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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:36 -0700 |
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diff --git a/12732-h/12732-h.htm b/12732-h/12732-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01d4c7a --- /dev/null +++ b/12732-h/12732-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11943 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Collection of Short-Stories, by Various</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12732 ***</div> + +<h1>A Collection of Short-Stories</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">EDITED BY<br/> +L.A. PITTENGER, A.M.,<br/> +CRITIC IN ENGLISH, INDIANA UNIVERSITY</h2> + +<p class="center"> +New York:<br/> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,<br/> +1914 +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1913. Reprinted January, 1914. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Norwood Press,<br/> +J.S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.,<br/> +Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap00">A PREFATORY NOTE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">INTRODUCTION:</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01.1"> History of the Short-story</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01.2"> Qualities of the Short-story</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01.3"> Composition of the Short-story</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01.4"> Books for Reference</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01.5"> Collections of Short-stories</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">THE FATHER. 1860. Björnstjerne Björnson.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANON. 1887. Frank R. Stockton.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">THE PIECE OF STRING. 1884. Guy de Maupassant.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">THE MAN WHO WAS. 1889. Rudyard Kipling.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER. 1839. Edgar Allan Poe.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">THE GOLD-BUG. 1843. Edgar Allan Poe.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE BIRTHMARK. 1843. Nathaniel Hawthorne.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">ETHAN BRAND. 1848. Nathaniel Hawthorne.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">THE SIRE DE MALÉTROIT'S DOOR. 1878. Robert Louis Stevenson.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">MARKHEIM. 1884. Robert Louis Stevenson.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap00"></a>A PREFATORY NOTE</h2> + +<p> +This collection of short-stories does not illustrate the history of +short-story writing, nor does it pretend that these are the ten best +stories ever written, but it does attempt to present selections from a +list of the greatest short-stories that have proved, in actual use, +most beneficial to high school students. +</p> + +<p> +The introduction presents a concise statement of the essentials of the +history, qualities, and composition of the short-story. A brief +biography of each author and a criticism covering the main +characteristics of his writings serve as starting points for the +recitation. The references following both the biography and criticism +are given in order that the study of the short-story may be amplified, +and that high school teachers may build a systematic and serviceable +library about their class work in the teaching of the story. The +collateral readings, listed after each story, will aid in the creation +of a suitable atmosphere for the story studied, and explain many +questions developed in the recitation. Only such definitions as are +not easily found in school dictionaries are included in the notes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap01.1"></a>HISTORY OF THE SHORT-STORY</h3> + +<p> +Just when, where, and by whom story-telling was begun no one can say. +From the first use of speech, no doubt, our ancestors have told +stories of war, love, mysteries, and the miraculous performances of +lower animals and inanimate objects. The ultimate source of all +stories lies in a thorough democracy, unhampered by the restrictions +of a higher civilization. Many tales spring from a loathsome filth +that is extremely obnoxious to our present day tastes. The remarkable +and gratifying truth is, however, that the short-story, beginning in +the crude and brutal stages of man's development, has gradually +unfolded to greater and more useful possibilities, until in our own +time it is a most flexible and moral literary form. +</p> + +<p> +The first historical evidence in the development of the story shows no +conception of a short-story other than that it is not so long as other +narratives. This judgment of the short-story obtained until the +beginning of the nineteenth century, when a new version of its meaning +was given, and an enlarged vision of its possibilities was experienced +by a number of writers almost simultaneously. In the early centuries +of story-telling there was only one purpose in mind—that of narrating +for the joy of the telling and hearing. The story-tellers sacrificed +unity and totality of effect as well as originality for an +entertaining method of reciting their incidents. +</p> + +<p> +The story of <i>Ruth</i> and the <i>Prodigal Son</i> are excellent short tales, +but they do not fulfill the requirements of our modern short-story for +the reason that they are not constructed for one single impression, +but are in reality parts of possible longer stories. They are, as it +were, parts of stories not unlike <i>Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde</i> and <i>A +Lear of the Steppes</i>, and lack those complete and concise artistic +effects found in the short-stories, <i>Markheim</i> and <i>Mumu</i>, by the same +authors. Both <i>Ruth</i> and the <i>Prodigal Son</i> are exceptionally well +told, possess a splendid moral tone, and are excellent prophecies of +what the nineteenth century has developed for us in the art of +short-story writing. +</p> + +<p> +The Greeks did very little writing in prose until the era of their +decadence, and showed little instinct to use the concise and unified +form of the short-story. The conquering Romans followed closely in the +paths of their predecessors and did little work in the shorter +narratives. The myths of Greece and Rome were not bound by facts, and +opened a wonderland where writers were free to roam. The epics were +slow in movement, and presented a list of loosely organized stories +arranged about some character like Ulysses or AEneas. +</p> + +<p> +During the mediaeval period story-tellers and stories appeared +everywhere. The more ignorant of these story-tellers produced the +fable, and the educated monks produced the simple, crude and +disjointed tales. The <i>Gesta Romanorum</i> is a wonderful storehouse of +these mediaeval stories. In the <i>Decameron</i> Boccaccio deals with +traditional and contemporary materials. He is a born story-teller and +presents many interesting and well-told narratives, but as Professor +Baldwin[1] has said, more than half are merely anecdotes, and the +remaining stories are bare plots, ingeniously done in a kind of +scenario form. Three approach our modern idea of the short-story, and +two, the second story of the second day and the sixth story of the +ninth day, actually attain to our standard. Boccaccio was not +conscious of a standard in short-story telling, for he had none in the +sense that Poe and Maupassant defined and practiced it. Chaucer in +England told his stories in verse and added the charm of humor and +well defined characters to the development of story-telling. +</p> + +<p> +In the seventeenth century Cervantes gave the world its first great +novel, <i>Don Quixote</i>. Cervantes was careless in his work and did not +write short-stories, but tales that are fairly brief. Spain added to +the story a high sense of chivalry and a richness of character that +the Greek romance and the Italian novella did not possess. France +followed this loose composition and lack of beauty in form. Scarron +and Le Sage, the two French fiction writers of this period, +contributed little or nothing to the advancement of story-telling. +Cervantes' <i>The Liberal Lover</i> is as near as this period came to +producing a real short-story. +</p> + +<p> +The story-telling of the seventeenth century was largely shaped by the +popularity of the drama. In the eighteenth century the drama gave +place to the essay, and it is to the sketch and essay that we must go +to trace the evolution of the story during this period. Voltaire in +France had a burning message in every essay, and he paid far greater +attention to the development of the thought of his message than to the +story he was telling. Addison and Steele in the <i>Spectator</i> developed +some real characters of the fiction type and told some good stories, +but even their best, like <i>Theodosius and Constantia</i>, fall far short +of developing all the dramatic possibilities, and lack the focusing of +interest found in the nineteenth century stories. Some of Lamb's +<i>Essays of Elia</i>, especially the <i>Dream Children</i>, introduce a +delicate fancy and an essayist's clearness of thought and statement +into the story. At the close of this century German romanticism began +to seep into English thought and prepare the way for things new in +literary thought and treatment. +</p> + +<p> +The nineteenth century opened with a decided preference for fiction. +Washington Irving, reverting to the <i>Spectator</i>, produced his +sketches, and, following the trend of his time, looked forward to a +new form and wrote <i>The Spectre Bridegroom</i> and <i>Rip Van Winkle</i>. It +is only by a precise definition of short-story that Irving is robbed +of the honor of being the founder of the modern short-story. He loved +to meander and to fit his materials to his story scheme in a leisurely +manner. He did not quite see what Hawthorne instinctively followed and +Poe consciously defined and practiced, and he did not realize that +terseness of statement and totality of impression were the chief +qualities he needed to make him the father of a new literary form. Poe +and Maupassant have reduced the form of the short-story to an exact +science; Hawthorne and Harte have done successfully in the field of +romanticism what the Germans, Tieck and Hoffman, did not do so well; +Bjornson and Henry James have analyzed character psychologically in +their short-stories; Kipling has used the short-story as a vehicle for +the conveyance of specific knowledge; Stevenson has gathered most, if +not all, of the literary possibilities adaptable to short-story use, +and has incorporated them in his <i>Markheim</i>. +</p> + +<p> +France with her literary newspapers and artistic tendencies, and the +United States with magazines calling incessantly for good +short-stories, and with every section of its conglomerate life +clamoring to express itself, lead in the production and rank of +short-stories. Maupassant and Stevenson and Hawthorne and Poe are the +great names in the ranks of short-story writers. The list of present +day writers is interminable, and high school students can best acquire +a reasonable appreciation of the great work these writers are doing by +reading regularly some of the better grade literary magazines. +</p> + +<p> +For a comprehensive view of specimens representing the history and +development of the short-story, students should have access to Brander +Matthews' <i>The Short Story</i>, Jessup and Canby's <i>The Book of the +Short-Story</i>, and Waite and Taylor's <i>Modern Masterpieces of Short +Prose Fiction</i>. +</p> + +<p> +NOTE: [1] <i>American Short-Stories</i>, by Charles Sears Baldwin, New +York: Longmans, Green, & Company, 1904. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap01.2"></a>QUALITIES OF THE SHORT-STORY</h3> + +<p> +It was not until well along in the nineteenth century that any one +attempted to define the short-story. The three quotations given here +are among the best things that have been spoken on this subject. +</p> + +<p> +"The right novella is never a novel cropped back from the size of a +tree to a bush, or the branch of a tree stuck into the ground and made +to serve for a bush. It is another species, destined by the agencies +at work in the realm of unconsciousness to be brought into being of +its own kind, and not of another,"—W.D. Howells, <i>North American +Review</i>, 173:429. +</p> + +<p> +"A true short-story is something other and something more than a mere +story which is short. A true short-story differs from the novel +chiefly in its essential unity of impression. In a far more exact and +precise use of the word, a short-story has unity as a novel cannot +have it…. A short-story deals with a single character, a single +event, a single emotion, or the series of emotions called forth by a +single situation.—Brander Matthews, <i>The Philosophy of the +Short-Story</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"The aim of a short-story is to produce a single narrative effect with +the greatest economy of means that is consistent with the utmost +emphasis."—Clayton Hamilton, <i>Materials and Methods of Fiction</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The short-story must always have a compact unity and a direct +simplicity. In such stories as Björnson's <i>The Father</i> and +Maupassant's <i>The Piece of String</i> this simplicity is equal to that of +the anecdote, but in no case can an anecdote possess the dramatic +possibilities of these simple short-stories; for a short-story must +always have that tensity of emotion that comes only in the crucial +tests of life. +</p> + +<p> +The short-story does not demand the consistency in treatment of the +long story, for there are not so many elements to marshal and direct +properly, but the short-story must be original and varied in its +themes, cleverly constructed, and lighted through and through with the +glow of vivid imaginings. A single incident in daily life is caught as +in a snap-shot exposure and held before the reader in such a manner +that the impression of the whole is derived largely from suggestion. +The single incident may be the turning-point in life history, as in +<i>The Man Who Was</i>; it may be a mental surrender of habits fixed +seemingly in indelible colors in the soul and a sudden, inflexible +decision to be a man, as in the case of <i>Markheim;</i> or it may be a +gradual realization of the value of spiritual gifts, as Björnson has +concisely presented it in his little story <i>The Father</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The aim of the short-story is always to present a cross-section of +life in such a vivid manner that the importance of the incident +becomes universal. Some short-stories are told with the definite end +in view of telling a story for the sake of exploiting a plot. <i>The +Cask of Amontillado</i> is all action in comparison with <i>The Masque of +the Red Death. The Gold-Bug</i> sets for itself the task of solving a +puzzle and possesses action from first to last. Other stories teach a +moral. <i>Ethan Brand</i> deals with the unpardonable sin, and <i>The Great +Stone Face</i> is our classic story in the field of ideals and their +development. Hawthorne, above all writers, is most interested in +ethical laws and moral development. Still other stories aim to portray +character. Miss Jewett and Mrs. Freeman veraciously picture the +faded-put womanhood in New England; Henry James and Björnson turn the +x-rays of psychology and sociology on their characters; Stevenson +follows with the precision of the tick of a watch the steps in +Markheim's mental evolution. +</p> + +<p> +The types of the short-story are as varied as life itself. Addison, +Lamb, Irving, Warner, and many others have used the story in their +sketches and essays with wonderful effect. <i>The Legend of Sleepy +Hollow</i> is as impressive as any of Scott's tales. The allegory in <i>The +Great Stone Face</i> loses little or nothing when compared with Bunyan's +<i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>. No better type of detective story has been +written than the two short-stories, <i>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</i> +and <i>The Purloined Letter</i>. Every emotion is subject to the call of +the short-story. Humor with its expansive free air is not so well +adapted to the short-story as is pathos. There is a sadness in the +stories of Dickens, Garland, Page, Mrs. Freeman, Miss Jewett, +Maupassant, Poe, and many others that runs the whole gamut from +pleasing tenderness in <i>A Child's Dream of a Star</i> to unutterable +horror in <i>The Fall of the House of Usher</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The short-story is stripped of all the incongruities that led +Fielding, Scott, and Dickens far afield. All its parts harmonize in +the simplest manner to give unity and "totality" of impression through +strict unity of form. It is a concentrated piece of life snatched from +the ordinary and uneventful round of living and steeped in fancy until +it becomes the acme of literary art. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap01.3"></a>COMPOSITION OF THE SHORT-STORY</h3> + +<p> +Any student who wishes to express himself correctly and pleasingly, +and desires a keener sense for the appreciation of literary work must +write. The way others have done the thing never appears in a forceful +light until one sets himself at a task of like nature. Just so in the +study of this text. To find and appreciate the better points of the +short-story, students must write stories of their own, patterned in a +small way on the technique of the masterpieces. +</p> + +<p> +The process of short-story writing follows in a general way the +following program. In the first place the class must have something +interesting and suggestive to write about. Sometimes the class can +suggest a subject; newspapers almost every day give incidents worthy +of story treatment; happenings in the community often give the very +best material for stories; and phases of the literature work may well +be used in the development of students' themes. Change the type of +character and place, reconstruct the plot, or require a different +ending for the story, leaving the plot virtually as it is, and then +assign to the class. Boys and girls should invariably be taught to see +stories in the life about them, in the newspapers and magazines on +their library tables, and in the masterpieces they study in their +class work. +</p> + +<p> +After the idea that the class wishes to develop has been definitely +determined and the material for this development has been gathered and +grouped about the idea, the class should select a viewpoint and +proceed to write. Sometimes the author should tell the story, +sometimes a third person who may be of secondary importance in the +story should be given the rôle of the story-teller, sometimes the +whole may be in dialogue. The class should choose a fitting method. +</p> + +<p> +Young writers should be very careful about the beginning of a story. +An action story should start with a striking incident that catches the +reader's attention at once and forecasts subsequent happenings. In +every case this first incident must have in it the essence of the end +of the story and should be perfectly logical to the reader after he +has finished the reading. A story in which the setting is emphasized +can well begin, with a description and contain a number of +descriptions and expositions, distributed with a sense of propriety +throughout the theme. A good method to use in the opening of a +character story is that of conversation. An excellent example of a +sharp use of this device is Mrs. Freeman's <i>Revolt of Mother</i>, where +the first paragraph is a single spoken word. +</p> + +<p> +Every incident included in the story should be tested for its value in +the development of the theme. An incident that does not amplify +certain phases of the story has no right to be included, and great +care should be used in an effort to incorporate just the material +necessary for the proper evolution of the thought. The problem is not +so much what can be secured to be included in the story, but rather, +after making a thorough collection of the material, what of all these +points should be cast out. +</p> + +<p> +The ending must be a natural outgrowth of the development found in the +body of the composition. Even in a story with a surprise ending, of +which we are tempted to say that we have had no preparation for such a +turn in the story, there must be hints—the subtler the better—that +point unerringly and always toward the end. The end is presupposed in +the beginning and the changing of one means the altering of the other. +</p> + +<p> +Young writers have trouble in stopping at the right place. They should +learn, as soon as possible, that to drag on after the logical ending +has been reached spoils the best of stories. It is just as bad to stop +before arriving at the true end. In other words there is only one +place for the ending of a story, and in no case can it be shifted +without ruining the idea that has obtained throughout the theme. +</p> + +<p> +There are certain steps in the development of story-writing that +should be followed if the best results are to be obtained. The first +assignment should require only the writing of straight narrative. <i>The +Arabian Nights Tales</i> and children's stories represent this type of +writing and will give the teacher valuable aid in the presentation of +this work. After the students have produced simple stories resembling +the Sinbad Voyages, they should next add descriptions of persons and +places and explanations of situations to develop clearness and +interest in their original productions. Taking these themes in turn +students should be required to introduce plot incidents that +complicate the simple happenings and divert the straightforward trend +of the narrative. Now that the stories are well developed in their +descriptions, expositions, and plot interests they should be tested +for their emotional effects. Students should go through their themes, +and by making the proper changes give in some cases a humorous and in +others a pathetic or tragic effect. These few suggestions are given to +emphasize the facts that no one conceives a story in all its details +in a moment of inspiration, and that there is a way of proceeding that +passes in logical gradations from the simplest to the most complex +phases of story writing. +</p> + +<p> +Franklin and Stevenson knew no rules for writing other than to +practice incessantly on some form they wished to imitate. Hard work is +the first lesson that boys and girls must learn in the art of writing, +and a systematic gradation of assignments is what the teacher must +provide for his students. Walter Besant gave the following rules for +novel writers. Some of them may be suggestive to writers of the high +school age, so the list is given in its complete form. "(1) Practice +writing something original every day. (2) Cultivate the habit of +observation. (3) Work regularly at certain hours. (4) Read no rubbish. +(5) Aim at the formation of style. (6) Endeavor to be dramatic. (7) A +great element of dramatic skill is selection. (8) Avoid the sin of +writing about a character. (9) Never attempt to describe any kind of +life except that with which you are familiar. (10) Learn as much as +you can about men and women. (11) For the sake of forming a good +natural style, and acquiring command of language, write poetry." +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3>SHORT-STORY LIBRARY</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap01.4"></a><i>BOOKS FOR REFERENCE</i>:</h3> + +<p> +<i>American Short-Stories</i>, Charles Baldwin, Longmans, Green, & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Study of Prose Fiction</i>, Chapter XII, Bliss Perry, Houghton, +Mifflin Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Composition Rhetoric</i>, T.C. Blaisdell, American Book Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Forms of Prose Literature</i>, J.H. Gardiner, Charles Scribner's Sons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Materials and Methods of Fiction</i>, Clayton Hamilton, The Baker and +Taylor Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Principles of Literary Criticism</i>, C.T. Winchester, The Macmillan Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Short-Story Writing</i>, C.R. Barrett. The Baker and Taylor Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Specimens of the Short-Story</i>, G.H. Nettleton, H. Holt & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Story-Writing and Journalism</i>, Sherwin Cody, Funk & Wagnalls Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Talks on Writing English</i>, Arlo Bates, Houghton Mifflin Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Writing of the Short-Story</i>, L.W. Smith, D.C. Heath & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Philosophy of the Short-Story</i>, Brander Matthews, Longmans, +Green, & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The World's Greatest Short-Stories</i>, Sherwin Cody, A.C. McClurg & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Short-Story</i>, Henry Canby, Henry Holt & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Short-Story</i>, Evelyn May Albright, The Macmillan Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Book of the Short-Story</i>, Jessup and Canby, D. Appleton & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Modern Masterpieces of Short Prose Fiction</i>, Waite and Taylor, D. +Appleton & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Short-Story</i>, Brander Matthews, American Book Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Writing the Short-Story</i>, Esenwein, Hinds, Noble & Eldredge. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Study of the Short-Story in English</i>, Henry Seidel Canby, Henry +Holt & Co. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap01.5"></a>COLLECTIONS OF SHORT-STORIES:</h3> + +<p> +<i>American Short-Stories</i>, Charles S. Baldwin, Longmans, Green, & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Great Short-Stories</i>, 3 vols., William Patten, P.F. Collier & Son. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Little French Masterpieces</i>, 6 vols. Alexander Jessup, G.P. Putnam's +Sons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Short-Story Classics</i> (American), 5 vols., William Patten, P.F. +Collier & Son. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Short-Story Classics</i> (Foreign), 5 vols., William Patten, P.F. +Collier & Son. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Stories by American Authors</i>, 10 vols., Charles Scribner's Sons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Stories by English Authors</i>, 10 vols., Charles Scribner's Sons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Stories by Foreign Authors</i>, 10 vols., Charles Scribner's Sons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Stories New and Old</i> (American and English), Hamilton W. Mabie, The +Macmillan Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>World's Greatest Short-Stories</i>, Sherwin Cody, A.C. McClurg & Co. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The American Short-Story</i>, Elias Lieberman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE FATHER[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Björnstjerne Björnson (1838-1910)</i> +</p> + +<p> +The man whose story is here to be told was the wealthiest and most +influential person in his parish; his name was Thord Överaas. He +appeared in the priest's study one day, tall and earnest. +</p> + +<p> +"I have gotten a son," said he, "and I wish to present him for +baptism." +</p> + +<p> +"What shall his name be?" +</p> + +<p> +"Finn,—after my father." +</p> + +<p> +"And the sponsors?" +</p> + +<p> +They were mentioned, and proved to be the best men and women of +Thord's relations in the parish. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there anything else?" inquired the priest, and looked up. The +peasant hesitated a little. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like very much to have him baptized by himself," said he, +finally. +</p> + +<p> +"That is to say on a week-day?" +</p> + +<p> +"Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock noon." +</p> + +<p> +"Is there anything else?" inquired the priest, +</p> + +<p> +"There is nothing else;" and the peasant twirled his cap, as though he +were about to go. +</p> + +<p> +Then the priest rose. "There is yet this, however." said he, and +walking toward Thord, he took him by the hand and looked gravely into +his eyes: "God grant that the child may become a blessing to you!" +</p> + +<p> +One day sixteen years later, Thord stood once more in the priest's +study. +</p> + +<p> +"Really, you carry your age astonishingly well, Thord," said the +priest; for he saw no change whatever in the man. +</p> + +<p> +"That is because I have no troubles," replied Thord. To this the +priest said nothing, but after a while he asked: "What is your +pleasure this evening?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have come this evening about that son of mine who is to be +confirmed to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"He is a bright boy." +</p> + +<p> +"I did not wish to pay the priest until I heard what number the boy +would have when he takes his place in the church to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +"He will stand number one." +</p> + +<p> +"So I have heard; and here are ten dollars for the priest." +</p> + +<p> +"Is there anything else I can do for you?" inquired the priest, fixing +his eyes on Thord. +</p> + +<p> +"There is nothing else." +</p> + +<p> +Thord went out. +</p> + +<p> +Eight years more rolled by, and then one day a noise was heard outside +of the priest's study, for many men were approaching, and at their +head was Thord, who entered first. +</p> + +<p> +The priest looked up and recognized him. +</p> + +<p> +"You come well attended this evening, Thord," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"I am here to request that the banns may be published for my son: he +is about to marry Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who stands +here beside me." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, that is the richest girl in the parish." +</p> + +<p> +"So they say," replied the peasant, stroking back his hair with one +hand. +</p> + +<p> +The priest sat a while as if in deep thought, then entered the names +in his book, without making any comments, and the men wrote their +signatures underneath. Thord laid three dollars on the table. +</p> + +<p> +"One is all I am to have," said the priest. +</p> + +<p> +"I know that very well; but he is my only child; I want to do it +handsomely." +</p> + +<p> +The priest took the money. +</p> + +<p> +"This is now the third time, Thord, that you have come here on your +son's account." +</p> + +<p> +"But now I am through with him," said Thord, and folding up his +pocket-book he said farewell and walked away. +</p> + +<p> +The men slowly followed him. +</p> + +<p> +A fortnight later, the father and son were rowing across the lake, one +calm, still day, to Storliden to make arrangements for the wedding. +</p> + +<p> +"This thwart[2] is not secure," said the son, and stood up to +straighten the seat on which he was sitting. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment the board he was standing on slipped from under +him; he threw out his arms, uttered a shriek, and fell overboard. +</p> + +<p> +"Take hold of the oar!" shouted the father, springing to his feet, and +holding out the oar. +</p> + +<p> +But when the son had made a couple of efforts he grew stiff. +</p> + +<p> +"Wait a moment!" cried the father, and began to row toward his son. +</p> + +<p> +Then the son rolled over on his back, gave his father one long look, +and sank. +</p> + +<p> +Thord could scarcely believe it; he held the boat still, and stared at +the spot where his son had gone down, as though he must surely come to +the surface again. There rose some bubbles, then some more, and +finally one large one that burst; and the lake lay there as smooth and +bright as a mirror again. +</p> + +<p> +For three days and three nights people saw the father rowing round and +round the spot, without taking either food or sleep; he was dragging +the lake for the body of his son. And toward morning of the third day +he found it, and carried it in his arms up over the hills to his +gard[3]. +</p> + +<p> +It might have been about a year from that day, when the priest, late +one autumn evening, heard some one in the passage outside of the door, +carefully trying to find the latch. The priest opened the door, and in +walked a tall, thin man, with bowed form and white hair. The priest +looked long at him before he recognized him. It was Thord. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you out walking so late?" said the priest, and stood still in +front of him. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, yes! it is late," said Thord, and took a seat. +</p> + +<p> +The priest sat down also, as though waiting. A long, long silence +followed. At last Thord said,— +</p> + +<p> +"I have something with me that I should like to give to the poor; I +want it to be invested as a legacy in my son's name." +</p> + +<p> +He rose, laid some money on the table, and sat down again. The priest +counted it. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a great deal of money," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"It is half the price of my gard. I sold it to-day." +</p> + +<p> +The priest sat long in silence. At last he asked, but gently,— +</p> + +<p> +"What do you propose to do now, Thord?" +</p> + +<p> +"Something better." +</p> + +<p> +They sat there for a while, Thord with downcast eyes, the priest with +his eyes fixed on Thord. Presently the priest said, slowly and +softly,— +</p> + +<p> +"I think your son has at last brought you a true blessing." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think so myself," said Thord, looking up, while two big tears +coursed slowly down his cheeks. +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] This story was written in 1860. Translated from the Norwegian by +Professor Rasmus B. Anderson. It is printed by permission of and +special arrangement with <i>Houghton Mifflin Co.</i>, publishers. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 3:28 thwart. A seat, across a boat, on which the oarsman, sits. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 4:21 gard. A Norwegian farm. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Björnstjerne Björnson, Norse poet, novelist, dramatist, orator, and +political leader, was born December 8, 1832, and died in Paris, April +26, 1910. From his strenuous father, a Lutheran priest who preached +with tongue and fist, he inherited the physique of a Norse god. He +possessed the mind of a poet and the arm of a warrior. At the age of +twelve he was sent to the Molde grammar school, where he proved +himself a very dull student. In 1852 he entered the university in +Christiana. Here he neglected his studies to write poetry and +journalistic articles. +</p> + +<p> +In politics Björnson was a tremendous force. Dr. Brandes has said; "To +speak the name of Björnson is like hoisting the colors of Norway." He +was honored as a king in his native land. He won this recognition by +no party affiliation, but by his natural gifts as a poet. His magnetic +eloquence, great message, and sterling character compelled his +countrymen to follow and honor him. He says of his success in this +field: "The secret with me is that in success as in failure, in the +consciousness of my doing as in my habits, I am myself. There are a +great many who dare not, or lack the ability, to be themselves." For +his views on political issues the following references may well be +used: <i>Independent</i>. January 31, 1901, pp. 253-257; <i>Current +Literature</i>, November, 1906, p. 581; and <i>Independent</i>, July 13, 1905, +pp. 92-94. +</p> + +<p> +Björnson and Ibsen, the two foremost men of Norway, were very closely +associated throughout life. They were schoolmates, and both were +interested in writing and producing plays. Ibsen's son, Dr. Sigurd +Ibsen, married Björnson's daughter, Bergilot. These two great writers +were direct contrasts in nearly everything: Björnson lived among his +people, Ibsen was reserved; Björnson played the rôle of an optimistic +prophet, Ibsen, that of a pessimistic judge; the former was always a +conciliatory spirit, the latter a revolutionist; and Björnson proved +himself a patriotic Norwegian, Ibsen, a man of the entire world. +</p> + +<p> +Lack of space forbids the inclusion of a list of Björnson's writing's. +High school teachers will find suitable selections in the list of +collateral readings that follows. Those who wish a complete +bibliography of his works will find it in <i>Bookman</i>, Volume II, p. 65. +Translations of his works by Rasmus B. Anderson, Houghton Mifflin Co., +and Edmund Gosse, the Macmillan Co., will furnish students extensive +and standard readings of this master story-teller. +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +Björnson, in his masterly character delineations, seldom produces +portraits. He gives the reader suggestive glimpses often enough and of +the right quality and arrangement to produce a full and vigorous +conception of his characters. His female parts are especially well +done. His characters present themselves to the reader by unique +thinking and choice expressions. Students should analyze <i>The Father</i> +for this phase of character building. Note also the simplicity of the +words, sentences, paragraphs, and complete story arrangement, the +author's originality of story conception and expression, his short, +passionate, panting sentences, the poetic atmosphere that sweetens and +enriches his virile writing, and the correct, religious pictures he +paints of his beloved northland. +</p> + +<p> +After having read a number of selections from Björnson, students will +see that he has a wonderful breadth of treatment for every imaginable +subject. He is so universal in his choice of subjects that Lemaître in +his <i>Impressions of the Theatre</i> half-humorously and half-ironically +puts these words in Björnson's mouth, "I am king in the spiritual +kingdom," and "there are two men in Europe who have genius, I and +Ibsen, granting that Ibsen has it." +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Adventures in Criticism</i>, A.T.Q. Couch. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Essays on Modern Novelists</i>, William Lyon Phelps. +</p> + +<p> +"Björnsoniana," <i>Dial</i>, January 16, 1903, pp. 37-38. +</p> + +<p> +"Prophet-Poet of Norway," <i>Cosmopolitan</i>, April, 1903, pp. 621-631. +</p> + +<p> +"Three Score and Ten," <i>Dial</i>, December, 1902, pp. 383-385. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>Lectures</i>, Volume I, John L. Stoddard. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Making of an American</i>, Chapters 1, 7, and Jacob Riis. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Myths of Northern Lands</i>. Guerber. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Synnove Solbakken</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Happy Boy</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Fisher Maiden</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Bridal March</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Magnhild</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Dangerous Wooing</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Eagle's Nest</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Bear Hunter</i>, Björnson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Master and Man</i>, Leo Tolstoi. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Doll's House</i>, Henrik Ibsen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Minister's Black Veil</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Ambitious Guest</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Beeman of Orn</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Branch Road</i>, Hamlin Garland. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mateo Falcone</i>, Prosper Mérimée. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Death of the Dauphin</i>, Alphonse Dadoed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Birds' Christmas Carol</i>, Kate Douglas Wiggin. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tennessee's Partner</i>, Bret Harte. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANAAN[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Frank R. Stockton (1834-1902)</i> +</p> + +<p> +Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet town +of a far-away land there was carved in stone the figure of a large +griffin. The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but +the image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had a +large head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its back +arose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout +legs in front, with projecting claws; but there were no legs +behind,—the body running out into a long and powerful tail, finished +off at the end with a barbed point. This tail was coiled up under him, +the end sticking up just back of his wings. +</p> + +<p> +The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, had +evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it, +also in stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the +church, not very far from the ground, so that people could easily look +at them, and ponder on their curious forms. There were a great many +other sculptures on the outside of this church,—saints, martyrs, +grotesque heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those of other +creatures which cannot be named, because nobody knows exactly what +they were; but none were so curious and interesting as the great +griffin over the door, and the little griffins on the sides of the +church. +</p> + +<p> +A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wilds +scarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had been +put up over the churchgoer. In some way or other, the old-time +sculptor had seen him, and afterward, to the best of his memory, had +copied his figure in stone. The Griffin had never known this, until, +hundreds of years afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal, +or in some manner which it is not now easy to find out, that there was +a likeness of him on the old church in the distant town. Now this +Griffin had no idea how he looked. He had never seen a mirror, and the +streams where he lived were so turbulent and violent that a quiet +piece of water, which would reflect the image of anything looking into +it, could not be found. Being, as far as could be ascertained, the +very last of his race, he had never seen another griffin. Therefore it +was, that, when he heard of this stone image of himself, he became +very anxious to know what he looked like, and at last he determined to +go to the old church, and see for himself what manner of being he was. +So he started off from the dreadful wilds, and flew on and on until he +came to the countries inhabited by men, where his appearance in the +air created great consternation; but he alighted nowhere, keeping up a +steady flight until he reached the suburbs of the town which had his +image on its church. Here, late in the afternoon, he alighted in a +green meadow by the side of a brook, and stretched himself on the +grass to rest. His great wings were tired, for he had not made such a +long flight in a century, or more. +</p> + +<p> +The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the people, +frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so extraordinary +a visitor, fled into their houses, and shut themselves up. The Griffin +called loudly for some one to come to him, but the more he called, the +more afraid the people were to show themselves. At length he saw two +laborers hurrying to their homes through the fields, and in a terrible +voice he commanded them to stop. Not daring to disobey, the men stood, +trembling. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the matter with you all?" cried the Griffin. "Is there not a +man in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think," said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that his +words could hardly be understood, "that—perhaps—the Minor +Canon—would come." +</p> + +<p> +"Go, call him, then!" said the Griffin; "I want to see him." +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon, who filled a subordinate position in the church, had +just finished the afternoon services, and was coming out of a side +door, with three aged women who had formed the week-day congregation. +He was a young man of a kind disposition, and very anxious to do good +to the people of the town. Apart from his duties in the church, where +he conducted services every week-day, he visited the sick and the +poor, counseled and assisted persons who were in trouble, and taught a +school composed entirely of the bad children in the town with whom +nobody else would have anything to do. Whenever the people wanted +something difficult done for them, they always went to the Minor +Canon. Thus it was that the laborer thought of the young priest when +he found that some one must come and speak to the Griffin. +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon had not heard of the strange event, which was known to +the whole town except himself and the three old women, and when he was +informed of it, and was told that the Griffin had asked to see him, he +was greatly amazed, and frightened. +</p> + +<p> +"Me!" he exclaimed. "He has never heard of me! What should he want +with <i>me?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! you must go instantly!" cried the two men. +</p> + +<p> +"He is very angry now because he has been kept waiting so long; and +nobody knows what may happen if you don't hurry to him." +</p> + +<p> +The poor Minor Canon would rather have had his hand cut off than go +out to meet an angry griffin; but he felt that it was his duty to go, +or it would be a woeful thing if injury should come to the people of +the town because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of the +Griffin. +</p> + +<p> +So, pale and frightened, he started off. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said the Griffin, as soon as the young man came near, "I am +glad to see that there is some one who has the courage to come to me." +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon did not feel very courageous, but he bowed his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Is this the town," said the Griffin, "where there is a church with a +likeness of myself over one of the doors?" +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon looked at the frightful creature before him and saw +that it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on the +church. "Yes," he said, "you are right." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then," said the Griffin, "will you take me to it? I wish very +much to see it." +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon instantly thought that if the Griffin entered the town +without the people knowing what he came for, some of them would +probably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time to +prepare their minds. +</p> + +<p> +"It is growing dark, now," he said, very much afraid, as he spoke, +that his words might enrage the Griffin, "and objects on the front of +the church cannot be seen clearly. It will be better to wait until +morning, if you wish to get a good view of the stone image of +yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"That will suit me very well," said the Griffin. "I see you are a man +of good sense. I am tired, and I will take a nap here on this soft +grass, while I cool my tail in the little stream that runs near me. +The end of my tail gets red-hot when I am angry or excited, and it is +quite warm now. So you may go, but be sure and come early to-morrow +morning, and show me the way to the church." +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon was glad enough to take his leave, and hurried into +the town. In front of the church he found a great many people +assembled to hear his report of his interview with the Griffin. When +they found that he had not come to spread ruin and devastation, but +simply to see his stony likeness on the church, they showed neither +relief nor gratification, but began to upbraid the Minor Canon for +consenting to conduct the creature into the town. +</p> + +<p> +"What could I do?" cried the young man, "If I should not bring him he +would come himself and, perhaps, end by setting fire to the town with +his red-hot tail." +</p> + +<p> +Still the people were not satisfied, and a great many plans were +proposed to prevent the Griffin from coming into the town. Some +elderly persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him; +but the young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. Then some one +said that it would be a good thing to destroy the stone image so that +the Griffin would have no excuse for entering the town; and this +proposal was received with such favor that many of the people ran for +hammers, chisels, and crowbars, with which to tear down and break up +the stone griffin. But the Minor Canon resisted this plan with all the +strength of his mind and body. He assured the people that this action +would enrage the Griffin beyond measure, for it would be impossible to +conceal from him that his image had been destroyed during the night. +But the people were so determined to break up the stone griffin that +the Minor Canon saw that there was nothing for him to do but to stay +there and protect it. All night he walked up and down in front of the +church-door, keeping away the men who brought ladders, by which they +might mount to the great stone griffin, and knock it to pieces with +their hammers and crowbars. After many hours the people were obliged +to give up their attempts, and went home to sleep; but the Minor Canon +remained at his post till early morning, and then he hurried away to +the field where he had left the Griffin. +</p> + +<p> +The monster had just awakened, and rising to his fore-legs and shaking +himself, he said that he was ready to go into the town. The Minor +Canon, therefore, walked back, the Griffin flying slowly through the +air, at a short distance above the head of his guide. Not a person was +to be seen in the streets, and they proceeded directly to the front of +the church, where the Minor Canon pointed out the stone griffin. +</p> + +<p> +The real Griffin settled down in the little square before the church +and gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. For a long time he +looked at it. First he put his head on one side, and then he put it on +the other; then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left, after +which he shut his left eye and gazed with his right. Then he moved a +little to one side and looked at the image, then he moved the other +way. After a while he said to the Minor Canon, who had been standing +by all this time: +</p> + +<p> +"It is, it must be, an excellent likeness! That breadth between the +eyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! I feel that it must +resemble me. If there is any fault to find with it, it is that the +neck seems a little stiff. But that is nothing. It is an admirable +likeness,—admirable!" +</p> + +<p> +The Griffin sat looking at his image all the morning and all the +afternoon. The Minor Canon had been afraid to go away and leave him, +and had hoped all through the day that he would soon be satisfied with +his inspection and fly away home. But by evening the poor young man +was utterly exhausted, and felt that he must eat and sleep. He frankly +admitted this fact to the Griffin, and asked him if he would not like +something to eat. He said this because he felt obliged in politeness +to do so, but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was seized with +dread lest the monster should demand half a dozen babies, or some +tempting repast of that kind. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," said the Griffin, "I never eat between the equinoxes. At the +vernal and at the autumnal equinox I take a good meal, and that lasts +me for half a year. I am extremely regular in my habits, and do not +think it healthful to eat at odd times. But if you need food, go and +get it, and I will return to the soft grass where I slept last night +and take another nap." +</p> + +<p> +The next day the Griffin came again to the little square before the +church, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding the +stone griffin over the door. The Minor Canon came once or twice to +look at him, and the Griffin seemed very glad to see him; but the +young clergyman could not stay as he had done before, for he had many +duties to perform. Nobody went to the church, but the people came to +the Minor Canon's house, and anxiously asked him how long the Griffin +was going to stay. +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know," he answered, "but I think he will soon be satisfied +with regarding his stone likeness, and then he will go away." +</p> + +<p> +But the Griffin did not go away. Morning after morning he came to the +church, but after a time he did not stay there all day. He seemed to +have taken a great fancy to the Minor Canon, and followed him about as +he pursued his various avocations. He would wait for him at the side +door of the church, for the Minor Canon held services every day, +morning and evening, though nobody came now. "If any one should come," +he said to himself, "I must be found at my post." When the young man +came out, the Griffin would accompany him in his visits to the sick +and the poor, and would often look into the windows of the schoolhouse +where the Minor Canon was teaching his unruly scholars. All the other +schools were closed, but the parents of the Minor Canon's scholars +forced them to go to school, because they were so bad they could not +endure them all day at home,—griffin or no griffin. But it must be +said they generally behaved very well when that great monster sat up +on his tail and looked in at the schoolroom window. +</p> + +<p> +When it was perceived that the Griffin showed no signs of going away, +all the people who were able to do so left the town. The canons and +the higher officers of the church had fled away during the first day +of the Griffin's visit, leaving behind only the Minor Canon and some +of the men who opened the doors and swept the church. All the citizens +who could afford it shut up their houses and travelled to distant +parts, and only the working people and the poor were left behind. +After some days these ventured to go about and attend to their +business, for if they did not work they would starve. They were +getting a little used to seeing the Griffin, and having been told that +he did not eat between equinoxes, they did not feel so much afraid of +him as before. Day by day the Griffin became more and more attached to +the Minor Canon. He kept near him a great part of the time, and often +spent the night in front of the little house where the young clergyman +lived alone. This strange companionship was often burdensome to the +Minor Canon; but, on the other hand, he could not deny that he derived +a great deal of benefit and instruction from it. The Griffin had lived +for hundreds of years, and had seen much; and he told the Minor Canon +many wonderful things. +</p> + +<p> +"It is like reading an old book," said the young clergyman to himself; +"but how many books I would have had to read before I would have found +out what the Griffin has told me about the earth, the air, the water, +about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all the wonders of +the world!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus the summer went on, and drew toward its close. And now the people +of the town began to be very much troubled again. +</p> + +<p> +"It will not be long," they said, "before the autumnal equinox is +here, and then that monster will want to eat. He will be dreadfully +hungry, for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. He will +devour our children. Without doubt, he will eat them all. What is to +be done?" +</p> + +<p> +To this question no one could give an answer, but all agreed that the +Griffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox. +After talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people went +to the Minor Canon, at a time when the Griffin was not with him. +</p> + +<p> +"It is all your fault," they said, "that that monster is among us. You +brought him here, and you ought to see that he goes away. It is only +on your account that he stays here at all, for, although he visits his +image every day, he is with you the greater part of the time. If you +were not here, he would not stay. It is your duty to go away and then +he will follow you, and we shall be free from the dreadful danger +which hangs over us." +</p> + +<p> +"Go away!" cried the Minor Canon, greatly grieved at being spoken to +in such a way. "Where shall I go? If I go to some other town, shall I +not take this trouble there? Have I a right to do that?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the people, "you must not go to any other town. There is no +town far enough away. You must go to the dreadful wilds where the +Griffin lives; and then he will follow you and stay there." +</p> + +<p> +They did not say whether or not they expected the Minor Canon to stay +there also, and he did not ask them any thing about it. He bowed his +head, and went into his house, to think. The more he thought, the more +clear it became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and thus +free the town from the presence of the Griffin. +</p> + +<p> +That evening he packed a leathern bag full of bread and meat, and +early the next morning he set out on his journey to the dreadful +wilds. It was a long, weary, and doleful journey, especially after he +had gone beyond the habitations of men, but the Minor Canon kept on +bravely, and never faltered. The way was longer than he had expected, +and his provisions soon grew so scanty that he was obliged to eat but +a little every day, but he kept up his courage, and pressed on, and, +after many days of toilsome travel, he reached the dreadful wilds. +</p> + +<p> +When the Griffin found that the Minor Canon had left the town he +seemed sorry, but showed no disposition to go and look for him. After +a few days had passed, he became much annoyed, and asked some of the +people where the Minor Canon had gone. But, although the citizens had +been anxious that the young clergyman should go to the dreadful wilds, +thinking that the Griffin would immediately follow him, they were now +afraid to mention the Minor Canon's destination, for the monster +seemed angry already, and, if he should suspect their trick, he would +doubtless become very much enraged. So every one said he did not know, +and the Griffin wandered about disconsolate. One morning he looked +into the Minor Canon's schoolhouse, which was always empty now, and +thought that it was a shame that every thing should suffer on account +of the young man's absence. +</p> + +<p> +"It does not matter so much about the church," he said, "for nobody +went there; but it is a pity about the school. I think I will teach it +myself until he returns." +</p> + +<p> +It was the hour for opening the school, and the Griffin went inside +and pulled the rope which rang the schoolbell. Some of the children +who heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it to +be a joke of one of their companions; but when they saw the Griffin +they stood astonished, and scared. +</p> + +<p> +"Go tell the other scholars," said the monster, "that school is about +to open, and that if they are not all here in ten minutes, I shall +come after them." In seven minutes every scholar was in place. +</p> + +<p> +Never was seen such an orderly school. Not a boy or girl moved, or +uttered a whisper. The Griffin climbed into the master's seat, his +wide wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean back +in his chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiled +around, in front of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to tap +any boy or girl who might misbehave. The Griffin now addressed the +scholars, telling them that he intended to teach them while their +master was away. In speaking he endeavored to imitate, as far as +possible, the mild and gentle tones of the Minor Canon, but it must be +admitted that in this he was not very successful. He had paid a good +deal of attention to the studies of the school, and he determined not +to attempt to teach them anything new, but to review them in what they +had been studying; so he called up the various classes, and questioned +them upon their previous lessons. The children racked their brains to +remember what they had learned. They were so afraid of the Griffin's +displeasure that they recited as they had never recited before. One of +the boys far down in his class answered so well that the Griffin was +astonished. +</p> + +<p> +"I should think you would be at the head," said he. "I am sure you +have never been in the habit of reciting so well. Why is this?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because I did not choose to take the trouble," said the boy, +trembling in his boots. He felt obliged to speak the truth, for all +the children thought that the great eyes of the Griffin could see +right through them, and that he would know when they told a falsehood. +</p> + +<p> +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said the Griffin. "Go down to +the very tail of the class, and if you are not at the head in two +days, I shall know the reason why." +</p> + +<p> +The next afternoon the boy was number one. +</p> + +<p> +It was astonishing how much these children now learned of what they +had been studying. It was as if they had been educated over again. The +Griffin used no severity toward them, but there was a look about him +which made them unwilling to go to bed until they were sure they knew +their lessons for the next day. +</p> + +<p> +The Griffin now thought that he ought to visit the sick and the poor; +and he began to go about the town for this purpose. The effect upon +the sick was miraculous. All, except those who were very ill indeed, +jumped from their beds when they heard he was coming, and declared +themselves quite well. To those who could not get up, he gave herbs +and roots, which none of them had ever before thought of as medicines, +but which the Griffin had seen used in various parts of the world; and +most of them recovered. But, for all that, they afterward said that no +matter what happened to them, they hoped that they should never again +have such a doctor coming to their bedsides, feeling their pulses and +looking at their tongues. +</p> + +<p> +As for the poor, they seemed to have utterly disappeared. All those +who had depended upon charity for their daily bread were now at work +in some way or other; many of them offering to do odd jobs for their +neighbors just for the sake of their meals,—a thing which before had +been seldom heard of in the town. The Griffin could find no one who +needed his assistance. +</p> + +<p> +The summer had now passed, and the autumnal equinox was rapidly +approaching. The citizens were in a state of great alarm and anxiety. +The Griffin showed no signs of going away, but seemed to have settled +himself permanently among them. In a short time, the day for his +semi-annual meal would arrive, and then what would happen? The monster +would certainly be very hungry, and would devour all their children. +</p> + +<p> +Now they greatly regretted and lamented that they had sent away the +Minor Canon; he was the only one on whom they could have depended in +this trouble, for he could talk freely with the Griffin, and so find +out what could be done. But it would not do to be inactive. Some step +must be taken immediately. A meeting of the citizens was called, and +two old men were appointed to go and talk to the Griffin. They were +instructed to offer to prepare a splendid dinner for him on equinox +day,—one which would entirely satisfy his hunger. They would offer +him the fattest mutton, the most tender beef, fish, and game of +various sorts, and any thing of the kind that he might fancy. If none +of these suited, they were to mention that there was an orphan asylum +in the next town. +</p> + +<p> +"Any thing would be better," said the citizens, "than to have our dear +children devoured." +</p> + +<p> +The old men went to the Griffin, but their propositions were not +received with favor. +</p> + +<p> +"From what I have seen of the people of this town," said the monster, +"I do not think I could relish any thing which was prepared by them. +They appear to be all cowards, and, therefore, mean and selfish. As +for eating one of them, old or young, I could not think of it for a +moment. In fact, there was only one creature in the whole place for +whom I could have had any appetite, and that is the Minor Canon, who +has gone away. He was brave, and good, and honest, and I think I +should have relished him." