briefly and easily

ascertained, by noticing the proportion of the pitcher filled in any

given time. Having arranged all this, the rest of the plan is

obvious. My bed was so contrived upon the floor of the car, as to

bring my head, in lying down, immediately below the mouth of the

pitcher. It was evident, that, at the expiration of an hour, the

pitcher, getting full, would be forced to run over, and to run over

at the mouth, which was somewhat lower than the rim. It was also

evident, that the water thus falling from a height of more than four

feet, could not do otherwise than fall upon my face, and that the

sure consequences would be, to waken me up instantaneously, even from

the soundest slumber in the world.

"It was fully eleven by the time I had completed these arrangements,

and I immediately betook myself to bed, with full confidence in the

efficiency of my invention. Nor in this matter was I disappointed.

Punctually every sixty minutes was I aroused by my trusty

chronometer, when, having emptied the pitcher into the bung-hole of

the keg, and performed the duties of the condenser, I retired again

to bed. These regular interruptions to my slumber caused me even less

discomfort than I had anticipated; and when I finally arose for the

day, it was seven o'clock, and the sun had attained many degrees

above the line of my horizon.

"April 3d. I found the balloon at an immense height indeed, and the

earth's apparent convexity increased in a material degree. Below me

in the ocean lay a cluster of black specks, which undoubtedly were

islands. Far away to the northward I perceived a thin, white, and

exceedingly brilliant line, or streak, on the edge of the horizon,

and I had no hesitation in supposing it to be the southern disk of

the ices of the Polar Sea. My curiosity was greatly excited, for I

had hopes of passing on much farther to the north, and might

possibly, at some period, find myself placed directly above the Pole

itself. I now lamented that my great elevation would, in this case,

prevent my taking as accurate a survey as I could wish. Much,

however, might be ascertained. Nothing else of an extraordinary

nature occurred during the day. My apparatus all continued in good

order, and the balloon still ascended without any perceptible

vacillation. The cold was intense, and obliged me to wrap up closely

in an overcoat. When darkness came over the earth, I betook myself to

bed, although it was for many hours afterward broad daylight all

around my immediate situation. The water-clock was punctual in its

duty, and I slept until next morning soundly, with the exception of

the periodical interruption.

"April 4th. Arose in good health and spirits, and was astonished at

the singular change which had taken place in the appearance of the

sea. It had lost, in a great measure, the deep tint of blue it had

hitherto worn, being now of a grayish-white, and of a lustre dazzling

to the eye. The islands were no longer visible; whether they had

passed down the horizon to the southeast, or whether my increasing

elevation had left them out of sight, it is impossible to say. I was

inclined, however, to the latter opinion. The rim of ice to the

northward was growing more and more apparent. Cold by no means so

intense. Nothing of importance occurred, and I passed the day in

reading, having taken care to supply myself with books.

"April 5th. Beheld the singular phenomenon of the sun rising while

nearly the whole visible surface of the earth continued to be

involved in darkness. In time, however, the light spread itself over

all, and I again saw the line of ice to the northward. It was now

very distinct, and appeared of a much darker hue than the waters of

the ocean. I was evidently approaching it, and with great rapidity.

Fancied I could again distinguish a strip of land to the eastward,

and one also to the westward, but could not be certain. Weather

moderate. Nothing of any consequence happened during the day. Went

early to bed.

"April 6th. Was surprised at finding the rim of ice at a very

moderate distance, and an immense field of the same material

stretching away off to the horizon in the north. It was evident that

if the balloon held its present course, it would soon arrive above

the Frozen Ocean, and I had now little doubt of ultimately seeing the

Pole. During the whole of the day I continued to near the ice. Toward

night the limits of my horizon very suddenly and materially

increased, owing undoubtedly to the earth's form being that of an

oblate spheroid, and my arriving above the flattened regions in the

vicinity of the Arctic circle. When darkness at length overtook me, I

went to bed in great anxiety, fearing to pass over the object of so

much curiosity when I should have no opportunity of observing it.

"April 7th. Arose early, and, to my great joy, at length beheld what

there could be no hesitation in supposing the northern Pole itself.

It was there, beyond a doubt, and immediately beneath my feet; but,

alas! I had now ascended to so vast a distance, that nothing could

with accuracy be discerned. Indeed, to judge from the progression of

the numbers indicating my various altitudes, respectively, at

different periods, between six A.M. on the second of April, and

twenty minutes before nine A.M. of the same day (at which time the

barometer ran down), it might be fairly inferred that the balloon had

now, at four o'clock in the morning of April the seventh, reached a

height of not less, certainly, than 7,254 miles above the surface of

the sea. This elevation may appear immense, but the estimate upon

which it is calculated gave a result in all probability far inferior

to the truth. At all events I undoubtedly beheld the whole of the

earth's major diameter; the entire northern hemisphere lay beneath me

like a chart orthographically projected: and the great circle of the

equator itself formed the boundary line of my horizon. Your

Excellencies may, however, readily imagine that the confined regions

hitherto unexplored within the limits of the Arctic circle, although

situated directly beneath me, and therefore seen without any

appearance of being foreshortened, were still, in themselves,

comparatively too diminutive, and at too great a distance from the

point of sight, to admit of any very accurate examination.

Nevertheless, what could be seen was of a nature singular and

exciting. Northwardly from that huge rim before mentioned, and which,

with slight qualification, may be called the limit of human discovery

in these regions, one unbroken, or nearly unbroken, sheet of ice

continues to extend. In the first few degrees of this its progress,

its surface is very sensibly flattened, farther on depressed into a

plane, and finally, becoming not a little concave, it terminates, at

the Pole itself, in a circular centre, sharply defined, wbose

apparent diameter subtended at the balloon an angle of about

sixty-five seconds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity, was,

at all times, darker than any other spot upon the visible hemisphere,

and occasionally deepened into the most absolute and impenetrable

blackness. Farther than this, little could be ascertained. By twelve

o'clock the circular centre had materially decreased in

circumference, and by seven P.M. I lost sight of it entirely; the

balloon passing over the western limb of the ice, and floating away

rapidly in the direction of the equator.

"April 8th. Found a sensible diminution in the earth's apparent

diameter, besides a material alteration in its general color and

appearance. The whole visible area partook in different degrees of a

tint of pale yellow, and in some portions had acquired a brilliancy

even painful to the eye. My view downward was also considerably

impeded by the dense atmosphere in the vicinity of the surface being

loaded with clouds, between whose masses I could only now and then

obtain a glimpse of the earth itself. This difficulty of direct

vision had troubled me more or less for the last forty-eight hours;

but my present enormous elevation brought closer together, as it

were, the floating bodies of vapor, and the inconvenience became, of

course, more and more palpable in proportion to my ascent.

Nevertheless, I could easily perceive that the balloon now hovered

above the range of great lakes in the continent of North America, and

was holding a course, due south, which would bring me to the tropics.

This circumstance did not fail to give me the most heartful

satisfaction, and I hailed it as a happy omen of ultimate success.

Indeed, the direction I had hitherto taken, had filled me with

uneasiness; for it was evident that, had I continued it much longer,

there would have been no possibility of my arriving at the moon at

all, whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at only the small angle

of 5 degrees 8' 48".

"April 9th. To-day the earth's diameter was greatly diminished, and

the color of the surface assumed hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The

balloon kept steadily on her course to the southward, and arrived, at

nine P.M., over the northern edge of the Mexican Gulf.

"April 10th. I was suddenly aroused from slumber, about five o'clock

this morning, by a loud, crackling, and terrific sound, for which I

could in no manner account. It was of very brief duration, but, while

it lasted resembled nothing in the world of which I had any previous

experience. It is needless to say that I became excessively alarmed,

having, in the first instance, attributed the noise to the bursting

of the balloon. I examined all my apparatus, however, with great

attention, and could discover nothing out of order. Spent a great

part of the day in meditating upon an occurrence so extraordinary,

but could find no means whatever of accounting for it. Went to bed

dissatisfied, and in a state of great anxiety and agitation.

"April 11th. Found a startling diminution in the apparent diameter of

the earth, and a considerable increase, now observable for the first

time, in that of the moon itself, which wanted only a few days of

being full. It now required long and excessive labor to condense

within the chamber sufficient atmospheric air for the sustenance of

life.

"April 12th. A singular alteration took place in regard to the

direction of the balloon, and although fully anticipated, afforded me

the most unequivocal delight. Having reached, in its former course,

about the twentieth parallel of southern latitude, it turned off

suddenly, at an acute angle, to the eastward, and thus proceeded

throughout the day, keeping nearly, if not altogether, in the exact

plane of the lunar elipse. What was worthy of remark, a very

perceptible vacillation in the car was a consequence of this change

of route -- a vacillation which prevailed, in a more or less degree,

for a period of many hours.

"April 13th. Was again very much alarmed by a repetition of the loud,

crackling noise which terrified me on the tenth. Thought long upon

the subject, but was unable to form any satisfactory conclusion.

Great decrease in the earth's apparent diameter, which now subtended

from the balloon an angle of very little more than twenty-five

degrees. The moon could not be seen at all, being nearly in my

zenith. I still continued in the plane of the elipse, but made little

progress to the eastward.

"April 14th. Extremely rapid decrease in the diameter of the earth.

To-day I became strongly impressed with the idea, that the balloon

was now actually running up the line of apsides to the point of

perigee- in other words, holding the direct course which would bring

it immediately to the moon in that part of its orbit the nearest to

the earth. The moon iself was directly overhead, and consequently

hidden from my view. Great and long-continued labor necessary for the

condensation of the atmosphere.

"April 15th. Not even the outlines of continents and seas could now

be traced upon the earth with anything approaching distinctness.

About twelve o'clock I became aware, for the third time, of that

appalling sound which had so astonished me before. It now, however,

continued for some moments, and gathered intensity as it continued.

At length, while, stupefied and terror-stricken, I stood in

expectation of I knew not what hideous destruction, the car vibrated

with excessive violence, and a gigantic and flaming mass of some

material which I could not distinguish, came with a voice of a

thousand thunders, roaring and booming by the balloon. When my fears

and astonishment had in some degree subsided, I had little difficulty

in supposing it to be some mighty volcanic fragment ejected from that

world to which I was so rapidly approaching, and, in all probability,

one of that singular class of substances occasionally picked up on

the earth, and termed meteoric stones for want of a better

appellation.

"April 16th. To-day, looking upward as well as I could, through each

of the side windows alternately, I beheld, to my great delight, a

very small portion of the moon's disk protruding, as it were, on all

sides beyond the huge circumference of the balloon. My agitation was

extreme; for I had now little doubt of soon reaching the end of my

perilous voyage. Indeed, the labor now required by the condenser had

increased to a most oppressive degree, and allowed me scarcely any

respite from exertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out of the question.

I became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaustion. It was

impossible that human nature could endure this state of intense

suffering much longer. During the now brief interval of darkness a

meteoric stone again passed in my vicinity, and the frequency of

these phenomena began to occasion me much apprehension.

"April 17th. This morning proved an epoch in my voyage. It will be

remembered that, on the thirteenth, the earth subtended an angular

breadth of twenty-five degrees. On the fourteenth this had greatly

diminished; on the fifteenth a still more remarkable decrease was

observable; and, on retiring on the night of the sixteenth, I had

noticed an angle of no more than about seven degrees and fifteen

minutes. What, therefore, must have been my amazement, on awakening

from a brief and disturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the

seventeenth, at finding the surface beneath me so suddenly and

wonderfully augmented in volume, as to subtend no less than

thirty-nine degrees in apparent angular diameter! I was

thunderstruck! No words can give any adequate idea of the extreme,

the absolute horror and astonishment, with which I was seized

possessed, and altogether overwhelmed. My knees tottered beneath me

-- my teeth chattered -- my hair started up on end. "The balloon,

then, had actually burst!" These were the first tumultuous ideas that

hurried through my mind: "The balloon had positively burst! -- I was

falling -- falling with the most impetuous, the most unparalleled

velocity! To judge by the immense distance already so quickly passed

over, it could not be more than ten minutes, at the farthest, before

I should meet the surface of the earth, and be hurled into

annihilation!" But at length reflection came to my relief. I paused;

I considered; and I began to doubt. The matter was impossible. I

could not in any reason have so rapidly come down. Besides, although

I was evidently approaching the surface below me, it was with a speed

by no means commensurate with the velocity I had at first so horribly

conceived. This consideration served to calm the perturbation of my

mind, and I finally succeeded in regarding the phenomenon in its

proper point of view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprived me

of my senses, when I could not see the vast difference, in

appearance, between the surface below me, and the surface of my

mother earth. The latter was indeed over my head, and completely

hidden by the balloon, while the moon -- the moon itself in all its

glory -- lay beneath me, and at my feet.

"The stupor and surprise produced in my mind by this extraordinary

change in the posture of affairs was perhaps, after all, that part of

the adventure least susceptible of explanation. For the

bouleversement in itself was not only natural and inevitable, but had

been long actually anticipated as a circumstance to be expected

whenever I should arrive at that exact point of my voyage where the

attraction of the planet should be superseded by the attraction of

the satellite -- or, more precisely, where the gravitation of the

balloon toward the earth should be less powerful than its gravitation

toward the moon. To be sure I arose from a sound slumber, with all my

senses in confusion, to the contemplation of a very startling

phenomenon, and one which, although expected, was not expected at the

moment. The revolution itself must, of course, have taken place in an

easy and gradual manner, and it is by no means clear that, had I even

been awake at the time of the occurrence, I should have been made

aware of it by any internal evidence of an inversion -- that is to

say, by any inconvenience or disarrangement, either about my person

or about my apparatus.

"It is almost needless to say that, upon coming to a due sense of my

situation, and emerging from the terror which had absorbed every

faculty of my soul, my attention was, in the first place, wholly

directed to the contemplation of the general physical appearance of

the moon. It lay beneath me like a chart -- and although I judged it

to be still at no inconsiderable distance, the indentures of its

surface were defined to my vision with a most striking and altogether

unaccountable distinctness. The entire absence of ocean or sea, and

indeed of any lake or river, or body of water whatsoever, struck me,

at first glance, as the most extraordinary feature in its geological

condition. Yet, strange to say, I beheld vast level regions of a

character decidedly alluvial, although by far the greater portion of

the hemisphere in sight was covered with innumerable volcanic

mountains, conical in shape, and having more the appearance of

artificial than of natural protuberance. The highest among them does

not exceed three and three-quarter miles in perpendicular elevation;

but a map of the volcanic districts of the Campi Phlegraei would

afford to your Excellencies a better idea of their general surface

than any unworthy description I might think proper to attempt. The

greater part of them were in a state of evident eruption, and gave me

fearfully to understand their fury and their power, by the repeated

thunders of the miscalled meteoric stones, which now rushed upward by

the balloon with a frequency more and more appalling.

"April 18th. To-day I found an enormous increase in the moon's

apparent bulk -- and the evidently accelerated velocity of my descent

began to fill me with alarm. It will be remembered, that, in the

earliest stage of my speculations upon the possibility of a passage

to the moon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an atmosphere, dense

in proportion to the bulk of the planet, had entered largely into my

calculations; this too in spite of many theories to the contrary,

and, it may be added, in spite of a general disbelief in the

existence of any lunar atmosphere at all. But, in addition to what I

have already urged in regard to Encke's comet and the zodiacal light,

I had been strengthened in my opinion by certain observations of Mr.

Schroeter, of Lilienthal. He observed the moon when two days and a

half old, in the evening soon after sunset, before the dark part was

visible, and continued to watch it until it became visible. The two

cusps appeared tapering in a very sharp faint prolongation, each

exhibiting its farthest extremity faintly illuminated by the solar

rays, before any part of the dark hemisphere was visible. Soon

afterward, the whole dark limb became illuminated. This prolongation

of the cusps beyond the semicircle, I thought, must have arisen from

the refraction of the sun's rays by the moon's atmosphere. I

computed, also, the height of the atmosphere (which could refract

light enough into its dark hemisphere to produce a twilight more

luminous than the light reflected from the earth when the moon is

about 32 degrees from the new) to be 1,356 Paris feet; in this view,

I supposed the greatest height capable of refracting the solar ray,

to be 5,376 feet. My ideas on this topic had also received

confirmation by a passage in the eighty-second volume of the

Philosophical Transactions, in which it is stated that at an

occultation of Jupiter's satellites, the third disappeared after

having been about 1" or 2" of time indistinct, and the fourth became

indiscernible near the limb.{*4}

"Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and the fixed stars,

when approaching the moon to occultation, to have their circular

figure changed into an oval one; and, in other occultations, he found

no alteration of figure at all. Hence it might be supposed, that at

some times and not at others, there is a dense matter encompassing

the moon wherein the rays of the stars are refracted.

"Upon the resistance or, more properly, upon the support of an

atmosphere, existing in the state of density imagined, I had, of

course, entirely depended for the safety of my ultimate descent.

Should I then, after all, prove to have been mistaken, I had in

consequence nothing better to expect, as a finale to my adventure,

than being dashed into atoms against the rugged surface of the

satellite. And, indeed, I had now every reason to be terrified. My

distance from the moon was comparatively trifling, while the labor

required by the condenser was diminished not at all, and I could

discover no indication whatever of a decreasing rarity in the air.

"April 19th. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o'clock, the

surface of the moon being frightfully near, and my apprehensions

excited to the utmost, the pump of my condenser at length gave

evident tokens of an alteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had

reason to believe its density considerably increased. By eleven, very

little labor was necessary at the apparatus; and at twelve o'clock,

with some hesitation, I ventured to unscrew the tourniquet, when,

finding no inconvenience from having done so, I finally threw open

the gum-elastic chamber, and unrigged it from around the car. As

might have been expected, spasms and violent headache were the

immediate consequences of an experiment so precipitate and full of

danger. But these and other difficulties attending respiration, as

they were by no means so great as to put me in peril of my life, I

determined to endure as I best could, in consideration of my leaving

them behind me momently in my approach to the denser strata near the

moon. This approach, however, was still impetuous in the extreme; and

it soon became alarmingly certain that, although I had probably not

been deceived in the expectation of an atmosphere dense in proportion

to the mass of the satellite, still I had been wrong in supposing

this density, even at the surface, at all adequate to the support of

the great weight contained in the car of my balloon. Yet this should

have been the case, and in an equal degree as at the surface of the

earth, the actual gravity of bodies at either planet supposed in the

ratio of the atmospheric condensation. That it was not the case,

however, my precipitous downfall gave testimony enough; why it was

not so, can only be explained by a reference to those possible

geological disturbances to which I have formerly alluded. At all

events I was now close upon the planet, and coming down with the most

terrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throwing

overboard first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing

apparatus and gum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within

the car. But it was all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible

rapidity, and was now not more than half a mile from the surface. As

a last resource, therefore, having got rid of my coat, hat, and

boots, I cut loose from the balloon the car itself, which was of no

inconsiderable weight, and thus, clinging with both hands to the

net-work, I had barely time to observe that the whole country, as far

as the eye could reach, was thickly interspersed with diminutive

habitations, ere I tumbled headlong into the very heart of a

fantastical-looking city, and into the middle of a vast crowd of ugly

little people, who none of them uttered a single syllable, or gave

themselves the least trouble to render me assistance, but stood, like

a parcel of idiots, grinning in a ludicrous manner, and eyeing me and

my balloon askant, with their arms set a-kimbo. I turned from them in

contempt, and, gazing upward at the earth so lately left, and left

perhaps for ever, beheld it like a huge, dull, copper shield, about

two degrees in diameter, fixed immovably in the heavens overhead, and

tipped on one of its edges with a crescent border of the most

brilliant gold. No traces of land or water could be discovered, and

the whole was clouded with variable spots, and belted with tropical

and equatorial zones.

"Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series of great

anxieties, unheard of dangers, and unparalleled escapes, I had, at

length, on the nineteenth day of my departure from Rotterdam, arrived

in safety at the conclusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most

extraordinary, and the most momentous, ever accomplished, undertaken,

or conceived by any denizen of earth. But my adventures yet remain to

be related. And indeed your Excellencies may well imagine that, after

a residence of five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting

in its own peculiar character, but rendered doubly so by its intimate

connection, in capacity of satellite, with the world inhabited by

man, I may have intelligence for the private ear of the States'

College of Astronomers of far more importance than the details,

however wonderful, of the mere voyage which so happily concluded.

This is, in fact, the case. I have much -- very much which it would

give me the greatest pleasure to communicate. I have much to say of

the climate of the planet; of its wonderful alternations of heat and

cold, of unmitigated and burning sunshine for one fortnight, and more

than polar frigidity for the next; of a constant transfer of

moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo, from the point beneath

the sun to the point the farthest from it; of a variable zone of

running water, of the people themselves; of their manners, customs,

and political institutions; of their peculiar physical construction;

of their ugliness; of their want of ears, those useless appendages in

an atmosphere so peculiarly modified; of their consequent ignorance

of the use and properties of speech; of their substitute for speech

in a singular method of inter-communication; of the incomprehensible

connection between each particular individual in the moon with some

particular individual on the earth -- a connection analogous with,

and depending upon, that of the orbs of the planet and the

satellites, and by means of which the lives and destinies of the

inhabitants of the one are interwoven with the lives and destinies of

the inhabitants of the other; and above all, if it so please your

Excellencies -- above all, of those dark and hideous mysteries which

lie in the outer regions of the moon -- regions which, owing to the

almost miraculous accordance of the satellite's rotation on its own

axis with its sidereal revolution about the earth, have never yet

been turned, and, by God's mercy, never shall be turned, to the

scrutiny of the telescopes of man. All this, and more- much more --

would I most willingly detail. But, to be brief, I must have my

reward. I am pining for a return to my family and to my home, and as

the price of any farther communication on my part -- in consideration

of the light which I have it in my power to throw upon many very

important branches of physical and metaphysical science -- I must

solicit, through the influence of your honorable body, a pardon for

the crime of which I have been guilty in the death of the creditors

upon my departure from Rotterdam. This, then, is the object of the

present paper. Its bearer, an inhabitant of the moon, whom I have

prevailed upon, and properly instructed, to be my messenger to the

earth, will await your Excellencies' pleasure, and return to me with

the pardon in question, if it can, in any manner, be obtained.

"I have the honor to be, etc., your Excellencies' very humble

servant,

HANS PFAALL."

Upon finishing the perusal of this very extraordinary document,

Professor Rub-a-dub, it is said, dropped his pipe upon the ground in

the extremity of his surprise, and Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk

having taken off his spectacles, wiped them, and deposited them in

his pocket, so far forgot both himself and his dignity, as to turn

round three times upon his heel in the quintessence of astonishment

and admiration. There was no doubt about the matter -- the pardon

should be obtained. So at least swore, with a round oath, Professor

Rub-a-dub, and so finally thought the illustrious Von Underduk, as he

took the arm of his brother in science, and without saying a word,

began to make the best of his way home to deliberate upon the

measures to be adopted. Having reached the door, however, of the

burgomaster's dwelling, the professor ventured to suggest that as the

messenger had thought proper to disappear -- no doubt frightened to

death by the savage appearance of the burghers of Rotterdam -- the

pardon would be of little use, as no one but a man of the moon would

undertake a voyage to so vast a distance. To the truth of this

observation the burgomaster assented, and the matter was therefore at

an end. Not so, however, rumors and speculations. The letter, having

been published, gave rise to a variety of gossip and opinion. Some of

the over-wise even made themselves ridiculous by decrying the whole

business; as nothing better than a hoax. But hoax, with these sort of

people, is, I believe, a general term for all matters above their

comprehension. For my part, I cannot conceive upon what data they

have founded such an accusation. Let us see what they say:

Imprimus. That certain wags in Rotterdam have certain especial

antipathies to certain burgomasters and astronomers.

Don't understand at all.

Secondly. That an odd little dwarf and bottle conjurer, both of whose

ears, for some misdemeanor, have been cut off close to his head, has

been missing for several days from the neighboring city of Bruges.

Well -- what of that?

Thirdly. That the newspapers which were stuck all over the little

balloon were newspapers of Holland, and therefore could not have been

made in the moon. They were dirty papers -- very dirty -- and Gluck,

the printer, would take his Bible oath to their having been printed

in Rotterdam.

He was mistaken -- undoubtedly -- mistaken.

Fourthly, That Hans Pfaall himself, the druken villain, and the three

very idle gentlemen styled his creditors, were all seen, no longer

than two or three days ago, in a tippling house in the suburbs,

having just returned, with money in their pockets, from a trip beyond

the sea.

Don't believe it -- don't believe a word of it.

Lastly. That it is an opinion very generally received, or which ought

to be generally received, that the College of Astronomers in the city

of Rotterdam, as well as other colleges in all other parts of the

world, -- not to mention colleges and astronomers in general, -- are,

to say the least of the matter, not a whit better, nor greater, nor

wiser than they ought to be.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

Notes to Hans Pfaal

{*1} NOTE--Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity between

the above sketchy trifle and the celebrated "Moon-Story" of Mr.

Locke; but as both have the character of _hoaxes _(although the one

is in a tone of banter, the other of downright earnest), and as both

hoaxes are on the same subject, the moon--moreover, as both attempt

to give plausibility by scientific detail--the author of "Hans

Pfaall" thinks it necessary to say, in _self-defence, _that his own

_jeu d'esprit _was published in the "Southern Literary Messenger"

about three weeks before the commencement of Mr. L's in the "New York

Sun." Fancying a likeness which, perhaps, does not exist, some of the

New York papers copied "Hans Pfaall," and collated it with the

"Moon-Hoax," by way of detecting the writer of the one in the writer

of the other.

As many more persons were actually gulled by the "Moon-Hoax" than

would be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may here afford some

little amusement to show why no one should have been deceived-to

point out those particulars of the story which should have been

sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed, however rich the

imagination displayed in this ingenious fiction, it wanted much of

the force which might have been given it by a more scrupulous

attention to facts and to general analogy. That the public were

misled, even for an instant, merely proves the gross ignorance which

is so generally prevalent upon subjects of an astronomical nature.

The moon's distance from the earth is, in round numbers, 240,000

miles. If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a lens would

bring the satellite (or any distant object), we, of course, have but

to divide the distance by the magnifying or, more strictly, by the

space-penetrating power of the glass. Mr. L. makes his lens have a

power of 42,000 times. By this divide 240,000 (the moon's real

distance), and we have five miles and five sevenths, as the apparent

distance. No animal at all could be seen so far; much less the minute

points particularized in the story. Mr. L. speaks about Sir John

Herschel's perceiving flowers (the Papaver rheas, etc.), and even

detecting the color and the shape of the eyes of small birds. Shortly

before, too, he has himself observed that the lens would not render

perceptible objects of less than eighteen inches in diameter; but

even this, as I have said, is giving the glass by far too great

power. It may be observed, in passing, that this prodigious glass is

said to have been molded at the glasshouse of Messrs. Hartley and

Grant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.'s establishment had ceased

operations for many years previous to the publication of the hoax.

On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of "a hairy veil" over the

eyes of a species of bison, the author says: "It immediately occurred

to the acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a providential

contrivance to protect the eyes of the animal from the great extremes

of light and darkness to which all the inhabitants of our side of the

moon are periodically subjected." But this cannot be thought a very

"acute" observation of the Doctor's. The inhabitants of our side of

the moon have, evidently, no darkness at all, so there can be nothing

of the "extremes" mentioned. In the absence of the sun they have a

light from the earth equal to that of thirteen full unclouded moons.

The topography throughout, even when professing to accord with

Blunt's Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or any other

lunar chart, and even grossly at variance with itself. The points of

the compass, too, are in inextricable confusion; the writer appearing

to be ignorant that, on a lunar map, these are not in accordance with

terrestrial points; the east being to the left, etc.

Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, Mare

Tranquillitatis, Mare Faecunditatis, etc., given to the dark spots by

former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details regarding oceans

and other large bodies of water in the moon; whereas there is no

astronomical point more positively ascertained than that no such

bodies exist there. In examining the boundary between light and

darkness (in the crescent or gibbous moon) where this boundary

crosses any of the dark places, the line of division is found to be

rough and jagged; but, were these dark places liquid, it would

evidently be even.

The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is but a

literal copy of Peter Wilkins' account of the wings of his flying

islanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at least,

it might be thought.

On page 23, we have the following: "What a prodigious influence must

our thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon this satellite

when an embryo in the womb of time, the passive subject of chemical

affinity!" This is very fine; but it should be observed that no

astronomer would have made such remark, especially to any journal of

Science; for the earth, in the sense intended, is not only thirteen,

but forty-nine times larger than the moon. A similar objection

applies to the whole of the concluding pages, where, by way of

introduction to some discoveries in Saturn, the philosophical

correspondent enters into a minute schoolboy account of that planet

-- this to the "Edinburgh journal of Science!"

But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayed the

fiction. Let us imagine the power actually possessed of seeing

animals upon the moon's surface -- what would first arrest the

attention of an observer from the earth? Certainly neither their

shape, size, nor any other such peculiarity, so soon as their

remarkable _situation_. They would appear to be walking, with heels

up and head down, in the manner of flies on a ceiling. The _real_

observer would have uttered an instant ejaculation of surprise

(however prepared by previous knowledge) at the singularity of their

position; the _fictitious_ observer has not even mentioned the

subject, but speaks of seeing the entire bodies of such creatures,

when it is demonstrable that he could have seen only the diameter of

their heads!

It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the size, and

particularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their ability

to fly in so rare an atmosphere--if, indeed, the moon have any), with

most of the other fancies in regard to animal and vegetable

existence, are at variance, generally, with all analogical reasoning

on these themes; and that analogy here will often amount to

conclusive demonstration. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add,

that all the suggestions attributed to Brewster and Herschel, in the

beginning of the article, about "a transfusion of artificial light

through the focal object of vision," etc., etc., belong to that

species of figurative writing which comes, most properly, under the

denomination of rigmarole.

There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery among

the stars--a limit whose nature need only be stated to be understood.

If, indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that is required,

man's ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the task, and we

might have them of any size demanded. But, unhappily, in proportion

to the increase of size in the lens, and consequently of

space-penetrating power, is the diminution of light from the object,

by diffusion of its rays. And for this evil there is no remedy within

human ability; for an object is seen by means of that light alone

which proceeds from itself, whether direct or reflected. Thus the

only "artificial" light which could avail Mr. Locke, would be some

artificial light which he should be able to throw-not upon the "focal

object of vision," but upon the real object to be viewed-to wit: upon

the moon. It has been easily calculated that, when the light

proceeding from a star becomes so diffused as to be as weak as the

natural light proceeding from the whole of the stars, in a clear and

moonless night, then the star is no longer visible for any practical

purpose.

The Earl of Ross's telescope, lately constructed in England, has a

_speculum_ with a reflecting surface of 4,071 square inches; the

Herschel telescope having one of only 1,811. The metal of the Earl of

Ross's is 6 feet diameter; it is 5 1/2 inches thick at the edges, and

5 at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal length is 50 feet.

I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book,

whose title-page runs thus: "L'Homme dans la lvne ou le Voyage

Chimerique fait au Monde de la Lvne, nouuellement decouuert par

Dominique Gonzales, Aduanturier Espagnol, autremét dit le Courier

volant. Mis en notre langve par J. B. D. A. Paris, chez Francois

Piot, pres la Fontaine de Saint Benoist. Et chez J. Goignard, au

premier pilier de la grand'salle du Palais, proche les Consultations,

MDCXLVII." Pp. 76.

The writer professes to have translated his work from the English of

one Mr. D'Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a terrible ambiguity

in the statement. "J' en ai eu," says he "l'original de Monsieur

D'Avisson, medecin des mieux versez qui soient aujourd'huy dans la

cònoissance des Belles Lettres, et sur tout de la Philosophic

Naturelle. Je lui ai cette obligation entre les autres, de m' auoir

non seulement mis en main cc Livre en anglois, mais encore le

Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D'Anan, gentilhomme Eccossois,

recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la version duquel j' advoue que j'

ay tiré le plan de la mienne."

After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil Blas, and

which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates that, being

ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, together with a

negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To increase the chances

of obtaining food, the two separate, and live as far apart as

possible. This brings about a training of birds, to serve the purpose

of carrier-pigeons between them. By and by these are taught to carry

parcels of some weight-and this weight is gradually increased. At

length the idea is entertained of uniting the force of a great number

of the birds, with a view to raising the author himself. A machine is

contrived for the purpose, and we have a minute description of it,

which is materially helped out by a steel engraving. Here we perceive

the Signor Gonzales, with point ruffles and a huge periwig, seated

astride something which resembles very closely a broomstick, and

borne aloft by a multitude of wild swans _(ganzas) _who had strings

reaching from their tails to the machine.

The main event detailed in the Signor's narrative depends upon a very

important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance until near

the end of the book. The _ganzas, _with whom he had become so

familiar, were not really denizens of St. Helena, but of the moon.

Thence it had been their custom, time out of mind, to migrate

annually to some portion of the earth. In proper season, of course,

they would return home; and the author, happening, one day, to

require their services for a short voyage, is unexpectedly carried

straight tip, and in a very brief period arrives at the satellite.

Here he finds, among other odd things, that the people enjoy extreme

happiness; that they have no _law; _that they die without pain; that

they are from ten to thirty feet in height; that they live five

thousand years; that they have an emperor called Irdonozur; and that

they can jump sixty feet high, when, being out of the gravitating

influence, they fly about with fans.

I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general _philosophy _of the

volume.

"I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of

the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it

the larger they seemed. I have also me and the earth. As to the

stars, _since there was no night where I was, they always had the

same appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearly

like the moon of a morning. _But few of them were visible, and these

ten times larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem to the

inhabitants of the earth. The moon, which wanted two days of being

full, was of a terrible bigness.

"I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side

of the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to

it the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whether it

was calm weather or stormy, I found myself _always immediately

between the moon and the earth._ I_ _was convinced of this for two

reasons-because my birds always flew in a straight line; and because

whenever we attempted to rest, _we were carried insensibly around the

globe of the earth. _For I admit the opinion of Copernicus, who

maintains that it never ceases to revolve _from the east to the west,

_not upon the poles of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of

the world, but upon those of the Zodiac, a question of which I

propose to speak more at length here-after, when I shall have leisure

to refresh my memory in regard to the astrology which I learned at

Salamanca when young, and have since forgotten."

Notwithstanding the blunders italicized, the book is not without some

claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of the current

astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed, that the

"gravitating power" extended but a short distance from the earth's

surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager "carried insensibly

around the globe," etc.

There have been other "voyages to the moon," but none of higher merit

than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly meaningless.

In the third volume of the "American Quarterly Review" will be found

quite an elaborate criticism upon a certain "journey" of the kind in

question--a criticism in which it is difficult to say whether the

critic most exposes the stupidity of the book, or his own absurd

ignorance of astronomy. I forget the title of the work; but the

_means _of the voyage are more deplorably ill conceived than are even

the _ganzas _of our friend the Signor Gonzales. The adventurer, in

digging the earth, happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the

moon has a strong attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box,

which, when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with

him, forthwith, to the satellite. The "Flight of Thomas O'Rourke," is

a _jeu d' esprit _not altogether contemptible, and has been

translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the

gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to the

tale. The "flight" is made on an eagle's back, from Hungry Hill, a

lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.

In these various _brochures _the aim is always satirical; the theme

being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours. In

none is there any effort at _plausibility _in the details of the

voyage itself. The writers seem, in each instance, to be utterly

uninformed in respect to astronomy. In "Hans Pfaall" the design is

original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at _verisimilitude, _in the

application of scientific principles (so far as the whimsical nature

of the subject would permit), to the actual passage between the earth

and the moon.

{*2} The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes.

Emicant Trabes quos docos vocant. -- Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26.

{*3} Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr.

Green, of Nassau balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts, deny

the assertions of Humboldt, in this respect, and speak of a

decreasing inconvenience, -- precisely in accordance with the theory

here urged in a mere spirit of banter.

{*4} Havelius writes that he has several times found, in skies

perfectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude

were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the moon, at the same

elongation from the earth, and with one and the same excellent

telescope, the moon and its maculae did not appear equally lucid at

all times. From the circumstances of the observation, it is evident

that the cause of this phenomenon is not either in our air, in the

tube, in the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be looked

for in something (an atmosphere?) existing about the moon.

======

THE GOLD-BUG

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad !

He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.

_--All in the Wrong._

MANY years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William

Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been

wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To

avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New

Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at

Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. This Island is a

very singular one. It consists of little else than the sea sand, and

is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter

of a mile. It is separated from the main land by a scarcely

perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and

slime, a favorite resort of the marsh hen. The vegetation, as might

be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any

magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort

Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings,

tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust and

fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole

island, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard,

white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of

the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England.

The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet,

and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with its

fragrance.

In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern

or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small

hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his

acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship - for there was much

in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well

educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy,

and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy.

He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief

amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach

and through the myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological

specimens; - his collection of the latter might have been envied by a

Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was usually accompanied by an old

negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses of

the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by

promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attendance upon

the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." It is not improbable that

the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in

intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with

a view to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very

severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a

fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18-, there

occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset

I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend,

whom I had not visited for several weeks - my residence being, at

that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the Island,

while the facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind

those of the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my

custom, and getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was

secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon

the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I

threw off an overcoat, took an arm-chair by the crackling

logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.

Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some

marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits - how else

shall I term them? - of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve,

forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and

secured, with Jupiter's assistance, a scarabæus which he believed to

be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion

on the morrow.

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze,

and wishing the whole tribe of scarabæi at the devil.

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's

so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay

me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met

Lieutenant G--, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the

bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning.

Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is

the loveliest thing in creation!"

"What? - sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no! - the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color - about

the size of a large hickory-nut - with two jet black spots near one

extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other.

The antennæ are - "

"Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you,"

here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole bug, solid, ebery bit of

him, inside and all, sep him wing - neber feel half so hebby a bug in

my life."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more

earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that any

reason for your letting the birds burn? The color" - here he turned

to me - "is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never

saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit - but of

this you cannot judge till tomorrow. In the mean time I can give you

some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small

table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some

in a drawer, but found none.

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

drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very

dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While

he did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly.

When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I

received it, a loud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the

door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to

Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with

caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previous visits.

When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the

truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friend had

depicted.

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this is

a strange scarabæus, I must confess: new to me: never saw anything

like it before - unless it was a skull, or a death's-head - which it

more nearly resembles than anything else that has come under my

observation."

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand -"Oh - yes - well, it has

something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper

black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like

a mouth - and then the shape of the whole is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I

must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of

its personal appearance."

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw

tolerably - should do it at least - have had good masters, and

flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a

very passable skull - indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent

skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of

physiology - and your scarabæus must be the queerest scarabæus in the

world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit of

superstition upon this hint. I presume you will call the bug

scarabæus caput hominis, or something of that kind - there are many

similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennæ

you spoke of?"

"The antennæ!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting

unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the

antennæ. I made them as distinct as they are in the original insect,

and I presume that is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have - still I don't see

them;" and I handed him the paper without additional remark, not

wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn

affairs had taken; his ill humor puzzled me - and, as for the drawing

of the beetle, there were positively no antennæ visible, and the

whole did bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a

death's-head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple

it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the

design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face

grew violently red - in another as excessively pale. For some minutes

he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At

length he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat

himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here

again he made an anxious examination of the paper; turning it in all

directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly

astonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the growing

moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he took from his

coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited

both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in

his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite

disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the

evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in reverie, from

which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention

to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but,

seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did

not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with

even more than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had

seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from

his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so

dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my

friend.

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

master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought

be."

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain

of?"

"Dar! dat's it! - him neber plain of notin - but him berry sick

for all dat."

"Very sick, Jupiter! - why didn't you say so at once? Is he

confined to bed?"

"No, dat he aint! - he aint find nowhar - dat's just whar de shoe

pinch - my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking

about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails

him?"

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad about de matter -

Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him - but den what

make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he

soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon all de

time - "

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate - de queerest figgurs

I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to

keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore

de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick

ready cut for to gib him deuced good beating when he did come - but

Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all - he look so berry

poorly."

"Eh? - what? - ah yes! - upon the whole I think you had better

not be too severe with the poor fellow - don't flog him, Jupiter - he

can't very well stand it - but can you form no idea of what has

occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has

anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin unpleasant since den - 'twas fore

den I'm feared - 'twas de berry day you was dare."

"How? what do you mean?"

"Why, massa, I mean de bug - dare now."

"The what?"

"De bug, - I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere

bout de head by dat goole-bug."

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

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouth too. I nebber did see sick a

deuced bug - he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa

Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I

tell you - den was de time he must ha got de bite. I did n't like de

look oh de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I would n't take hold ob him

wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I

rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff - dat was de

way."

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the

beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"

"I do n't tink noffin about it - I nose it. What make him dream

bout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise

heerd bout dem goole-bugs fore dis."

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

"How I know? why cause he talk about it in he sleep - dat's how I

nose."

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate

circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?"

"What de matter, massa?"

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand "

"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me

a note which ran thus:

MY DEAR --

Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you have not

been so foolish as to take offence at any little _brusquerie_ of

mine; but no, that is improbable. Since I saw you I have had great

cause for anxiety. I have something to tell you, yet scarcely know

how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at all.

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup

annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions

Would you believe it? - he had prepared a huge stick, the other day,

with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the

day, _solus_, among the hills on the main land. I verily believe that

my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.

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

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with

Jupiter. _Do_ come. I wish to see you to-_night_, upon business of

importance. I assure you that it is of the _highest_ importance.

Ever yours,                     WILLIAM LEGRAND.

There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great

uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand.

What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed his

excitable brain? What "business of the highest importance" could he

possibly have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I

dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at length,

fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's

hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all

apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were to

embark.

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired.

"Him syfe, massa, and spade."

"Very true; but what are they doing here?"

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for

him in de town, and de debbils own lot of money I had to gib for em."

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa

Will' going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat's more dan I know, and debbil take me if I don't blieve 'tis

more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob do bug."

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose

whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped into

the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran

into the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of

some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in the

afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager

expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous empressement which

alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions already entertained. His

countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes

glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries respecting his

health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say, if he had yet

obtained the scarabæus from Lieutenant G --.

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the

next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that scarabæus. Do

you know that Jupiter is quite right about it?"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

"In supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this with an

air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant

smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder,

then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it

upon me, I have only to use it properly and I shall arrive at the

gold of which it is the index. Jupiter; bring me that scarabæus!"

"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug - you

mus git him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand arose, with a grave

and stately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which

it was enclosed. It was a beautiful scarabæus, and, at that time,

unknown to naturalists - of course a great prize in a scientific

point of view. There were two round, black spots near one extremity

of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were

exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished

gold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all

things into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his

opinion respecting it; but what to make of Legrand's concordance with

that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell.

"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had

completed my examination of the beetle, "I sent for you, that I might

have your counsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and

of the bug" -

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainly

unwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go to

bed, and I will remain with you a few days, until you get over this.

You are feverish and" -

"Feel my pulse," said he.

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest

indication of fever.

"But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to

prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next" -

"You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I can expect

to be under the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me

well, you will relieve this excitement."

"And how is this to be done?"

"Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition

into the hills, upon the main land, and, in this expedition we shall

need the aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only

one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which

you now perceive in me will be equally allayed."

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; "but do you

mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your

expedition into the hills?"

"It has."

"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd

proceeding."

"I am sorry - very sorry - for we shall have to try it by

ourselves."

"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! - but stay! - how

long do you propose to be absent?"

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

all events, by sunrise."

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak

of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to your

satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice

implicitly, as that of your physician?"

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

lose."

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four

o'clock - Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him

the scythe and spades - the whole of which he insisted upon carrying

- more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the

implements within reach of his master, than from any excess of

industry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and

"dat deuced bug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during

the journey. For my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark

lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with the scarabæus, which

he carried attached to the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to

and fro, with the air of a conjuror, as he went. When I observed this

last, plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could

scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his

fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some more

energetic measures with a chance of success. In the mean time I

endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in regard to the object of

the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he

seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of minor

importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other reply than

"we shall see!"

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a

skiff; and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the main land,

proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a tract of country

excessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a human footstep was

to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision; pausing only for an

instant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be certain

landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion.

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was

just setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any

yet seen. It was a species of table land, near the summit of an

almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, and

interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the

soil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves

into the valleys below, merely by the support of the trees against

which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air

of still sterner solemnity to the scene.

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly

overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it

would have been impossible to force our way but for the scythe; and

Jupiter, by direction of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path

to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, with some

eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and

all other trees which I had then ever seen, in the beauty of its

foliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches, and in the

general majesty of its appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand

turned to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it. The

old man seemed a little staggered by the question, and for some

moments made no reply. At length he approached the huge trunk, walked

slowly around it, and examined it with minute attention. When he had

completed his scrutiny, he merely said,

"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life."

"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too

dark to see what we are about."

"How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter.

"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way

to go - and here - stop! take this beetle with you."

"De bug, Massa Will! - de goole bug!" cried the negro, drawing

back in dismay - "what for mus tote de bug way up de tree? - d-n if I

do!"

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold

of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by this

string - but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall

be under the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel."

"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into

compliance; "always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only

funnin any how. Me feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he

took cautiously hold of the extreme end of the string, and,

maintaining the insect as far from his person as circumstances would

permit, prepared to ascend the tree.

In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron Tulipferum, the most

magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, and

often rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in its

riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short

limbs make their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of

ascension, in the present case, lay more in semblance than in

reality. Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with

his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and

resting his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow

escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great

fork, and seemed to consider the whole business as virtually

accomplished. The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over,

although the climber was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.

"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked.

"Keep up the largest branch - the one on this side," said

Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but

little trouble; ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his

squat figure could be obtained through the dense foliage which

enveloped it. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of halloo.

"How much fudder is got for go?"

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand.

"Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob

de tree."

"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the

trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have

you passed?"

"One, two, tree, four, fibe - I done pass fibe big limb, massa,

pon dis side."

"Then go one limb higher."

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the

seventh limb was attained.

"Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to

work your way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see

anything strange, let me know." By this time what little doubt I

might have entertained of my poor friend's insanity, was put finally

at rest. I had no alternative but to conclude him stricken with

lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. While

I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's voice was

again heard.

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far - tis dead limb

putty much all de way."

"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a

quavering voice.

"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail - done up for sartain -

done departed dis here life."

"What in the name heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in

the greatest distress. "Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to

interpose a word, "why come home and go to bed. Come now! - that's a

fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remember your

promise."

"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you

hear me?"

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think

it very rotten."

"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few

moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out

leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's true."

"By yourself! - what do you mean?"

"Why I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I drop him down

fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight ob one nigger."

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much

relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As

sure as you drop that beetle I'll break your neck. Look here,

Jupiter, do you hear me?"

"Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style."

"Well! now listen! - if you will venture out on the limb as far

as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make you a present

of a silver dollar as soon as you get down."

"I'm gwine, Massa Will - deed I is," replied the negro very

promptly - "mos out to the eend now."

"Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you say you

are out to the end of that limb?"

"Soon be to de eend, massa, - o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what

is dis here pon de tree?"

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

"Why taint noffin but a skull - somebody bin lef him head up de

tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off."

"A skull, you say! - very well! - how is it fastened to the limb?

- what holds it on?"

"Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance,

pon my word - dare's a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it

on to de tree."

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

"Yes, massa."

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

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

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

left?"

"Yes, I nose dat - nose all bout dat - tis my lef hand what I

chops de wood wid."

"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left. eye is on the

same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find the left

eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you

found it?"

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

"Is de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de

skull, too? - cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all -

nebber mind! I got de lef eye now - here de lef eye! what mus do wid

it?"

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach

- but he careful and not let go your hold of the string."

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru

de hole - look out for him dare below!"

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could be

seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was now

visible at the end of the string, and glistened, like a globe of

burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which

still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood. The

scarabæus hung quite clear of any branches, and, if allowed to fall,

would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe,

and cleared with it a circular space, three or four yards in

diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having accomplished this,

ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down from the tree.

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the precise

spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocket a

tape measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of the trunk,

of the tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reached

the peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the direction already

established by the two points of the tree and the peg, for the

distance of fifty feet - Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the

scythe. At the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about

this, as a centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter,

described. Taking now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and

one to me, Legrand begged us to set about digging as quickly as

possible.

To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amusement

at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly

have declined it; for the night was coming on, and I felt much

fatigued with the exercise already taken; but I saw no mode of

escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor friend's equanimity by

a refusal. Could I have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would

have had no hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home by

force; but I was too well assured of the old negro's disposition, to

hope that he would assist me, under any circumstances, in a personal

contest with his master. I made no doubt that the latter had been

infected with some of the innumerable Southern superstitions about

money buried, and that his phantasy had received confirmation by the

finding of the scarabæus, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in

maintaining it to be "a bug of real gold." A mind disposed to lunacy

would readily be led away by such suggestions - especially if chiming

in with favorite preconceived ideas - and then I called to mind the

poor fellow's speech about the beetle's being "the index of his

fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at

length, I concluded to make a virtue of necessity - to dig with a

good will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by ocular

demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions he entertained.

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal

worthy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our persons

and implements, I could not help thinking how picturesque a group we

composed, and how strange and suspicious our labors must have

appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon

our whereabouts.

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our

chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took

exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, became so

obstreperous that we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some

stragglers in the vicinity; - or, rather, this was the apprehension

of Legrand; - for myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption

which might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was,

at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of

the hole with a dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up

with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle,

to his task.

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of

five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A

general pause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an

end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped

his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the entire

circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit,

and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared.

The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from

the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every

feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat,

which he had thrown off at the beginning of his labor. In the mean

time I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to

gather up his tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we

turned in profound silence towards home.

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when,

with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the

collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the fullest

extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees.

"You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from

between his clenched teeth - "you infernal black villain! - speak, I

tell you! - answer me this instant, without prevarication! - which -

which is your left eye?"

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?"

roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right organ

of vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if

in immediate dread of his master's attempt at a gouge.

"I thought so! - I knew it! hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting

the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracols, much to

the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked,

mutely, from his master to myself, and then from myself to his

master.

"Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's not up

yet;" and he again led the way to the tulip-tree.

"Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! was the

skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face to

the limb?"

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes

good, widout any trouble."

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped

the beetle?" - here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes.

"Twas dis eye, massa - de lef eye - jis as you tell me," and here

it was his right eye that the negro indicated.

"That will do - must try it again."

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I

saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg which marked the

spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the

westward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape measure from

the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing

the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a

spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from the point at

which we had been digging.

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the

former instance, was now described, and we again set to work with the

spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had

occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great

aversion from the labor imposed. I had become most unaccountably

interested - nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all

the extravagant demeanor of Legrand - some air of forethought, or of

deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then

caught myself actually looking, with something that very much

resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of which

had demented my unfortunate companion. At a period when such vagaries

of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had been at work

perhaps an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the violent

howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been,

evidently, but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now

assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to

muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the hole,

tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few seconds he had

uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete skeletons,

intermingled with several buttons of metal, and what appeared to be

the dust of decayed woollen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned

the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or

four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light.

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be

restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme

disappointment He urged us, however, to continue our exertions, and

the words were hardly uttered when I stumbled and fell forward,

having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay

half buried in the loose earth.

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of

more intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed

an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and

wonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizing

process - perhaps that of the Bi-chloride of Mercury. This box was

three feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet

deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and

forming a kind of open trelliswork over the whole. On each side of

the chest, near the top, were three rings of iron - six in all - by

means of which a firm hold could be obtained by six persons. Our

utmost united endeavors served only to disturb the coffer very

slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so

great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of

two sliding bolts. These we drew back - trembling and panting with

anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming

before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there

flashed upwards a glow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and

of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes.

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed.

Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted

with excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's

countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is

possible, in nature of things, for any negro's visage to assume. He

seemed stupified - thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees

in the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let

them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length,

with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy,

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole bug! de poor

little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aint you

shamed ob yourself, nigger? - answer me dat!"

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master

and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growing

late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might get every

thing housed before daylight. It was difficult to say what should be

done, and much time was spent in deliberation - so confused were the

ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the box by removing two thirds

of its contents, when we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it

from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited among the

brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from

Jupiter neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to

open his mouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for home with

the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive toil, at

one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it was not in human

nature to do more immediately. We rested until two, and had supper;

starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed with three stout

sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. A little before

four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as

equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again

set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited our

golden burthens, just as the first faint streaks of the dawn gleamed

from over the tree-tops in the East.

We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excitement of

the time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three or

four hours' duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make

examination of our treasure.

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day,

and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its

contents. There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Every

thing had been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted all with

care, we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than we had

at first supposed. In coin there was rather more than four hundred

and fifty thousand dollars - estimating the value of the pieces, as

accurately as we could, by the tables of the period. There was not a

particle of silver. All was gold of antique date and of great variety

- French, Spanish, and German money, with a few English guineas, and

some counters, of which we had never seen specimens before. There

were several very large and heavy coins, so worn that we could make

nothing of their inscriptions. There was no American money. The value

of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. There were

diamonds - some of them exceedingly large and fine - a hundred and

ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable

brilliancy; - three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and

twenty-one sapphires, with an opal. These stones had all been broken

from their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings

themselves, which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared

to have been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identification.

Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments;

- nearly two hundred massive finger and earrings; - rich chains -

thirty of these, if I remember; - eighty-three very large and heavy

crucifixes; - five gold censers of great value; - a prodigious golden

punch bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-leaves and

Bacchanalian figures; with two sword-handles exquisitely embossed,

and many other smaller articles which I cannot recollect. The weight

of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds

avoirdupois; and in this estimate I have not included one hundred and

ninety-seven superb gold watches; three of the number being worth

each five hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and as

time keepers valueless; the works having suffered, more or less, from

corrosion - but all were richly jewelled and in cases of great worth.

We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a

million and a half of dollars; and upon the subsequent disposal of

the trinkets and jewels (a  few being retained for our own

use), it was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure.

When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and the intense

excitement of the time had, in some measure, subsided, Legrand, who

saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution of this most

extraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the

circumstances connected with it.

"You remember;" said he, "the night when I handed you the rough

sketch I had made of the scarabæus. You recollect also, that I became

quite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembled a

death's-head. When you first made this assertion I thought you were

jesting; but afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots on the

back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had some

little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers

irritated me - for I am considered a good artist - and, therefore,

when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it

up and throw it angrily into the fire."

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

"No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first I

supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I discovered

it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite

dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it

up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had been looking, and

you may imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure

of a death's-head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing

of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed to think with

accuracy. I knew that my design was very different in detail from

this - although there was a certain similarity in general outline.

Presently I took a candle, and seating myself at the other end of the

room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely. Upon

turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had

made it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really

remarkable similarity of outline - at the singular coincidence

involved in the fact, that unknown to me, there should have been a

skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately beneath my

figure of the scarabæus, and that this skull, not only in outline,

but in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I say

the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupified me for a

time. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind

struggles to establish a connexion - a sequence of cause and effect -

and, being unable to do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis.

But, when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me

gradually a conviction which startled me even far more than the

coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there

had been no drawing upon the parchment when I made my sketch of the

scarabæus. I became perfectly certain of this; for I recollected

turning up first one side and then the other, in search of the

cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of course I could not

have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it

impossible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there seemed

to glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of my

intellect, a glow-worm-like conception of that truth which last

night's adventure brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose

at once, and putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all

farther reflection until I should be alone.

"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook

myself to a more methodical investigation of the affair. In the first

place I considered the manner in which the parchment had come into my

possession. The spot where we discovered the scarabaeus was on the

coast of the main land, about a mile eastward of the island, and but

a short distance above high water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, it

gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, with

his accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had flown

towards him, looked about him for a leaf, or something of that

nature, by which to take hold of it. It was at this moment that his

eyes, and mine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then

supposed to be paper. It was lying half buried in the sand, a corner

sticking up. Near the spot where we found it, I observed the remnants

of the hull of what appeared to have been a ship's long boat. The

wreck seemed to have been there for a very great while; for the

resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced.

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

and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go home, and on the

way met Lieutenant G-. I showed him the insect, and he begged me to

let him take it to the fort. Upon my consenting, he thrust it

forthwith into his waistcoat pocket, without the parchment in which

it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold in my hand

during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my mind, and

thought it best to make sure of the prize at once - you know how

enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected with Natural History. At

the same time, without being conscious of it, I must have deposited

the parchment in my own pocket.

"You remember that when I went to the table, for the purpose of

making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper where it was usually

kept. I looked in the drawer, and found none there. I searched my

pockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand fell upon the

parchment. I thus detail the precise mode in which it came into my

possession; for the circumstances impressed me with peculiar force.

"No doubt you will think me fanciful - but I had already

established a kind of connexion. I had put together two links of a

great chain. There was a boat lying upon a sea-coast, and not far

from the boat was a parchment - not a paper - with a skull depicted

upon it. You will, of course, ask 'where is the connexion?' I reply

that the skull, or death's-head, is the well-known emblem of the

pirate. The flag of the death's head is hoisted in all engagements.

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper.

Parchment is durable - almost imperishable. Matters of little moment

are rarely consigned to parchment; since, for the mere ordinary

purposes of drawing or writing, it is not nearly so well adapted as

paper. This reflection suggested some meaning - some relevancy - in

the death's-head. I did not fail to observe, also, the form of the

parchment. Although one of its corners had been, by some accident,

destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong. It was

just such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for a memorandum

- for a record of something to be long remembered and carefully

preserved."

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

parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How then do you

trace any connexion between the boat and the skull - since this

latter, according to your own admission, must have been designed (God

only knows how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your

sketching the scarabæus?"