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" said one of the old men very politely, "in that case I wish we +had not sent him to the dreadful wilds!" +</p> + +<p> +"What!" cried the Griffin. "What do you mean? Explain instantly what +you are talking about!" +</p> + +<p> +The old man, terribly frightened at what he had said, was obliged to +tell how the Minor Canon had been sent away by the people, in the hope +that the Griffin might be induced to follow him. +</p> + +<p> +When the monster heard this, he became furiously angry. He dashed away +from the old men and, spreading his wings, flew backward and forward +over the town. He was so much excited that his tail became red-hot, +and glowed like a meteor against the evening sky. When at last he +settled down in the little field where he usually rested, and thrust +his tail into the brook, the steam arose like a cloud, and the water +of the stream ran hot through the town. The citizens were greatly +frightened, and bitterly blamed the old man for telling about the +Minor Canon. +</p> + +<p> +"It is plain," they said, "that the Griffin intended at last to go and +look for him, and we should have been saved. Now who can tell what +misery you have brought upon us." +</p> + +<p> +The Griffin did not remain long in the little field. As soon as his +tail was cool he flew to the town-hall and rang the bell. The citizens +knew that they were expected to come there, and although they were +afraid to go, they were still more afraid to stay away; and they +crowded into the hall. The Griffin was on the platform at one end, +flapping his wings and walking up and down, and the end of his tail +was still so warm that it slightly scorched the boards as he dragged +it after him. +</p> + +<p> +When everybody who was able to come was there the Griffin stood still +and addressed the meeting. +</p> + +<p> +"I have had a contemptible opinion of you," he said, "ever since I +discovered what cowards you are, but I had no idea that you were so +ungrateful, selfish, and cruel as I now find you to be. Here was your +Minor Canon, who labored day and night for your good, and thought of +nothing else but how he might benefit you and make you happy; and as +soon as you imagine yourselves threatened with a danger,—for well I +know you are dreadfully afraid of me,—you send him off, caring not +whether he returns or perishes, hoping thereby to save yourselves. +Now, I had conceived a great liking for that young man, and had +intended, in a day or two, to go and look him up. But I have changed +my mind about him. I shall go and find him, but I shall send him back +here to live among you, and I intend that he shall enjoy the reward of +his labor and his sacrifices. Go, some of you, to the officers of the +church, who so cowardly ran away when I first came here, and tell them +never to return to this town under penalty of death. And if, when your +Minor Canon comes back to you, you do not bow yourselves before him, +put him in the highest place among you, and serve and honor him all +his life, beware of my terrible vengeance! There were only two good +things in this town: the Minor Canon and the stone image of myself +over your church-door. One of these you have sent away, and the other +I shall carry away myself." +</p> + +<p> +With these words he dismissed the meeting, and it was time, for the +end of his tail had become so hot that there was danger of its setting +fire to the building. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, the Griffin came to the church, and tearing the +stone image of himself from its fastenings over the great door, he +grasped it with his powerful fore-legs and flew up into the air. Then, +after hovering over the town for a moment, he gave his tail an angry +shake and took up his flight to the dreadful wilds. When he reached +this desolate region, he set the stone Griffin upon a ledge of a rock +which rose in front of the dismal cave he called his home. There the +image occupied a position somewhat similar to that it had had over the +church-door; and the Griffin, panting with the exertion of carrying +such an enormous load to so great a distance, lay down upon the +ground, and regarded it with much satisfaction. When he felt somewhat +rested he went to look for the Minor Canon. He found the young man, +weak and half-starved, lying under the shadow of a rock. After picking +him up and carrying him to his cave, the Griffin flew away to a +distant marsh, where he procured some roots and herbs which he well +knew were strengthening and beneficial to man, though he had never +tasted them himself. After eating these the Minor Canon was greatly +revived, and sat up and listened while the Griffin told him what had +happened in the town. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know," said the monster, when he had finished, "that I have +had, and still have, a great liking for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am very glad to hear it," said the Minor Canon, with his usual +politeness. +</p> + +<p> +"I am not at all sure that you would be," said the Griffin, "if you +thoroughly understood the state of the case, but we will not consider +that now. If some things were different, other things would be +otherwise. I have been so enraged by discovering the manner in which +you have been treated that I have determined that you shall at last +enjoy the rewards and honors to which you are entitled. Lie down and +have a good sleep, and then I will take you back to the town." +</p> + +<p> +As he heard these words, a look of trouble came over the young man's +face. +</p> + +<p> +"You need not give yourself any anxiety," said the Griffin, "about my +return to the town. I shall not remain there. Now that I have that +admirable likeness of myself in front of my cave, where I can sit at +my leisure, and gaze upon its noble features and magnificent +proportions, I have no wish to see that abode of cowardly and selfish +people." +</p> + +<p> +The Minor Canon, relieved from his fears, lay back, and dropped into a +doze; and when he was sound asleep the Griffin took him up, and +carried him back to the town. He arrived just before daybreak, and +putting the young man gently on the grass in the little field where he +himself used to rest, the monster, without having been seen by any of +the people, flew back to his home. +</p> + +<p> +When the Minor Canon made his appearance in the morning among the +citizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was received +were truly wonderful. He was taken to a house which had been occupied +by one of the vanished high officers of the place, and every one was +anxious to do all that could be done for his health and comfort. The +people crowded into the church when he held services, so that the +three old women who used to be his week-day congregation could not get +to the best seats, which they had always been in the habit of taking; +and the parents of the bad children determined to reform them at home, +in order that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up his former +school. The Minor Canon was appointed to the highest office of the old +church, and before he died, he became a bishop. +</p> + +<p> +During the first years after his return from the dreadful wilds, the +people of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were bound +to do honor and reverence; but they often, also, looked up to the sky +to see if there were any signs of the Griffin coming back. However, in +the course of time, they learned to honor and reverence their former +Minor Canon without the fear of being punished if they did not do so. +</p> + +<p> +But they need never have been afraid of the Griffin. The autumnal +equinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. If he could not +have the Minor Canon, he did not care for any thing. So, lying down, +with his eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he gradually +declined, and died. It was a good thing for some people of the town +that they did not know this. +</p> + +<p> +If you should ever visit the old town, you would still see the little +griffins on the sides of the church; but the great stone griffin that +was over the door is gone. +</p> + +<p> +NOTE: [1] Written in 1887. This story is used by permission of and +special arrangement with <i>Charles Scribner's Sons</i>, publishers. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Frank Richard Stockton, one of America's foremost story-tellers and +humorists, was born in Philadelphia in 1834. His father was a +Presbyterian minister who devoutly wished that his son might study +medicine. This wish was shattered early, for the son showed symptoms +of being a writer while yet in the Central High School of +Philadelphia. In competition with many of his schoolmates for a prize +offered for the best story, young Stockton won easily. +</p> + +<p> +After finishing his high school course, he adopted the profession of +wood-engraver. Although he earned his living for several years by +carving wood, he never lost his desire to write, and practised, at +every spare moment, his favorite avocation. It was this careful and +patient training during his apprenticeship that finally made him the +expert story-teller that he is. It is very interesting to any one who +cares for the acquirement of an excellent style to note how all the +authors contained in this text have had to work with almost a +superhuman force to reach the heights of successful short-story +writing. +</p> + +<p> +His first important publication, <i>Kate</i>, appeared in the <i>Southern +Literary Messenger</i> in 1859. He then joined the staff of the +<i>Philadelphia Morning Post</i>, where he did regular newspaper work and +contributed to the <i>Riverside Magazine</i> and <i>Hearth and Home</i>. In 1872 +his <i>Stephen Skarridge's Christmas</i> appeared in <i>Scribner's Monthly</i>. +Dr. J.G. Holland, editor of <i>Scribner's</i>, was so impressed with the +story that he made Mr. Stockton an assistant editor and persuaded him +to move to New York. In 1873 he joined the staff of the <i>St. Nicholas +Magazine</i>. His publication of the <i>Rudder Grange</i> series in +<i>Scribner's</i> <i>Monthly</i> in 1878 made him famous. In 1882 he resigned +all editorial work and spent his entire time in literary composition. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stockton possessed a frail body and very little physical +endurance. In spite of this physical handicap he was very vivacious +and gay. He was a genial and companionable man, loved by all who knew +him. He was very modest, even to the point of shyness, exceptionally +sincere, and quaintly humorous. He established homes in New Jersey and +West Virginia, where he spent the greater part of his time from 1882 +until his death in 1902. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Famous Authors</i> (107-122), B.F. Harkness. +</p> + +<p> +<i>American Authors</i> (59-73), F.W. Halsey. +</p> + +<p> +"Character Sketch," <i>Book-Buyer</i>, 24:355-357. +</p> + +<p> +"Home at Claymont," <i>Current Literature</i>, 30:221. +</p> + +<p> +"Sketch," <i>Outlook</i>, 70: 1000-1001, +</p> + +<p> +"Stockton and his Work," <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, 87:136-138. +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +The writings of Frank R. Stockton are excellent representatives of the +man himself. How closely allied writer and writings are is very well +stated by Hamilton W. Mabie in the <i>Book-Buyer</i> for June, 1902, "His +talk had much of the quality of his writing; it was full of quaint +conceits, whimsicalities, impossible suggestions offered with perfect +gravity. He was always perfectly natural; he never attempted to live +up to his part; in talk, at least, he never forced the note. His +attitude toward himself was slightly tinged with humor, and he knew +how to foil easily and pleasantly too great a pressure of praise." +</p> + +<p> +His tales are extravagantly impossible but extremely realistic in +effect, filled with humorous situations and singular plots, and +peopled with eccentric characters that afford amusement on every page. +His most successful writing is done when he explains contrivances upon +which his story depends. He is an original and inventive expert +juggler who moves with careless ease to the most effective ends. His +characters are little more than pieces of mechanism that act when he +pulls the string. They have little emotion and even in their +love-making they show their emotion mostly for the sake of the +reader's amusement. His negro characters are exceptions to his general +treatment and are true to life. He inveigles the reader into believing +the most extravagant incidents by having a reliable witness narrate +them. +</p> + +<p> +Stockton never stoops to the burlesque, cynic, or vulgar phases of +life to secure amusement. He is grotesque and droll in his manner, and +above all always restrained. His literary life is full of sprites and +gnomes that frolic before young children and once before mature +people. <i>The Griffin and the Minor Canon</i> is a beautiful fairy story +lifted from childhood's thought and diction into a mature realm. His +humor is plain and simple, cool and keenly calculating. A friendly +critic has said of one of his stories, "With a gentle, ceaseless +murmur of amusement, and a flickering twinkle of smiles, the story +moves steadily on in the calm triumph of its assured and unassailable +absurdity, to its logical and indisputable impossibility." This +observation is very largely true of all his stories. +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Frank R. Stockton</i>, A.T.Q. Couch. +</p> + +<p> +"Stockton's Method of Working," <i>Current Literature</i>, 32:495. +</p> + +<p> +"Criticism," <i>Atheneum</i>, 1:532. +</p> + +<p> +"Estimate," <i>Harper's Weekly</i>, 46:555. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Beeman of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Lady or the Tiger</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rudder Grange</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Tale of Negative Gravity</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Remarkable Wreck of the Thomas Hyde</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>His Wife's Deceased Sister</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Legend of Sleepy Hollow</i>, Washington Irving. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Monsieur du Miroir</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>At the End of the Passage</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Vacant Lot</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Princess Pourquoi</i>, Margaret Sherwood. +</p> + +<p> +<i>What Was It? A Mystery</i>, Fitz-James O'Brien. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Wandering Willie's Tale</i>, Walter Scott. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>THE PIECE OF STRING[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893)</i> +</p> + +<p> +On all the roads about Goderville the peasants and their wives were +coming toward the town, for it was market day. The men walked at an +easy gait, the whole body thrown forward with every movement of their +long, crooked legs, misshapen by hard work, by the bearing down on the +plough which at the same time causes the left shoulder to rise and the +figure to slant; by the mowing of the grain, which makes one hold his +knees apart in order to obtain a firm footing; by all the slow and +laborious tasks of the fields. Their starched blue blouses, glossy as +if varnished, adorned at the neck and wrists with a bit of white +stitchwork, puffed out about their bony chests like balloons on the +point of taking flight, from which protrude a head, two arms, and two +feet. +</p> + +<p> +Some of them led a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. And their +wives, walking behind the beast, lashed it with a branch still covered +with leaves, to hasten its pace. They carried on their arms great +baskets, from which heads of chickens or of ducks were thrust forth. +And they walked with a shorter and quicker step than their men, their +stiff, lean figures wrapped in scanty shawls pinned over their flat +breasts, their heads enveloped in a white linen cloth close to the +hair, with a cap over all. +</p> + +<p> +Then a <i>char-à-bancs[2]</i> passed, drawn by a jerky-paced nag, with two +men seated side by side shaking like jelly, and a woman behind, who +clung to the side of the vehicle to lessen the rough jolting. +</p> + +<p> +On the square at Goderville there was a crowd, a medley of men and +beasts. The horns of the cattle, the high hats, with a long, hairy +nap, of the wealthy peasants, and the head dresses of the peasant +women, appeared on the surface of the throng. And the sharp, shrill, +high-pitched voices formed an incessant, uncivilized uproar, over +which soared at times a roar of laughter from the powerful chest of a +sturdy yokel, or the prolonged bellow of a cow fastened to the wall of +a house. +</p> + +<p> +There was an all-pervading smell of the stable, of milk, of the +dunghill, of hay, and of perspiration—that acrid, disgusting odor of +man and beast peculiar to country people. +</p> + +<p> +Master Hauchecorne, of Bréauté, had just arrived at Goderville, and +was walking toward the square, when he saw a bit of string on the +ground. Master Hauchecorne, economical like every true Norman, thought +that it was well to pick up everything that might be of use; and he +stooped painfully, for he suffered with rheumatism. He took the piece +of slender cord from the ground, and was about to roll it up +carefully, when he saw Master Malandain, the harness-maker, standing +in his doorway and looking at him. They had formerly had trouble on +the subject of a halter, and had remained at odds, being both inclined +to bear malice. Master Hauchecorne felt a sort of shame at being seen +thus by his enemy, fumbling in the mud for a bit of string. He +hurriedly concealed his treasure in his blouse, then in his breeches +pocket; then he pretended to look on the ground for something else, +which he did not find; and finally he went on toward the market, his +head thrust forward, bent double by his pains. +</p> + +<p> +He lost himself at once in the slow-moving, shouting crowd, kept in a +state of excitement by the interminable bargaining. The peasants felt +of the cows, went away, returned, sorely perplexed, always afraid of +being cheated, never daring to make up their minds, watching the +vendor's eye, striving incessantly to detect the tricks of the man and +the defect in the beast. +</p> + +<p> +The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, took out +their fowls, which lay on the ground, their legs tied together, with +frightened eyes and scarlet combs. +</p> + +<p> +They listened to offers, adhered to their prices, short of speech and +impassive of face; or else, suddenly deciding to accept the lower +price offered, they would call out to the customer as he walked slowly +away:— +</p> + +<p> +"All right, Mast' Anthime. You can have it." +</p> + +<p> +Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when the +Angelus[3] struck midday those who lived too far away to go home +betook themselves to the various inns. +</p> + +<p> +At Jourdain's the common room was full of customers, as the great yard +was full of vehicles of every sort—carts, cabriolets,[4] +<i>char-à-bancs</i>, tilburys,[5] unnamable carriages, shapeless, patched, +with, their shafts reaching heavenward like arms, or with their noses +in the ground and their tails in the air. +</p> + +<p> +The vast fireplace, full of clear flame, cast an intense heat against +the backs of the row on the right of the table. Three spits were +revolving, laden with chickens, pigeons, and legs of mutton; and a +delectable odor of roast meat, and of gravy dripping from the browned +skin, came forth from the hearth, stirred the guests to merriment, and +made their mouths water. +</p> + +<p> +All the aristocracy of the plough ate there, at Mast' Jourdain's, the +innkeeper and horse trader—a shrewd rascal who had money. +</p> + +<p> +The dishes passed and were soon emptied, like the jugs of yellow +cider. Every one told of his affairs, his sales and his purchases. +They inquired about the crops. The weather was good for green stuffs, +but a little wet for wheat. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a drum rolled in the yard, in front of the house. In an +instant everybody was on his feet, save a few indifferent ones; and +they all ran to the door and windows with their mouths still full and +napkins in hand. +</p> + +<p> +Having finished his long tattoo, the public crier shouted in a jerky +voice, making his pauses in the wrong places:— +</p> + +<p> +"The people of Goderville, and all those present at the market are +informed that between—nine and ten o'clock this morning on the +Beuzeville—road, a black leather wallet was lost, containing five +hundred—francs, and business papers. The finder is requested to carry +it to—the mayor's at once, or to Master Fortuné Huelbrèque of +Manneville. A reward of twenty francs will be paid." +</p> + +<p> +Then he went away. They heard once more in the distance the muffled +roll of the drum and the indistinct voice of the crier. +</p> + +<p> +Then they began to talk about the incident, reckoning Master +Houlbrèque's chance of finding or not finding his wallet. +</p> + +<p> +And the meal went on. +</p> + +<p> +They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmes +appeared in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +He inquired:— +</p> + +<p> +"Is Master Hauchecorne of Bréauté here?" +</p> + +<p> +Master Hauchecorne, who was seated at the farther end of the table, +answered:— +</p> + +<p> +"Here I am." +</p> + +<p> +And the corporal added:— +</p> + +<p> +"Master Hauchecorne, will you be kind enough to go to the mayor's +office with me? Monsieur the mayor would like to speak to you." +</p> + +<p> +The peasant, surprised and disturbed, drank his <i>petit verre[6]</i> at +one swallow, rose, and even more bent than in the morning, for the +first steps after each rest were particularly painful, he started off, +repeating:— +</p> + +<p> +"Here I am, here I am." +</p> + +<p> +And he followed the brigadier. +</p> + +<p> +The mayor was waiting for him, seated in his arm-chair. He was the +local notary, a stout, solemn-faced man, given to pompous speeches. +</p> + +<p> +"Master Hauchecorne," he said, "you were seen this morning, on the +Beuzeville road, to pick up the wallet lost by Master Huelbrèque of +Manneville." +</p> + +<p> +The rustic, dumfounded, stared at the mayor, already alarmed by this +suspicion which had fallen upon him, although he failed to understand +it. +</p> + +<p> +"I, I—I picked up that wallet?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you." +</p> + +<p> +"On my word of honor, I didn't even so much as see it." +</p> + +<p> +"You were seen." +</p> + +<p> +"They saw me, me? Who was it saw me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Monsieur Malandain, the harness-maker." +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon the old man remembered and understood; and flushing with +anger, he cried:— +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! he saw me, did he, that sneak? He saw me pick up this string, +look, m'sieu' mayor." +</p> + +<p> +And fumbling in the depths of his pocket, he produced the little piece +of cord. +</p> + +<p> +But the mayor was incredulous and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"You won't make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that Monsieur +Malandain, who is a man deserving of credit, mistook this string for a +wallet." +</p> + +<p> +The peasant, in a rage, raised his hand, spit to one side to pledge +his honor, and said:— +</p> + +<p> +"It's God's own truth, the sacred truth, all the same, m'sieu' mayor. +I say it again, by my soul and my salvation." +</p> + +<p> +"After picking it up," rejoined the mayor, "you hunted a long while in +the mud, to see if some piece of money hadn't fallen out." +</p> + +<p> +The good man was suffocated with wrath and fear. +</p> + +<p> +"If any one can tell—if any one can tell lies like that to ruin an +honest man! If any one can say—" +</p> + +<p> +To no purpose did he protest; he was not believed. +</p> + +<p> +He was confronted with Monsieur Malandain, who repeated and maintained +his declaration. They insulted each other for a whole hour. At his own +request, Master Hauchecorne was searched. They found nothing on him. +At last the mayor, being sorely perplexed, discharged him, but warned +him that he proposed to inform the prosecuting attorney's office and +to ask for orders. +</p> + +<p> +The news had spread. On leaving the mayor's office, the old man was +surrounded and questioned with serious or bantering curiosity, in +which, however, there was no trace of indignation. And he began to +tell the story of the string. They did not believe him. They laughed. +</p> + +<p> +He went his way, stopping his acquaintances, repeating again and again +his story and his protestations, showing his pockets turned inside +out, to prove that he had nothing. +</p> + +<p> +They said to him:— +</p> + +<p> +"You old rogue, <i>va!