"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the secret, at

this point, I had comparatively little difficulty in solving. My

steps were sure, and could afford but a single result. I reasoned,

for example, thus: When I drew the scarabæus, there was no skull

apparent upon the parchment. When I had completed the drawing I gave

it to you, and observed you narrowly until you returned it. You,

therefore, did not design the skull, and no one else was present to

do it. Then it was not done by human agency. And nevertheless it was

done. "At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and

did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which occurred

about the period in question. The weather was chilly (oh rare and

happy accident!), and a fire was blazing upon the hearth. I was

heated with exercise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn

a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your

hand, and as you were in the act of in. inspecting it, Wolf, the

Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left

hand you caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the

parchment, was permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and

in close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had

caught it, and was about to caution you, but, before I could speak,

you had withdrawn it, and were engaged in its examination. When I

considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a moment that

heat had been the agent in bringing to light, upon the parchment, the

skull which I saw designed upon it. You are well aware that chemical

preparations exist, and have existed time out of mind, by means of

which it is possible to write upon either paper or vellum, so that

the characters shall become visible only when subjected to the action

of fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia, and diluted with four times

its weight of water, is sometimes employed; a green tint results. The

regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These

colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the material

written upon cools, but again become apparent upon the

re-application of heat.

"I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer edges -

the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vellum - were far

more distinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the

caloric had been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire,

and subjected every portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At

first, the only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in

the skull; but, upon persevering in the experiment, there became

visible, at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot

in which the death's-head was delineated, the figure of what I at

first supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me

that it was intended for a kid."

"Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at you - a

million and a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth - but

you are not about to establish a third link in your chain - you will

not find any especial connexion between your pirates and a goat -

pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they appertain to

the farming interest."

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

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

"Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You may have

heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked upon the figure of the

animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say

signature; because its position upon the vellum suggested this idea.

The death's-head at the corner diagonally opposite, had, in the same

manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out by the

absence of all else - of the body to my imagined instrument - of the

text for my context."

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

the signature."

"Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly

impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I

can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than

an actual belief; - but do you know that Jupiter's silly words, about

the bug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect upon my fancy?

And then the series of accidents and coincidences - these were so

very extraordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident it was that

these events should have occurred upon the sole day of all the year

in which it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, and that

without the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at the

precise moment in which he appeared, I should never have become aware

of the death's-head, and so never the possessor of the treasure?"

"But proceed - I am all impatience."

"Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current - the

thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, somewhere upon the

Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumors must have

had some foundation in fact. And that the rumors have existed so long

and so continuous, could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from

the circumstance of the buried treasure still remaining entombed. Had

Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards reclaimed it,

the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their present unvarying

form. You will observe that the stories told are all about

money-seekers, not about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his

money, there the affair would have dropped. It seemed to me that some

accident - say the loss of a memorandum indicating its locality - had

deprived him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident

had become known to his followers, who otherwise might never have

heard that treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying

themselves in vain, because unguided attempts, to regain it, had

given first birth, and then universal currency, to the reports which

are now so common. Have you ever heard of any important treasure

being unearthed along the coast?"

"Never."

"But that Kidd's accumulations were immense, is well known. I

took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still held them; and

you will scarcely be surprised when I tell you that I felt a hope,

nearly amounting to certainty, that the parchment so strangely found,

involved a lost record of the place of deposit."

"But how did you proceed?"

"I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat;

but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating of

dirt might have something to do with the failure; so I carefully

rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over it, and,

having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull downwards,

and put the pan upon a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes,

the pan having become thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, to

my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what

appeared to be figures arranged in lines. Again I placed it in the

pan, and suffered it to remain another minute. Upon taking it off,

the whole was just as you see it now." Here Legrand, having re-heated

the parchment, submitted it to my inspection. The following

characters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the

death's-head and the goat:

"53‡‡†305))6*;4826)4‡)4‡;806*;48‡8¶60))85;1-(;:*8-83(88)5*‡

;46(;88*96*?;8)*‡(;485);5*†2:*‡(;4956*2(5*- 4)8¶8*;40692

85);)6†8)4;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡1;48†85;4)485†528806*81(‡9;48;

(88;4(‡?34;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?;"

"But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark

as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me upon my solution

of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be unable to earn

them."

"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so

difficult as you might be lead to imagine from the first hasty

inspection of the characters. These characters, as any one might

readily guess, form a cipher - that is to say, they convey a meaning;

but then, from what is known of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable

of constructing any of the more abstruse cryptographs. I made up my

mind, at once, that this was of a simple species - such, however, as

would appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, absolutely

insoluble without the key."

"And you really solved it?"

"Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousand

times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have led me

to take interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether

human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind which human

ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve. In fact, having

once established connected and legible characters, I scarcely gave a

thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import.

"In the present case - indeed in all cases of secret writing -

the first question regards the language of the cipher; for the

principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple

ciphers are concerned, depend upon, and are varied by, the genius of

the particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative but

experiment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to him

who attempts the solution, until the true one be attained. But, with

the cipher now before us, all difficulty was removed by the

signature. The pun upon the word 'Kidd' is appreciable in no other

language than the English. But for this consideration I should have

begun my attempts with the Spanish and French, as the tongues in

which a secret of this kind would most naturally have been written by

a pirate of the Spanish main. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to

be English.

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there

been divisions, the task would have been comparatively easy. In such

case I should have commenced with a collation and analysis of the

shorter words, and, had a word of a single letter occurred, as is

most likely, (a or I, for example,) I should have considered the

solution as assured. But, there being no division, my first step was

to ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent.

Counting all, I constructed a table, thus:

Of the character          8 there are    33.

;        "     26.

4        "     19.

‡ )        "     16.

*        "     13.

5        "     12.

6        "     11.

† 1        "      8.

0        "      6.

9 2         "      5.

: 3        "      4.

?        "      3.

¶        "      2.

-.       "      1.

"Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is e.

Afterwards, succession runs thus: _a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m w

b k p q x z_. _E_ predominates so remarkably that an individual

sentence of any length is rarely seen, in which it is not the

prevailing character.

"Here, then, we leave, in the very beginning, the groundwork for

something more than a mere guess. The general use which may be made

of the table is obvious - but, in this particular cipher, we shall

only very partially require its aid. As our predominant character is

8, we will commence by assuming it as the _e_ of the natural

alphabet. To verify the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen

often in couples - for _e_ is doubled with great frequency in English

- in such words, for example, as 'meet,' '.fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,'

been,' 'agree,' &c. In the present instance we see it doubled no less

than five times, although the cryptograph is brief.

"Let us assume 8, then, as _e_. Now, of all _words_ in the

language, 'the' is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether there

are not repetitions of any three characters, in the same order of

collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover repetitions of

such letters, so arranged, they will most probably represent the word

'the.' Upon inspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements,

the characters being ;48. We may, therefore, assume that ; represents

_t_, 4 represents _h_, and 8 represents _e_ - the last being now well

confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken.

"But, having established a single word, we are enabled to

establish a vastly important point; that is to say, several

commencements and terminations of other words. Let us refer, for

example, to the last instance but one, in which the combination ;48

occurs - not far from the end of the cipher. We know that the ;

immediately ensuing is the commencement of a word, and, of the six

characters succeeding this 'the,' we are cognizant of no less than

five. Let us set these characters down, thus, by the letters we know

them to represent, leaving a space for the unknown -

t eeth.

"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the 'th,' as forming no

portion of the word commencing with the first t; since, by experiment

of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy, we

perceive that no word can be formed of which this _th_ can be a part.

We are thus narrowed into

t ee,

and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we arrive

at the word 'tree,' as the sole possible reading. We thus gain

another letter, _r_, represented by (, with the words 'the tree' in

juxtaposition.

"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again see

the combination ;48, and employ it by way of _termination_ to what

immediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement:

the tree ;4(‡?34 the,

or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus:

the tree thr‡?3h the.

"Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank

spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus:

the tree thr...h the,

when the word '_through_' makes itself evident at once. But this

discovery gives us three new letters, _o_, _u_ and _g_, represented

by ‡ ? and 3.

"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of

known characters, we find, not very far from the beginning, this

arrangement,

83(88, or egree,

which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree,' and gives us

another letter, _d_, represented by †.

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

combination

;46(;88.

"Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown

by dots, as before, we read thus: th rtee. an arrangement immediately

suggestive of the word 'thirteen,' and again furnishing us with two

new characters, _i_ and _n_, represented by 6 and *.

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

combination,

53‡‡†.

"Translating, as before, we obtain

good,

which assures us that the first letter is _A_, and that the first two

words are 'A good.'

"It is now time that we arrange our key, as far as discovered, in

a tabular form, to avoid confusion. It will stand thus:

5 represents      a

†       "         d

8       "         e

3       "         g

4       "         h

6       "         i

*       "         n

‡       "         o

(        "         r

;        "         t

"We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important

letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with the

details of the solution. I have said enough to convince you that

ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and to give you some

insight into the rationale of their development. But be assured that

the specimen before us appertains to the very simplest species of

cryptograph. It now only remains to give you the full translation of

the characters upon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:

" '_A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat

forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by north main

branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the

death's-head a bee line from the tree through the shot fifty feet

out_.' "

"But," said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as

ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this jargon

about 'devil's seats,' 'death's heads,' and 'bishop's hotels?' "

"I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears a

serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavor

was to divide the sentence into the natural division intended by the

cryptographist."

"You mean, to punctuate it?"

"Something of that kind."

"But how was it possible to effect this?"

"I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run his

words together without division, so as to increase the difficulty of

solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such an object would

be nearly certain to overdo the matter. When, in the course of his

composition, he arrived at a break in his subject which would

naturally require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to

run his characters, at this place, more than usually close together.

If you will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will easily

detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting upon this hint, I

made the division thus: 'A good glass in the Bishop's hostel in the

Devil's seat - forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes - northeast and

by north - main branch seventh limb east side - shoot from the left

eye of the death's-head - a bee-line from the tree through the shot

fifty feet out.' "

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

"It left me also in the dark," replied Legrand, "for a few days;

during which I made diligent inquiry, in the neighborhood of

Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by the name of the

'Bishop's Hotel;' for, of course, I dropped the obsolete word

'hostel.' Gaining no information on the subject, I was on the point

of extending my sphere of search, and proceeding in a more systematic

manner, when, one morning, it entered into my head, quite suddenly,

that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might have some reference to an old

family, of the name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held

possession of an ancient manor-house, about four miles to the

northward of the Island. I accordingly went over to the plantation,

and re-instituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the place.

At length one of the most aged of the women said that she had heard

of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she could guide

me to it, but that it was not a castle nor a tavern, but a high rock.

"I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some

demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We found it without

much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I proceeded to examine the

place. The 'castle' consisted of an irregular assemblage of cliffs

and rocks - one of the latter being quite remarkable for its height

as well as for its insulated and artificial appearance I clambered to

its apex, and then felt much at a loss as to what should be next

done.

"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrow

ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the

summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen

inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff

just above it, gave it a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed

chairs used by our ancestors. I made no doubt that here was the

'devil's seat' alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to grasp the

full secret of the riddle.

"The 'good glass,' I knew, could have reference to nothing but a

telescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed in any other sense

by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, and a

definite point of view, admitting no variation, from which to use it.

Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrases, "forty-one degrees

and thirteen minutes,' and 'northeast and by north,' were intended as

directions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by these

discoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to

the rock.

"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible

to retain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This fact

confirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of

course, the 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could allude to

nothing but elevation above the visible horizon, since the horizontal

direction was clearly indicated by the words, 'northeast and by

north.' This latter direction I at once established by means of a

pocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of

forty-one degrees of elevation as I could do it by guess, I moved it

cautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a circular

rift or opening in the foliage of a large tree that overtopped its

fellows in the distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived a

white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was.

Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked, and now made it

out to be a human skull.

"Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the enigma

solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, east side,' could

refer only to the position of the skull upon the tree, while 'shoot

from the left eye of the death's head' admitted, also, of but one

interpretation, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I

perceived that the design was to drop a bullet from the left eye of

the skull, and that a bee-line, or, in other words, a straight line,

drawn from the nearest point of the trunk through 'the shot,' (or the

spot where the bullet fell,) and thence extended to a distance of

fifty feet, would indicate a definite point - and beneath this point

I thought it at least possible that a deposit of value lay

concealed."

"All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although

ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's

Hotel, what then?"

"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turned

homewards. The instant that I left 'the devil's seat,' however, the

circular rift vanished; nor could I get a glimpse of it afterwards,

turn as I would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity in this whole

business, is the fact (for repeated experiment has convinced me it is

a fact) that the circular opening in question is visible from no

other attainable point of view than that afforded by the narrow ledge

upon the face of the rock.

"In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had been attended

by Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed, for some weeks past, the

abstraction of my demeanor, and took especial care not to leave me

alone. But, on the next day, getting up very early, I contrived to

give him the slip, and went into the hills in search of the tree.

After much toil I found it. When I came home at night my valet

proposed to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure I

believe you are as well acquainted as myself."

"I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the first attempt

at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall

through the right instead of through the left eye of the skull."

"Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two inches

and a half in the 'shot' - that is to say, in the position of the peg

nearest the tree; and had the treasure been beneath the 'shot,' the

error would have been of little moment; but 'the shot,' together with

the nearest point of the tree, were merely two points for the

establishment of a line of direction; of course the error, however

trivial in the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line,

and by the time we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent.

But for my deep-seated impressions that treasure was here somewhere

actually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain."

"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging the beetle

- how excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. And why did you

insist upon letting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from the

skull?"

"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident

suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly,

in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this

reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall it from

the tree. An observation of yours about its great weight suggested

the latter idea."

"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which puzzles

me. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?"

"That is a question I am no more able to answer than yourself.

There seems, however, only one plausible way of accounting for them -

and yet it is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my suggestion

would imply. It is clear that Kidd - if Kidd indeed secreted this

treasure, which I doubt not - it is clear that he must have had

assistance in the labor. But this labor concluded, he may have

thought it expedient to remove all participants in his secret.

Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were sufficient, while his

coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it required a dozen - who

shall tell?"

_

_

~~~ End of Text ~~~

==========

FOUR BEASTS IN ONE

THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD

Chacun a ses vertus.

--_Crebillon's Xerxes._

ANTIOCHUS EPIPHANES is very generally looked upon as the Gog of the

prophet Ezekiel. This honor is, however, more properly attributable

to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the character of the

Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of any adventitious

embellishment. His accession to the throne, or rather his usurpation

of the sovereignty, a hundred and seventy-one years before the coming

of Christ; his attempt to plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus; his

implacable hostility to the Jews; his pollution of the Holy of

Holies; and his miserable death at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of

eleven years, are circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore

more generally noticed by the historians of his time than the

impious, dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsical achievements which

make up the sum total of his private life and reputation.

Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the world

three thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a few

minutes, imagine ourselves at that most grotesque habitation of man,

the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in Syria and

other countries, sixteen cities of that appellation, besides the one

to which I more particularly allude. But ours is that which went by

the name of Antiochia Epidaphne, from its vicinity to the little

village of Daphne, where stood a temple to that divinity. It was

built (although about this matter there is some dispute) by Seleucus

Nicanor, the first king of the country after Alexander the Great, in

memory of his father Antiochus, and became immediately the residence

of the Syrian monarchy. In the flourishing times of the Roman Empire,

it was the ordinary station of the prefect of the eastern provinces;

and many of the emperors of the queen city (among whom may be

mentioned, especially, Verus and Valens) spent here the greater part

of their time. But I perceive we have arrived at the city itself. Let

us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes upon the town and

neighboring country.

"What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way, with

innumerable falls, through the mountainous wilderness, and finally

through the wilderness of buildings?"

That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the

exception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad mirror,

about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has seen the

Mediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who have had a peep

at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and me, have had, at

the same time, the advantages of a modern education. Therefore cease

to regard that sea, and give your whole attention to the mass of

houses that lie beneath us. You will remember that it is now the year

of the world three thousand eight hundred and thirty. Were it later

-- for example, were it the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and

forty-five, we should be deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In

the nineteenth century Antioch is -- that is to say, Antioch will be

-- in a lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time,

totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three successive

earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of its former self

may then remain, will be found in so desolate and ruinous a state

that the patriarch shall have removed his residence to Damascus. This

is well. I see you profit by my advice, and are making the most of

your time in inspecting the premises -- in

-satisfying your eyes

With the memorials and the things of fame

That most renown this city.-

I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish for

seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the

appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?

"It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to

nature as to art."

Very true.

"There are a prodigious number of stately palaces."

There are.

"And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear

comparison with the most lauded of antiquity."

All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud huts,

and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance of filth

in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering fumes of

idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a most intolerable

stench. Did you ever behold streets so insufferably narrow, or houses

so miraculously tall? What gloom their shadows cast upon the ground!

It is well the swinging lamps in those endless colonnades are kept

burning throughout the day; we should otherwise have the darkness of

Egypt in the time of her desolation.

"It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder

singular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to the

eastward of what I take to be the royal palace."

That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under the

title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman Emperor will

institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a cognomen,

Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peep at the

divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the heavens; his

Sunship is not there -- at least not the Sunship adored by the

Syrians. That deity will be found in the interior of yonder building.

He is worshipped under the figure of a large stone pillar terminating

at the summit in a cone or pyramid, whereby is denoted Fire.

"Hark -- behold! -- who can those ridiculous beings be, half naked,

with their faces painted, shouting and gesticulating to the rabble?"

Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the race

of philosophers. The greatest portion, however -- those especially

who belabor the populace with clubs -- are the principal courtiers of

the palace, executing as in duty bound, some laudable comicality of

the king's.

"But what have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming with wild

beasts! How terrible a spectacle! -- how dangerous a peculiarity!"

Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous. Each

animal if you will take the pains to observe, is following, very

quietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure, are led

with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the lesser or timid

species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are entirely without

restraint. They have been trained without difficulty to their present

profession, and attend upon their respective owners in the capacity

of valets-de-chambre. It is true, there are occasions when Nature

asserts her violated dominions; -- but then the devouring of a

man-at-arms, or the throttling of a consecrated bull, is a

circumstance of too little moment to be more than hinted at in

Epidaphne.

"But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud noise

even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual interest."

Yes -- undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle -- some

gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome -- or perhaps the massacre

of the Scythian prisoners -- or the conflagration of his new palace

-- or the tearing down of a handsome temple -- or, indeed, a bonfire

of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter ascend the

skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind instruments, and horrible

with clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, for the love of

fun, and see what is going on! This way -- be careful! Here we are in

the principal street, which is called the street of Timarchus. The

sea of people is coming this way, and we shall find a difficulty in

stemming the tide. They are pouring through the alley of Heraclides,

which leads directly from the palace; -- therefore the king is most

probably among the rioters. Yes; -- I hear the shouts of the herald

proclaiming his approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We

shall have a glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of

Ashimah. Let us ensconce ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary;

he will be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What

is it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah in proper person. You perceive,

however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr, neither

has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet all these

appearances have been given -- I beg pardon -- will be given -- by

the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the Syrians. Put on

your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is it?

"Bless me! it is an ape!"

True -- a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is a

derivation of the Greek Simia -- what great fools are antiquarians!

But see! -- see! -- yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is

he going? What is he bawling about? What does he say? Oh! he says the

king is coming in triumph; that he is dressed in state; that he has

just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a thousand chained

Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the ragamuffin is lauding him

to the skies. Hark! here comes a troop of a similar description. They

have made a Latin hymn upon the valor of the king, and are singing it

as they go:

Mille, mille, mille,

Mille, mille, mille,

Decollavimus, unus homo!

Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!

Mille, mille, mille,

Vivat qui mille mille occidit!

Tantum vini habet nemo

Quantum sanguinis effudit!{*1}

Which may be thus paraphrased:

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

We, with one warrior, have slain!

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand.

Sing a thousand over again!

Soho! -- let us sing

Long life to our king,

Who knocked over a thousand so fine!

Soho! -- let us roar,

He has given us more

Red gallons of gore

Than all Syria can furnish of wine!

"Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"

Yes: the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with admiration,

and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence. He comes; -- he

is coming; -- there he is!

"Who? -- where? -- the king? -- do not behold him -- cannot say that

I perceive him."

Then you must be blind.

"Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of idiots

and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic

cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs.

See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabble over -- and

another -- and another -- and another. Indeed, I cannot help admiring

the animal for the excellent use he is making of his feet."

Rabble, indeed! -- why these are the noble and free citizens of

Epidaphne! Beasts, did you say? -- take care that you are not

overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of a

man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than Antiochus

Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and the most

potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true, that he is

entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes -- Antiochus the madman -- but

that is because all people have not the capacity to appreciate his

merits. It is also certain that he is at present ensconced in the

hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play the part of a

cameleopard; but this is done for the better sustaining his dignity

as king. Besides, the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the dress

is therefore neither unbecoming nor over large. We may, however,

presume he would not have adopted it but for some occasion of

especial state. Such, you will allow, is the massacre of a thousand

Jews. With how superior a dignity the monarch perambulates on all

fours! His tail, you perceive, is held aloft by his two principal

concubines, Elline and Argelais; and his whole appearance would be

infinitely prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his

eyes, which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color

of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of wine

he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome, whither he is

proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which he is commencing:

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Say -- do you know?

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Bravo! -- bravo!

There is none but Epiphanes,

No -- there is none:

So tear down the temples,

And put out the sun!

Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him 'Prince of

Poets,' as well as 'Glory of the East,' 'Delight of the Universe,'

and 'Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.' They have encored his

effusion, and do you hear? -- he is singing it over again. When he

arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with the poetic wreath,

in anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.

"But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?"

Behind us, did you say? -- oh! ah! -- I perceive. My friend, it is

well that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as

soon as possible. Here! -- let us conceal ourselves in the arch of

this aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the

commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The

singular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man, has, it

seems, given offence to the notions of propriety entertained, in

general, by the wild animals domesticated in the city. A mutiny has

been the result; and, as is usual upon such occasions, all human

efforts will be of no avail in quelling the mob. Several of the

Syrians have already been devoured; but the general voice of the

four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the cameleopard. 'The

Prince of Poets,' therefore, is upon his hinder legs, running for his

life. His courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubines

have followed so excellent an example. 'Delight of the Universe,'

thou art in a sad predicament! 'Glory of the East,' thou art in

danger of mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail;

it will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no

help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation; but

take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the hippodrome!

Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus the

Illustrious! -- also 'Prince of Poets,' 'Glory of the East,' 'Delight

of the Universe,' and 'Most Remarkable of Cameleopards!' Heavens!

what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity for

leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince! -- Bravo, Epiphanes! Well

done, Cameleopard! -- Glorious Antiochus! -- He runs! -- he leaps! --

he flies! Like an arrow from a catapult he approaches the hippodrome!

He leaps! -- he shrieks! -- he is there! This is well; for hadst

thou, 'Glory of the East,' been half a second longer in reaching the

gates of the Amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub in Epidaphne

that would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let us be off -- let

us take our departure! -- for we shall find our delicate modern ears

unable to endure the vast uproar which is about to commence in

celebration of the king's escape! Listen! it has already commenced.

See! -- the whole town is topsy-turvy.

"Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a wilderness

of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a multiplicity

of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes! what a Babel of

languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a tinkling of

instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!"

Come let us be off.

"Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is the

meaning of it, I beseech you?"

That? -- oh, nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne being,

as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, and

divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been eye-witnesses of

his late superhuman agility, do think it no more than their duty to

invest his brows (in addition to the poetic crown) with the wreath of

victory in the footrace -- a wreath which it is evident he must

obtain at the celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, therefore,

they now give him in advance.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

Footnotes  -- Four Beasts

{*1} Flavius Vospicus says, that the hymn here introduced was sung by

the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war, having

slain, with his own hand, nine hundred and fifty of the enemy.

==========

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid

himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond

_all_ conjecture.

--_Sir Thomas Browne._

The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in

themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them

only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they

are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source

of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical

ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into

action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which

_disentangles._ He derives pleasure from even the most trivial

occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of

conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a

degree of _acumen_ which appears to the ordinary apprehension

præternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and

essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.

The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by

mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it

which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations,

has been called, as if _par excellence_, analysis. Yet to calculate

is not in itself to analyse. A chess-player, for example, does the

one without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess,

in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am

not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar

narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore,

take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective

intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the

unostentatious game of draughts than by a the elaborate frivolity of

chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and _bizarre_

motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex is

mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is profound. The _attention_

is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an

oversight is committed resulting in injury or defeat. The possible

moves being not only manifold but involute, the chances of such

oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is the

more concentrative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In

draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are _unique_ and have but

little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished,

and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed, what

advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superior

_acumen_. To be less abstract - Let us suppose a game of draughts

where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no

oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can

be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some _recherché_

movement, the result of some strong exertion of the intellect.

Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the

spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not

unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometime

indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or

hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been noted for its influence upon what is termed the

calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellect have

been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it, while

eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a

similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best

chess-player in Christendom _may_ be little more than the best player

of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in

all those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind.

When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which

includes a comprehension of _all_ the sources whence legitimate

advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold but multiform,

and lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible

to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively is to remember

distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very

well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the

mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally

comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to proceed by

"the book," are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good

playing. But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rule that the

skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host of

observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the

difference in the extent of the information obtained, lies not so

much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the

observation. The necessary knowledge is that of _what_ to observe.

Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because the game is the

object, does he reject deductions from things external to the game.

He examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully

with that of each of his opponents. He considers the mode of

assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by trump, and

honor by honor, through the glances bestowed by their holders upon

each. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses,

gathering a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of

certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or of chagrin. From the manner of

gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make

another in the suit. He recognises what is played through feint, by

the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or

inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with

the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its

concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their

arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepidation -

all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of

the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been

played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and

thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of

purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of

their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded with ample ingenuity;

for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is

often remarkably incapable of analysis. The constructive or combining

power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the

phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ,

supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in

those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have

attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between

ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far

greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but

of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact,

that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the _truly_ imaginative

never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the

light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18--, I

there became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young

gentleman was of an excellent - indeed of an illustrious family, but,

by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty

that the energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased

to bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his

fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his

possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the income

arising from this, he managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to

procure the necessaries of life, without troubling himself about its

superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris

these are easily obtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre,

where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare

and very remarkable volume, brought us into closer communion. We saw

each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little

family history which he detailed to me with all that candor which a

Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is his theme. I was astonished,

too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my

soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness

of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I

felt that the societyof such a man would be to me a treasure beyond

price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length

arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; and

as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his

own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing

in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common

temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through

superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its

fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we

should have been regarded as madmen - although, perhaps, as madmen of

a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no

visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement had been carefully

kept a secret from my own former associates; and it had been many

years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed

within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?)

to be enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this

_bizarrerie_, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself

up to his wild whims with a perfect _abandon_. The sable divinity

would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her

presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the messy

shutters of our old building; lighting a couple of tapers which,

strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of

rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams -

reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the

advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets

arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide

until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the

populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet

observation can afford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (although from

his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar

analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight

in its exercise - if not exactly in its display - and did not

hesitate to confess the pleasure thus derived. He boastedto me, with

a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore

windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by

direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own.

His manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were

vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose

into a treble which would have sounded petulantly but for the

deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing

him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old

philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a

double Dupin - the creative and the resolvent.

Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I am

detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What I have described

in the Frenchman, was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of

a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at the

periods in question an example will best convey the idea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street in the vicinity

of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently, occupied with thought,

neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All

at once Dupin broke forth with these words:

"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would do better for the

_Théâtre des Variétés_."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied unwittingly, and not at

first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the

extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with my

meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my

astonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension. I do not

hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses.

How was it possible you should know I was thinking of ----- ?" Here I

paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I

thought.

-- "of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarking to

yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections.

Chantilly was a _quondam_ cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming

stage-mad, had attempted the _rôle_ of Xerxes, in Crébillon's tragedy

so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the method - if method

there is - by which you have been enabled to fathom my soul in this

matter." In fact I was even more startled than I would have been

willing to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who brought you to the

conclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height for

Xerxes _et id genus omne_."

"The fruiterer! - you astonish me - I know no fruiterer whomsoever."

"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street - it may

have been fifteen minutes ago."

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a

large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we

passed from the Rue C ---- into the thoroughfare where we stood; but

what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.

There was not a particle of _charlâtanerie_ about Dupin. "I will

explain," he said, "and that you may comprehend all clearly, we will

first retrace the course of your meditations, from the moment in

which I spoke to you until that of the _rencontre_ with the fruiterer

in question. The larger links of the chain run thus - Chantilly,

Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the

fruiterer."

There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives,

amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular

conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is

often full of interest and he who attempts it for the first time is

astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence

between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been

my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just

spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken

the truth. He continued:

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

leaving the Rue C ---- . This was the last subject we discussed. As

we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon

his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving

stones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing repair.

You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly

strained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words,

turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not

particularly attentive to what you did; but observation has become

with me, of late, a species of necessity.

"You kept your eyes upon the ground - glancing, with a petulant

expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement, (so that I saw you

were still thinking of the stones,) until we reached the little alley

called Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, with

the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenance brightened

up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you

murmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied to

this species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself

'stereotomy' without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of

the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject

not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how

little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with

confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not

avoid casting your eyes upward to the great _nebula_ in Orion, and I

certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was

now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that

bitter _tirade_ upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday's

'_Musée_,' the satirist, making some disgraceful allusions to the

cobbler s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin

line about which we have often conversed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera sonum.

I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written

Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this explanation,

I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear,

therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion

and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by the character of

the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor

cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but

now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure

that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this

point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, be

was a very little fellow - that Chantilly - he would do better at the

_Théâtre des Variétés_."

Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the

"Gazette des Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs arrested our

attention.

"EXTRAORDINARY MURDERS. - This morning, about three o'clock, the

inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a

succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth

story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy

of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter Mademoiselle Camille

L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to

procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with

a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered accompanied by

two _gendarmes_. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party

rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in

angry contention were distinguished and seemed to proceed from the

upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these

sounds, also, had ceased and everything remained perfectly quiet. The

party spread themselves and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving

at a large back chamber in the fourth story, (the door of which,

being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open,) a

spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less

with horror than with astonishment.

"The apartment was in the wildest disorder - the furniture broken and

thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from

this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the

floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth

were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also

dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots.

Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three

large silver spoons, three smaller of_ métal d'Alger_, and two bags,

containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a

_bureau_, which stood in one corner were open, and had been,

apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A

small iron safe was discovered under the _bed_ (not under the

bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no

contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little

consequence.

"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual

quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made

in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the; corpse of the

daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus

forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body

was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived,

no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up

and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon

the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as

if the deceased had been throttled to death.

"After a thorough investigation of every portion of the house,

without farther discovery, the party made its way into a small paved

yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old

lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise

her, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully

mutilated - the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance

of humanity.

"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the

slightest clew."

The next day's paper had these additional particulars.

"_The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue._ Many individuals have been examined

in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful affair. [The

word 'affaire' has not yet, in France, that levity of import which it

conveys with us,] "but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light

upon it. We give below all the material testimony elicited.

"_Pauline Dubourg_, laundress, deposes that she has known both the

deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period.

The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms - very

affectionate towards each other. They were excellent pay. Could not

speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed that

Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put

by. Never met any persons in the house when she called for the

clothes or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in

employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building

except in the fourth story.

"_Pierre Moreau_, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit

of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye

for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, and has always

resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house

in which the corpses were found, for more than six years. It was

formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to

various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became

dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved

into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was

childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during

the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life - were

reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that

Madame L. told fortunes - did not believe it. Had never seen any

person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter

once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.

"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No

one was spoken of as frequenting the house. It was not known whether

there were any living connexions of Madame L. and her daughter. The

shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear

were always closed, with the exception of the large back room, fourth

story. The house was a good house - not very old.

"_Isidore Muset_, _gendarme_, deposes that he was called to the house

about three o'clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty

persons at the gateway, endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it

open, at length, with a bayonet - not with a crowbar. Had but little

difficulty in getting it open, on account of its being a double or

folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom not top. The shrieks were

continued until the gate was forced - and then suddenly ceased. They

seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony -

were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way up

stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and

angry contention - the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller - a

very strange voice. Could distinguish some words of the former, which

was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was not a woman's

voice. Could distinguish the words '_sacré_' and '_diable._' The

shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it

was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was

said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room

and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them

yesterday.

"_Henri Duval_, a neighbor, and by trade a silver-smith, deposes that

he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates the

testimony of Musèt in general. As soon as they forced an entrance,

they reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd, which collected very

fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice,

this witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not

French. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might have

been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the Italian language. Could

not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the intonation that

the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had

conversed with both frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was

not that of either of the deceased.

"-- _Odenheimer, restaurateur._ This witness volunteered his

testimony. Not speaking French, was examined through an interpreter.

Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time of the

shrieks. They lasted for several minutes - probably ten. They were

long and loud - very awful and distressing. Was one of those who

entered the building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every

respect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man -

of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were

loud and quick - unequal - spoken apparently in fear as well as in

anger. The voice was harsh - not so much shrill as harsh. Could not

call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly '_sacré_,'

'_diable_,' and once '_mon Dieu._'

"_Jules Mignaud_, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue

Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye had some property.

Had opened an account with his banking house in the spring of the

year - (eight years previously). Made frequent deposits in small

sums. Had checked for nothing until the third day before her death,

when she took out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum was paid

in gold, and a clerk went home with the money.

"_Adolphe Le Bon_, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that on the day

in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her

residence with the 4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door

being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took from his hands one of

the bags, while the old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed

and departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time. It is

a bye-street - very lonely.

"_William Bird_, tailor deposes that he was one of the party who

entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived in Paris two years.

Was one of the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in

contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could make out

several words, but cannot now remember all. Heard distinctly

'_sacré_' and '_mon Dieu._' There was a sound at the moment as if of

several persons struggling - a scraping and scuffling sound. The

shrill voice was very loud - louder than the gruff one. Is sure that

it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a

German. Might have been a woman's voice. Does not understand German.

"Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, deposed that the

door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L.

was locked on the inside when the party reached it. Every thing was

perfectly silent - no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the

door no person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front

room, were down and firmly fastened from within. A door between the

two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the front

room into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small

room in the front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of

the passage was open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded with

old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed and

searched. There was not an inch of any portion of the house which was

not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys.

The house was a four story one, with garrets (_mansardes._) A

trap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely - did not appear

to have been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing

of the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room door,

was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as short as three

minutes - some as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.

"_Alfonzo Garcio_, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the Rue

Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party who entered the

house. Did not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive of

the consequences of agitation. Heard the voices in contention. The

gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was

said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman - is sure of this.

Does not understand the English language, but judges by the

intonation.

"_Alberto Montani_, confectioner, deposes that he was among the first

to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice

was that of a Frenchman. Distinguished several words. The speaker

appeared to be expostulating. Could not make out the words of the

shrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a

Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never

conversed with a native of Russia.

"Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all

the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow to admit the passage of

a human being. By 'sweeps' were meant cylindrical sweeping brushes,

such as are employed by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were

passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no back passage

by which any one could have descended while the party proceeded up

stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in

the chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the

party united their strength.

"_Paul Dumas_, physician, deposes that he was called to view the

bodies about day-break. They were both then lying on the sacking of

the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The

corpse of the young lady was much bruised and excoriated. The fact

that it had been thrust up the chimney would sufficiently account for

these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several

deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid

spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The face was

fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. The tongue had

been partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the

pit of the stomach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee.

In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been

throttled to death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of

the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and

arm were more or less shattered. The left _tibia_ much splintered, as

well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised

and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been

inflicted. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron - a chair -

any large, heavy, and obtuse weapon would have produced such results,

if wielded by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have

inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when

seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also

greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with some very

sharp instrument - probably with a razor.

"_Alexandre Etienne_, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the

bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.

"Nothing farther of importance was elicited, although several other

persons were examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in

all its particulars, was never before committed in Paris - if indeed

a murder has been committed at all. The police are entirely at fault

- an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not,

however, the shadow of a clew apparent."

The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement

still continued in the Quartier St. Roch - that the premises in

question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examinations of

witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, however,

mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned -

although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts already

detailed.

Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair --

at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was

only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he

asked me my opinion respecting the murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them an insoluble

mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to trace the

murderer.

"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this shell of an

examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled for _acumen_, are

cunning, but no more. There is no method in their proceedings, beyond

the method of the moment. They make a vast parade of measures; but,

not unfrequently, these are so ill adapted to the objects proposed,

as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his

_robe-de-chambre - pour mieux entendre la musique._ The results

attained by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most

part, are brought about by simple diligence and activity. When these

qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for example,

was a good guesser and a persevering man. But, without educated

thought, he erred continually by the very intensity of his

investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the object too

close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual

clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter

as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as being too profound. Truth

is not always in a well. In fact, as regards the more important

knowledge, I do believe that she is invariably superficial. The depth

lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops

where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error are

well typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at

a star by glances - to view it in a side-long way, by turning toward

it the exterior portions of the _retina_ (more susceptible of feeble

impressions of light than the interior), is to behold the star

distinctly - is to have the best appreciation of its lustre - a

lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our vision

_fully_ upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye

in the latter case, but, in the former, there is the more refined

capacity for comprehension. By undue profundity we perplex and

enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself

vanish from the firmanent by a scrutiny too sustained, too

concentrated, or too direct.

"As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations for

ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry

will afford us amusement," [I thought this an odd term, so applied,

but said nothing] "and, besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service

for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with

our own eyes. I know G----, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no

difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission."

The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue

Morgue. This is one of those miserable thoroughfares which intervene

between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was late in the

afternoon when we reached it; as this quarter is at a great distance

from that in which we resided. The house was readily found; for there

were still many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an

objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an

ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a

glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in the window, indicating a

_loge de concierge._ Before going in we walked up the street, turned

down an alley, and then, again turning, passed in the rear of the

building - Dupin, meanwhile examining the whole neighborhood, as well

as the house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see no

possible object.

Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling,

rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted by the agents

in charge. We went up stairs - into the chamber where the body of

Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been found, and where both the deceased

still lay. The disorders of the room had, as usual, been suffered to

exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette des

Tribunaux." Dupin scrutinized every thing - not excepting the bodies

of the victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard;

a _gendarme_ accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied us

until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my companion

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

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and that _Je

les ménagais_: - for this phrase there is no English equivalent. It

was his humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the

murder, until about noon the next day. He then asked me, suddenly, if

I had observed any thing _peculiar_ at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word "peculiar,"

which caused me to shudder, without knowing why.

"No, nothing _peculiar_," I said; "nothing more, at least, than we

both saw stated in the paper."

"The 'Gazette,' " he replied, "has not entered, I fear, into the

unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinions of this

print. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble,

for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of

solution - I mean for the _outré_ character of its features. The

police are confounded by the seeming absence of motive - not for the

murder itself - but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled,

too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in

contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but

the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there were no

means of egress without the notice of the party ascending. The wild

disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up

the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady;

these considerations, with those just mentioned, and others which I

need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting

completely at fault the boasted _acumen_, of the government agents.

They have fallen into the gross but common error of confounding the

unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations from the

plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in its

search for the true. In investigations such as we are now pursuing,

it should not be so much asked 'what has occurred,' as 'what has

occurred that has never occurred before.' In fact, the facility with

which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this

mystery, is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the

eyes of the police."

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward the door of our

apartment - "I am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the

perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in some measure

implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of the crimes

committed, it is probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right

in this supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading

the entire riddle. I look for the man here - in this room - every

moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is

that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him.

Here are pistols; and we both know how to use them when occasion

demands their use."

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing what I

heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I have

already spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discourse

was addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud,

had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some

one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded

only the wall.

"That the voices heard in contention," he said, "by the party upon

the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully

proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the

question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter

and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly

for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would

have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's

corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds

upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction.

Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices

of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert

- not to the whole testimony respecting these voices - but to what

was _peculiar_ in that testimony. Did you observe any thing peculiar

about it?"

I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the

gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in

regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh

voice.

"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the

peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive.

Yet there _was_ something to be observed. The witnesses, as you

remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But

in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is - not that they

disagreed - but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a

Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke

of it as that _of a foreigner_. Each is sure that it was not the

voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it - not to the voice

of an individual of any nation with whose language he is conversant -

but the converse. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard,

and 'might have distinguished some words _had he been acquainted with

the Spanish._' The Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a

Frenchman; but we find it stated that '_not understanding French this

witness was examined through an interpreter._' The Englishman thinks

it the voice of a German, and '_does not understand German._' The

Spaniard 'is sure' that it was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by

the intonation' altogether, '_as he has no knowledge of the

English._' The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but '_has

never conversed with a native of Russia._' A second Frenchman

differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was

that of an Italian; but, _not being cognizant of that tongue_, is,

like the Spaniard, 'convinced by the intonation.' Now, how strangely

unusual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony

as this _could_ have been elicited! - in whose _tones_, even,

denizens of the five great divisions of Europe could recognise

nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of

an Asiatic - of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in

Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call

your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness

'harsh rather than shrill.' It is represented by two others to have

been 'quick and _unequal._' No words - no sounds resembling words -

were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so

far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that

legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony - the

portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices - are in themselves

sufficient to engender a suspicion which should give direction to all

farther progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said

'legitimate deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully expressed.

I designed to imply that the deductions are the _sole_ proper ones,

and that the suspicion arises _inevitably_ from them as the single

result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I

merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was

sufficiently forcible to give a definite form - a certain tendency -

to my inquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What

shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the

murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in

præternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not

destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and

escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of

reasoning upon the point, and that mode _must_ lead us to a definite

decision. - Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of

egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where

Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining,

when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two

apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the

floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every

direction. No _secret_ issues could have escaped their vigilance.

But, not trusting to _their_ eyes, I examined with my own. There

were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into

the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn

to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or

ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent,

the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means

already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows.

Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without

notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers _must_ have

passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this

conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part,

as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It

is only left for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities'

are, in reality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by

furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is

hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust

close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from

within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise

it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left,

and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head.

Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly

fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also.

The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in

these directions. And, _therefore_, it was thought a matter of

supererogation to withdraw the nails and open the windows.

"My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the

reason I have just given - because here it was, I knew, that all

apparent impossibilities _must_ be proved to be not such in reality.

"I proceeded to think thus - _à posteriori_. The murderers did escape

from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have

refastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened; -

the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the

scrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes _were_

fastened. They _must_, then, have the power of fastening themselves.

There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the

unobstructed casement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty and

attempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had

anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now know, exist; and this

corroboration of my idea convinced me that my premises at least, were

correct, however mysterious still appeared the circumstances

attending the nails. A careful search soon brought to light the

hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery,

forbore to upraise the sash.

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

passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the

spring would have caught - but the nail could not have been replaced.

The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my

investigations. The assassins _must_ have escaped through the other

window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same,

as was probable, there _must_ be found a difference between the

nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon

the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board minutely at

the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily

discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed,

identical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail.

It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same

manner - driven in nearly up to the head.

"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have

misunderstood the nature of the inductions. To use a sporting phrase,

I had not been once 'at fault.' The scent had never for an instant

been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced

the secret to its ultimate result, - and that result was _the nail._

It had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the

other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive us it

might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at

this point, terminated the clew. 'There _must_ be something wrong,' I

said, 'about the nail.' I touched it; and the head, with about a

quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of

the shank was in the gimlet-hole where it had been broken off. The

fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and

had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had

partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the head portion

of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head portion in the

indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect

nail was complete - the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I

gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head went up with it,

remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of

the whole nail was again perfect.

"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped

through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own

accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become

fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of this spring which

had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail, - farther

inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.

"The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I

had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About

five feet and a half from the casement in question there runs a

lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any

one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I

observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth story were of the

peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters _ferrades_ - a kind

rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old

mansions at Lyons and Bourdeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary

door, (a single, not a folding door) except that the lower half is

latticed or worked in open trellis - thus affording an excellent hold

for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three

feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house,

they were both about half open - that is to say, they stood off at

right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well

as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, in looking

at these _ferrades_ in the line of their breadth (as they must have

done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all

events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having

once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this

quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory examination.

It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the window

at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach

to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by

exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an

entrance into the window, from the rod, might have been thus

effected. - By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we

now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have

taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold

upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and

springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to

close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might even

have swung himself into the room.

"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a _very_

unusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardous

and so difficult a feat. It is my design to show you, first, that the

thing might possibly have been accomplished: - but, secondly and

_chiefly_, I wish to impress upon your understanding the _very

extraordinary_ - the almost præternatural character of that agility

which could have accomplished it.

"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that 'to make

out my case,' I should rather undervalue, than insist upon a full

estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the

practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate

object is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to

place in juxta-position, that _very unusual_ activity of which I have

just spoken with that _very peculiar_ shrill (or harsh) and _unequal_

voice, about whose nationality no two persons could be found to

agree, and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected."

At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of

Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of

comprehension without power to comprehend - men, at times, find

themselves upon the brink of remembrance without being able, in the

end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.

"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the question from the

mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the

idea that both were effected in the same manner, at the same point.

Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the

appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been

rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them.

The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess - a very silly one

- and no more. How are we to know that the articles found in the

drawers were not all these drawers had originally contained? Madame

L'Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life - saw

no company - seldom went out - had little use for numerous changes of

habiliment. Those found were at least of as good quality as any

likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why

did he not take the best - why did he not take all? In a word, why

did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber himself with

a bundle of linen? The gold _was _abandoned. Nearly the whole sum

mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags,

upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts

the blundering idea of _motive_, engendered in the brains of the

police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money

delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as

remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed

within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us

every hour of our lives, without attracting even momentary notice.

Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of

that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the

theory of probabilities - that theory to which the most glorious

objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of

illustration. In the present instance, had the gold been gone, the

fact of its delivery three days before would have formed something

more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative of this

idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we

are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine

the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have abandoned his gold

and his motive together.

"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your

attention - that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that

startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as

this - let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman

strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head

downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this.

Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of

thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was

something _excessively outré_ - something altogether irreconcilable

with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the

actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been

that strength which could have thrust the body _up_ such an aperture

so forcibly that the united vigor of several persons was found barely

sufficient to drag it _down!_

"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigor most

marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses - very thick tresses -

of grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are

aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even

twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as

well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with

fragments of the flesh of the scalp - sure token of the prodigious

power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of

hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but

the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere

razor. I wish you also to look at the _brutal_ ferocity of these

deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L'Espanaye I do not

speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor Monsieur Etienne,

have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument;

and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument

was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had

fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea,

however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same

reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them - because, by

the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically

sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened

at all.

"If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected

upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to

combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a

ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a _grotesquerie_ in

horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to

the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or

intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What

impression have I made upon your fancy?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. "A

madman," I said, "has done this deed - some raving maniac, escaped

from a neighboring _Maison de Santé._"

"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not irrelevant. But the

voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to

tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of

some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has

always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a

madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this

little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye.

Tell me what you can make of it."

"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most unusual -

this is no _human_ hair."

"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, before we decide

this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here

traced upon this paper. It is a _fac-simile_ drawing of what has been

described in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises, and deep

indentations of finger nails,' upon the throat of Mademoiselle

L'Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a

'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'

"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the paper

upon the table before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of a firm

and fixed hold. There is no _slipping_ apparent. Each finger has

retained - possibly until the death of the victim - the fearful grasp

by which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all

your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you

see them."

I made the attempt in vain.

"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial," he said. "The

paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat is

cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which is

about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the

experiment again."

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before.

"This," I said, "is the mark of no human hand."

"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from Cuvier."

It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the

large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic

stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and

the imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently well

known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.

"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of reading,

"is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no animal but

an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed

the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair,

too, is identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But

I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful

mystery. Besides, there were _two_ voices heard in contention, and

one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman."

"True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost

unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice, - the expression, '_mon

Dieu!_' This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized

by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an expression

of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I

have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A

Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible - indeed it is

far more than probable - that he was innocent of all participation in

the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have

escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under

the agitating circumstances which ensued, he could never have

re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses

- for I have no right to call them more - since the shades of

reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth

to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend

to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will

call them guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman

in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this

advertisement which I left last night, upon our return home, at the

office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and

much sought by sailors,) will bring him to our residence."

He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

CAUGHT - _In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the -

inst.,_ (the morning of the murder,) _a very large, tawny

Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained

to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal

again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges

arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. ---- , Rue ----,

Faubourg St. Germain - au troisiême._

"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should know the man to be a

sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?"

"I do _not_ know it," said Dupin. "I am not _sure_ of it. Here,

however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from

its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in

one of those long _queues_ of which sailors are so fond. Moreover,

this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar

to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the

lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased.

Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that

the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can

have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am

in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some

circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But

if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent

of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying

to the advertisement - about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will

reason thus: - 'I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of

great value - to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself - why

should I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is,

within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne - at a vast

distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be

suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police

are at fault - they have failed to procure the slightest clew. Should

they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me

cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of

that cognizance. Above all, _I am known._ The advertiser designates

me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his

knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great

value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the animal at

least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention

either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement,

get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown

over.' "

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.

"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them nor

show them until at a signal from myself."

The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter had

entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the

staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard

him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again

heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped

up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.

"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.

A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, - a tall, stout, and

muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of

countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly

sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and _mustachio._ He

had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise

unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French

accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still

sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.

"Sit down, my freind," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about

the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of

him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old

do you suppose him to be?"

The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some

intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:

"I have no way of telling - but he can't be more than four or five

years old. Have you got him here?"

"Oh no, we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a

livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the

morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?"

"To be sure I am, sir."

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

"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing,

sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a

reward for the finding of the animal - that is to say, any thing in

reason."

"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me

think! - what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be

this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these

murders in the Rue Morgue."

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just

as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key

in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it,

without the least flurry, upon the table.

The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with

suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the

next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with

the countenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him

from the bottom of my heart.

"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself

unnecessarily - you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I

pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we

intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of

the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny

that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what I have

already said, you must know that I have had means of information

about this matter - means of which you could never have dreamed. Now

the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have

avoided - nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable. You were

not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity.

You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On

the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess

all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that

crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure,

while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing

was all gone.

"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all

I know about this affair; - but I do not expect you to believe one

half I say - I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent,

and I will make a clean breast if I die for it."

What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage

to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at

Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure.

Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang- Outang. This

companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession.

After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his

captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it

safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward

himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it

carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound

in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate

design was to sell it.

Returning home from some sailors' frolic the night, or rather in the

morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room,

into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been,

as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered,

it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of

shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master

through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so

dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and

so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what

to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even

in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now

resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through

the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a

window, unfortunately open, into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand,

occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer,

until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off.

In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were

profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In

passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's

attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of

Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house.

Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning rod, clambered up

with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown

fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly

upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a

minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it

entered the room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had

strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely

escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod,

where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand,

there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house.

This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A

lightning rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor;

but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his

left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was

to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room.

At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of

horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night,

which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame

L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had

apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest

already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the

room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The

victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window;

and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the

screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The

flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to

the wind.

As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame

L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she had been combing

it,) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitation of

the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless;

she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during

which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the

probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath.

With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her

head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into

phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew

upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her

throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild

glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the

face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury

of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was

instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved

punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and

skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing

down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed

from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the

daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of

the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window

headlong.

As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the

sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering

down it, hurried at once home - dreading the consequences of the

butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about

the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the

staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright,

commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped

from the chamber, by the rod, just before the break of the door. It

must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was

subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very

large sum at the _Jardin des Plantes._ Le Don was instantly released,

upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from

Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary,

however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his

chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge

in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding his

own business.

"Let him talk," said Dupin,, who had not thought it necessary to

reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I am

satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless,

that he failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that

matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the

Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no

_stamen._ It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the

Goddess Laverna, -- or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a

codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially

for one master stroke of cant, by which he has attained his

reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has '_de nier ce qui est,

et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas._' " *

* Rousseau - Nouvelle Heloise.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

==========

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.{*1}

A SEQUEL TO "THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE."

Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklichkeit

parallel lauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen. Menschen und zufalle

modifieiren gewohulich die idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie

unvollkommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen

sind. So bei der Reformation; statt des Protestantismus kam das

Lutherthum hervor.

There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real

ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify

the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its

consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Reformation;

instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism.

- Novalis. {*2} Moral Ansichten.

THERE are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not

occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence

in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a

character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable

to receive them. Such sentiments - for the half-credences of which I

speak have never the full force of thought - such sentiments are

seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the doctrine of

chance, or, as it is technically termed, the Calculus of

Probabilities. Now this Calculus is, in its essence, purely

mathematical; and thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact

in science applied to the shadow and spirituality of the most

intangible in speculation.

The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to make public,

will be found to form, as regards sequence of time, the primary

branch of a series of scarcely intelligible coincidences, whose

secondary or concluding branch will be recognized by all readers in

the late murder of Mary Cecila Rogers, at New York.

When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," I

endeavored, about a year ago, to depict some very remarkable features

in the mental character of my friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin,

it did not occur to me that I should ever resume the subject. This

depicting of character constituted my design; and this design was

thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances brought to

instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced other examples,

but I should have proven no more. Late events, however, in their

surprising development, have startled me into some farther details,

which will carry with them the air of extorted confession. Hearing

what I have lately heard, it would be indeed strange should I remain

silent in regard to what I both heard and saw so long ago.

Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deaths of Madame

L'Espanaye and her daughter, the Chevalier dismissed the affair at

once from his attention, and relapsed into his old habits of moody

reverie. Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I readily fell in with

his humor; and, continuing to occupy our chambers in the Faubourg

Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered

tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into

dreams.

But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. It may readily be

supposed that the part played by my friend, in the drama at the Rue

Morgue, had not failed of its impression upon the fancies of the

Parisian police. With its emissaries, the name of Dupin had grown

into a household word. The simple character of those inductions by

which he had disentangled the mystery never having been explained

even to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself, of

course it is not surprising that the affair was regarded as little

less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier's analytical abilities

acquired for him the credit of intuition. His frankness would have

led him to disabuse every inquirer of such prejudice; but his

indolent humor forbade all farther agitation of a topic whose

interest to himself had long ceased. It thus happened that he found

himself the cynosure of the policial eyes; and the cases were not few

in which attempt was made to engage his services at the Prefecture.

One of the most remarkable instances was that of the murder of a

young girl named Marie Rogêt.

This event occurred about two years after the atrocity in the Rue

Morgue. Marie, whose Christian and family name will at once arrest

attention from their resemblance to those of the unfortunate "cigar-

girl," was the only daughter of the widow Estelle Rogêt. The father

had died during the child's infancy, and from the period of his

death, until within eighteen months before the assassination which

forms the subject of our narrative, the mother and daughter had dwelt

together in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée; {*3} Madame there keeping a

pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the latter had

attained her twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted the

notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of the shops in the basement

of the Palais Royal, and whose custom lay chiefly among the desperate

adventurers infesting that neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanc {*4} was

not unaware of the advantages to be derived from the attendance of

the fair Marie in his perfumery; and his liberal proposals were

accepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more of

hesitation by Madame.

The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized, and his rooms soon

became notorious through the charms of the sprightly grisette. She

had been in his employ about a year, when her admirers were thrown

info confusion by her sudden disappearance from the shop. Monsieur Le

Blanc was unable to account for her absence, and Madame Rogêt was

distracted with anxiety and terror. The public papers immediately

took up the theme, and the police were upon the point of making

serious investigations, when, one fine morning, after the lapse of a

week, Marie, in good health, but with a somewhat saddened air, made

her re-appearance at her usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry,

except that of a private character, was of course immediately hushed.

Monsieur Le Blanc professed total ignorance, as before. Marie, with

Madame, replied to all questions, that the last week had been spent

at the house of a relation in the country. Thus the affair died away,

and was generally forgotten; for the girl, ostensibly to relieve

herself from the impertinence of curiosity, soon bade a final adieu

to the perfumer, and sought the shelter of her mother's residence in

the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée.

It was about five months after this return home, that her friends

were alarmed by her sudden disappearance for the second time. Three

days elapsed, and nothing was heard of her. On the fourth her corpse

was found floating in the Seine, * near the shore which is opposite

the Quartier of the Rue Saint Andree, and at a point not very far

distant from the secluded neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule. {*6}

The atrocity of this murder, (for it was at once evident that murder

had been committed,) the youth and beauty of the victim, and, above

all, her previous notoriety, conspired to produce intense excitement

in the minds of the sensitive Parisians. I can call to mind no

similar occurrence producing so general and so intense an effect. For

several weeks, in the discussion of this one absorbing theme, even

the momentous political topics of the day were forgotten. The Prefect

made unusual exertions; and the powers of the whole Parisian police

were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.

Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not supposed that the

murderer would be able to elude, for more than a very brief period,

the inquisition which was immediately set on foot. It was not until

the expiration of a week that it was deemed necessary to offer a

reward; and even then this reward was limited to a thousand francs.

In the mean time the investigation proceeded with vigor, if not

always with judgment, and numerous individuals were examined to no

purpose; while, owing to the continual absence of all clue to the

mystery, the popular excitement greatly increased. At the end of the

tenth day it was thought advisable to double the sum originally

proposed; and, at length, the second week having elapsed without

leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice which always exists in

Paris against the Police having given vent to itself in several

serious émeutes, the Prefect took it upon himself to offer the sum of

twenty thousand francs "for the conviction of the assassin," or, if

more than one should prove to have been implicated, "for the

conviction of any one of the assassins." In the proclamation setting

forth this reward, a full pardon was promised to any accomplice who

should come forward in evidence against his fellow; and to the whole

was appended, wherever it appeared, the private placard of a

committee of citizens, offering ten thousand francs, in addition to

the amount proposed by the Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood

at no less than thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as an

extraordinary sum when we consider the humble condition of the girl,

and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocities as the

one described.

No one doubted now that the mystery of this murder would be

immediately brought to light. But although, in one or two instances,

arrests were made which promised elucidation, yet nothing was

elicited which could implicate the parties suspected; and they were

discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear, the third week from

the discovery of the body had passed, and passed without any light

being thrown upon the subject, before even a rumor of the events

which had so agitated the public mind, reached the ears of Dupin and

myself. Engaged in researches which absorbed our whole attention, it

had been nearly a month since either of us had gone abroad, or

received a visiter, or more than glanced at the leading political

articles in one of the daily papers. The first intelligence of the

murder was brought us by G ----, in person. He called upon us early

in the afternoon of the thirteenth of July, 18--, and remained with

us until late in the night. He had been piqued by the failure of all

his endeavors to ferret out the assassins. His reputation - so he

said with a peculiarly Parisian air - was at stake. Even his honor

was concerned. The eyes of the public were upon him; and there was

really no sacrifice which he would not be willing to make for the

development of the mystery. He concluded a somewhat droll speech with

a compliment upon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and

made him a direct, and certainly a liberal proposition, the precise

nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty to disclose, but

which has no bearing upon the proper subject of my narrative.

The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but the

proposition he accepted at once, although its advantages were

altogether provisional. This point being settled, the Prefect broke

forth at once into explanations of his own views, interspersing them

with long comments upon the evidence; of which latter we were not yet

in possession. He discoursed much, and beyond doubt, learnedly; while

I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsily away.

Dupin, sitting steadily in his accustomed arm-chair, was the

embodiment of respectful attention. He wore spectacles, during the

whole interview; and an occasional signal glance beneath their green

glasses, sufficed to convince me that he slept not the less soundly,

because silently, throughout the seven or eight leaden-footed hours

which immediately preceded the departure of the Prefect.

In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of all

the evidence elicited, and, at the various newspaper offices, a copy

of every paper in which, from first to last, had been published any

decisive information in regard to this sad affair. Freed from all

that was positively disproved, this mass of information stood thus:

Marie Rogêt left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavée St.

Andrée, about nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday June the

twenty-second, 18--. In going out, she gave notice to a Monsieur

Jacques St. Eustache, {*7} and to him only, of her intent intention

to spend the day with an aunt who resided in the Rue des Drômes. The

Rue des Drômes is a short and narrow but populous thoroughfare, not

far from the banks of the river, and at a distance of some two miles,

in the most direct course possible, from the pension of Madame Rogêt.

St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Marie, and lodged, as well as

took his meals, at the pension. He was to have gone for his betrothed

at dusk, and to have escorted her home. In the afternoon, however, it

came on to rain heavily; and, supposing that she would remain all

night at her aunt's, (as she had done under similar circumstances

before,) he did not think it necessary to keep his promise. As night

drew on, Madame Rogêt (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of

age,) was heard to express a fear "that she should never see Marie

again;" but this observation attracted little attention at the time.

On Monday, it was ascertained that the girl had not been to the Rue

des Drômes; and when the day elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy

search was instituted at several points in the city, and its

environs. It was not, however until the fourth day from the period of

disappearance that any thing satisfactory was ascertained respecting

her. On this day, (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June,) a Monsieur

Beauvais, {*8} who, with a friend, had been making inquiries for

Marie near the Barrière du Roule, on the shore of the Seine which is

opposite the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, was informed that a corpse had

just been towed ashore by some fishermen, who had found it floating

in the river. Upon seeing the body, Beauvais, after some hesitation,

identified it as that of the perfumery-girl. His friend recognized it

more promptly.

The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which issued from the

mouth. No foam was seen, as in the case of the merely drowned. There

was no discoloration in the cellular tissue. About the throat were

bruises and impressions of fingers. The arms were bent over on the

chest and were rigid. The right hand was clenched; the left partially

open. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations, apparently

the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one volution. A part

of the right wrist, also, was much chafed, as well as the back

throughout its extent, but more especially at the shoulder-blades. In

bringing the body to the shore the fishermen had attached to it a

rope; but none of the excoriations had been effected by this. The

flesh of the neck was much swollen. There were no cuts apparent, or

bruises which appeared the effect of blows. A piece of lace was found

tied so tightly around the neck as to be hidden from sight; it was

completely buried in the flesh, and was fasted by a knot which lay

just under the left ear. This alone would have sufficed to produce

death. The medical testimony spoke confidently of the virtuous

character of the deceased. She had been subjected, it said, to brutal

violence. The corpse was in such condition when found, that there

could have been no difficulty in its recognition by friends.

The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outer

garment, a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the

bottom hem to the waist, but not torn off. It was wound three times

around the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back. The

dress immediately beneath the frock was of fine muslin; and from this

a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely out - torn very

evenly and with great care. It was found around her neck, fitting

loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslin slip and the

slip of lace, the strings of a bonnet were attached; the bonnet being