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +And he lost his temper, lashing himself into a rage, feverish with +excitement, desperate because he was not believed, at a loss what to +do, and still telling his story. Night came. He must needs go home. He +started with three neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place where +he had picked up the bit of string: and all the way he talked of his +misadventure. +</p> + +<p> +During the evening he made a circuit of the village of Bréauté, in +order to tell everybody about it. He found none but incredulous +listeners. +</p> + +<p> +He was ill over it all night. +</p> + +<p> +The next afternoon, about one o'clock, Marius Paumelle, a farmhand +employed by Master Breton, a farmer of Ymauville, restored the wallet +and its contents to Master Huelbrèque of Manneville. +</p> + +<p> +The man claimed that he had found it on the road; but, being unable to +read, had carried it home and given it to his employer. +</p> + +<p> +The news soon became known in the neighborhood; Master Hauchecorne was +informed of it. He started out again at once, and began to tell his +story, now made complete by the dénouement. He was triumphant. +</p> + +<p> +"What made me feel bad," he said, "wasn't so much the thing itself, +you understand, but the lying. There's nothing hurts you so much as +being blamed for lying." +</p> + +<p> +All day long he talked of his adventure; he told it on the roads to +people who passed; at the wine-shop to people who were drinking; and +after church on the following Sunday. He even stopped strangers to +tell them about it. His mind was at rest now, and yet something +embarrassed him, although he could not say just what it was. People +seemed to laugh while they listened to him. They did not seem +convinced. He felt as if remarks were made behind his back. +</p> + +<p> +On Tuesday of the next week, he went to market at Goderville, impelled +solely by the longing to tell his story. +</p> + +<p> +Malandain, standing in his doorway, began to laugh when he saw him +coming. Why? +</p> + +<p> +He accosted a farmer from Criquetot, who did not let him finish, but +poked him in the pit of his stomach, and shouted in his face: "Go on, +you old fox!" Then he turned on his heel. +</p> + +<p> +Master Hauchecorne was speechless, and more and more disturbed. Why +did he call him "old fox"? +</p> + +<p> +When he was seated at the table, in Jourdain's Inn, he set about +explaining the affair once more. +</p> + +<p> +A horse-trader from Montvilliers called out to him:— +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense, nonsense, you old dodger! I know all about your string!" +</p> + +<p> +"But they've found the wallet!" faltered Hauchecorne. +</p> + +<p> +"None of that, old boy; there's one who finds it, and there's one who +carries it back. I don't know just how you did it, but I understand +you." +</p> + +<p> +The peasant was fairly stunned. He understood at last. He was accused +of having sent the wallet back by a confederate, an accomplice. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to protest. The whole table began to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +He could not finish his dinner, but left the inn amid a chorus of +jeers. +</p> + +<p> +He returned home, shamefaced and indignant, suffocated by wrath, by +confusion, and all the more cast down because, with his Norman +cunning, he was quite capable of doing the thing with which he was +charged, and even of boasting of it as a shrewd trick. He had a +confused idea that his innocence was impossible to establish, his +craftiness being so well known. And he was cut to the heart by the +injustice of the suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon he began once more to tell of the adventure, making the +story longer each day, adding each time new arguments, more forcible +protestations, more solemn oaths, which he devised and prepared in his +hours of solitude, his mind being wholly engrossed by the story of the +string. The more complicated his defence and the more subtle his +reasoning, the less he was believed. +</p> + +<p> +"Those are a liar's reasons," people said behind his back. +</p> + +<p> +He realized it: he gnawed his nails, and exhausted himself in vain +efforts. +</p> + +<p> +He grew perceptibly thinner. +</p> + +<p> +Now the jokers asked him to tell the story of "The Piece of String" +for their amusement, as a soldier who has seen service is asked to +tell about his battles. His mind, attacked at its source, grew +feebler. +</p> + +<p> +Late in December he took to his bed. +</p> + +<p> +In the first days of January he died, and in his delirium, of the +death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating: +</p> + +<p> +"A little piece of string—a little piece of string—see, here it is, +m'sieu' mayor." +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] <i>The Piece of String</i> was written in 1884. Reprinted from <i>Little +French Masterpieces</i>, by permission of the publishers, <i>G.P. Putnam's +Sons</i>. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 34:5 char-à-bancs. A pleasure car. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 35:26 Angelus. A bell tolled at morning, noon, and night, +according to the Roman Catholic Church custom, to indicate the time of +the service of song and recitation in memory of the Virgin Mary. The +name is taken from the first word of the recitation. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 35:30 cabriolet. A cab. Originally a light, one-horse pleasure +carriage with two seats. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 35:30 tilbury. An old form of gig, seating two persons. +</p> + +<p> +[6] 37:20 petit verre. Little glass. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant, French novelist, dramatist, and +short-story writer, was born in 1850. Until he was thirteen years old +he had no teacher except his mother, who personally superintended the +training of her two sons. Life for the two boys, during these early +years, was free and happy, Guy was a strong and robust Norman, +overflowing with animal spirits and exuberant with the joy of youthful +life. +</p> + +<p> +When thirteen years of age Maupassant attended the seminary at Yvetot, +where he found school life irksome and a most distasteful contrast to +his former free life. Later he became a student in the Lycée in Rouen. +His experience as a student here was very pleasant, and he easily +acquired his degree. In 1870 he was appointed to a clerkship in the +Navy, and a little later to a more lucrative position in the +Department of Public Instruction. His work in these two positions +suffered very materially because of his negligence and daily practice +in writing verses and essays for Flaubert, the most careful literary +technicist in the history of literature, to criticize. For seven years +Maupassant served this severe task-master, always writing, receiving +criticisms, and publishing nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately after the publication of his first story Maupassant was +hailed as a finished master artist. From 1880 to 1890 he published six +novels, sixteen volumes of short-stories, three volumes of travels, +and many newspaper articles. This gigantic task was performed only +because of his regular habits and splendid physique. He wrote +regularly every morning from seven o'clock until noon, and at night +always wrote out notes on the impressions from his experiences of the +day. +</p> + +<p> +Maupassant was a natural artist deeply in love with the technique of +his work. He did not write for money, although he believed that a +writer should have plenty of this world's possessions, nor did he +write for art's sake. In fact he avoided talking on the subject of +writing and to all appearances seemed to despise his profession. He +wrote because the restless, immitigable force within him compelled him +to work like a slave. He thought little of morals, or religion, but +was enamored with physical life and its insolvable problems. He was, +above everything else, a truthful man. Sometimes his subjects are +unclean and he treats them as such, but, if his subject is clean, his +treatment is undefiled. +</p> + +<p> +In 1887 the shadows of insanity began to creep athwart his life. Even +in 1884 he seemed to feel a premonition of his coming catastrophe when +he wrote: "I am afraid of the walls, of the furniture, of the familiar +objects which seem to me to assume a kind of animal life. Above all, I +fear the horrible confusion of my thought, of my reason escaping, +entangled and scattered by an invisible and mysterious anguish." The +dreaded disease developed until, in 1890, he had to suspend his +writing. In 1892 he became wholly insane and had to be committed to an +insane asylum where he died in a padded cell one year later. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>The New International Encyclopaedia</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Encyclopaedia Britannica</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Bookman</i>, 25:290-294_. +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +Maupassant's short-stories are generally conceded to be the best in +French literature. He handles his materials with great care, and his +descriptions of scenes and characters are unequalled. In his first +writings he seems impassive to the point of frigidity. He is a +recorder who sets down exactly the life before him. This is one of the +lessons he learned from Flaubert. He was not interested in what a +character thought or felt, but he noted and fondled every action of +his characters. +</p> + +<p> +He loved life, despite the lack of solutions. At times his fondness +for mere physical life leads him to the brutal stage. In his story, +<i>On the Water</i>, he gives a confession of a purely sensual man: "How +gladly, at times, I would think no more, feel no more, live the life +of a brute, in a warm, bright country, in a yellow country, without +crude and brutal verdure, in one of those Eastern countries in which +one falls asleep without concern, is active and has no cares, loves +and has no distress, and is scarcely aware that one is going on +living!" +</p> + +<p> +Maupassant was a keen observer, possessed an excellent but not lofty +imagination, and never asserted a philosophy of life. His writings are +all interesting, terse, precise, and truthful, but lack the glow that +comes with a sympathetic and spiritual outlook on life. Zola says of +him: "…. a Latin of good, clear, solid head, a maker of beautiful +sentences shining like gold…." He chooses a single incident, a few +characteristics and then moulds them into a compact story. Nine-tenths +of his stories deal with selfishness and hypocrisy. +</p> + +<p> +Tolstoi wrote: "Maupassant possessed genius, that gift of attention +revealing in the objects and facts of life properties not perceived by +others; he possessed a beautiful form of expression, uttering clearly, +simply, and with charm what he wished to say; and he possessed also +the merit of sincerity, without which a work of art produces no +effect; that is he did not merely pretend to love or hate, but did +indeed love or hate what he described." +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Inquiries and Opinions</i>, Brander Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +"A Criticism," <i>Outlook</i>, 88:973-976. +</p> + +<p> +"Greatest Short Story Writer that Ever Lived," <i>Current Literature</i>, +42:636-638. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>Happiness</i> (Odd Number), Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Wolf</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>La Mère Sauvage</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Confession</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>On the Journey</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Beggar</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Ghost</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Little Soldier</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Wreck</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Necklace</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Note of Scarlet</i>, Ruth Stuart. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Expiation</i>, Octave Thanet. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fagan</i>, Rowland Thomas. +</p> + +<p> +<i>La Grande Bretêche</i> ("Jessup and Canby"), Honoré de Balzac. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>THE MAN WHO WAS[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Rudyard Kipling (1865- )</i> +</p> + +<p> +Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a delightful person +till he tucks his shirt in. As an Oriental he is charming. It is only +when he insists upon being treated as the most easterly of Western +peoples, instead of the most westerly of Easterns, that he becomes a +racial anomaly[2] extremely difficult to handle. The host never knows +which side of his nature is going to turn up next. +</p> + +<p> +Dirkovitch was a Russian—a Russian of the Russians, as he said—who +appeared to get his bread by serving the czar as an officer in a +Cossack regiment, and corresponding for a Russian newspaper with a +name that was never twice the same. He was a handsome young Oriental, +with a taste for wandering through unexplored portions of the earth, +and he arrived in India from nowhere in particular. At least no living +man could ascertain whether it was by way of Balkh, Budukhshan, +Chitral, Beloochistan, Nepaul, or anywhere else. The Indian +government, being in an unusually affable mood, gave orders that he +was to be civilly treated, and shown everything that was to be seen; +so he drifted, talking bad English and worse French, from one city to +another till he forgathered with her Majesty's White Hussars[3] in the +city of Peshawur,[4] which stands at the mouth of that narrow +sword-cut in the hills that men call the Khyber Pass. He was +undoubtedly an officer, and he was decorated, after the manner of the +Russians, with little enameled crosses, and he could talk, and (though +this has nothing to do with his merits) he had been given up as a +hopeless task or case by the Black Tyrones[5], who, individually and +collectively, with hot whisky and honey, mulled brandy and mixed +spirits of all kinds, had striven in all hospitality to make him +drunk. And when the Black Tyrones, who are exclusively Irish, fail to +disturb the peace of head of a foreigner, that foreigner is certain to +be a superior man. This was the argument of the Black Tyrones, but +they were ever an unruly and self-opinionated regiment, and they +allowed junior subalterns of four years' service to choose their +wines. The spirits were always purchased by the colonel and a +committee of majors. And a regiment that would so behave may be +respected but cannot be loved. +</p> + +<p> +The White Hussars were as conscientious in choosing their wine as in +charging the enemy. There was a brandy that had been purchased by a +cultured colonel a few years after the battle of Waterloo. It has been +maturing ever since, and it was a marvelous brandy at the purchasing. +The memory of that liquor would cause men to weep as they lay dying in +the teak forests of upper Burmah[6] or the slime of the Irrawaddy[7]. +And there was a port which was notable; and there was a champagne of +an obscure brand, which always came to mess without any labels, +because the White Hussars wished none to know where the source of +supply might be found. The officer on whose head the champagne +choosing lay was forbidden the use of tobacco for six weeks previous +to sampling. +</p> + +<p> +This particularity of detail is necessary to emphasize the fact that +that champagne, that port, and above all, that brandy—the green and +yellow and white liqueurs did not count—was placed at the absolute +disposition of Dirkovitch, and he enjoyed himself hugely—even more +than among the Black Tyrones. +</p> + +<p> +But he remained distressingly European through it all. The White +Hussars were—"My dear true friends," "Fellow-soldiers glorious," and +"Brothers inseparable." He would unburden himself by the hour on the +glorious future that awaited the combined arms of England and Russia +when their hearts and their territories should run side by side, and +the great mission of civilizing Asia should begin. That was +unsatisfactory, because Asia is not going to be civilized after the +methods of the West. There is too much Asia, and she is too old. You +cannot reform a lady of many lovers, and Asia has been insatiable in +her flirtations aforetime. She will never attend Sunday school, or +learn to vote save with swords for tickets. +</p> + +<p> +Dirkovitch knew this as well as any one else, but it suited him to +talk special-correspondently and to make himself as genial as he +could. Now and then he volunteered a little, a very little, +information about his own Sotnia[8] of Cossacks, left apparently to +look after themselves somewhere at the back of beyond. He had done +rough work in Central Asia, and had seen rather more help-yourself +fighting than most men of his years. But he was careful never to +betray his superiority, and more than careful to praise on all +occasions the appearance, drill, uniform, and organization of her +Majesty's White Hussars. And, indeed, they were a regiment to be +admired. When Mrs. Durgan, widow of the late Sir John Durgan, arrived +in their station, and after a short time had been proposed to by every +single man at mess, she put the public sentiment very neatly when she +explained that they were all so nice that unless she could marry them +all, including the colonel and some majors who were already married, +she was not going to content herself with one of them. Wherefore she +wedded a little man in a rifle regiment—being by nature +contradictious—and the White Hussars were going to wear crape on +their arms, but compromised by attending the wedding in full force, +and lining the aisle with unutterable reproach. She had jilted them +all—from Basset-Holmer, the senior captain, to Little Mildred, the +last subaltern, and he could have given her four thousand a year and a +title. He was a viscount, and on his arrival the mess had said he had +better go into the Guards, because they were all sons of large grocers +and small clothiers in the Hussars, but Mildred begged very hard to be +allowed to stay, and behaved so prettily that he was forgiven, and +became a man, which is much more important than being any sort of +viscount. +</p> + +<p> +The only persons who did not share the general regard for the White +Hussars were a few thousand gentlemen of Jewish extraction who lived +across the border, and answered to the name of Pathan. They had only +met the regiment officially, and for something less than twenty +minutes, but the interview, which was complicated with many +casualties, had filled them with prejudice. They even called the White +Hussars "children of the devil," and sons of persons whom it would be +perfectly impossible to meet in decent society. Yet they were not +above making their aversion fill their money belts. The regiment +possessed carbines, beautiful Martini-Henri carbines, that would cob a +bullet into an enemy's camp at one thousand yards, and were even +handier than the long rifle. Therefore they were coveted all along the +border, and since demand inevitably breeds supply, they were supplied +at the risk of life and limb for exactly their weight in coined +silver—seven and one half pounds of rupees[9], or sixteen pounds and +a few shillings each, reckoning the rupee at par. They were stolen at +night by snaky-haired thieves that crawled on their stomachs under the +nose of the sentries; they disappeared mysteriously from armracks; and +in the hot weather, when all the doors and windows were open, they +vanished like puffs of their own smoke. The border people desired them +first for their own family vendettas[10] and then for contingencies. +But in the long cold nights of the Northern Indian winter they were +stolen most extensively. The traffic of murder was liveliest among the +hills at that season, and prices ruled high. The regimental guards +were first doubled and then trebled. A trooper does not much care if +he loses a weapon—government must make it good—but he deeply resents +the loss of his sleep. The regiment grew very angry, and one +night-thief who managed to limp away bears the visible marks of their +anger upon him to this hour. That incident stopped the burglaries for +a time, and the guards were reduced accordingly, and the regiment +devoted itself to polo with unexpected results, for it beat by two +goals to one that very terrible polo corps the Lushkar Light Horse, +though the latter had four ponies apiece for a short hour's fight, as +well as a native officer who played like a lambent flame across the +ground. +</p> + +<p> +Then they gave a dinner to celebrate the event. The Lushkar team came, +and Dirkovitch came, in the fullest full uniform of Cossack officer, +which is as full as a dressing-gown, and was introduced to the +Lushkars, and opened his eyes as he regarded them. They were lighter +men than the Hussars, and they carried themselves with the swing that +is the