appended. The knot by which the strings of the bonnet were fastened,

was not a lady's, but a slip or sailor's knot.

After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken to

the Morgue, (this formality being superfluous,) but hastily interred

not far front the spot at which it was brought ashore. Through the

exertions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously hushed up, as far

as possible; and several days had elapsed before any public emotion

resulted. A weekly paper, {*9} however, at length took up the theme;

the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination instituted; but

nothing was elicited beyond what has been already noted. The clothes,

however, were now submitted to the mother and friends of the

deceased, and fully identified as those worn by the girl upon leaving

home.

Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several individuals were

arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell especially under

suspicion; and he failed, at first, to give an intelligible account

of his whereabouts during the Sunday on which Marie left home.

Subsequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G----, affidavits,

accounting satisfactorily for every hour of the day in question. As

time passed and no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors

were circulated, and journalists busied themselves in suggestions.

Among these, the one which attracted the most notice, was the idea

that Marie Rogêt still lived - that the corpse found in the Seine was

that of some other unfortunate. It will be proper that I submit to

the reader some passages which embody the suggestion alluded to.

These passages are literal translations from L'Etoile, {*10} a paper

conducted, in general, with much ability.

"Mademoiselle Rogêt left her mother's house on Sunday morning, June

the twenty-second, 18--, with the ostensible purpose of going to see

her aunt, or some other connexion, in the Rue des Drômes. From that

hour, nobody is proved to have seen her. There is no trace or tidings

of her at all. . . . There has no person, whatever, come forward, so

far, who saw her at all, on that day, after she left her mother's

door. . . . Now, though we have no evidence that Marie Rogêt was in

the land of the living after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the

twenty-second, we have proof that, up to that hour, she was alive. On

Wednesday noon, at twelve, a female body was discovered afloat on the

shore of the Barrière de Roule. This was, even if we presume that

Marie Rogêt was thrown into the river within three hours after she

left her mother's house, only three days from the time she left her

home - three days to an hour. But it is folly to suppose that the

murder, if murder was committed on her body, could have been

consummated soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the

body into the river before midnight. Those who are guilty of such

horrid crimes, choose darkness rather the; light . . . . Thus we see

that if the body found in the river was that of Marie Rogêt, it could

only have been in the water two and a half days, or three at the

outside. All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies

thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require

from six to ten days for decomposition to take place to bring them to

the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a corpse, and

it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again,

if let alone. Now, we ask, what was there in this cave to cause a

departure from the ordinary course of nature? . . . If the body had

been kept in its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some

trace would be found on shore of the murderers. It is a doubtful

point, also, whether the body would be so soon afloat, even were it

thrown in after having been dead two days. And, furthermore, it is

exceedingly improbable that any villains who had committed such a

murder as is here supposed, would have throw the body in without

weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been

taken."

The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have been in the

water "not three days merely, but, at least, five times three days,"

because it was so far decomposed that Beauvais had great difficulty

in recognizing it. This latter point, however, was fully disproved. I

continue the translation:

"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he has no

doubt the body was that of Marie Rogêt? He ripped up the gown sleeve,

and says he found marks which satisfied him of the identity. The

public generally supposed those marks to have consisted of some

description of scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair upon it -

something as indefinite, we think, as can readily be imagined - as

little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais did

not return that night, but sent word to Madame Rogêt, at seven

o'clock, on Wednesday evening, that an investigation was still in

progress respecting her daughter. If we allow that Madame Rogêt, from

her age and grief, could not go over, (which is allowing a great

deal,) there certainly must have been some one who would have thought

it worth while to go over and attend the investigation, if they

thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went over. There was

nothing said or heard about the matter in the Rue Pavée St. Andrée,

that reached even the occupants of the same building. M. St.

Eustache, the lover and intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her

mother's house, deposes that he did not hear of the discovery of the

body of his intended until the next morning, when M. Beauvais came

into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of news like this,

it strikes us it was very coolly received."

In this way the journal endeavored to create the impression of an

apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie, inconsistent with the

supposition that these relatives believed the corpse to be hers. Its

insinuations amount to this: - that Marie, with the connivance of her

friends, had absented herself from the city for reasons involving a

charge against her chastity; and that these friends, upon the

discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the

girl, had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress press the

public with the belief of her death. But L'Etoile was again

over-hasty. It was distinctly proved that no apathy, such as was

imagined, existed; that the old lady was exceedingly feeble, and so

agitated as to be unable to attend to any duty, that St. Eustache, so

far from receiving the news coolly, was distracted with grief, and

bore himself so frantically, that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend

and relative to take charge of him, and prevent his attending the

examination at the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated by

L'Etoile, that the corpse was re-interred at the public expense -

that an advantageous offer of private sculpture was absolutely

declined by the family - and that no member of the family attended

the ceremonial: - although, I say, all this was asserted by L'Etoile

in furtherance of the impression it designed to convey - yet all this

was satisfactorily disproved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an

attempt was made to throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor

says:

"Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are told that on one

occasion, while a Madame B---- was at Madame Rogêt's house, M.

Beauvais, who was going out, told her that a gendarme was expected

there, and she, Madame B., must not say anything to the gendarme

until he returned, but let the matter be for him. . . . In the

present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the whole

matter looked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken without

M. Beauvais; for, go which way you will, you run against him. . . .

For some reason, he determined that nobody shall have any thing to do

with the proceedings but himself, and he has elbowed the male

relatives out of the way, according to their representations, in a

very singular manner. He seems to have been very much averse to

permitting the relatives to see the body."

By the following fact, some color was given to the suspicion thus

thrown upon Beauvais. A visiter at his office, a few days prior to

the girl's disappearance, and during the absence of its occupant, had

observed a rose in the key-hole of the door, and the name "Marie"

inscribed upon a slate which hung near at hand.

The general impression, so far as we were enabled to glean it from

the newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie had been the victim of a

gang of desperadoes - that by these she had been borne across the

river, maltreated and murdered. Le Commerciel, {*11} however, a print

of extensive influence, was earnest in combating this popular idea. I

quote a passage or two from its columns:

"We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a false scent, so

far as it has been directed to the Barrière du Roule. It is

impossible that a person so well known to thousands as this young

woman was, should have passed three blocks without some one having

seen her; and any one who saw her would have remembered it, for she

interested all who knew her. It was when the streets were full of

people, when she went out. . . . It is impossible that she could have

gone to the Barrière du Roule, or to the Rue des Drômes, without

being recognized by a dozen persons; yet no one has come forward who

saw her outside of her mother's door, and there is no evidence,

except the testimony concerning her expressed intentions, that she

did go out at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her, and tied; and

by that the body was carried as a bundle. If the murder had been

committed at the Barrière du Roule, there would have been no

necessity for any such arrangement. The fact that the body was found

floating near the Barrière, is no proof as to where it was thrown

into the water. . . . . A piece of one of the unfortunate girl's

petticoats, two feet long and one foot wide, was torn out and tied

under her chin around the back of her head, probably to prevent

screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchief."

A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, however, some

important information reached the police, which seemed to overthrow,

at least, the chief portion of Le Commerciel's argument. Two small

boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, while roaming among the woods near the

Barrière du Roule, chanced to penetrate a close thicket, within which

were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat, with a back

and footstool. On the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the

second a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief

were also here found. The handkerchief bore the name "Marie Rogêt."

Fragments of dress were discovered on the brambles around. The earth

was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of

a struggle. Between the thicket and the river, the fences were found

taken down, and the ground bore evidence of some heavy burthen having

been dragged along it.

A weekly paper, Le Soleil,{*12} had the following comments upon this

discovery -- comments which merely echoed the sentiment of the whole

Parisian press:

"The things had all evidently been there at least three or four

weeks; they were all mildewed down hard with the action of the rain

and stuck together from mildew. The grass had grown around and over

some of them. The silk on the parasol was strong, but the threads of

it were run together within. The upper part, where it had been

doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on its

being opened. . . . . The pieces of her frock torn out by the bushes

were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the

hem of the frock, and it had been mended; the other piece was part of

the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips torn off, and were on

the thorn bush, about a foot from the ground. . . . . There can be no

doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling outrage has been

discovered."

Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared. Madame Deluc

testified that she keeps a roadside inn not far from the bank of the

river, opposite the Barrière du Roule. The neighborhood is secluded

-- particularly so. It is the usual Sunday resort of blackguards from

the city, who cross the river in boats. About three o'clock, in the

afternoon of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at the inn,

accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. The two remained here

for some time. On their departure, they took the road to some thick

woods in the vicinity. Madame Deluc's attention was called to the

dress worn by the girl, on account of its resemblance to one worn by

a deceased relative. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after the

departure of the couple, a gang of miscreants made their appearance,

behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed

in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the inn about

dusk, and re-crossed the river as if in great haste.

It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that Madame Deluc, as

well as her eldest son, heard the screams of a female in the vicinity

of the inn. The screams were violent but brief. Madame D. recognized

not only the scarf which was found in the thicket, but the dress

which was discovered upon the corpse. An omnibus driver, Valence,

{*13} now also testified that he saw Marie Rogêt cross a ferry on the

Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a young man of dark

complexion. He, Valence, knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her

identity. The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by

the relatives of Marie.

The items of evidence and information thus collected by myself, from

the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin, embraced only one more

point -- but this was a point of seemingly vast consequence. It

appears that, immediately after the discovery of the clothes as above

described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless body of St. Eustache,

Marie's betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supposed

the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled "laudanum," and emptied,

was found near him. His breath gave evidence of the poison. He died

without speaking. Upon his person was found a letter, briefly stating

his love for Marie, with his design of self- destruction.

"I need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he finished the perusal of

my notes, "that this is a far more intricate case than that of the

Rue Morgue; from which it differs in one important respect. This is

an ordinary, although an atrocious instance of crime. There is

nothing peculiarly outré about it. You will observe that, for this

reason, the mystery has been considered easy, when, for this reason,

it should have been considered difficult, of solution. Thus; at

first, it was thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The myrmidons of

G--- were able at once to comprehend how and why such an atrocity

might have been committed. They could picture to their imaginations a

mode - many modes - and a motive - many motives; and because it was

not impossible that either of these numerous modes and motives could

have been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that one of

them must. But the case with which these variable fancies were

entertained, and the very plausibility which each assumed, should

have been understood as indicative rather of the difficulties than of

the facilities which must attend elucidation. I have before observed

that it is by prominences above the plane of the ordinary, that

reason feels her way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that

the proper question in cases such as this, is not so much 'what has

occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred before?' In

the investigations at the house of Madame L'Espanaye, {*14} the

agents of G---- were discouraged and confounded by that very

unusualness which, to a properly regulated intellect, would have

afforded the surest omen of success; while this same intellect might

have been plunged in despair at the ordinary character of all that

met the eye in the case of the perfumery-girl, and yet told of

nothing but easy triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.

"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter there was, even at

the beginning of our investigation, no doubt that murder had been

committed. The idea of suicide was excluded at once. Here, too, we

are freed, at the commencement, from all supposition of self- murder.

The body found at the Barrière du Roule, was found under such

circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassment upon this

important point. But it has been suggested that the corpse

discovered, is not that of the Marie Rogêt for the conviction of

whose assassin, or assassins, the reward is offered, and respecting

whom, solely, our agreement has been arranged with the Prefect. We

both know this gentleman well. It will not do to trust him too far.

If, dating our inquiries from the body found, and thence tracing a

murderer, we yet discover this body to be that of some other

individual than Marie; or, if starting from the living Marie, we find

her, yet find her unassassinated -- in either case we lose our labor;

since it is Monsieur G---- with whom we have to deal. For our own

purpose, therefore, if not for the purpose of justice, it is

indispensable that our first step should be the determination of the

identity of the corpse with the Marie Rogêt who is missing.

"With the public the arguments of L'Etoile have had weight; and that

the journal itself is convinced of their importance would appear from

the manner in which it commences one of its essays upon the subject -

'Several of the morning papers of the day,' it says, 'speak of the

_conclusive_ article in Monday's Etoile.' To me, this article appears

conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We should bear

in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather

to create a sensation -- to make a point - than to further the cause

of truth. The latter end is only pursued when it seems coincident

with the former. The print which merely falls in with ordinary

opinion (however well founded this opinion may be) earns for itself

no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard as profound

only him who suggests _pungent contradictions_ of the general idea.

In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram

which is the most immediately and the most universally appreciated.

In both, it is of the lowest order of merit.

"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrame

of the idea, that Marie Rogêt still lives, rather than any true

plausibility in this idea, which have suggested it to L'Etoile, and

secured it a favorable reception with the public. Let us examine the

heads of this journal's argument; endeavoring to avoid the

incoherence with which it is originally set forth.

"The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the

interval between Marie's disappearance and the finding of the

floating corpse, that this corpse cannot be that of Marie. The

reduction of this interval to its smallest possible dimension,

becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In the rash

pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption at the outset.

'It is folly to suppose,' he says, 'that the murder, if murder was

committed on her body, could have been consummated soon enough to

have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river before

midnight.' We demand at once, and very naturally, why? Why is it

folly to suppose that the murder was committed _within five minutes_

after the girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is it folly to

suppose that the murder was committed at any given period of the day?

There have been assassinations at all hours. But, had the murder

taken place at any moment between nine o'clock in the morning of

Sunday, and a quarter before midnight, there would still have been

time enough ''to throw the body into the river before midnight.' This

assumption, then, amounts precisely to this - that the murder was not

committed on Sunday at all - and, if we allow L'Etoile to assume

this, we may permit it any liberties whatever. The paragraph

beginning 'It is folly to suppose that the murder, etc.,' however it

appears as printed in L'Etoile, may be imagined to have existed

actually thus in the brain of its inditer - 'It is folly to suppose

that the murder, if murder was committed on the body, could have been

committed soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body

into the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to suppose all

this, and to suppose at the same time, (as we are resolved to

suppose,) that the body was not thrown in until after midnight' -- a

sentence sufficiently inconsequential in itself, but not so utterly

preposterous as the one printed.

"Were it my purpose," continued Dupin, "merely to _make out a case_

against this passage of L'Etoile's argument, I might safely leave it

where it is. It is not, however, with L'Etoile that we have to do,

but with the truth. The sentence in question has but one meaning, as

it stands; and this meaning I have fairly stated: but it is material

that we go behind the mere words, for an idea which these words have

obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the design of the

journalist to say that, at whatever period of the day or night of

Sunday this murder was committed, it was improbable that the

assassins would have ventured to bear the corpse to the river before

midnight. And herein lies, really, the assumption of which I

complain. It is assumed that the murder was committed at such a

position, and under such circumstances, that the bearing it to the

river became necessary. Now, the assassination might have taken place

upon the river's brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, the

throwing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to, at any

period of the day or night, as the most obvious and most immediate

mode of disposal. You will understand that I suggest nothing here as

probable, or as cöincident with my own opinion. My design, so far,

has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish merely to caution

you against the whole tone of L'Etoile's suggestion, by calling your

attention to its ex parte character at the outset.

"Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceived notions;

having assumed that, if this were the body of Marie, it could have

been in the water but a very brief time; the journal goes on to say:

'All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into

the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to

ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to

the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and

it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again

if let alone.'

"These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in Paris,

with the exception of Le Moniteur. {*15} This latter print endeavors

to combat that portion of the paragraph which has reference to

'drowned bodies' only, by citing some five or six instances in which

the bodies of individuals known to be drowned were found floating

after the lapse of less time than is insisted upon by L'Etoile. But

there is something excessively unphilosophical in the attempt on the

part of Le Moniteur, to rebut the general assertion of L'Etoile, by a

citation of particular instances militating against that assertion.

Had it been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of

bodies found floating at the end of two or three days, these fifty

examples could still have been properly regarded only as exceptions

to L'Etoile's rule, until such time as the rule itself should be

confuted. Admitting the rule, (and this Le Moniteur does not deny,

insisting merely upon its exceptions,) the argument of L'Etoile is

suffered to remain in full force; for this argument does not pretend

to involve more than a question of the probability of the body having

risen to the surface in less than three days; and this probability

will be in favor of L'Etoile's position until the instances so

childishly adduced shall be sufficient in number to establish an

antagonistical rule.

"You will see at once that all argument upon this head should be

urged, if at all, against the rule itself; and for this end we must

examine the rationale of the rule. Now the human body, in general, is

neither much lighter nor much heavier than the water of the Seine;

that is to say, the specific gravity of the human body, in its

natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water which it

displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones,

and of women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and

large-boned, and of men; and the specific gravity of the water of a

river is somewhat influenced by the presence of the tide from sea.

But, leaving this tide out of question, it may be said that very few

human bodies will sink at all, even in fresh water, of their own

accord. Almost any one, falling into a river, will be enabled to

float, if he suffer the specific gravity of the water fairly to be

adduced in comparison with his own - that is to say, if he suffer his

whole person to be immersed, with as little exception as possible.

The proper position for one who cannot swim, is the upright position

of the walker on land, with the head thrown fully back, and immersed;

the mouth and nostrils alone remaining above the surface. Thus

circumstanced, we shall find that we float without difficulty and

without exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of the

body, and of the bulk of water displaced, are very nicely balanced,

and that a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for

instance, uplifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support,

is an additional weight sufficient to immerse the whole head, while

the accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber will enable us to

elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in the struggles of one

unused to swimming, the arms are invariably thrown upwards, while an

attempt is made to keep the head in its usual perpendicular position.

The result is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the

inception, during efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, of

water into the lungs. Much is also received into the stomach, and the

whole body becomes heavier by the difference between the weight of

the air originally distending these cavities, and that of the fluid

which now fills them. This difference is sufficient to cause the body

to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the cases of

individuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or

fatty matter. Such individuals float even after drowning.

"The corpse, being. supposed at the bottom of the river, will there

remain until, by some means, its specific gravity again becomes less

than that of the bulk of water which it displaces. This effect is

brought about by decomposition, or otherwise. The result of

decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the cellular

tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffedappearance which

is to horrible. When this distension has so far progressed that the

bulk of the corpse is materially increased with. out a corresponding

increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than

that of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearance at

the surface. But decomposition is modified by innumerable

circumstances - is hastened or retarded by innumerable agencies; for

example, by the heat or cold of the season, by the mineral

impregnation or purity of the water, by its depth or shallowness, by

its currency or stagnation, by the temperament of the body, by its

infection or freedom from disease before death. Thus it is evident

that we can assign no period, with any thing like accuracy, at which

the corpse shall rise through decomposition. Under certain conditions

this result would be brought about within an hour; under others, it

might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by which

the animal frame can be preserved foreverfrom corruption; the

Bi-chloride of Mercury is one. But, apart from decomposition, there

may be, and very usually is, a generation of gas within the stomach,

from the acetous fermentation of vegetable matter (or within other

cavities from other causes) sufficient to induce a distension which

will bring the body to the surface. The effect produced by the firing

of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may either loosen the

corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is imbedded, thus

permitting it to rise when other agencies have already prepared it

for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacity of some putrescent

portions of the cellular tissue; allowing the cavities to distend

under the influence of the gas.

"Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject, we can

easily test by it the assertions of L'Etoile. 'All experience shows,'

says this paper, 'that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the

water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten

days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the

top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it

rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if

let alone.'

"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of

inconsequence and incoherence. All experience does not show that

'drowned bodies' require from six to ten days for sufficient

decomposition to take place to bring them to the surface. Both

science and experience show that the period of their rising is, and

necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen to

the surface through firing of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let

alone,' until decomposition has so far progressed as to permit the

escape of the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention to the

distinction which is made between 'drowned bodies,' and 'bodies

thrown into the water immediately after death by violence.' Although

the writer admits the distinction, he yet includes them all in the

same category. I have shown how it is that the body of a drowning man

becomes specifically heavier than its bulk of water, and that he

would not sink at all, except for the struggles by which he elevates

his arms above the surface, and his gasps for breath while beneath

the surface - gasps which supply by water the place of the original

air in the lungs. But these struggles and these gasps would not occur

in the body 'thrown into the water immediately after death by

violence.' Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rule,

would not sink at all - a fact of which L'Etoile is evidently

ignorant. When decomposition had proceeded to a very great extent -

when the flesh had in a great measure left the bones - then, indeed,

but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.

"And now what are we to make of the argument, that the body found

could not be that of Marie Rogêt, because, three days only having

elapsed, this body was found floating? If drowned, being a woman, she

might never have sunk; or having sunk, might have reappeared in

twenty-four hours, or less. But no one supposes her to have been

drowned; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she might

have been found floating at any period afterwards whatever.

" 'But,' says L'Etoile, 'if the body had been kept in its mangled

state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on

shore of the murderers.' Here it is at first difficult to perceive

the intention of the reasoner. He means to anticipate what he

imagines would be an objection to his theory - viz: that the body was

kept on shore two days, suffering rapid decomposition - morerapid

than if immersed in water. He supposes that, had this been the case,

it might have appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks

that only under such circumstances it could so have appeared. He is

accordingly in haste to show that it was not kept on shore; for, if

so, 'some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.' I presume

you smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how the mere

duration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply traces

of the assassins. Nor can I.

" 'And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,' continues our

journal, 'that any villains who had committed such a murder as is

here supposed, would have thrown the body in without weight to sink

it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken.' Observe,

here, the laughable confusion of thought! No one - not even L'Etoile

- disputes the murder committed _on the body found_. The marks of

violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to show

that this body is not Marie's. He wishes to prove that Marie is not

assassinated - not that the corpse was not. Yet his observation

proves only the latter point. Here is a corpse without weight

attached. Murderers, casting it in, would not have failed to attach a

weight. Therefore it was not thrown in by murderers. This is all

which is proved, if any thing is. The question of identity is not

even approached, and L'Etoile has been at great pains merely to

gainsay now what it has admitted only a moment before. 'We are

perfectly convinced,' it says, 'that the body found was that of a

murdered female.'

"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his subject,

where our reasoner unwittingly reasons against himself. His evident

object, I have already said, is to reduce, us much as possible, the

interval between Marie's disappearance and the finding of the corpse.

Yet we find him urging the point that no person saw the girl from the

moment of her leaving her mother's house. 'We have no evidence,' he

says, 'that Marie Rogêt was in the land of the living after nine

o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.' As his argument is

obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, have left this matter

out of sight; for had any one been known to see Marie, say on Monday,

or on Tuesday, the interval in question would have been much reduced,

and, by his own ratiocination, the probability much diminished of the

corpse being that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to

observe that L'Etoile insists upon its point in the full belief of

its furthering its general argument.

"Reperuse now that portion of this argument which has reference to

the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In regard to the hair

upon the arm, L'Etoile has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beauvais,

not being an idiot, could never have urged, in identification of the

corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is without hair. The

generality of the expression of L'Etoile is a mere perversion of the

witness' phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity in this

hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, of quantity, of

length, or of situation.

" 'Her foot,' says the journal, 'was small - so are thousands of

feet. Her garter is no proof whatever - nor is her shoe - for shoes

and garters are sold in packages. The same may be said of the flowers

in her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly insists is,

that the clasp on the garter found, had been set back to take it in.

This amounts to nothing; for most women find it proper to take a pair

of garters home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to

encircle, rather than to try them in the store where they purchase.'

Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest. Had M.

Beauvais, in his search for the body of Marie, discovered a corpse

corresponding in general size and appearance to the missing girl, he

would have been warranted (without reference to the question of

habiliment at all) in forming an opinion that his search had been

successful. If, in addition to the point of general size and contour,

he had found upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had

observed upon the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly

strengthened; and the increase of positiveness might well have been

in the ratio of the peculiarity, or unusualness, of the hairy mark.

If, the feet of Marie being small, those of the corpse were also

small, the increase of probability that the body was that of Marie

would not be an increase in a ratio merely arithmetical, but in one

highly geometrical, or accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as

she had been known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and,

although these shoes may be 'sold in packages,' you so far augment

the probability as to verge upon the certain. What, of itself, would

be no evidence of identity, becomes through its corroborative

position, proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat

corresponding to those worn by the missing girl, and we seek for

nothing farther. If only one flower, we seek for nothing farther -

what then if two or three, or more? Each successive one is multiple

evidence - proof not _added_ to proof, but multiplied by hundreds or

thousands. Let us now discover, upon the deceased, garters such as

the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed. But these garters

are found to be tightened, by the setting back of a clasp, in just

such a manner as her own had been tightened by Marie, shortly

previous to her leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to

doubt. What L'Etoile says in respect to this abbreviation of the

garter's being an usual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own

pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter is

self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What is

made to adjust itself, must of necessity require foreign adjustment

but rarely. It must have been by an accident, in its strictest sense,

that these garters of Marie needed the tightening described. They

alone would have amply established her identity. But it is not that

the corpse was found to have the garters of the missing girl, or

found to have her shoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet,

or her feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size and

appearance - it is that the corpse had each, and _all collectively_.

Could it be proved that the editor of L'Etoile _really_ entertained a

doubt, under the circumstances, there would be no need, in his case,

of a commission de lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious

to echo the small talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part,

content themselves with echoing the rectangular precepts of the

courts. I would here observe that very much of what is rejected as

evidence by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For

the court, guiding itself by the general principles of evidence - the

recognized and _booked_ principles - is averse from swerving at

particular instances. And this steadfast adherence to principle, with

rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception, is a sure mode of

attaining the maximum of attainable truth, in any long sequence of

time. The practice, in mass, is therefore philosophical; but it is

not the less certain that it engenders vast individual error. {*16}

"In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will be

willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomed the

true character of this good gentleman. He is a busy-body, with much

of romance and little of wit. Any one so constituted will readily so

conduct himself, upon occasion of real excitement, as to render

himself liable to suspicion on the part of the over acute, or the

ill- disposed. M. Beauvais (as it appears from your notes) had some

personal interviews with the editor of L'Etoile, and offended him by

venturing an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the theory of

the editor, was, in sober fact, that of Marie. 'He persists,' says

the paper, 'in asserting the corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot

give a circumstance, in addition to those which we have commented

upon, to make others believe.' Now, without re-adverting to the fact

that stronger evidence 'to make others believe,' could never have

been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very well be

understood to believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to

advance a single reason for the belief of a second party. Nothing is

more vague than impressions of individual identity. Each man

recognizes his neighbor, yet there are few instances in which any one

is prepared to give a reason for his recognition. The editor of

L'Etoile had no right to be offended at M. Beauvais' unreasoning

belief.

"The suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found to

tally much better with my hypothesis of romantic busy-bodyism, than

with the reasoner's suggestion of guilt. Once adopting the more

charitable interpretation, we shall find no difficulty in

comprehending the rose in the key-hole; the 'Marie' upon the slate;

the 'elbowing the male relatives out of the way;' the 'aversion to

permitting them to see the body;' the caution given to Madame B----,

that she must hold no conversation with the gendarmeuntil his return

(Beauvais'); and, lastly, his apparent determination 'that nobody

should have anything to do with the proceedings except himself.' It

seems to me unquestionable that Beauvais was a suitor of Marie's;

that she coquetted with him; and that he was ambitious of being

thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say

nothing more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the

assertion of L'Etoile, touching the matter of apathy on the part of

the mother and other relatives - an apathy inconsistent with the

supposition of their believing the corpse to be that of the

perfumery- girl - we shall now proceed as if the question of identity

were settled to our perfect satisfaction."

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

Commerciel?"

"That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of attention than any

which have been promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from the

premises are philosophical and acute; but the premises, in two

instances, at least, are founded in imperfect observation. Le

Commerciel wishes to intimate that Marie was seized by some gang of

low ruffians not far from her mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it

urges, 'that a person so well known to thousands as this young woman

was, should have passed three blocks without some one having seen

her.' This is the idea of a man long resident in Paris - a public man

- and one whose walks to and fro in the city, have been mostly

limited to the vicinity of the public offices. He is aware that he

seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau, without

being recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent of his

personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him, he

compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery-girl, finds no

great difference between them, and reaches at once the conclusion

that she, in her walks, would be equally liable to recognition with

himself in his. This could only be the case were her walks of the

same unvarying, methodical character, and within the same species of

limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular

intervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals who

are led to observation of his person through interest in the kindred

nature of his occupation with their own. But the walks of Marie may,

in general, be supposed discursive. In this particular instance, it

will be understood as most probable, that she proceeded upon a route

of more than average diversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel

which we imagine to have existed in the mind of Le Commerciel would

only be sustained in the event of the two individuals' traversing the

whole city. In this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be

equal, the chances would be also equal that an equal number of

personal rencounters would be made. For my own part, I should hold it

not only as possible, but as very far more than probable, that Marie

might have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many

routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without

meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known.

In viewing this question in its full and proper light, we must hold

steadily in mind the great disproportion between the personal

acquaintances of even the most noted individual in Paris, and the

entire population of Paris itself.

"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of

Le Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take into

consideration the hour at which the girl went abroad. 'It was when

the streets were full of people,' says Le Commerciel, 'that she went

out.' But not so. It was at nine o'clock in the morning. Now at nine

o'clock of every morning in the week, _with the exception of Sunday_,

the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. At

nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors _preparing for

church_. No observing person can have failed to notice the peculiarly

deserted air of the town, from about eight until ten on the morning

of every Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged,

but not at so early a period as that designated.

"There is another point at which there seems a deficiency of

observation on the part of Le Commerciel. 'A piece,' it says, 'of one

of the unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feet long, and one foot

wide, was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back of

her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done, by fellows who

had no pocket-handkerchiefs.' Whether this idea is, or is not well

founded, we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by 'fellows who have

no pocket-handkerchiefs' the editor intends the lowest class of

ruffians. These, however, are the very description of people who will

always be found to have handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts.

You must have had occasion to observe how absolutely indispensable,

of late years, to the thorough blackguard, has become the

pocket-handkerchief."

"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the article in Le Soleil?"

"That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot - in which

case he would have been the most illustrious parrot of his race. He

has merely repeated the individual items of the already published

opinion; collecting them, with a laudable industry, from this paper

and from that. 'The things had all evidently been there,' he says,'at

least, three or four weeks, and there can be _no doubt_ that the spot

of this appalling outrage has been discovered.' The facts here

re-stated by Le Soleil, are very far indeed from removing my own

doubts upon this subject, and we will examine them more particularly

hereafter in connexion with another division of the theme.

"At present we must occupy ourselves with other investigations You

cannot fail to have remarked the extreme laxity of the examination of

the corpse. To be sure, the question of identity was readily

determined, or should have been; but there were other points to be

ascertained. Had the body been in any respect despoiled? Had the

deceased any articles of jewelry about her person upon leaving home?

if so, had she any when found? These are important questions utterly

untouched by the evidence; and there are others of equal moment,

which have met with no attention. We must endeavor to satisfy

ourselves by personal inquiry. The case of St. Eustache must be

re-examined. I have no suspicion of this person; but let us proceed

methodically. We will ascertain beyond a doubt the validity of the

affidavits in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits of

this character are readily made matter of mystification. Should there

be nothing wrong here, however, we will dismiss St. Eustache from our

investigations. His suicide, however corroborative of suspicion, were

there found to be deceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit,

in no respect an unaccountable circumstance, or one which need cause

us to deflect from the line of ordinary analysis.

"In that which I now propose, we will discard the interior points of

this tragedy, and concentrate our attention upon its outskirts. Not

the least usual error, in investigations such as this, is the

limiting of inquiry to the immediate, with total disregard of the

collateral or circumstantial events. It is the mal-practice of the

courts to confine evidence and discussion to the bounds of apparent

relevancy. Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will

always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises

from the seemingly irrelevant. It is through the spirit of this

principle, if not precisely through its letter, that modern science

has resolved to calculate upon the unforeseen. But perhaps you do not

comprehend me. The history of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly

shown that to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events we are

indebted for the most numerous and most valuable discoveries, that it

has at length become necessary, in any prospective view of

improvement, to make not only large, but the largest allowances for

inventions that shall arise by chance, and quite out of the range of

ordinary expectation. It is no longer philosophical to base, upon

what has been, a vision of what is to be. Accident is admitted as a

portion of the substructure. We make chance a matter of absolute

calculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined, to the

mathematical _formulae_ of the schools.

"I repeat that it is no more than fact, that the larger portion of

all truth has sprung from the collateral; and it is but in accordance

with the spirit of the principle involved in this fact, that I would

divert inquiry, in the present case, from the trodden and hitherto

unfruitful ground of the event itself, to the contemporary

circumstances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity of

the affidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than you

have as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the field of

investigation; but it will be strange indeed if a comprehensive

survey, such as I propose, of the public prints, will not afford us

some minute points which shall establish a direction for inquiry."

In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupulous examination of

the affair of the affidavits. The result was a firm conviction of

their validity, and of the consequent innocence of St. Eustache. In

the mean time my friend occupied himself, with what seemed to me a

minuteness altogether objectless, in a scrutiny of the various

newspaper files. At the end of a week he placed before me the

following extracts:

"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very similar to the

present, was caused by the disappearance of this same Marie Rogêt,

from the parfumerie of Monsieur Le Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the

end of a week, however, she re-appeared at her customary comptoir, as

well as ever, with the exception of a slight paleness not altogether

usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc and her mother, that she

had merely been on a visit to some friend in the country; and the

affair was speedily hushed up. We presume that the present absence is

a freak of the same nature, and that, at the expiration of a week, or

perhaps of a month, we shall have her among us again." - Evening

Paper - Monday June 23. {*17}

"An evening journal of yesterday, refers to a former mysterious

disappearance of Mademoiselle Rogêt. It is well known that, during

the week of her absence from Le Blanc's parfumerie, she was in the

company of a young naval officer, much noted for his debaucheries. A

quarrel, it is supposed, providentially led to her return home. We

have the name of the Lothario in question, who is, at present,

stationed in Paris, but, for obvious reasons, forbear to make it

public." - Le Mercurie - Tuesday Morning, June 24. {*18}

"An outrage of the most atrocious character was perpetrated near this

city the day before yesterday. A gentleman, with his wife and

daughter, engaged, about dusk, the services of six young men, who

were idly rowing a boat to and fro near the banks of the Seine, to

convey him across the river. Upon reaching the opposite shore, the

three passengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to be

beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered that she

had left in it her parasol. She returned for it, was seized by the

gang, carried out into the stream, gagged, brutally treated, and

finally taken to the shore at a point not far from that at which she

had originally entered the boat with her parents. The villains have

escaped for the time, but the police are upon their trail, and some

of them will soon be taken." - Morning Paper - June 25. {*19}

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

to fasten the crime of the late atrocity upon Mennais; {*20} but as

this gentleman has been fully exonerated by a loyal inquiry, and as

the arguments of our several correspondents appear to be more zealous

than profound, we do not think it advisable to make them public." -

Morning Paper - June 28. {*21}

"We have received several forcibly written communications, apparently

from various sources, and which go far to render it a matter of

certainty that the unfortunate Marie Rogêt has become a victim of one

of the numerous bands of blackguards which infest the vicinity of the

city upon Sunday. Our own opinion is decidedly in favor of this

supposition. We shall endeavor to make room for some of these

arguments hereafter." - Evening Paper - Tuesday, June 31. {*22}

"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the revenue service,

saw a empty boat floating down the Seine. Sails were lying in the

bottom of the boat. The bargeman towed it under the barge office. The

next morning it was taken from thence, without the knowledge of any

of the officers. The rudder is now at the barge office." - Le

Diligence - Thursday, June 26. &sect;

Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemed to me

irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which any one of them

could be brought to bear upon the matter in hand. I waited for some

explanation from Dupin.

"It is not my present design," he said, "to dwell upon the first and

second of those extracts. I have copied them chiefly to show you the

extreme remissness of the police, who, as far as I can understand

from the Prefect, have not troubled themselves, in any respect, with

an examination of the naval officer alluded to. Yet it is mere folly

to say that between the first and second disappearance of Marie,

there is no _supposable_ connection. Let us admit the first elopement

to have resulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the return home

of the betrayed. We are now prepared to view a second elopement (if

we know that an elopement has again taken place) as indicating a

renewal of the betrayer's advances, rather than as the result of new

proposals by a second individual - we are prepared to regard it as a

'making up' of the old amour, rather than as the commencement of a

new one. The chances are ten to one, that he who had once eloped with

Marie, would again propose an elopement, rather than that she to whom

proposals of elopement had been made by one individual, should have

them made to her by another. And here let me call your attention to

the fact, that the time elapsing between the first ascertained, and

the second supposed elopement, is a few months more than the general

period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the lover been

interrupted in his first villany by the necessity of departure to

sea, and had he seized the first moment of his return to renew the

base designs not yet altogether accomplished - or not yet altogether

accomplished by _him?_ Of all these things we know nothing.

"You will say, however, that, in the second instance, there was no

elopement as imagined. Certainly not - but are we prepared to say

that there was not the frustrated design? Beyond St. Eustache, and

perhaps Beauvais, we find no recognized, no open, no honorable

suitors of Marie. Of none other is there any thing said. Who, then,

is the secret lover, of whom the relatives (at least most of them)

know nothing, but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, and

who is so deeply in her confidence, that she hesitates not to remain

with him until the shades of the evening descend, amid the solitary

groves of the Barrière du Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of

whom, at least, most of the relatives know nothing? And what means

the singular prophecy of Madame Rogêt on the morning of Marie's

departure? -- 'I fear that I shall never see Marie again.'

"But if we cannot imagine Madame Rogêt privy to the design of

elopement, may we not at least suppose this design entertained by the

girl? Upon quitting home, she gave it to be understood that she was

about to visit her aunt in the Rue des Drômes and St. Eustache was

requested to call for her at dark. Now, at first glance, this fact

strongly militates against my suggestion; - but let us reflect. That

she did meet some companion, and proceed with him across the river,

reaching the Barrière du Roule at so late an hour as three o'clock in

the afternoon, is known. But in consenting so to accompany this

individual, (_for whatever purpose -- to her mother known or

unknown,_) she must have thought of her expressed intention when

leaving home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused in the bosom

of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her, at the

hour appointed, in the Rue des Drômes, he should find that she had

not been there, and when, moreover, upon returning to the pension

with this alarming intelligence, he should become aware of her

continued absence from home. She must have thought of these things, I

say. She must have foreseen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the

suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returning to brave

this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial

importance to her, if we suppose her not intending to return.

"We may imagine her thinking thus - 'I am to meet a certain person

for the purpose of elopement, or for certain other purposes known

only to myself. It is necessary that there be no chance of

interruption - there must be sufficient time given us to elude

pursuit - I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and

spend the day with my aunt at the Rue des Drômes - I well tell St.

Eustache not to call for me until dark - in this way, my absence from

home for the longest possible period, without causing suspicion or

anxiety, will be accounted for, and I shall gain more time than in

any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call for me at dark, he will

be sure not to call before; but, if I wholly neglect to bid him call,

my time for escape will be diminished, since it will be expected that

I return the earlier, and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety.

Now, if it were my design to return at all - if I had in

contemplation merely a stroll with the individual in question - it

would not be my policy to bid St. Eustache call; for, calling, he

will be sure to ascertain that I have played him false - a fact of

which I might keep him for ever in ignorance, by leaving home without

notifying him of my intention, by returning before dark, and by then

stating that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Drômes. But,

as it is my design never to return - or not for some weeks - or not

until certain concealments are effected - the gaining of time is the

only point about which I need give myself any concern.'

"You have observed, in your notes, that the most general opinion in

relation to this sad affair is, and was from the first, that the girl

had been the victim of a gang of blackguards. Now, the popular

opinion, under certain conditions, is not to be disregarded. When

arising of itself -- when manifesting itself in a strictly

spontaneous manner -- we should look upon it as analogous with that

_intuition_ which is the idiosyncrasy of the individual man of

genius. In ninety-nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its

decision. But it is important that we find no palpable traces of

_suggestion_. The opinion must be rigorously _the public's own_; and

the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceive and to

maintain. In the present instance, it appears to me that this 'public

opinion' in respect to a gang, has been superinduced by the

collateral event which is detailed in the third of my extracts. All

Paris is excited by the discovered corpse of Marie, a girl young,

beautiful and notorious. This corpse is found, bearing marks of

violence, and floating in the river. But it is now made known that,

at the very period, or about the very period, in which it is supposed

that the girl was assassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that

endured by the deceased, although less in extent, was perpetuated, by

a gang of young ruffians, upon the person of a second young female.

Is it wonderful that the one known atrocity should influence the

popular judgment in regard to the other unknown? This judgment

awaited direction, and the known outrage seemed so opportunely to

afford it! Marie, too, was found in the river; and upon this very

river was this known outrage committed. The connexion of the two

events had about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder

would have been a failure of the populace to appreciate and to seize

it. But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so committed, is, if

any thing, evidence that the other, committed at a time nearly

coincident, was not so committed. It would have been a miracle

indeed, if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given

locality, a most unheard-of wrong, there should have been another

similar gang, in a similar locality, in the same city, under the same

circumstances, with the same means and appliances, engaged in a wrong

of precisely the same aspect, at precisely the same period of time!

Yet in what, if not in this marvellous train of coincidence, does the

accidentally suggested opinion of the populace call upon us to

believe?

"Before proceeding farther, let us consider the supposed scene of the

assassination, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule. This thicket,

although dense, was in the close vicinity of a public road. Within

were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat with a back

and footstool. On the upper stone was discovered a white petticoat;

on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a

pocket-handkerchief, were also here found. The handkerchief bore the

name, 'Marie Rogêt.' Fragments of dress were seen on the branches

around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was

every evidence of a violent struggle.

"Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the discovery of this

thicket was received by the press, and the unanimity with which it

was supposed to indicate the precise scene of the outrage, it must be

admitted that there was some very good reason for doubt. That it was

the scene, I may or I may not believe - but there was excellent

reason for doubt. Had the true scene been, as Le Commerciel

suggested, in the neighborhood of the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, the

perpetrators of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris,

would naturally have been stricken with terror at the public

attention thus acutely directed into the proper channel; and, in

certain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at once, a sense

of the necessity of some exertion to redivert this attention. And

thus, the thicket of the Barrière du Roule having been already

suspected, the idea of placing the articles where they were found,

might have been naturally entertained. There is no real evidence,

although Le Soleil so supposes, that the articles discovered had been

more than a very few days in the thicket; while there is much

circumstantial proof that they could not have remained there, without

attracting attention, during the twenty days elapsing between the

fatal Sunday and the afternoon upon which they were found by the

boys. 'They were all _mildewed_down hard,' says Le Soleil, adopting

the opinions of its predecessors, 'with the action of the rain, and

stuck together from _mildew_. The grass had grown around and over

some of them. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threads of

it were run together within. The upper part, where it bad been

doubled and folded, was all _mildewed_ and rotten, and tore on being

opened.' In respect to the grass having '.grown around and over some

of them,' it is obvious that the fact could only have been

ascertained from the words, and thus from the recollections, of two

small boys; for these boys removed the articles and took them home

before they had been seen by a third party. But grass will grow,

especially in warm and damp weather, (such as was that of the period

of the murder,) as much as two or three inches in a single day. A

parasol lying upon a newly turfed ground, might, in a single week, be

entirely concealed from sight by the upspringing grass. And touching

that mildew upon which the editor of Le Soleil so pertinaciously

insists, that he employs the word no less than three times in the

brief paragraph just quoted, is be really unaware of the nature of

this mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the many classes of

fungus, of which the most ordinary feature is its upspringing and

decadence within twenty-four hours?

"Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been most triumphantly

adduced in support of the idea that the articles bad been 'for at

least three or four weeks' in the thicket, is most absurdly null as

regards any evidence of that fact. On the other hand, it is

exceedingly difficult to believe that these articles could have

remained in the thicket specified, for a longer period than a single

week - for a longer period than from one Sunday to the next. Those

who know any thing of the vicinity of Paris, know the extreme

difficulty of finding seclusion unless at a great distance from its

suburbs. Such a thing as an unexplored, or even an unfrequently

visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not for a moment to be

imagined. Let any one who, being at heart a lover of nature, is yet

chained by duty to the dust and heat of this great metropolis - let

any such one attempt, even during the weekdays, to slake his thirst

for solitude amid the scenes of natural loveliness which immediately

surround us. At every second step, he will find the growing charm

dispelled by the voice and personal intrusion of some ruffian or

party of carousing blackguards. He will seek privacy amid the densest

foliage, all in vain. Here are the very nooks where the unwashed most

abound - here are the temples most desecrate. With sickness of the

heart the wanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a less

odious because less incongruous sink of pollution. But if the

vicinity of the city is so beset during the working days of the week,

how much more so on the Sabbath! It is now especially that, released

from the claims of labor, or deprived of the customary opportunities

of crime, the town blackguard seeks the precincts of the town, not

through love of the rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way

of escape from the restraints and conventionalities of society. He

desires less the fresh air and the green trees, than the utter

license of the country. Here, at the road-side inn, or beneath the

foliage of the woods, he indulges, unchecked by any eye except those

of his boon companions, in all the mad excess of a counterfeit

hilarity - the joint offspring of liberty and of rum. I say nothing

more than what must be obvious to every dispassionate observer, when

I repeat that the circumstance of the articles in question having

remained undiscovered, for a longer period - than from one Sunday to

another, in any thicket in the immediate neighborhood of Paris, is to

be looked upon as little less than miraculous.

"But there are not wanting other grounds for the suspicion that the

articles were placed in the thicket with the view of diverting

attention from the real scene of the outrage. And, first, let me

direct your notice to the date of the discovery of the articles.

Collate this with the date of the fifth extract made by myself from

the newspapers. You will find that the discovery followed, almost

immediately, the urgent communications sent to the evening paper.

These communications, although various and apparently from various

sources, tended all to the same point - viz., the directing of

attention to a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, and to the

neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule as its scene. Now here, of

course, the suspicion is not that, in consequence of these

communications, or of the public attention by them directed, the

articles were found by the boys; but the suspicion might and may well

have been, that the articles were not before found by the boys, for

the reason that the articles had not before been in the thicket;

having been deposited there only at so late a period as at the date,

or shortly prior to the date of the communications by the guilty

authors of these communications themselves.

"This thicket was a singular - an exceedingly singular one. It was

unusually dense. Within its naturally walled enclosure were three

extraordinary stones, forming a seat with a back and footstool. And

this thicket, so full of a natural art, was in the immediate

vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of Madame Deluc, whose

boys were in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies about

them in search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager

- a wager of one thousand to one -- that a day never passed over the

heads of these boys without finding at least one of them ensconced in

the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its natural throne? Those who

would hesitate at such a wager, have either never been boys

themselves, or have forgotten the boyish nature. I repeat -- it is

exceedingly hard to comprehend how the articles could have remained

in this thicket undiscovered, for a longer period than one or two

days; and that thus there is good ground for suspicion, in spite of

the dogmatic ignorance of Le Soleil, that they were, at a

comparatively late date, deposited where found.

"But there are still other and stronger reasons for believing them so

deposited, than any which I have as yet urged. And, now, let me beg

your notice to the highly artificial arrangement of the articles. On

the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf;

scattered around, were a parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief

bearing the name, 'Marie Rogêt.' Here is just such an arrangement as

would naturally be made by a not over-acute person wishing to dispose

the articles naturally. But it is by no means a really natural

arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the things all lying

on the ground and trampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that

bower, it would have been scarcely possible that the petticoat and

scarf should have retained a position upon the stones, when subjected

to the brushing to and fro of many struggling persons. 'There was

evidence,' it is said, 'of a struggle; and the earth was trampled,

the bushes were broken,' - but the petticoat and the scarf are found

deposited as if upon shelves. 'The pieces of the frock torn out by

the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part

was the hem of the frock and it had been mended. They looked like

strips torn off.' Here, inadvertently, Le Soleil has employed an

exceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces, as described, do indeed

'look like strips torn off;' but purposely and by hand. It is one of

the rarest of accidents that a piece is 'torn off,' from any garment

such as is now in question, by the agency of a thorn. From the very

nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becoming entangled in them,

tears them rectangularly - divides them into two longitudinal rents,

at right angles with each other, and meeting at an apex where the

thorn enters - but it is scarcely possible to conceive the piece

'torn off.' I never so knew it, nor did you. To tear a piece off from

such fabric, two distinct forces, in different directions, will be,

in almost every case, required. If there be two edges to the fabric -

if, for example, it be a pocket- handkerchief, and it is desired to

tear from it a slip, then, and then only, will the one force serve

the purpose. But in the present case the question is of a dress,

presenting but one edge. To tear a piece from the interior, where no

edge is presented, could only be effected by a miracle through the

agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish it. But, even

where an edge is presented, two thorns will be necessary, operating,

the one in two distinct directions, and the other in one. And this in

the supposition that the edge is unhemmed. If hemmed, the matter is

nearly out of the question. We thus see the numerous and great

obstacles in the way of pieces being 'torn off' through the simple

agency of 'thorns;' yet we are required to believe not only that one

piece but that many have been so torn. 'And one part,' too, 'was the

hem of the frock!' Another piece was 'part of the skirt, not the

hem,' - that is to say, was torn completely out through the agency of

thorns, from the uncaged interior of the dress! These, I say, are

things which one may well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken

collectedly, they form, perhaps, less of reasonable ground for

suspicion, than the one startling circumstance of the articles'

having been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who had

enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You will not have

apprehended me rightly, however, if you suppose it my design to deny

this thicket as the scene of the outrage. There might have been a

wrong here, or, more possibly, an accident at Madame Deluc's. But, in

fact, this is a point of minor importance. We are not engaged in an

attempt to discover the scene, but to produce the perpetrators of the

murder. What I have adduced, notwithstanding the minuteness with

which I have adduced it, has been with the view, first, to show the

folly of the positive and headlong assertions of Le Soleil, but

secondly and chiefly, to bring you, by the most natural route, to a

further contemplation of the doubt whether this assassination has, or

has not been, the work of a gang.

"We will resume this question by mere allusion to the revolting

details of the surgeon examined at the inquest. It is only necessary

to say that is published inferences, in regard to the number of

ruffians, have been properly ridiculed as unjust and totally

baseless, by all the reputable anatomists of Paris. Not that the

matter might not have been as inferred, but that there was no ground

for the inference: - was there not much for another?

"Let us reflect now upon 'the traces of a struggle;' and let me ask

what these traces have been supposed to demonstrate. A gang. But do

they not rather demonstrate the absence of a gang? What struggle

could have taken place - what struggle so violent and so enduring as

to have left its 'traces' in all directions - between a weak and

defenceless girl and the gang of ruffians imagined? The silent grasp

of a few rough arms and all would have been over. The victim must

have been absolutely passive at their will. You will here bear in

mind that the arguments urged against the thicket as the scene, are

applicable in chief part, only against it as the scene of an outrage

committed by more than a single individual. If we imagine but one

violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the struggle of so

violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the 'traces'

apparent.

"And again. I have already mentioned the suspicion to be excited by

the fact that the articles in question were suffered to remain at all

in the thicket where discovered. It seems almost impossible that

these evidences of guilt should have been accidentally left where

found. There was sufficient presence of mind (it is supposed) to

remove the corpse; and yet a more positive evidence than the corpse

itself (whose features might have been quickly obliterated by decay,)

is allowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage - I

allude to the handkerchief with the name of the deceased. If this was

accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We can imagine it only

the accident of an individual. Let us see. An individual has

committed the murder. He is alone with the ghost of the departed. He

is appalled by what lies motionless before him. The fury of his

passion is over, and there is abundant room in his heart for the

natural awe of the deed. His is none of that confidence which the

presence of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with the dead.

He trembles and is bewildered. Yet there is a necessity for disposing

of the corpse. He bears it to the river, but leaves behind him the

other evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if not impossible to

carry all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to return for what

is left. But in his toilsome journey to the water his fears redouble

within him. The sounds of life encompass his path. A dozen times he

hears or fancies the step of an observer. Even the very lights from

the city bewilder him. Yet, in time and by long and frequent pauses

of deep agony, he reaches the river's brink, and disposes of his

ghastly charge - perhaps through the medium of a boat. But now what

treasure does the world hold - what threat of vengeance could it hold

out - which would have power to urge the return of that lonely

murderer over that toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its

blood chilling recollections? He returns not, let the consequences be

what they may. He could not return if he would. His sole thought is

immediate escape. He turns his back forever upon those dreadful

shrubberies and flees as from the wrath to come.

"But how with a gang? Their number would have inspired them with

confidence; if, indeed confidence is ever wanting in the breast of

the arrant blackguard; and of arrant blackguards alone are the

supposed gangs ever constituted. Their number, I say, would have

prevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror which I have

imagined to paralyze the single man. Could we suppose an oversight in

one, or two, or three, this oversight would have been remedied by a

fourth. They would have left nothing behind them; for their number

would have enabled them to carry all at once. There would have been

no need of return.

"Consider now the circumstance that in the outer garment of the

corpse when found, 'a slip, about a foot wide had been torn upward

from the bottom hem to the waist wound three times round the waist,

and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.' This was done with the

obvious design of affording a handle by which to carry the body. But

would any number of men hare dreamed of resorting to such an

expedient? To three or four, the limbs of the corpse would have

afforded not only a sufficient, but the best possible hold. The

device is that of a single individual; and this brings us to the fact

that 'between the thicket and the river, the rails of the fences were

found taken down, and the ground bore evident traces of some heavy

burden having been dragged along it!' But would a number of men have

put themselves to the superfluous trouble of taking down a fence, for

the purpose of dragging through it a corpse which they might have

lifted over any fence in an instant? Would a number of men have so

dragged a corpse at all as to have left evident traces of the

dragging?

"And here we must refer to an observation of Le Commerciel; an

observation upon which I have already, in some measure, commented. 'A

piece,' says this journal, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's

petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back

of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows

who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.'

"I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never without a

pocket-handkerchief. But it is not to this fact that I now especially

advert. That it was not through want of a handkerchief for the

purpose imagined by Le Commerciel, that this bandage was employed, is

rendered apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and that

the object was not 'to prevent screams' appears, also, from the

bandage having been employed in preference to what would so much

better have answered the purpose. But the language of the evidence

speaks of the strip in question as 'found around the neck, fitting

loosely, and secured with a hard knot.' These words are sufficiently

vague, but differ materially from those of Le Commerciel. The slip

was eighteen inches wide, and therefore, although of muslin, would

form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudinally. And thus

rumpled it was discovered. My inference is this. The solitary

murderer, having borne the corpse, for some distance, (whether from

the thicket or elsewhere) by means of the bandage hitched around its

middle, found the weight, in this mode of procedure, too much for his

strength. He resolved to drag the burthen - the evidence goes to show

that it wasdragged. With this object in view, it became necessary to

attach something like a rope to one of the extremities. It could be

best attached about the neck, where the head would prevent its

slipping off. And, now, the murderer bethought him, unquestionably,

of the bandage about the loins. He would have used this, but for its

volution about the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the

reflection that it had not been 'torn off' from the garment. It was

easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it, made it

fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the

river. That this 'bandage,' only attainable with trouble and delay,

and but imperfectly answering its purpose - that this bandage was

employed at all, demonstrates that the necessity for its employment

sprang from circumstances arising at a period when the handkerchief

was no longer attainable -- that is to say, arising, as we have

imagined, after quitting the thicket, (if the thicket it was), and on

the road between the thicket and the river.

"But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc, (!) points

especially to the presence of a gang, in the vicinity of the thicket,

at or about the epoch of the murder. This I grant. I doubt if there

were not a dozen gangs, such as described by Madame Deluc, in and

about the vicinity of the Barrière du Roule at or about the period of

this tragedy. But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointed

animadversion, although the somewhat tardy and very suspicious

evidence of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is represented by

that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eaten her cakes and

swallowed her brandy, without putting themselves to the trouble of

making her payment. Et hinc illæ iræ?

"But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? 'A gang of

miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank

without making payment, followed in the route of the young man and

girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed the river as if

in great haste.'

"Now this 'great haste' very possibly seemed greater haste in the

eyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt lingeringly and lamentingly

upon her violated cakes and ale - cakes and ale for which she might

still have entertained a faint hope of compensation. Why, otherwise,

since it was about dusk, should she make a point of the haste? It is

no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards should

make haste to get home, when a wide river is to be crossed in small

boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches.

"I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It was only

about dusk that the indecent haste of these 'miscreants' offended the

sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we are told that it was upon this

very evening that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, 'heard the

screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.' And in what words

does Madame Deluc designate the period of the evening at which these

screams were heard? 'It was soon after dark,' she says. But 'soon

after dark,' is, at least, dark; and'about dusk' is as certainly

daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that the gang quitted the

Barrière du Roule prior to the screams overheard (?) by Madame Deluc.

And although, in all the many reports of the evidence, the relative

expressions in question are distinctly and invariably employed just

as I have employed them in this conversation with yourself, no notice

whatever of the gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any of

the public journals, or by any of the Myrmidons of police.

"I shall add but one to the arguments against a gang; but this one

has, to my own understanding at least, a weight altogether

irresistible. Under the circumstances of large reward offered, and

full pardon to any King's evidence, it is not to be imagined, for a

moment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians, or of any body of

men, would not long ago have betrayed his accomplices. Each one of a

gang so placed, is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for

escape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and early that he

may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has not been divulged,

is the very best of proof that it is, in fact, a secret. The horrors

of this dark deed are known only to one, or two, living human beings,

and to God.

"Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of our long

analysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatal accident under

the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murder perpetrated, in the thicket

at the Barrière du Roule, by a lover, or at least by an intimate and

secret associate of the deceased. This associate is of swarthy

complexion. This complexion, the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the

'sailor's knot,' with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a

seaman. His companionship with the deceased, a gay, but not an abject

young girl, designates him as above the grade of the common sailor.

Here the well written and urgent communications to the journals are

much in the way of corroboration. The circumstance of the first

elopement, as mentioned by Le Mercurie, tends to blend the idea of

this seaman with that of the 'naval officer' who is first known to

have led the unfortunate into crime.

"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of the continued

absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause to observe that

the complexion of this man is dark and swarthy; it was no common

swarthiness which constituted the sole point of remembrance, both as

regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he

murdered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the

assassinated girl? The scene of the two outrages will naturally be

supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The assassins would most

probably have disposed of both in the same way. But it may be said

that this man lives, and is deterred from making himself known,

through dread of being charged with the murder. This consideration

might be supposed to operate upon him now - at this late period -

since it has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie - but

it would have had no force at the period of the deed. The first

impulse of an innocent man would have been to announce the outrage,

and to aid in identifying the ruffians. This policy would have

suggested. He had been seen with the girl. He had crossed the river

with her in an open ferry-boat. The denouncing of the assassins would

have appeared, even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of

relieving himself from suspicion. We cannot suppose him, on the night

of the fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and incognizant of an

outrage committed. Yet only under such circumstances is it possible

to imagine that he would have failed, if alive, in the denouncement

of the assassins.

"And what means are ours, of attaining the truth? We shall find these

means multiplying and gathering distinctness as we proceed. Let us

sift to the bottom this affair of the first elopement. Let us know

the full history of 'the officer,' with his present circumstances,

and his whereabouts at the precise period of the murder. Let us

carefully compare with each other the various communications sent to

the evening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang. This

done, let us compare these communications, both as regards style and

MS., with those sent to the morning paper, at a previous period, and

insisting so vehemently upon the guilt of Mennais. And, all this

done, let us again compare these various communications with the

known MSS. of the officer. Let us endeavor to ascertain, by repeated

questionings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omnibus

driver, Valence, something more of the personal appearance and

bearing of the 'man of dark complexion.' Queries, skilfully directed,

will not fail to elicit, from some of these parties, information on

this particular point (or upon others) - information which the

parties themselves may not even be aware of possessing. And let us

now trace the boatpicked up by the bargeman on the morning of Monday

the twenty-third of June, and which was removed from the

barge-office, without the cognizance of the officer in attendance,

and without the rudder, at some period prior to the discovery of the

corpse. With a proper caution and perseverance we shall infallibly

trace this boat; for not only can the bargeman who picked it up

identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rudder of a sail-boat

would not have been abandoned, without inquiry, by one altogether at

ease in heart. And here let me pause to insinuate a question. There

was no advertisement of the picking up of this boat. It was silently

taken to the barge-office, and as silently removed. But its owner or

employer - how happened he, at so early a period as Tuesday morning,

to be informed, without the agency of advertisement, of the locality

of the boat taken up on Monday, unless we imagine some connexion with

the navy - some personal permanent connexion leading to cognizance of

its minute in interests - its petty local news?

"In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his burden to the shore,

I have already suggested the probability of his availing himself of a

boat. Now we are to understand that Marie Rogêt was precipitated from

a boat. This would naturally have been the case. The corpse could not

have been trusted to the shallow waters of the shore. The peculiar

marks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the bottom ribs

of a boat. That the body was found without weight is also

corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight would

have been attached. We can only account for its absence by supposing

the murderer to have neglected the precaution of supplying himself

with it before pushing off. In the act of consigning the corpse to

the water, he would unquestionably have noticed his oversight; but

then no remedy would have been at hand. Any risk would have been

preferred to a return to that accursed shore. Having rid himself of

his ghastly charge, the murderer would have hastened to the city.

There, at some obscure wharf, he would have leaped on land. But the

boat - would he have secured it? He would have been in too great

haste for such things as securing a boat. Moreover, in fastening it

to the wharf, he would have felt as if securing evidence against

himself. His natural thought would have been to cast from him, as far

as possible, all that had held connection with his crime. He would

not only have fled from the wharf, but he would not have permitted

the boat to remain. Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. Let us

pursue our fancies. - In the morning, the wretch is stricken with

unutterable horror at finding that the boat has been picked up and

detained at a locality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting

- at a locality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to frequent. The

next night, without daring to ask for the rudder, he removes it. Now

where is that rudderless boat? Let it be one of our first purposes to

discover. With the first glimpse we obtain of it, the dawn of our

success shall begin. This boat shall guide us, with a rapidity which

will surprise even ourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight

of the fatal Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration, and

the murderer will be traced."

[For reasons which we shall not specify, but which to many readers

will appear obvious, we have taken the liberty of here omitting, from

the MSS. placed in our hands, such portion as details the following

up of the apparently slight clew obtained by Dupin. We feel it

advisable only to state, in brief, that the result desired was

brought to pass; and that the Prefect fulfilled punctually, although

with reluctance, the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr.

Poe's article concludes with the following words. - Eds. {*23}]

It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and no more. What

I have said above upon this topic must suffice. In my own heart there

dwells no faith in præter-nature. That Nature and its God are two, no

man who thinks, will deny. That the latter, creating the former, can,

at will, control or modify it, is also unquestionable. I say "at

will;" for the question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic

has assumed, of power. It is not that the Deity cannot modify his

laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible necessity for

modification. In their origin these laws were fashioned to embrace

all contingencies which could lie in the Future. With God all is Now.

I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as of coincidences.

And farther: in what I relate it will be seen that between the fate

of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers, so far as that fate is known, and

the fate of one Marie Rogêt up to a certain epoch in her history,

there has existed a parallel in the contemplation of whose wonderful

exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be

seen. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceeding

with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just mentioned, and in

tracing to its dénouement the mystery which enshrouded her, it is my

covert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, or even to

suggest that the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the

assassin of a grisette, or measures founded in any similar

ratiocination, would produce any similar result.

For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition, it should be

considered that the most trifling variation in the facts of the two

cases might give rise to the most important miscalculations, by

diverting thoroughly the two courses of events; very much as, in

arithmetic, an error which, in its own individuality, may be

inappreciable, produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all

points of the process, a result enormously at variance with truth.

And, in regard to the former branch, we must not fail to hold in view

that the very Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred,

forbids all idea of the extension of the parallel: - forbids it with

a positiveness strong and decided just in proportion as this parallel

has already been long-drawn and exact. This is one of those anomalous

propositions which, seemingly appealing to thought altogether apart

from the mathematical, is yet one which only the mathematician can

fully entertain. Nothing, for example, is more difficult than to

convince the merely general reader that the fact of sixes having been

thrown twice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient cause

for betting the largest odds that sixes will not be thrown in the

third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usually rejected by the

intellect at once. It does not appear that the two throws which have

been completed, and which lie now absolutely in the Past, can have

influence upon the throw which exists only in the Future. The chance

for throwing sixes seems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary

time - that is to say, subject only to the influence of the various

other throws which may be made by the dice. And this is a reflection

which appears so exceedingly obvious that attempts to controvert it

are received more frequently with a derisive smile than with anything

like respectful attention. The error here involved - a gross error

redolent of mischief - I cannot pretend to expose within the limits

assigned me at present; and with the philosophical it needs no

exposure. It may be sufficient here to say that it forms one of an

infinite series of mistakes which arise in the path or Reason through

her propensity for seeking truth in detail.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

FOOTNOTES--Marie Rogêt

{*1} Upon the original publication of "Marie Roget," the foot-notes

now appended were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several

years since the tragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it

expedient to give them, and also to say a few words in explanation of

the general design. A young girl, Mary Cecilia Rogers, was murdered

in the vicinity of New York; and, although her death occasioned an

intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery attending it had

remained unsolved at the period when the present paper was written

and published (November, 1842). Herein, under pretence of relating

the fate of a Parisian grisette, the author has followed in minute

detail, the essential, while merely paralleling the inessential facts

of the real murder of Mary Rogers. Thus all argument founded upon the

fiction is applicable to the truth: and the investigation of the

truth was the object. The "Mystery of Marie Roget" was composed at a

distance from the scene of the atrocity, and with no other means of

investigation than the newspapers afforded. Thus much escaped the

writer of which he could have availed himself had he been upon the

spot, and visited the localities. It may not be improper to record,

nevertheless, that the confessions of two persons, (one of them the

Madame Deluc of the narrative) made, at different periods, long

subsequent to the publication, confirmed, in full, not only the

general conclusion, but absolutely all the chief hypothetical details

by which that conclusion was attained.

{*2} The nom de plume of Von Hardenburg.

{*3} Nassau Street.

{*4} Anderson.

{*5} The Hudson.

{*6} Weehawken.

{*7} Payne.

{*8} Crommelin.

{*9} The New York "Mercury."

(*10} The New York "Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hastings Weld,

Esq.

{*11} New York "Journal of Commerce."

(*12} Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I. Peterson,

Esq.

{*13} Adam

{*14} See "Murders in the Rue Morgue."

{*15} The New York "Commercial Advertiser," edited by Col. Stone.

{*16} "A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its

being unfolded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics

in reference to their causes, will cease to value them according to

their results. Thus the jurisprudence of every nation will show that,

when law becomes a science and a system, it ceases to be justice. The

errors into which a blind devotion to principles of classification

has led the common law, will be seen by observing how often the

legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity

its scheme had lost." - Landor.

{*17} New York "Express"

{*18} NewYork "Herald."

{*19} New York "Courier and Inquirer."

{*20} Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and

arrested, but discharged through total lack of evidence.

{*21} New York "Courier and Inquirer."

{*22} New York "Evening Post."

{*23} Of the Magazine in which the article was originally published.

==========

THE BALLOON-HOAX

[Astounding News by Express, _via_ Norfolk !  - The Atlantic

crossed in Three Days !  Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason's Flying

Machine ! - Arrival at Sullivan's Island, near Charlestown, S.C., of

Mr. Mason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth,

and four others, in the Steering Balloon, "Victoria," after a passage

of Seventy-five Hours from Land to Land !  Full Particulars of the

Voyage!

The subjoined _jeu d'esprit_ with the preceding heading in

magnificent capitals, well interspersed with notes of admiration, was

originally published, as matter of fact, in the "New York Sun," a

daily newspaper, and therein fully subserved the purpose of creating

indigestible aliment for the _quidnuncs_ during the few hours

intervening between a couple of the Charleston mails.  The rush for

the "sole paper which had the news," was something beyond even the

prodigious ;  and, in fact, if (as some assert) the "Victoria" _did_

not absolutely accomplish the voyage recorded, it will be difficult

to assign a reason why she _should_ not have accomplished it.]

THE great problem is at length solved !  The air, as well as the

earth and the ocean, has been subdued by science, and will become a

common and convenient highway for mankind.  _The Atlantic has been

actually crossed in a Balloon!_ and this too without difficulty -

without any great apparent danger - with thorough control of the

machine - and in the inconceivably brief period of seventy-five hours

from shore to shore !  By the energy of an agent at Charleston, S.C.,

we are enabled to be the first to furnish the public with a detailed

account of this most extraordinary voyage, which was performed

between Saturday, the 6th instant, at 11, A.M.,  and 2, P.M., on

Tuesday, the 9th instant, by Sir Everard Bringhurst ;  Mr. Osborne, a

nephew of Lord Bentinck's ;  Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Robert Holland,

the well-known æronauts ;  Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, author of "Jack

Sheppard," &c. ;  and Mr. Henson, the projector of the late

unsuccessful flying machine - with two seamen from Woolwich - in all,

eight persons.  The particulars furnished below may be relied on as

authentic and accurate in every respect, as, with a slight exception,

they are copied _verbatim_ from the joint diaries of Mr. Monck Mason

and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, to whose politeness our agent is also

indebted for much verbal information respecting the balloon itself,

its construction, and other matters of interest.  The only alteration

in the MS. received, has been made for the purpose of throwing the

hurried account of our agent, Mr. Forsyth, into a connected and

intelligible form.

"THE BALLOON.

"Two very decided failures, of late - those of Mr. Henson and Sir

George Cayley - had much weakened the public interest in the subject

of aerial navigation.  Mr. Henson's scheme (which at first was

considered very feasible even by men of science,) was founded upon

the principle of an inclined plane, started from an eminence by an

extrinsic force, applied and continued by the revolution of impinging

vanes, in form and number resembling the vanes of a windmill.  But,

in all the experiments made with models at the Adelaide Gallery, it

was found that the operation of these fans not only did not propel

the machine, but actually impeded its flight. The only propelling

force it ever exhibited, was the mere _impetus_ acquired from the

descent of the inclined plane ;  and this _impetus_ carried the

machine farther when the vanes were at rest, than when they were in

motion - a fact which sufficiently demonstrates their inutility ;

and in the absence of the propelling, which was also the _sustaining_

power, the whole fabric would necessarily descend.  This

consideration led Sir George Cayley to think only of adapting a

propeller to some machine having of itself an independent power of

support - in a word, to a balloon ;  the idea, however, being novel,

or original, with Sir George, only so far as regards the mode of its

application to practice.  He exhibited a model of his invention at

the Polytechnic Institution.  The propelling principle, or power, was

here, also, applied to interrupted surfaces, or vanes, put in

revolution.  These vanes were four in number, but were found entirely

ineffectual in moving the balloon, or in aiding its ascending power.

The whole project was thus a complete failure.

"It was at this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason (whose voyage from

Dover to Weilburg in the balloon, "Nassau," occasioned so much

excitement in 1837,) conceived the idea of employing the principle of

the Archimedean screw for the purpose of propulsion through the air -

rightly attributing the failure of Mr. Henson's scheme, and of Sir

George Cayley's, to the interruption of surface in the independent

vanes.  He made the first public experiment at Willis's Rooms, but

afterward removed his model to the Adelaide Gallery.

"Like Sir George Cayley's balloon, his own was an ellipsoid.  Its

length was thirteen feet six inches - height, six feet eight inches.

It contained about three hundred and twenty cubic feet of gas, which,

if pure hydrogen, would support twenty-one pounds upon its first

inflation, before the gas has time to deteriorate or escape.  The

weight of the whole machine and apparatus was seventeen pounds -

leaving about four pounds to spare.  Beneath the centre of the

balloon, was a frame of light wood, about nine feet long, and rigged

on to the balloon itself with a network in the customary manner.

From this framework was suspended a wicker basket or car.

"The screw consists of an axis of hollow brass tube, eighteen

inches in length, through which, upon a semi-spiral inclined at

fifteen degrees, pass a series of steel wire radii, two feet long,

and thus projecting a foot on either side.  These radii are connected

at the outer extremities by two bands of flattened wire - the whole

in this manner forming the framework of the screw, which is completed

by a covering of oiled silk cut into gores, and tightened so as to

present a tolerably uniform surface.  At each end of its axis this

screw is supported by pillars of hollow brass tube descending from

the hoop.  In the lower ends of these tubes are holes in which the

pivots of the axis revolve.  From the end of the axis which is next

the car, proceeds a shaft of steel, connecting the screw with the

pinion of a piece of spring machinery fixed in the car.  By the

operation of this spring, the screw is made to revolve with great

rapidity, communicating a progressive motion to the whole.  By means

of the rudder, the machine was readily turned in any direction.  The

spring was of great power, compared with its dimensions, being

capable of raising forty-five pounds upon a barrel of four inches

diameter, after the first turn, and gradually increasing as it was

wound up.  It weighed, altogether, eight pounds six ounces.  The

rudder was a light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped somewhat

like a battledoor, and was about three feet long, and at the widest,

one foot.  Its weight was about two ounces.  It could be turned

_flat_, and directed upwards or downwards, as well as to the right or

left ;  and thus enabled the æronaut to transfer the resistance of

the air which in an inclined position it must generate in its

passage, to any side upon which he might desire to act ;  thus

determining the balloon in the opposite direction.

"This model (which, through want of time, we have necessarily

described in an imperfect manner,) was put in action at the Adelaide