peculiar right of the Punjab[11] frontier force and all +irregular horse. Like everything else in the service, it has to be +learned; but unlike many things, it is never forgotten, and remains on +the body till death. +</p> + +<p> +The great beam-roofed mess room of the White Hussars was a sight to be +remembered. All the mess plate was on the long table—the same table +that had served up the bodies of five dead officers in a forgotten +fight long and long ago—the dingy, battered standards faced the door +of entrance, clumps of winter roses lay between the silver +candlesticks, the portraits of eminent officers deceased looked down +on their successors from between the heads of sambhur[12], +nilghai[13], maikhor, and, pride of all the mess, two grinning +snow-leopards that had cost Basset-Holmer four months' leave that he +might have spent in England instead of on the road to Thibet, and the +daily risk of his life on ledge, snowslide, and glassy grass slope. +</p> + +<p> +The servants, in spotless white muslin and the crest of their +regiments on the brow of their turbans, waited behind their masters, +who were clad in the scarlet and gold of the White Hussars and the +cream and silver of the Lushkar Light Horse. Dirkovitch's dull green +uniform was the only dark spot at the board, but his big onyx eyes +made up for it. He was fraternizing effusively with the captain of the +Lushkar team, who was wondering how many of Dirkovitch's Cossacks his +own long, lathy down-countrymen could account for in a fair charge. +But one does not speak of these things openly. +</p> + +<p> +The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band played +between the courses, as is the immemorial custom, till all tongues +ceased for a moment with the removal of the dinner slips and the First +Toast of Obligation, when the colonel, rising, said, "Mr. Vice, the +Queen," and Little Mildred from the bottom of the table answered, "The +Queen, God bless her!" and the big spurs clanked as the big men heaved +themselves up and drank the Queen, upon whose pay they were falsely +supposed to pay their mess bills. That sacrament of the mess never +grows old, and never ceases to bring a lump into the throat of the +listener wherever he be, by land or by sea. Dirkovitch rose with his +"brothers glorious," but he could not understand. No one but an +officer can understand what the toast means; and the bulk have more +sentiment than comprehension. It all comes to the same in the end, as +the enemy said when he was wriggling on a lance point. Immediately +after the little silence that follows on the ceremony there entered +the native officer who had played for the Lushkar team. He could not +of course eat with the alien, but he came in at dessert, all six feet +of him, with the blue-and-silver turban atop, and the big black +top-boots below. The mess rose joyously as he thrust forward the hilt +of his saber, in token of fealty, for the colonel of the White Hussars +to touch, and dropped into a vacant chair amid shouts of "<i>Rung ho</i>! +Hira Singh!" (which being translated means "Go in and win!"). "Did I +whack you over the knee, old man?" "Ressaidar Sahib, what the devil +made you play that kicking pig of a pony in the last ten minutes?" +"Shabash, Ressaidar Sahib!" Then the voice of the colonel, "The health +of Ressaidar Hira Singh!" +</p> + +<p> +After the shouting had died away, Hira Singh rose to reply, for he was +the cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew what was +due on these occasions. Thus he spoke in the vernacular:— +</p> + +<p> +"Colonel Sahib and officers of this regiment, much honor have you done +me. This will I remember. We came down from afar to play you; but we +were beaten." ("No fault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on our own +ground, y' know. Your ponies were cramped from the railway. Don't +apologize.") "Therefore perhaps we will come again if it be so +ordained." ("Hear! Hear, hear, indeed! Bravo! Hsh!") "Then we will +play you afresh" ("Happy to meet you"), "till there are left no feet +upon our ponies. Thus far for sport." He dropped one hand on his sword +hilt and his eye wandered to Dirkovitch lolling back in his chair. +"But if by the will of God there arises any other game which is not +the polo game, then be assured, Colonel Sahib and officers, that we +shall play it out side by side, though <i>they</i>"—again his eye sought +Dirkovitch—"though <i>they</i>, I say, have fifty ponies to our one +horse." And with a deep-mouthed <i>Rung ho</i>! that rang like a musket +butt on flagstones, he sat down amid shoutings. +</p> + +<p> +Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to the brandy—the +terrible brandy aforementioned—did not understand, nor did the +expurgated[14] translations offered to him at all convey the point. +Decidedly the native officer's was the speech of the evening, and the +clamor might have continued to the dawn had it not been broken by the +noise of a shot without that sent every man feeling at his defenseless +left side. It is notable that Dirkovitch "reached back," after the +American fashion—a gesture that set the captain of the Lushkar team +wondering how Cossack officers were armed at mess. Then there was a +scuffle, and a yell of pain. +</p> + +<p> +"Carbine stealing again!" said the adjutant, calmly sinking back in +his chair. "This comes of reducing the guards. I hope the sentries +have killed him." +</p> + +<p> +The feet of armed men pounded on the veranda flags, and it sounded as +though something was being dragged. +</p> + +<p> +"Why don't they put him in the cells till the morning?" said the +colonel, testily. "See if they've damaged him, sergeant." +</p> + +<p> +The mess-sergeant fled out into the darkness, and returned with two +troopers and a corporal, all very much perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +"Caught a man stealin' carbines, sir," said the corporal. +</p> + +<p> +"Leastways 'e was crawling toward the barricks, sir, past the +main-road sentries; an' the sentry 'e says, sir—" +</p> + +<p> +The limp heap of rags upheld by the three men groaned. Never was seen +so destitute and demoralized an Afghan. He was turbanless, shoeless, +caked with dirt, and all but dead with rough handling. Hira Singh +started slightly at the sound of the man's pain. Dirkovitch took +another liqueur glass of brandy. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>What</i> does the sentry say?" said the colonel. +</p> + +<p> +"Sez he speaks English, sir," said the corporal. +</p> + +<p> +"So you brought him into mess instead of handing him over to the +sergeant! If he spoke all the tongues of the Pentecost you've no +business—" +</p> + +<p> +Again the bundle groaned and muttered. Little Mildred had risen from +his place to inspect. He jumped back as though he had been shot. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send the men away," said he to +the colonel, for he was a much-privileged subaltern. He put his arms +round the rag-bound horror as he spoke, and dropped him into a chair. +It may not have been explained that the littleness of Mildred lay in +his being six feet four, and big in proportion. The corporal, seeing +that an officer was disposed to look after the capture, and that the +colonel's eye was beginning to blaze, promptly removed himself and his +men. The mess was left alone with the carbine thief, who laid his head +on the table and wept bitterly, hopelessly, and inconsolably, as +little children weep. +</p> + +<p> +Hira Singh leaped to his feet with a long-drawn vernacular oath +"Colonel Sahib," said he, "that man is no Afghan, for they weep '<i>Ai! +Ai</i>!' Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep,'<i>Oh! Ho</i>!' He weeps after +the fashion of the white men, who say '<i>Ow! Ow</i>!'" +</p> + +<p> +"Now where the dickens did you get that knowledge, Hira Singh?" said +the captain of the Lushkar team. +</p> + +<p> +"Hear him!" said Hira Singh, simply, pointing at the crumpled figure +that wept as though it would never cease. +</p> + +<p> +"He said, 'My God!'" said Little Mildred, "I heard him say it." +</p> + +<p> +The colonel and the mess room looked at the man in silence. It is a +horrible thing to hear a man cry. A woman can sob from the top of her +palate, or her lips, or anywhere else, but a man cries from his +diaphragm, and it rends him to pieces. Also, the exhibition causes the +throat of the on-looker to close at the top. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor devil!" said the colonel, coughing tremendously, "We ought to +send him to hospital. He's been manhandled." +</p> + +<p> +Now the adjutant loved his rifles. They were to him as his +grandchildren—the men standing in the first place. He grunted +rebelliously: "I can understand an Afghan stealing, because he's made +that way. But I can't understand his crying. That makes it worse." +</p> + +<p> +The brandy must have affected Dirkovitch, for he lay back in his chair +and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing special in the ceiling +beyond a shadow as of a huge black coffin. Owing to some peculiarity +in the construction of the mess room this shadow was always thrown +when the candles were lighted. It never disturbed the digestion of the +White Hussars. They were, in rather proud of it. +</p> + +<p> +"Is he going to cry all night?" said the colonel, "or are we supposed +to sit up with Little Mildred's guest until he feels better?" +</p> + +<p> +The man in the chair threw up his head and stared at the mess. +Outside, the wheels of the first of those bidden to the festivities +crunched the roadway. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my God!" said the man in the chair, and every soul in the mess +rose to his feet. Then the Lushkar captain did a deed for which he +ought to have been given the Victoria Cross—distinguished gallantry +in a fight against overwhelming curiosity. He picked up his team with +his eyes as the hostess picks up the ladies at the opportune moment, +and pausing only by the colonel's chair to say, "This isn't <i>our</i> +affair, you know, sir," led the team into the veranda and the gardens. +Hira Singh was the last, and he looked at Dirkovitch as he moved. But +Dirkovitch had departed into a brandy paradise of his own. His lips +moved without sound, and he was studying the coffin on the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +"White—white all over," said Basset-Holmer, the adjutant. "What a +pernicious renegade[15] he must be! I wonder where he came from?" +</p> + +<p> +The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and "Who are you?" said +he. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer. The man stared round the mess room and smiled in +the colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was always more of a woman +than a man till "Boot and saddle" was sounded, repeated the question +in a voice that would have drawn confidences from a geyser. The man +only smiled. Dirkovitch, at the far end of the table, slid gently from +his chair to the floor, No son of Adam, in this present imperfect +world, can mix the Hussars' champagne with the Hussars' brandy by five +and eight glasses of each without remembering the pit whence he has +been digged and descending thither. The band began to play the tune +with which the White Hussars, from the date of their formation, +preface all their functions. They would sooner be disbanded than +abandon that tune. It is a part of their system. The man straightened +himself in his chair and drummed on the table with his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see why we should entertain lunatics," said the colonel; +"call a guard and send him off to the cells. We'll look into the +business in the morning. Give him a glass of wine first, though." +</p> + +<p> +Little Mildred filled a sherry glass with the brandy and thrust it +over to the man. He drank, and the tune rose louder, and he +straightened himself yet more. Then he put out his long-taloned hands +to a piece of plate opposite and fingered it lovingly. There was a +mystery connected with that piece of plate in the shape of a spring, +which converted what was a seven-branched candlestick, three springs +each side and one on the middle, into a sort of wheel-spoke +candelabrum[16]. He found the spring, pressed it, and laughed weakly. +He rose from his chair and inspected a picture on the wall, then moved +on to another picture, the mess watching him without a word. +</p> + +<p> +When he came to the mantelpiece he shook his head and seemed +distressed. A piece of plate representing a mounted hussar in full +uniform caught his eye. He pointed to it, and then to the mantelpiece, +with inquiry in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it—oh, what is it?" said Little Mildred. Then, as a mother +might speak to a child, "That is a horse—yes, a horse." +</p> + +<p> +Very slowly came the answer, in a thick, passionless guttural: "Yes, +I—have seen. But—where is <i>the</i> horse?" +</p> + +<p> +You could have heard the hearts of the mess beating as the men drew +back to give the stranger full room in his wanderings. There was no +question of calling the guard. +</p> + +<p> +Again he spoke, very slowly, "Where is <i>our</i> horse?" +</p> + +<p> +There is no saying what happened after that. There is but one horse in +the White Hussars, and his portrait hangs outside the door of the mess +room. He is the piebald drum-horse the king of the regimental band, +that served the regiment for seven-and-thirty years, and in the end +was shot for old age. Half the mess tore the thing down from its place +and thrust it into the man's hands. He placed it above the +mantelpiece; it clattered on the ledge, as his poor hands dropped it, +and he staggered toward the bottom of the table, falling into +Mildred's chair. The band began to play the "River of Years" waltz, +and the laughter from the gardens came into the tobacco-scented mess +room. But nobody, even the youngest, was thinking of waltzes. They all +spoke to one another something after this fashion: "The drum-horse +hasn't hung over the mantelpiece since '67." "How does he know?" +"Mildred, go and speak to him again." "Colonel, what are you going to +do?" "Oh, dry up, and give the poor devil a chance to pull himself +together!" "It isn't possible, anyhow. The man's a lunatic." +</p> + +<p> +Little Mildred stood at the colonel's side talking into his ear. "Will +you be good enough to take your seats, please, gentlemen?" he said, +and the mess dropped into the chairs. +</p> + +<p> +Only Dirkovitch's seat, next to Little Mildred's, was blank, and +Little Mildred himself had found Hira Singh's place. The wide-eyed +mess sergeant filled the glasses in dead silence. Once more the +colonel rose, but his hand shook, and the port spilled on the table as +he looked straight at the man in Little Mildred's chair and said, +hoarsely, "Mr. Vice, the Queen." There was a little pause, but the man +sprang to his feet and answered, without hesitation, "The Queen, God +bless her!" and as he emptied the thin glass he snapped the shank +between his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Long and long ago, when the Empress of India was a young woman, and +there were no unclean ideals in the land, it was the custom in a few +messes to drink the Queen's toast in broken glass, to the huge delight +of the mess contractors. The custom is now dead, because there is +nothing to break anything for, except now and again the word of a +government, and that has been broken already. +</p> + +<p> +"That settles it," said the colonel, with a gasp. "He's not a +sergeant. What in the world is he?" +</p> + +<p> +The entire mess echoed the word, and the volley of questions would +have scared any man. Small wonder that the ragged, filthy invader +could only smile and shake his head. +</p> + +<p> +From under the table, calm and smiling urbanely[17], rose Dirkovitch, +who had been roused from healthful slumber by feet upon his body. By +the side of the man he rose, and the man shrieked and groveled at his +feet. It was a horrible sight, coming so swiftly upon the pride and +glory of the toast that had brought the strayed wits together. +</p> + +<p> +Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but Little Mildred heaved him +up in an instant. It is not good that a gentleman who can answer to +the Queen's toast should lie at the feet of a subaltern of Cossacks. +</p> + +<p> +The hasty action tore the wretch's upper clothing nearly to the waist, +and his body was seamed with dry black scars. There is only one weapon +in the world that cuts in parallel lines, and it is neither the cane +nor the cat. Dirkovitch saw the marks, and the pupils of his eyes +dilated—also, his face changed. He said something that sounded like +"Shto ve takete"; and the man, fawning, answered, "Chetyre." +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" said everybody together. +</p> + +<p> +"His number. That is number four, you know." Dirkovitch spoke very +thickly. +</p> + +<p> +"What has a Queen's officer to do with a qualified number?" said the +colonel, and there rose an unpleasant growl round the table. +</p> + +<p> +"How can I tell?" said the affable Oriental, with a sweet smile. "He +is a—how you have it?—escape—runaway, from over there." +</p> + +<p> +He nodded toward the darkness of the night. +</p> + +<p> +"Speak to him, if he'll answer you, and speak to him gently," said +Little Mildred, settling the man in a chair. It seemed most improper +to all present that Dirkovitch. should sip brandy as he talked in +purring, spitting Russian to the creature who answered so feebly and +with such evident dread. But since Dirkovitch appeared to understand, +no man said a word. They breathed heavily, leaning forward, in the +long gaps of the conversation. The next time that they have no +engagements on hand the White Hussars intend to go to St. Petersburg +and learn Russian. +</p> + +<p> +"He does not know how many years ago," said Dirkovitch, facing the +mess, "but he says it was very long ago, in a war, I think that there +was an accident. He says he was of this glorious and distinguished +regiment in the war." +</p> + +<p> +"The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the rolls!" said Little Mildred, +and the adjutant dashed off bareheaded to the orderly room where the +rolls of the regiment were kept. He returned just in time to hear +Dirkovitch conclude, "Therefore I am most sorry to say there was an +accident, which would have been, reparable if he had apologized to our +colonel, whom he had insulted." +</p> + +<p> +Another growl, which the colonel tried to beat down. The mess was in +no mood to weigh insults to Russian colonels just then. +</p> + +<p> +"He does not remember, but I think that there was an accident, and so +he was not exchanged among the prisoners, but he was sent to another +place—how do you say?—the country. <i>So</i>, he says, he came here. He +does not know how he came. Eh? He <i>was</i> at Chepany[18]"—the man +caught the word, nodded, and shivered—"at Zhigansk[19] and +Irkutsk[20]. I cannot understand how he escaped. He says, too, that he +was in the forests for many years, but how many years he has +forgotten—that with many things. It was an accident; done because he +did not apologise to our colonel. Ah!" +</p> + +<p> +Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it is sad to record +that the White Hussars livelily exhibited unchristian delight and +other emotions, hardly restrained by their sense of hospitality. +Holmer flung the frayed and yellow regimental rolls on the table, and +the men flung themselves atop of these. +</p> + +<p> +"Steady! Fifty-six—fifty-five—fifty-four," said Holmer. "Here we +are. 'Lieutenant Austin Limmason—<i>missing</i>.' That was before +Sebastopol[21]. What an infernal shame! Insulted one of their +colonels, and was quietly shipped off. Thirty years of his life wiped +out." +</p> + +<p> +"But he never apologized. Said he'd see him——first," chorussed the +mess. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor devil! I suppose he never had the chance afterward. How did he +come here?" said the colonel. +</p> + +<p> +The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know who you are?" +</p> + +<p> +It laughed weakly. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know that you are Limmason—Lieutenant Limmason, of the White +Hussars?" +</p> + +<p> +Swift as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised tone, "Yes, +I'm Limmason, of course." The light died out in his eyes, and he +collapsed afresh, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with terror. A +flight from Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in the mind, but it +does not lead to continuity of thought. The man could not explain how, +like a homing pigeon, he had found his way to his own old mess again. +Of what he had suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed before +Dirkovitch as instinctively as he had pressed the spring of the +candlestick, sought the picture of the drum-horse, and answered to the +Queen's toast. The rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tongue +could only in part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and he +giggled and cowered alternately. +</p> + +<p> +The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at this +extremely inopportune moment to make a speech. He rose, swaying +slightly, gripped the table edge, while his eyes glowed like opals, +and began:—"Fellow-soldiers glorious—true friends and hospitables. +It was an accident, and deplorable—most deplorable." Here he smiled +sweetly all round the mess. "But you will think of this little, little +thing. So little, is it not? The czar! Posh! I slap my fingers—I snap +my fingers at him. Do I believe in him? No! But the Slav who has done +nothing, <i>him</i> I believe. Seventy—how much?