Gallery, where it accomplished a velocity of five miles per hour;

although, strange to say, it excited very little interest in

comparison with the previous complex machine of Mr. Henson - so

resolute is the world to despise anything which carries with it an

air of simplicity.  To accomplish the great desideratum of ærial

navigation, it was very generally supposed that some exceedingly

complicated application must be made of some unusually profound

principle in dynamics.

"So well satisfied, however, was Mr. Mason of the ultimate

success of his invention, that he determined to construct

immediately, if possible, a balloon of sufficient capacity to test

the question by a voyage of some extent - the original design being

to cross the British Channel, as before, in the Nassau balloon.  To

carry out his views, he solicited and obtained the patronage of Sir

Everard Bringhurst and Mr. Osborne, two gentlemen well known for

scientific acquirement, and especially for the interest they have

exhibited in the progress of ærostation.  The project, at the desire

of Mr. Osborne, was kept a profound secret from the public - the only

persons entrusted with the design being those actually engaged in the

construction of the machine, which was built (under the

superintendence of Mr. Mason, Mr. Holland, Sir Everard Bringhurst,

and Mr. Osborne,) at the seat of the latter gentleman near

Penstruthal, in Wales.  Mr. Henson, accompanied by his friend Mr.

Ainsworth, was admitted to a private view of the balloon, on Saturday

last - when the two gentlemen made final arrangements to be included

in the adventure.  We are not informed for what reason the two seamen

were also included in the party - but, in the course of a day or two,

we shall put our readers in possession of the minutest particulars

respecting this extraordinary voyage.

"The balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the liquid gum

caoutchouc.  It is of vast dimensions, containing more than 40,000

cubic feet of gas ;  but as coal gas was employed in place of the

more expensive and inconvenient hydrogen, the supporting power of the

machine, when fully inflated, and immediately after inflation, is not

more than about 2500 pounds.  The coal gas is not only much less

costly, but is easily procured and managed.

"For its introduction into common use for purposes of

aerostation, we are indebted to Mr. Charles Green.  Up to his

discovery, the process of inflation was not only exceedingly

expensive, but uncertain. Two, and even three days, have frequently

been wasted in futile attempts to procure a sufficiency of hydrogen

to fill a balloon, from which it had great tendency to escape, owing

to its extreme subtlety, and its affinity for the surrounding

atmosphere.  In a balloon sufficiently perfect to retain its contents

of coal-gas unaltered, in quantity or amount, for six months, an

equal quantity of hydrogen could not be maintained in equal purity

for six weeks.

"The supporting power being estimated at 2500 pounds, and the

united weights of the party amounting only to about 1200, there was

left a surplus of 1300, of which again 1200 was exhausted by ballast,

arranged in bags of different sizes, with their respective weights

marked upon them - by cordage, barometers, telescopes, barrels

containing provision for a fortnight, water-casks, cloaks,

carpet-bags, and various other indispensable matters, including a

coffee-warmer, contrived for warming coffee by means of slack-lime,

so as to dispense altogether with fire, if it should be judged

prudent to do so.  All these articles, with the exception of the

ballast, and a few trifles, were suspended from the hoop overhead.

The car is much smaller and lighter, in proportion, than the one

appended to the model.  It is formed of a light wicker, and is

wonderfully strong, for so frail looking a machine.  Its rim is about

four feet deep.  The rudder is also very much larger, in proportion,

than that of the model ;  and the screw is considerably smaller.  The

balloon is furnished besides with a grapnel, and a guide-rope ;

which latter is of the most indispensable importance. A few words, in

explanation, will here be necessary for such of our readers as are

not conversant with the details of aerostation.

"As soon as the balloon quits the earth, it is subjected to the

influence of many circumstances tending to create a difference in its

weight ;  augmenting or diminishing its ascending power.  For

example, there may be a deposition of dew upon the silk, to the

extent, even, of several hundred pounds ;  ballast has then to be

thrown out, or the machine may descend.  This ballast being

discarded, and a clear sunshine evaporating the dew, and at the same

time expanding the gas in the silk, the whole will again rapidly

ascend.  To check this ascent, the only recourse is, (or rather

_was_, until Mr. Green's invention of the guide-rope,) the permission

of the escape of gas from the valve ;  but, in the loss of gas, is a

proportionate general loss of ascending power ;  so that, in a

comparatively brief period, the best-constructed balloon must

necessarily exhaust all its resources, and come to the earth.  This

was the great obstacle to voyages of length.

"The guide-rope remedies the difficulty in the simplest manner

conceivable.  It is merely a very long rope which is suffered to

trail from the car, and the effect of which is to prevent the balloon

from changing its level in any material degree.  If, for example,

there should be a deposition of moisture upon the silk, and the

machine begins to descend in consequence, there will be no necessity

for discharging ballast to remedy the increase of weight, for it is

remedied, or counteracted, in an exactly just proportion, by the

deposit on the ground of just so much of the end of the rope as is

necessary.  If, on the other hand, any circumstances should cause

undue levity, and consequent ascent, this levity is immediately

counteracted by the additional weight of rope upraised from the

earth.  Thus, the balloon can neither ascend or descend, except

within very narrow limits, and its resources, either in gas or

ballast, remain comparatively unimpaired. When passing over an

expanse of water, it becomes necessary to employ small kegs of copper

or wood, filled with liquid ballast of a lighter nature than water.

These float, and serve all the purposes of a mere rope on land.

Another most important office of the guide-rope, is to point out the

_direction_ of the balloon.  The rope _drags_, either on land or sea,

while the balloon is free ;  the latter, consequently, is always in

advance, when any progress whatever is made :  a comparison,

therefore, by means of the compass, of the relative positions of the

two objects, will always indicate the _course_.  In the same way, the

angle formed by the rope with the vertical axis of the machine,

indicates the _velocity_.  When there is _no_ angle - in other words,

when the rope hangs perpendicularly, the whole apparatus is

stationary ;  but the larger the angle, that is to say, the farther

the balloon precedes the end of the rope, the greater the velocity ;

and the converse.

"As the original design was to cross the British Channel, and

alight as near Paris as possible, the voyagers had taken the

precaution to prepare themselves with passports directed to all parts

of the Continent, specifying the nature of the expedition, as in the

case of the Nassau voyage, and entitling the adventurers to exemption

from the usual formalities of office :  unexpected events, however,

rendered these passports superfluous.

"The inflation was commenced very quietly at daybreak, on

Saturday morning, the 6th instant, in the Court-Yard of Weal-Vor

House, Mr. Osborne's seat, about a mile from Penstruthal, in North

Wales ;  and at 7 minutes past 11, every thing being ready for

departure, the balloon was set free, rising gently but steadily, in a

direction nearly South ;  no use being made, for the first half hour,

of either the screw or the rudder.  We proceed now with the journal,

as transcribed by Mr. Forsyth from the joint MSS.  Of Mr. Monck

Mason, and Mr. Ainsworth.  The body of the journal, as given, is in

the hand-writing of Mr. Mason, and a P.  S.  is appended, each day,

by Mr. Ainsworth, who has in preparation, and will shortly give the

public a more minute, and no doubt, a thrillingly interesting account

of the voyage.

"THE JOURNAL.

"_Saturday, April the 6th_.  - Every preparation likely to

embarrass us, having been made over night, we commenced the inflation

this morning at daybreak ;  but owing to a thick fog, which

encumbered the folds of the silk and rendered it unmanageable, we did

not get through before nearly eleven o'clock.  Cut loose, then, in

high spirits, and rose gently but steadily, with a light breeze at

North, which bore us in the direction of the British Channel.  Found

the ascending force greater than we had expected ;  and as we arose

higher and so got clear of the cliffs, and more in the sun's rays,

our ascent became very rapid.  I did not wish, however, to lose gas

at so early a period of the adventure, and so concluded to ascend for

the present.  We soon ran out our guide-rope ;  but even when we had

raised it clear of the earth, we still went up very rapidly.  The

balloon was unusually steady, and looked beautifully.  In about ten

minutes after starting, the barometer indicated an altitude of 15,000

feet.  The weather was remarkably fine, and the view of the subjacent

country - a most romantic one when seen from any point, - was now

especially sublime. The numerous deep gorges presented the appearance

of lakes, on account of the dense vapors with which they were filled,

and the pinnacles and crags to the South East, piled in inextricable

confusion, resembling nothing so much as the giant cities of eastern

fable.  We were rapidly approaching the mountains in the South ;  but

our elevation was more than sufficient to enable us to pass them in

safety.  In a few minutes we soared over them in fine style ;  and

Mr. Ainsworth, with the seamen, was surprised at their apparent want

of altitude when viewed from the car, the tendency of great elevation

in a balloon being to reduce inequalities of the surface below, to

nearly a dead level.  At half-past eleven still proceeding nearly

South, we obtained our first view of the Bristol Channel ;  and, in

fifteen minutes afterward, the line of breakers on the coast appeared

immediately beneath us, and we were fairly out at sea.  We now

resolved to let off enough gas to bring our guide-rope, with the

buoys affixed, into the water.  This was immediately done, and we

commenced a gradual descent.  In about twenty minutes our first buoy

dipped, and at the touch of the second soon afterwards, we remained

stationary as to elevation.  We were all now anxious to test the

efficiency of the rudder and screw, and we put them both into

requisition forthwith, for the purpose of altering our direction more

to the eastward, and in a line for Paris.  By means of the rudder we

instantly effected the necessary change of direction, and our course

was brought nearly at right angles to that of the wind ;  when we set

in motion the spring of the screw, and were rejoiced to find it

propel us readily as desired.  Upon this we gave nine hearty cheers,

and dropped in the sea a bottle, enclosing a slip of parchment with a

brief account of the principle of the invention.  Hardly, however,

had we done with our rejoicings, when an unforeseen accident occurred

which discouraged us in no little degree.  The steel rod connecting

the spring with the propeller was suddenly jerked out of place, at

the car end, (by a swaying of the car through some movement of one of

the two seamen we had taken up,) and in an instant hung dangling out

of reach, from the pivot of the axis of the screw.  While we were

endeavoring to regain it, our attention being completely absorbed, we

became involved in a strong current of wind from the East, which bore

us, with rapidly increasing force, towards the Atlantic.  We soon

found ourselves driving out to sea at the rate of not less,

certainly, than fifty or sixty miles an hour, so that we came up with

Cape Clear, at some forty miles to our North, before we had secured

the rod, and had time to think what we were about.  It was now that

Mr. Ainsworth made an extraordinary, but to my fancy, a by no means

unreasonable or chimerical proposition, in which he was instantly

seconded by Mr. Holland - viz.:  that we should take advantage of the

strong gale which bore us on, and in place of beating back to Paris,

make an attempt to reach the coast of North America.  After slight

reflection I gave a willing assent to this bold proposition, which

(strange to say) met with objection from the two seamen only.  As the

stronger party, however, we overruled their fears, and kept

resolutely upon our course.  We steered due West ;  but as the

trailing of the buoys materially impeded our progress, and we had the

balloon abundantly at command, either for ascent or descent, we first

threw out fifty pounds of ballast, and then wound up (by means of a

windlass) so much of the rope as brought it quite clear of the sea.

We perceived the effect of this manœuvre immediately, in a vastly

increased rate of progress ;  and, as the gale freshened, we flew

with a velocity nearly inconceivable ;  the guide-rope flying out

behind the car, like a streamer from a vessel.  It is needless to say

that a very short time sufficed us to lose sight of the coast.  We

passed over innumerable vessels of all kinds, a few of which were

endeavoring to beat up, but the most of them lying to.  We occasioned

the greatest excitement on board all - an excitement greatly relished

by ourselves, and especially by our two men, who, now under the

influence of a dram of Geneva, seemed resolved to give all scruple,

or fear, to the wind.  Many of the vessels fired signal guns ;  and

in all we were saluted with loud cheers (which we heard with

surprising distinctness) and the waving of caps and handkerchiefs. We

kept on in this manner throughout the day, with no material incident,

and, as the shades of night closed around us, we made a rough

estimate of the distance traversed.  It could not have been less than

five hundred miles, and was probably much more.  The propeller was

kept in constant operation, and, no doubt, aided our progress

materially.  As the sun went down, the gale freshened into an

absolute hurricane, and the ocean beneath was clearly visible on

account of its phosphorescence.  The wind was from the East all

night, and gave us the brightest omen of success.  We suffered no

little from cold, and the dampness of the atmosphere was most

unpleasant ;  but the ample space in the car enabled us to lie down,

and by means of cloaks and a few blankets, we did sufficiently well.

"P.S.  (by Mr. Ainsworth.) The last nine hours have been

unquestionably the most exciting of my life.  I can conceive nothing

more sublimating than the strange peril and novelty of an adventure

such as this.  May God grant that we succeed !  I ask not success for

mere safety to my insignificant person, but for the sake of human

knowledge and - for the vastness of the triumph.  And yet the feat is

only so evidently feasible that the sole wonder is why men have

scrupled to attempt it before.  One single gale such as now befriends

us - let such a tempest whirl forward a balloon for four or five days

(these gales often last longer) and the voyager will be easily borne,

in that period, from coast to coast.  In view of such a gale the

broad Atlantic becomes a mere lake.  I am more struck, just now, with

the supreme silence which reigns in the sea beneath us,

notwithstanding its agitation, than with any other phenomenon

presenting itself.  The waters give up no voice to the heavens.  The

immense flaming ocean writhes and is tortured uncomplainingly.  The

mountainous surges suggest the idea of innumerable dumb gigantic

fiends struggling in impotent agony.  In a night such as is this to

me, a man _lives_ - lives a whole century of ordinary life - nor

would I forego this rapturous delight for that of a whole century of

ordinary existence.

"_Sunday, the seventh_.  [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning the gale,

by 10, had subsided to an eight or nine - knot breeze, (for a vessel

at sea,) and bears us, perhaps, thirty miles per hour, or more. It

has veered, however, very considerably to the north ;  and now, at

sundown, we are holding our course due west, principally by the screw

and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration.  I regard the

project as thoroughly successful, and the easy navigation of the air

in any direction (not exactly in the teeth of a gale) as no longer

problematical.  We could not have made head against the strong wind

of yesterday ;  but, by ascending, we might have got out of its

influence, if requisite.  Against a pretty stiff breeze, I feel

convinced, we can make our way with the propeller.  At noon, to-day,

ascended to an elevation of nearly 25,000 feet, by discharging

ballast.  Did this to search for a more direct current, but found

none so favorable as the one we are now in.  We have an abundance of

gas to take us across this small pond, even should the voyage last

three weeks.  I have not the slightest fear for the result.  The

difficulty has been strangely exaggerated and misapprehended.  I can

choose my current, and should I find _all_ currents against me, I can

make very tolerable headway with the propeller.  We have had no

incidents worth recording.  The night promises fair.

P.S.  [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to record, except the

fact (to me quite a surprising one) that, at an elevation equal to

that of Cotopaxi, I experienced neither very intense cold, nor

headache, nor difficulty of breathing ;  neither, I find, did Mr.

Mason, nor Mr. Holland, nor Sir Everard.  Mr. Osborne complained of

constriction of the chest - but this soon wore off.  We have flown at

a great rate during the day, and we must be more than half way across

the Atlantic.  We have passed over some twenty or thirty vessels of

various kinds, and all seem to be delightfully astonished.  Crossing

the ocean in a balloon is not so difficult a feat after all.  _Omne

ignotum pro magnifico.  Mem :_  at 25,000 feet elevation the sky

appears nearly black, and the stars are distinctly visible ;  while

the sea does not seem convex (as one might suppose) but absolutely

and most unequivocally _concave_.{*1}

"_Monday, the 8th_.  [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning we had again

some little trouble with the rod of the propeller, which must be

entirely remodelled, for fear of serious accident - I mean the steel

rod - not the vanes.  The latter could not be improved.  The wind has

been blowing steadily and strongly from the north-east all day  and

so far fortune seems bent upon favoring us.  Just before day, we were

all somewhat alarmed at some odd noises and concussions in the

balloon, accompanied with the apparent rapid subsidence of the whole

machine.  These phenomena were occasioned by the expansion of the

gas, through increase of heat in the atmosphere, and the consequent

disruption of the minute particles of ice with which the network had

become encrusted during the night.  Threw down several bottles to the

vessels below. Saw one of them picked up by a large ship - seemingly

one of the New York line packets.  Endeavored to make out her name,

but could not be sure of it.  Mr. Osbornes telescope made it out

something like "Atalanta." It is now 12 ,at night, and we are still

going nearly west, at a rapid pace.  The sea is peculiarly

phosphorescent.

"P.S.  [By Mr. Ainsworth.] It is now 2, A.M., and nearly calm, as

well as I can judge - but it is very difficult to determine this

point, since we move _with_ the air so completely.  I have not slept

since quitting Wheal-Vor, but can stand it no longer, and must take a

nap.  We cannot be far from the American coast.

"_Tuesday, the _9_th_.  [Mr. Ainsworth's MS.] _One, P.M.  We are

in full view of the low coast of South Carolina_.  The great problem

is accomplished.  We have crossed the Atlantic - fairly and _easily_

crossed it in a balloon !  God be praised !  Who shall say that

anything is impossible hereafter? "

The Journal here ceases.  Some particulars of the descent were

communicated, however, by Mr. Ainsworth to Mr. Forsyth.  It was

nearly dead calm when the voyagers first came in view of the coast,

which was immediately recognized by both the seamen, and by Mr.

Osborne. The latter gentleman having acquaintances at Fort Moultrie,

it was immediately resolved to descend in its vicinity.  The balloon

was brought over the beach (the tide being out and the sand hard,

smooth, and admirably adapted for a descent,) and the grapnel let go,

which took firm hold at once.  The inhabitants of the island, and of

the fort, thronged out, of course, to see the balloon ;  but it was

with the greatest difficulty that any one could be made to credit the

actual voyage - _the crossing of the Atlantic_.  The grapnel caught

at 2, P.M.,  precisely ;  and thus the whole voyage was completed in

seventy-five hours ;  or rather less, counting from shore to shore.

No serious accident occurred. No real danger was at any time

apprehended.  The balloon was exhausted and secured without trouble ;

and when the MS.  from which this narrative is compiled was

despatched from Charleston, the party were still at Fort Moultrie.

Their farther intentions were not ascertained ;  but we can safely

promise our readers some additional information either on Monday or

in the course of the next day, at farthest.

This is unquestionably the most stupendous, the most interesting,

and the most important undertaking, ever accomplished or even

attempted by man.  What magnificent events may ensue, it would be

useless now to think of determining.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

{*1} _Note_. - Mr. Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this

phenomenon, which, however, is quite susceptible of explanation. A

line dropped from an elevation of 25,000 feet, perpendicularly to the

surface of the earth (or sea), would form the perpendicular of a

right-angled triangle, of which the base would extend from the right

angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon to the

balloon. But the 25,000 feet of altitude is little or nothing, in

comparison with the extent of the prospect. In other words, the base

and hypothenuse of the supposed triangle would be so long when

compared with the perpendicular, that the two former may be regarded

as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon of the æronaut would

appear to be _on a level_ with the car. But, as the point immediately

beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it seems,

of course, also, at a great distance below the horizon. Hence the

impression of _concavity_ ; and this impression must remain, until

the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to the extent of

prospect, that the apparent parallelism of the base and hypothenuse

disappears - when the earth's real convexity must become apparent.

==========

MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE

Qui n'a plus qu'un moment a vivre

N'a plus rien a dissimuler.

-- Quinault -- Atys.

OF my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and

length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me from

the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common

order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me to methodize the

stores which early study very diligently garnered up. -- Beyond all

things, the study of the German moralists gave me great delight; not

from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquent madness, but from

the ease with which my habits of rigid thought enabled me to detect

their falsities. I have often been reproached with the aridity of my

genius; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed to me as a

crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions has at all times rendered me

notorious. Indeed, a strong relish for physical philosophy has, I

fear, tinctured my mind with a very common error of this age -- I

mean the habit of referring occurrences, even the least susceptible

of such reference, to the principles of that science. Upon the whole,

no person could be less liable than myself to be led away from the

severe precincts of truth by the ignes fatui of superstition. I have

thought proper to premise thus much, lest the incredible tale I have

to tell should be considered rather the raving of a crude

imagination, than the positive experience of a mind to which the

reveries of fancy have been a dead letter and a nullity.

After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18 --

, from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island of Java,

on a voyage to the Archipelago of the Sunda islands. I went as

passenger -- having no other inducement than a kind of nervous

restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.

Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hundred tons,

copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of Malabar teak. She was

freighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lachadive islands. We

had also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and a few cases

of opium. The stowage was clumsily done, and the vessel consequently

crank.

We got under way with a mere breath of wind, and for many days stood

along the eastern coast of Java, without any other incident to

beguile the monotony of our course than the occasional meeting with

some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which we were bound.

One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very singular,

isolated cloud, to the N.W. It was remarkable, as well for its color,

as from its being the first we had seen since our departure from

Batavia. I watched it attentively until sunset, when it spread all at

once to the eastward and westward, girting in the horizon with a

narrow strip of vapor, and looking like a long line of low beach. My

notice was soon afterwards attracted by the dusky-red appearance of

the moon, and the peculiar character of the sea. The latter was

undergoing a rapid change, and the water seemed more than usually

transparent. Although I could distinctly see the bottom, yet, heaving

the lead, I found the ship in fifteen fathoms. The air now became

intolerably hot, and was loaded with spiral exhalations similar to

those arising from heat iron. As night came on, every breath of wind

died away, an more entire calm it is impossible to conceive. The

flame of a candle burned upon the poop without the least perceptible

motion, and a long hair, held between the finger and thumb, hung

without the possibility of detecting a vibration. However, as the

captain said he could perceive no indication of danger, and as we

were drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered the sails to be furled,

and the anchor let go. No watch was set, and the crew, consisting

principally of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon deck. I

went below -- not without a full presentiment of evil. Indeed, every

appearance warranted me in apprehending a Simoom. I told the captain

my fears; but he paid no attention to what I said, and left me

without deigning to give a reply. My uneasiness, however, prevented

me from sleeping, and about midnight I went upon deck. -- As I placed

my foot upon the upper step of the companion-ladder, I was startled

by a loud, humming noise, like that occasioned by the rapid

revolution of a mill-wheel, and before I could ascertain its meaning,

I found the ship quivering to its centre. In the next instant, a

wilderness of foam hurled us upon our beam-ends, and, rushing over us

fore and aft, swept the entire decks from stem to stern.

The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great measure, the

salvation of the ship. Although completely water-logged, yet, as her

masts had gone by the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily from

the sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense pressure of the

tempest, finally righted.

By what miracle I escaped destruction, it is impossible to say.

Stunned by the shock of the water, I found myself, upon recovery,

jammed in between the stern-post and rudder. With great difficulty I

gained my feet, and looking dizzily around, was, at first, struck

with the idea of our being among breakers; so terrific, beyond the

wildest imagination, was the whirlpool of mountainous and foaming

ocean within which we were engulfed. After a while, I heard the voice

of an old Swede, who had shipped with us at the moment of our leaving

port. I hallooed to him with all my strength, and presently he came

reeling aft. We soon discovered that we were the sole survivors of

the accident. All on deck, with the exception of ourselves, had been

swept overboard; -- the captain and mates must have perished as they

slept, for the cabins were deluged with water. Without assistance, we

could expect to do little for the security of the ship, and our

exertions were at first paralyzed by the momentary expectation of

going down. Our cable had, of course, parted like pack-thread, at the

first breath of the hurricane, or we should have been instantaneously

overwhelmed. We scudded with frightful velocity before the sea, and

the water made clear breaches over us. The frame-work of our stern

was shattered excessively, and, in almost every respect, we had

received considerable injury; but to our extreme Joy we found the

pumps unchoked, and that we had made no great shifting of our

ballast. The main fury of the blast had already blown over, and we

apprehended little danger from the violence of the wind; but we

looked forward to its total cessation with dismay; well believing,

that, in our shattered condition, we should inevitably perish in the

tremendous swell which would ensue. But this very just apprehension

seemed by no means likely to be soon verified. For five entire days

and nights -- during which our only subsistence was a small quantity

of jaggeree, procured with great difficulty from the forecastle --

the hulk flew at a rate defying computation, before rapidly

succeeding flaws of wind, which, without equalling the first violence

of the Simoom, were still more terrific than any tempest I had before

encountered. Our course for the first four days was, with trifling

variations, S.E. and by S.; and we must have run down the coast of

New Holland. -- On the fifth day the cold became extreme, although

the wind had hauled round a point more to the northward. -- The sun

arose with a sickly yellow lustre, and clambered a very few degrees

above the horizon -- emitting no decisive light. -- There were no

clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the increase, and blew with a

fitful and unsteady fury. About noon, as nearly as we could guess,

our attention was again arrested by the appearance of the sun. It

gave out no light, properly so called, but a dull and sullen glow

without reflection, as if all its rays were polarized. Just before

sinking within the turgid sea, its central fires suddenly went out,

as if hurriedly extinguished by some unaccountable power. It was a

dim, sliver-like rim, alone, as it rushed down the unfathomable

ocean.

We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day -- that day to me

has not arrived -- to the Swede, never did arrive. Thenceforward we

were enshrouded in patchy darkness, so that we could not have seen an

object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternal night continued to

envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoric sea-brilliancy to which

we had been accustomed in the tropics. We observed too, that,

although the tempest continued to rage with unabated violence, there

was no longer to be discovered the usual appearance of surf, or foam,

which had hitherto attended us. All around were horror, and thick

gloom, and a black sweltering desert of ebony. -- Superstitious

terror crept by degrees into the spirit of the old Swede, and my own

soul was wrapped up in silent wonder. We neglected all care of the

ship, as worse than useless, and securing ourselves, as well as

possible, to the stump of the mizen-mast, looked out bitterly into

the world of ocean. We had no means of calculating time, nor could we

form any guess of our situation. We were, however, well aware of

having made farther to the southward than any previous navigators,

and felt great amazement at not meeting with the usual impediments of

ice. In the meantime every moment threatened to be our last -- every

mountainous billow hurried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed

anything I had imagined possible, and that we were not instantly

buried is a miracle. My companion spoke of the lightness of our

cargo, and reminded me of the excellent qualities of our ship; but I

could not help feeling the utter hopelessness of hope itself, and

prepared myself gloomily for that death which I thought nothing could

defer beyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship made, the

swelling of the black stupendous seas became more dismally appalling.

At times we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond the albatross --

at times became dizzy with the velocity of our descent into some

watery hell, where the air grew stagnant, and no sound disturbed the

slumbers of the kraken.

We were at the bottom of one of these abysses, when a quick scream

from my companion broke fearfully upon the night. "See! see!" cried

he, shrieking in my ears, "Almighty God! see! see!" As he spoke, I

became aware of a dull, sullen glare of red light which streamed down

the sides of the vast chasm where we lay, and threw a fitful

brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upwards, I beheld a

spectacle which froze the current of my blood. At a terrific height

directly above us, and upon the very verge of the precipitous

descent, hovered a gigantic ship of, perhaps, four thousand tons.

Although upreared upon the summit of a wave more than a hundred times

her own altitude, her apparent size exceeded that of any ship of the

line or East Indiaman in existence. Her huge hull was of a deep dingy

black, unrelieved by any of the customary carvings of a ship. A

single row of brass cannon protruded from her open ports, and dashed

from their polished surfaces the fires of innumerable

battle-lanterns, which swung to and fro about her rigging. But what

mainly inspired us with horror and astonishment, was that she bore up

under a press of sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea, and

of that ungovernable hurricane. When we first discovered her, her

bows were alone to be seen, as she rose slowly from the dim and

horrible gulf beyond her. For a moment of intense terror she paused

upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contemplation of her own sublimity,

then trembled and tottered, and -- came down.

At this instant, I know not what sudden self-possession came over my

spirit. Staggering as far aft as I could, I awaited fearlessly the

ruin that was to overwhelm. Our own vessel was at length ceasing from

her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea. The shock of the

descending mass struck her, consequently, in that portion of her

frame which was already under water, and the inevitable result was to

hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging of the

stranger.

As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about; and to the

confusion ensuing I attributed my escape from the notice of the crew.

With little difficulty I made my way unperceived to the main

hatchway, which was partially open, and soon found an opportunity of

secreting myself in the hold. Why I did so I can hardly tell. An

indefinite sense of awe, which at first sight of the navigators of

the ship had taken hold of my mind, was perhaps the principle of my

concealment. I was unwilling to trust myself with a race of people

who had offered, to the cursory glance I had taken, so many points of

vague novelty, doubt, and apprehension. I therefore thought proper to

contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This I did by removing a small

portion of the shifting-boards, in such a manner as to afford me a

convenient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship.

I had scarcely completed my work, when a footstep in the hold forced

me to make use of it. A man passed by my place of concealment with a

feeble and unsteady gait. I could not see his face, but had an

opportunity of observing his general appearance. There was about it

an evidence of great age and infirmity. His knees tottered beneath a

load of years, and his entire frame quivered under the burthen. He

muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, some words of a language

which I could not understand, and groped in a corner among a pile of

singular-looking instruments, and decayed charts of navigation. His

manner was a wild mixture of the peevishness of second childhood, and

the solemn dignity of a God. He at length went on deck, and I saw him

no more.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul

-- a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the lessons

of bygone times are inadequate, and for which I fear futurity itself

will offer me no key. To a mind constituted like my own, the latter

consideration is an evil. I shall never -- I know that I shall never

-- be satisfied with regard to the nature of my conceptions. Yet it

is not wonderful that these conceptions are indefinite, since they

have their origin in sources so utterly novel. A new sense -- a new

entity is added to my soul.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and the

rays of my destiny are, I think, gathering to a focus.

Incomprehensible men! Wrapped up in meditations of a kind which I

cannot divine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter folly

on my part, for the people will not see. It was but just now that I

passed directly before the eyes of the mate -- it was no long while

ago that I ventured into the captain's own private cabin, and took

thence the materials with which I write, and have written. I shall

from time to time continue this Journal. It is true that I may not

find an opportunity of transmitting it to the world, but I will not

fall to make the endeavour. At the last moment I will enclose the MS.

in a bottle, and cast it within the sea.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

An incident has occurred which has given me new room for meditation.

Are such things the operation of ungoverned Chance? I had ventured

upon deck and thrown myself down, without attracting any notice,

among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails in the bottom of the yawl.

While musing upon the singularity of my fate, I unwittingly daubed

with a tar-brush the edges of a neatly-folded studding-sail which lay

near me on a barrel. The studding-sail is now bent upon the ship, and

the thoughtless touches of the brush are spread out into the word

DISCOVERY.

I have made many observations lately upon the structure of the

vessel. Although well armed, she is not, I think, a ship of war. Her

rigging, build, and general equipment, all negative a supposition of

this kind. What she is not, I can easily perceive -- what she is I

fear it is impossible to say. I know not how it is, but in

scrutinizing her strange model and singular cast of spars, her huge

size and overgrown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and

antiquated stern, there will occasionally flash across my mind a

sensation of familiar things, and there is always mixed up with such

indistinct shadows of recollection, an unaccountable memory of old

foreign chronicles and ages long ago.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She is built of a

material to which I am a stranger. There is a peculiar character

about the wood which strikes me as rendering it unfit for the purpose

to which it has been applied. I mean its extreme porousness,

considered independently by the worm-eaten condition which is a

consequence of navigation in these seas, and apart from the

rottenness attendant upon age. It will appear perhaps an observation

somewhat over-curious, but this wood would have every, characteristic

of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any unnatural means.

In reading the above sentence a curious apothegm of an old

weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes full upon my recollection. "It

is as sure," he was wont to say, when any doubt was entertained of

his veracity, "as sure as there is a sea where the ship itself will

grow in bulk like the living body of the seaman."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself among a group of the

crew. They paid me no manner of attention, and, although I stood in

the very midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious of my

presence. Like the one I had at first seen in the hold, they all bore

about them the marks of a hoary old age. Their knees trembled with

infirmity; their shoulders were bent double with decrepitude; their

shrivelled skins rattled in the wind; their voices were low,

tremulous and broken; their eyes glistened with the rheum of years;

and their gray hairs streamed terribly in the tempest. Around them,

on every part of the deck, lay scattered mathematical instruments of

the most quaint and obsolete construction.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I mentioned some time ago the bending of a studding-sail. From that

period the ship, being thrown dead off the wind, has continued her

terrific course due south, with every rag of canvas packed upon her,

from her trucks to her lower studding-sail booms, and rolling every

moment her top-gallant yard-arms into the most appalling hell of

water which it can enter into the mind of a man to imagine. I have

just left the deck, where I find it impossible to maintain a footing,

although the crew seem to experience little inconvenience. It appears

to me a miracle of miracles that our enormous bulk is not swallowed

up at once and forever. We are surely doomed to hover continually

upon the brink of Eternity, without taking a final plunge into the

abyss. From billows a thousand times more stupendous than any I have

ever seen, we glide away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull;

and the colossal waters rear their heads above us like demons of the

deep, but like demons confined to simple threats and forbidden to

destroy. I am led to attribute these frequent escapes to the only

natural cause which can account for such effect. -- I must suppose

the ship to be within the influence of some strong current, or

impetuous under-tow.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own cabin -- but, as

I expected, he paid me no attention. Although in his appearance there

is, to a casual observer, nothing which might bespeak him more or

less than man-still a feeling of irrepressible reverence and awe

mingled with the sensation of wonder with which I regarded him. In

stature he is nearly my own height; that is, about five feet eight

inches. He is of a well-knit and compact frame of body, neither

robust nor remarkably otherwise. But it is the singularity of the

expression which reigns upon the face -- it is the intense, the

wonderful, the thrilling evidence of old age, so utter, so extreme,

which excites within my spirit a sense -- a sentiment ineffable. His

forehead, although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the stamp

of a myriad of years. -- His gray hairs are records of the past, and

his grayer eyes are Sybils of the future. The cabin floor was thickly

strewn with strange, iron-clasped folios, and mouldering instruments

of science, and obsolete long-forgotten charts. His head was bowed

down upon his hands, and he pored, with a fiery unquiet eye, over a

paper which I took to be a commission, and which, at all events, bore

the signature of a monarch. He muttered to himself, as did the first

seaman whom I saw in the hold, some low peevish syllables of a

foreign tongue, and although the speaker was close at my elbow, his

voice seemed to reach my ears from the distance of a mile.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of Eld. The crew

glide to and fro like the ghosts of buried centuries; their eyes have

an eager and uneasy meaning; and when their fingers fall athwart my

path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I feel as I have never

felt before, although I have been all my life a dealer in

antiquities, and have imbibed the shadows of fallen columns at

Balbec, and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has become a

ruin.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

When I look around me I feel ashamed of my former apprehensions. If I

trembled at the blast which has hitherto attended us, shall I not

stand aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey any idea of

which the words tornado and simoom are trivial and ineffective? All

in the immediate vicinity of the ship is the blackness of eternal

night, and a chaos of foamless water; but, about a league on either

side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at intervals, stupendous

ramparts of ice, towering away into the desolate sky, and looking

like the walls of the universe.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current; if that

appellation can properly be given to a tide which, howling and

shrieking by the white ice, thunders on to the southward with a

velocity like the headlong dashing of a cataract.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I presume, utterly

impossible; yet a curiosity to penetrate the mysteries of these awful

regions, predominates even over my despair, and will reconcile me to

the most hideous aspect of death. It is evident that we are hurrying

onwards to some exciting knowledge -- some never-to-be-imparted

secret, whose attainment is destruction. Perhaps this current leads

us to the southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a

supposition apparently so wild has every probability in its favor.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous step; but there is

upon their countenances an expression more of the eagerness of hope

than of the apathy of despair.

In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and, as we carry a

crowd of canvas, the ship is at times lifted bodily from out the sea

-- Oh, horror upon horror! the ice opens suddenly to the right, and

to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense concentric

circles, round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre, the

summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance. But

little time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny -- the circles

rapidly grow small -- we are plunging madly within the grasp of the

whirlpool -- and amid a roaring, and bellowing, and thundering of

ocean and of tempest, the ship is quivering, oh God! and -- going

down.

NOTE. -- The "MS. Found in a Bottle," was originally published in

1831, and it was not until many years afterwards that I became

acquainted with the maps of Mercator, in which the ocean is

represented as rushing, by four mouths, into the (northern) Polar

Gulf, to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth; the Pole itself

being represented by a black rock, towering to a prodigious height.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

========

The Oval Portrait

THE chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible

entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition,

to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled

gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Appennines,

not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe. To all

appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We

established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously

furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its

decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung

with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial

trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited

modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque. In these

paintings, which depended from the walls not only in their main

surfaces, but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of

the chateau rendered necessary -- in these paintings my incipient

delirium, perhaps, had caused me to take deep interest; so that I

bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room -- since it was

already night -- to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which

stood by the head of my bed -- and to throw open far and wide the

fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I

wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at

least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and the

perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and

which purported to criticise and describe them.

Long -- long I read -- and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and

gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The position

of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand with

difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so

as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.

But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated. The rays

of the numerous candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche

of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of

the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed

before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into

womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then closed my

eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own

perception. But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in my

mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to

gain time for thought -- to make sure that my vision had not deceived

me -- to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain

gaze. In a very few moments I again looked fixedly at the painting.

That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first

flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the

dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at

once into waking life.

The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It was a

mere head and shoulders, done in what is technically termed a

vignette manner; much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully.

The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair melted

imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the

back-ground of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded and

filigreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more

admirable than the painting itself. But it could have been neither

the execution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the

countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least

of all, could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half

slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at

once that the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of

the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea -- must have

prevented even its momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon

these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half

reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At length,

satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the

bed. I had found the spell of the picture in an absolute

life-likeliness of expression, which, at first startling, finally

confounded, subdued, and appalled me. With deep and reverent awe I

replaced the candelabrum in its former position. The cause of my deep

agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume

which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning to the

number which designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and

quaint words which follow:

"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of

glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the

painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and having already a

bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely

than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young

fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating only the Art which was

her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward

instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It

was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of

his desire to portray even his young bride. But she was humble and

obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high

turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from

overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on

from hour to hour, and from day to day. And be was a passionate, and

wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would

not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret

withered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly

to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly,

because she saw that the painter (who had high renown) took a fervid

and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict

her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak.

And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in

low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power

of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so

surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew nearer to its

conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter

had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from

canvas merely, even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he

would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were

drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many weeks

bad passed, and but little remained to do, save one brush upon the

mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again

flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the

brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one moment,

the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought; but

in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid,

and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, 'This is indeed Life

itself!' turned suddenly to regard his beloved: -- She was dead!

End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Works of Edgar Allan Poe V. 1