—millions that have done +nothing—not one thing. Napoleon was an episode." He banged a hand on +the table. "Hear you, old peoples, we have done nothing in the +world—out here. All our work is to do: and it shall be done, old +peoples. Get away!" He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the +man. "You see him. He is not good to see. He was just one little—oh, +so little—accident, that no one remembered. Now he is <i>That</i>. So will +you be, brother-soldiers so brave—so will you be. But you will never +come back. You will all go where he has gone, or"—he pointed to the +great coffin shadow on the ceiling, and muttering, "Seventy +millions—get away, you old people," fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +"Sweet, and to the point," said Little Mildred. "What's the use of +getting wroth? Let's make the poor devil comfortable." +</p> + +<p> +But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving hands +of the White Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only to go away +again three days later, when the wail of the "Dead March" and the +tramp of the squadrons told the wondering station, that saw no gap in +the table, an officer of the regiment had resigned his new-found +commission. +</p> + +<p> +And Dirkovitch—bland, supple, and always genial—went away too by a +night train. Little Mildred and another saw him off, for he was the +guest of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with the open +hand the law of the mess allowed no relaxation of hospitality. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-by, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey," said Little Mildred. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Au revoir[22]</i> my true friends," said the Russian. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed! But we thought you were going home?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; but I will come again. My friends, is that road shut?" He +pointed to where the north star burned over the Khyber Pass. +</p> + +<p> +"By Jove! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet you, old man, any time +you like. Got everything you want,—cheroots, ice, bedding? That's all +right. Well, <i>au revoir</i>, Dirkovitch." +</p> + +<p> +"Um," said the other man, as the tail-lights of the train grew small. +"Of—all—the—unmitigated[23]—" +</p> + +<p> +Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the north star, and +hummed a selection from a recent burlesque that had much delighted the +White Hussars. It ran:— +</p> + +<p> + "I'm sorry for Mister Bluebeard,<br/> + + I'm sorry to cause him pain;<br/> + + But a terrible spree there's sure to be<br/> + + When he comes back again." +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] <i>The Man Who Was</i> was written in 1889. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 46:6 anomaly. Deviation from type. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 47:1 Hussars. Light-horse troopers armed with sabre and carbine. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 47:1 Peshawur. City in British India. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 47:7 Tyrones. From a county in Ireland by this name. +</p> + +<p> +[6] 47:26 Burmah. In southeastern Asia. Part of the British Empire. +</p> + +<p> +[7] 47:27 Irrawaddy. Chief river of Burma. +</p> + +<p> +[8] 48:27 Sotnia. Company of the Cossacks. +</p> + +<p> +[9] 50:14 rupee. Indian coin worth about forty-eight cents. +</p> + +<p> +[10] 50:21 vendettas. Private blood-feuds. +</p> + +<p> +[11] 51:14 Punjab. Country of five rivers, tributaries of the Indus. +</p> + +<p> +[12] 81:26 Sambhur. A rusine deer found in India. +</p> + +<p> +[13] 51:26 nilghai. Antelope with hind legs shorter than its +fore-legs. +</p> + +<p> +[14] 54:9 expurgated. Purified. +</p> + +<p> +[15] 57:23 renegade. One who deserts his faith. +</p> + +<p> +[16] 58:26 candelabrum. Stand supporting several lamps. +</p> + +<p> +[17] 61:3 urbanely. Politely. +</p> + +<p> +[18] 63:2 Chepany. Town in Siberia. +</p> + +<p> +[19] 63:4 Zhigansk. Town in Siberia. +</p> + +<p> +[20] 63:4 Irkutsk. Province and city in Siberia. +</p> + +<p> +[21] 63:17 Sebastopol. Seaport in Russia. +</p> + +<p> +[22] 65:26 Au revoir. Till we meet again. +</p> + +<p> +[23] 66:6 unmitigated. As bad as can be. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Essays on Modern Novelists</i>, William Lyon Phelps. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Kipling Primer</i>, Knowles. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rudyard Kipling</i>, Richard Le Galliene. +</p> + +<p> +"Kipling to French Eyes," <i>Bookman</i>, 26: 584. +</p> + +<p> +"Life of Kipling," _Encyclopaedia Britannica. +</p> + +<p> +"Life of Kipling," <i>The Universal Encyclopedia</i>. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Rudyard Kipling, the most vigorous, versatile, and highly endowed of +the present-day writers of fiction, was born in Bombay, India, +December 30, 1865. His place of birth and extensive travelling make +him more Anglo-Saxon than British. His father was for many years +connected with the schools of art at Bombay and Lahore in India. His +mother, Alice MacDonald, was the daughter of a Methodist clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +Kipling was brought to England when he was five years old to be +educated. While in college at Westward Ho he edited the <i>College +Chronicle</i>. For this paper he contributed regularly, poetry and +stories. After his school days and on his return to India, he served +on the editorial staff of the Lahore <i>Civil and Military Gazette</i> from +1882 to 1887, and was assistant editor of the <i>Pioneer</i> at Allahabad +from 1887 to 1889. +</p> + +<p> +Kipling has travelled extensively. He is at home in India, China, +Japan, Africa, Australia, England, and America. The odd part about his +realistic observations, however, is that his notes, whether written +about California or India, are often repudiated by the people whom he +has visited. After visiting England and the United States in a vain +effort to find a publisher for his writings, he returned to India and +published in the <i>Pioneer</i> his <i>American Notes</i>, which were +immediately reproduced in book form in New York in 1891. +</p> + +<p> +He married Miss Balestier of New York in 1892. They settled at +Brattleboro, Vermont, immediately after their marriage and lived there +until 1896. Kipling revisited the United States in 1899. While on this +trip he suffered a severe attack of pneumonia which brought out a +demonstration of interest from the American people that clearly showed +their appreciation of him as a man and a writer. +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +Kipling is journalistic in all his writings. Oftentimes his material +is very thin, flippant, and sensational, but he always is interesting, +for he possesses the expert reporter's unerring judgment for choosing +the essentials of his situation, character, or description, that catch +and hold the reader's attention. In his earlier writings, like <i>Plain +Tales from the Hills</i> or <i>The Jungle Books</i>, the radical racial +differences between his characters and readers, and the background of +primitive, mysterious India caught the reading world and instantly +established Kipling's fame. +</p> + +<p> +His technique is brilliant, his wit keen, and his energy of the bold +and dashing military type. This audacious energy leads him very often +into sprawling situations, a worship of imperialism, and reckless +statements concerning moral and spiritual laws. Unlike Bret Harte, who +was in many respects one of Kipling's ideals, he leaves his bad and +coarse characters disreputable to the end. This is due in a large +measure to the lack of warmth and light in his writings. In +contradiction to this type of his works his <i>William the Conqueror</i> +and <i>An Habitation Enforced</i> are filled with a gentle-human sympathy +that causes us to forget and forgive any vulgarity he may have used in +his more primitive and coarse characters. Even Kipling partisans must +sometimes wish that Kipling's vision were not so dimmed by the British +flag and that he might forget for a time the British soldier he loves +so ardently. +</p> + +<p> +His writings since 1899 are much more mechanical than his earlier +works. He seems, at times, to resort to the orator's superficial +tricks in his attempts to attract readers. The <i>Athenaeum</i>, a friendly +organ, says of his later work: "In his new part—the missionary of +Empire—Mr. Kipling is living the strenuous life. He has frankly +abandoned story telling, and is using his complete and powerful armory +in the interests of patriotic zeal." +</p> + +<p> +Whatever may be the final judgment of the world concerning Kipling's +claim to literary genius, the young student may rest assured that +there is no one in England who can compare with this strenuous and +versatile writer. He is original and powerful, interesting and +realistic. He is a lover of the men who earn their bread by the sweat +of their faces and a despiser of "flannelled fools." He lacks the +day-dreams of Stevenson and preaches from every housetop the gospel of +virile, acting morality. Many of his readers have criticised adversely +his spiritual teachings, because of the furious energy with which he +denounces an apathetic religion and eulogizes the person who works +with all his might, day after day, for the highest he knows and never +fears the day of death and judgment. +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Book of the Short Story</i>, Alexander Jessup. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Short Story in English</i>, Henry Seidel Canby. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Bibliography of Kipling's Works</i>, Eugene P, Saxton. +</p> + +<p> +"Contradictory Elements in Rudyard Kipling," <i>Current Literature</i>, 44: +274. +</p> + +<p> +"Where Kipling Stands," <i>Bookman</i>, 29: 120-122. +</p> + +<p> +"Are there two Kiplings?" <i>Cosmopolitan</i>, 31: 653-660. +</p> + +<p> +"Literary Style of Kipling," <i>Lippincott</i>, 73: 99-103. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Man Who Would be King</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>William the Conqueror</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phantom Rickshaw</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Finest Story in the World</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Under the Deodars</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>An Habitation Enforced</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Plain Tales from the Hills</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Light that Failed</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Wee Willie Winkie</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Baa Baa Black Sheep</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Captains Courageous</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Jungle Books</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>They</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Brushwood Boy</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Christ in Flanders</i>, Honoré de Balzac. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Old Gentleman of the Black Stock</i>, Thomas Nelson Page. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A New England Nun</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Outcasts of Poker Flat</i>, Bret Harte. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Siege of Berlin</i>, Alphonse Dadoed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Prisoner of Assiout</i>, Grant Allen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Terribly Strange Bed</i>, Wilkie Collins. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Prisoners</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mr. Isaacs</i>, F. Marion Crawford. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Where Love Is, There God Is Also</i>, Leo Tolstoi. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER [1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)</i> +</p> + +<p> + Son coeur est un luth suspendu;<br/> + + Sitôt qu'on le touche il résonne.<br/> + + —De Béranger.[2] +</p> + +<p> +During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of +the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had +been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of +country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew +on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it +was; but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of +insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the +feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because +poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the +sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the +scene before me—upon the mere house, and the simple landscape +features of the domain—upon the bleak walls—upon the vacant eye-like +windows—a few rank sedges—and upon a few white trunks of decayed +trees—with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no +earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the +reveller upon opium—the bitter lapse into every-day life—the hideous +dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening +of the heart—an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of +the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was +it—I paused to think—what was it that so unnerved me in the +contemplation of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; +nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I +pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion +that while, beyond doubt, there <i>are</i> combinations of very simple +natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the +analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It +was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the +particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be +sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for +sorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to +the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn[3] that lay in +unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down—but with a shudder +even more thrilling than before—upon the remodelled and inverted +images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree stems, and the vacant +and eye-like windows. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to myself a +sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one of +my boon companions in boyhood; but many years had elapsed since our +last meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a distant +part of the country—a letter from him—which, in its wildly +importunate nature, had admitted of no other than a personal reply. +The Ms. gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute +bodily illness, of a mental disorder which oppressed him, and of an +earnest desire to see me, as his best, and indeed his only, personal +friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, +some alleviation of his malady. It was the manner in which all this, +and much more, was said—it was the apparent <i>heart</i> that went with +his request—which allowed me no room for hesitation; and I +accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very singular +summons. +</p> + +<p> +Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet I really +knew little of my friend. His reserve had been always excessive and +habitual. I was aware, however, that his very ancient family had been +noted, time out of mind, for a peculiar sensibility of temperament, +displaying itself, through long ages, in many works of exalted art, +and manifested, of late, in repeated deeds of munificent, yet +unobtrusive, charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to the +intricacies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily +recognizable beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, the +very remarkable fact that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honored +as it was, had put forth, at no period, any enduring branch; in other +words, that the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and +had always, with very trifling and very temporary variation, so lain. +It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over in thought +the perfect keeping of the character of the premises with the +accredited character of the people, and while speculating upon the +possible influence which the one, in the long lapse of centuries, +might have exercised upon the other—it was this deficiency, perhaps, +of collateral issue, and the consequent undeviating transmission, from +sire to son, of the patrimony with the name, which had, at length, so +identified the two as to merge the original title of the estate in the +quaint and equivocal appellation of the <i>House of Usher</i>—an +appellation which seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry who +used it, both the family and the family mansion. +</p> + +<p> +I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish experiment of +looking down within the tarn had been to deepen the first singular +impression. There can be no doubt that the consciousness of the rapid +increase of my superstition—for why should I not so term it?—served +mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long known, is +the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis. And it +might have been for this reason only, that, when I again uplifted my +eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, there grew in my +mind a strange fancy—a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I but +mention it to show the vivid force of the sensations which oppressed +me. I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that +about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar +to themselves and their immediate vicinity—an atmosphere which had no +affinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the +decayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn—a pestilent and +mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued. +</p> + +<p> +Shaking off from my spirit what <i>must</i> have been a dream, I scanned +more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature +seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages +had been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in +a fine, tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from +any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; +and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still +perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the +individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the +specious totality of old woodwork which has rotted for years in some +neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external +air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric +gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing +observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, +extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down +the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen +waters of the tarn. +</p> + +<p> +Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. A +servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway of +the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, +through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the +<i>studio</i> of his master. Much that I encountered on the way +contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of which +I have already spoken. While the objects around me—while the carvings +of the ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon +blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies +which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as +which, I had been accustomed from my infancy—while I hesitated not to +acknowledge how familiar was all this—I still wondered to find how +unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On +one of the staircases I met the physician of the family. His +countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and +perplexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. The valet +now threw open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master. +</p> + +<p> +The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The windows +were long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a distance from the +black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble +gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised +panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominent +objects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach the +remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the vaulted and +fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general +furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many books +and musical instruments lay scattered about, but failed to give any +vitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. +An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded +all. +</p> + +<p> +Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa on which he had been lying +at full length, and greeted me with, a vivacious warmth which had much +in it, I at first thought, of an overdone cordiality—of the +constrained effort of the <i>ennuyé</i>[4] man of the world. A glance, +however, at his countenance convinced me of his perfect sincerity. We +sat down; and for some moments, while he spoke not. I gazed upon him +with a feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely, man had never before +so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! It +was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identity of +the wan being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. Yet +the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A +cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous +beyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a +surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but +with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations; a finely +moulded chin, speaking, in its want of prominence, of a want of moral +energy; hair of a more than web-like softness and tenuity; these +features, with an inordinate expansion above the regions of the +temple, made up altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten. +And now in the mere exaggeration of the prevailing character of these +features, and of the expression they were wont to convey, lay so much +of change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor of +the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye, above all things +startled, and even awed me. The silken hair, too, had been suffered to +grow all unheeded, and as, in its wild gossamer texture, it floated +rather than fell about the face, I could not, even with effort, +connect its arabesque expression with any idea of simple humanity. +</p> + +<p> +In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an +incoherence—an inconsistency; and I soon found this to arise from a +series of feeble and futile struggles to overcome an habitual +trepidancy, an excessive nervous agitation. For something of this +nature I had indeed been prepared, no less by his letter than by +reminiscences of certain boyish traits, and by conclusions deduced +from his peculiar physical conformation and temperament. His action +was alternately vivacious and sullen. His voice varied rapidly from a +tremulous indecision (when the animal spirits seemed utterly in +abeyance) to that species of energetic concision—that abrupt, +weighty, unhurried, and hollow-sounding enunciation—that leaden, +self-balanced, and perfectly modulated guttural utterance, which may +be observed in the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater of opium, +during the periods of his most intense excitement. +</p> + +<p> +It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his earnest +desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to afford him. He +entered, at some length, into what he conceived to be the nature of +his malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and +one for which he despaired to find a remedy—a mere nervous affection, +he immediately added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It +displayed itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as +he detailed them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, the +terms and the general manner of the narration had their weight. He +suffered much from a morbid acuteness of the senses. The most insipid +food was alone endurable; he could wear only garments of certain +texture; the odors of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were +tortured by even a faint light; and there were but peculiar sounds, +and these from stringed instruments, which did not inspire him with +horror. +</p> + +<p> +To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden[5] slave. "I +shall perish," said he, "I <i>must</i> perish, in this deplorable folly. +Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I dread the events of +the future, not in themselves, but in their results. I shudder at the +thought of any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operate +upon this intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence +of danger, except in its absolute effect—in terror. In this +unnerved—in this pitiable condition—I feel that the period will +sooner or later arrive when I must abandon life and reason together, +in some struggle with the grim phantasm, FEAR." +</p> + +<p> +I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and equivocal +hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. He was +enchained by certain superstitious impressions in regard to the +dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for many years, he had never +ventured forth—in regard to an influence whose supposititious force +was conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be restated—an influence +which some peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his family +mansion, had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained over his +spirit—an effect which the <i>physique</i> of the gray walls and turrets, +and of the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had, at length, +brought about upon the <i>morale</i> of his existence. +</p> + +<p> +He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of the +peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a more +natural and far more palpable origin—to the severe and long-continued +illness—indeed to the evidently approaching dissolution—of a +tenderly beloved sister, his sole companion for long years, his last +and only relative on earth. "Her decease," he said, with a bitterness +which I can never forget, "would leave him (him the hopeless and the +frail) the last of the ancient race of the Ushers." While he spoke, +the lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a +remote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed my +presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter astonishment not +unmingled with dread[6]; and yet I found it impossible to account for +such feelings. A sensation of stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followed +her retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed upon her, my +glance sought instinctively and eagerly the countenance of the +brother; but he had buried his face in his hands, and I could only +perceive that a far more than ordinary wanness had overspread the +emaciated fingers through which trickled many passionate tears. +</p> + +<p> +The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of her +physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of the person, +and frequent although transient affections of a partially cataleptical +character, were the unusual diagnosis. Hitherto she had steadily borne +up against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken herself +finally to bed; but on the closing in of the evening of my arrival at +the house, she succumbed (as her brother told me at night with +inexpressible agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer; +and I learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus +probably be the last I should obtain—that the lady, at least while +living, would be seen by me no more. +</p> + +<p> +For several days ensuing her name was unmentioned by either Usher or +myself; and during this period I was busied in earnest endeavors to +alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We painted and read together; +or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations[7] of his +speaking guitar. And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacy +admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, the +more bitterly did I perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a +mind from which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured +forth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one +unceasing radiation of gloom. +</p> + +<p> +I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours I thus +spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I should fail +in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact character of the +studies, or of the occupations in which he involved me, or led me the +way. An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphurous +luster over all. His long, improvised dirges will ring forever in my +ears. Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular +perversion and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of von +Weber[8]. From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, +and which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which I shuddered +the more thrillingly because I shuddered knowing not why,—from these +paintings (vivid as their images now are before, me) I would in vain +endeavor to educe more than a small portion which should lie within +the compass of merely written words. By the utter simplicity, by the +nakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed attention. If ever +mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me, at +least, in the circumstances then surrounding me, there arose out of +the pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw, upon +his canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I +ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too +concrete reveries of Fuseli.[9] +</p> + +<p> +One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partaking not so +rigidly of the spirit of abstraction may be shadowed forth, although +feebly, in words. A small picture presented the interior of an +immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, +smooth, white, and without interruption or device. Certain accessory +points of the design served well to convey the idea that this +excavation lay at an exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. +No outlet was observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torch +or other artificial source of light was discernible; yet a flood of +intense rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly and +inappropriate splendor. +</p> + +<p> +I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory nerve +which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with the +exception of certain effects of stringed, instruments. It was, +perhaps, the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon the +guitar, which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic character +of his performances. But the fervid <i>facility</i> of his <i>impromptus</i> +could not be so accounted for. They must have been, and were, in the +notes, as well as in the words of his wild fantasias (for he not +unfrequently accompanied himself with rimed verbal improvisations), +the result of that intense mental collectedness and concentration to +which I have previously alluded as observable only in particular +moments of the highest artificial excitement. The words of one of +these rhapsodies I have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the more +forcibly impressed with it, as he gave it, because, in the under or +mystic current of its meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and for the +first time, a full consciousness on the part of Usher, of the +tottering of his lofty reason upon her throne. The verses, which were +entitled "The Haunted Palace,"[10] ran very nearly, if not accurately, +thus:— +</p> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p> + In the greenest of our valleys,<br/> + + By good angels tenanted,<br/> + + Once a fair and stately palace—<br/> + + Radiant palace—reared its head.<br/> + + In the monarch Thought's dominion—<br/> + + It stood there!<br/> + + Never seraph spread a pinion<br/> + + Over fabric half so fair. +</p> + +<h5>II</h5> + +<p> + Banners yellow, glorious, golden,<br/> + + On its roof did float and flow;<br/> + + (This—all this—was in the olden<br/> + + Time long ago)<br/> + + And every gentle air that dallied,<br/> + + In that sweet day,<br/> + + Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,<br/> + + A wingèd odor went away. +</p> + +<h5>III</h5> + +<p> + Wanderers in that happy valley<br/> + + Through two luminous windows saw<br/> + + Spirits moving musically<br/> + + To a lute's well-tunèd law,<br/> + + Round about a throne, where sitting<br/> + + (Porphyrogene!)[11]<br/> + + In state his glory well befitting,<br/> + + The ruler of the realm was seen. +</p> + +<h5>IV</h5> + +<p> + And all with pearl and ruby glowing<br/> + + Was the fair palace door,<br/> + + Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,<br/> + + And sparkling evermore,<br/> + + A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty<br/> + + Was but to sing,<br/> + + In voices of surpassing beauty,<br/> + + The wit and wisdom of their king. +</p> + +<h5>V</h5> + +<p> + But evil things, in robes of sorrow,<br/> + + Assailed the monarch's high estate<br/> + + (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow<br/> + + Shall dawn upon him, desolate!);<br/> + + And, round about his home, the glory<br/> + + That blushed and bloomed<br/> + + Is but a dim-remembered story<br/> + + Of the old time entombed. +</p> + +<h5>VI</h5> + +<p> + And travelers now within that valley,<br/> + + Through the red-litten windows, see<br/> + + Vast forms that move fantastically<br/> + + To a discordant melody;<br/> + + While, like a rapid ghastly river,<br/> + + Through the pale door,<br/> + + A hideous throng rush out forever,<br/> + + And laugh—but smile no more. +</p> + +<p> +I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad led us into +a train of thought wherein there became manifest an opinion of Usher's +which I mention not so much on account of its novelty (for other +men[12] have thought thus) as on account of the pertinacity with which +he maintained it. This opinion, in its general form, was that of the +sentience of all vegetable things. But, in his disordered fancy, the +idea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, under +certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack words +to express the full extent or the earnest <i>abandon</i> of his persuasion. +The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) with +the gray stones of the home of his forefathers. The conditions of the +sentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of +collocation of these stones—in the order of their arrangement, as +well as in that of the many <i>fungi</i> which overspread them, and of the +decayed trees which stood around—above all, in the long-undisturbed +endurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in the still +waters of the tarn. Its evidence—the evidence of the sentience—was +to be seen, he said (and I here started as he spoke), in the gradual +yet certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about the +waters and the walls. The result was discoverable, he added, in that +silent, yet importunate and terrible influence which for centuries had +molded the destinies of his family, and which made <i>him</i> what I now +saw him—what he was. Such opinions need no comment, and I will make +none. +</p> + +<p> +Our books—the books which, for years, had formed no small portion of +the mental existence of the invalid—were, as might be supposed, in +strict keeping with this character of phantasm. We pored together over +such works as the <i>Ververt et Chartreuse</i>[13] of Gresset; the +<i>Belphegor</i>[14] of Machiavelli; the <i>Heaven and Hell</i>[15] of +Swedenborg; the <i>Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm</i>[16] by +Holberg; the <i>Chiromancy</i>[17] of Robert Flud, of Jean D'lndaginé, and +of De la Chambre[18]; the <i>Journey into the Blue Distance</i> of +Tieck[19]; and the <i>City of the Sun</i>[20] of Campanella. One favorite +volume was a small octavo edition of the <i>Directorium +Inquisitorium</i>[21] by the Dominican Eymeric de Cironne; and there were +passages in <i>Pomponius Mela</i>,[22] about the old African Satyrs and +Oegipans,[23] over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chief +delight, however, was found in the perusal of an exceedingly rare and +curious book in quarto Gothic—the manual of a forgotten church—the +<i>Vigiliae Mortuorum secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Maguntinae</i>.[24] +</p> + +<p> +I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and of its +probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, one evening, having +informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline was no more, he stated his +intention of preserving her corpse for a fortnight (previously to its +final interment) in one of the numerous vaults within the main walls +of the building. The worldly reason, however, assigned for this +singular proceeding, was one which I did not feel at liberty to +dispute. The brother had been led to his resolution, so he told me, by +consideration of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, +of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical +men, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial ground of +the family, I will not deny that when I called to mind the sinister +countenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on the day of +my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose what I regarded as +at best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural precaution. +</p> + +<p> +At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangements +for the temporary entombment. The body having been encoffined, we two +alone bore it to its rest. The vault in which we placed it (and which +had been so long unopened that our torches, half smothered in its +oppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation) +was small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for light; +lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that portion of the +building in which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, +apparently, in remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a +donjon-keep, and in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, or +some other highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor, +and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reached it, +were carefully sheathed with copper. The door, of massive iron, had +been also similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an unusually +sharp grating sound as it moved upon its hinges. +</p> + +<p> +Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within this region +of horror, we partially turned aside the yet unscrewed lid of the +coffin, and looked upon the face of the tenant. A striking similitude +between the brother and sister now first arrested my attention; and +Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some few words +from which I learned that the deceased and himself had been twins, and +that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always existed +between them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the dead—for +we could not regard her unawed. The disease which had thus entombed +the lady in the maturity of youth, had left, as usual in all maladies +of a strictly cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint blush +upon the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering smile +upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced and screwed +down the lid, and having secured the door of iron, made our way, with +toil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper portion of +the house. +</p> + +<p> +And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observable +change came over the features of the mental disorder of my friend. His +ordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary occupations were neglected +or forgotten. He roamed from chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, +and objectless step. The pallor of his countenance had assumed, if +possible, a more ghastly line—but the luminousness of his eye had +utterly gone out. The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard +no more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually +characterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when I thought +his unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with some oppressive +secret, to divulge which he struggled for the necessary courage. At +times, again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicable +vagaries of madness; for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy for long +hours, in an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening to +some imaginary sound. It was no wonder that his condition +terrified—that it infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet +certain degrees, the wild influence of his own fantastic yet +impressive superstitions. +</p> + +<p> +It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of the +seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline within +the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such feelings. Sleep +came not near my couch, while the hours waned and waned away, I +struggled to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over me. I +endeavored to believe that much, if not all of what I felt, was due to +the bewildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room—of the +dark and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath +of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and +rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were +fruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame; and, +at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly +causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle, I +uplifted myself upon the pillows, and peering earnestly within the +intense darkness of the chamber, hearkened—I know not why, except +that an instinctive spirit prompted me—to certain low and indefinite +sounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, +I knew not whence. Overpowered by an intense sentiment of horror, +unaccountable yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste (for I +felt that I should sleep no more during the night), and endeavored to +arouse myself from the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by +pacing rapidly to and fro through the apartment. +</p> + +<p> +I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step on an +adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently recognized it +as that of Usher. In an instant afterward he rapped, with a gentle +touch, at my door, and entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, +as usual, cadaverously wan—but, moreover, there was a species of mad +hilarity in his eyes—and evidently restrained hysteria in his whole +demeanor. His air appalled me—but anything was preferable to the +solitude which I had so long endured, and I even welcomed his presence +as a relief. +</p> + +<p> +"And you have not seen it?" he said abruptly, after having stared +about him for some moments in silence—"you have not then seen +it?—but stay! you shall." Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded +his lamp, he hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely open +to the storm. +</p> + +<p> +The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from our +feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful night, and +one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A whirlwind had +apparently collected its force in our vicinity; for there were +frequent and violent alterations in the direction of the wind; and the +exceeding density of the clouds (which hung so low as to press upon +the turrets of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the lifelike +velocity with which they flew careering from all points against each +other, without passing away into the distance. I say that even their +exceeding density did not prevent our perceiving this—yet we had no +glimpse of the moon or stars—nor was there any flashing forth of the +lightning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated +vapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately around us, were +glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly +visible gaseous exhalation which hung about and enshrouded the +mansion. +</p> + +<p> +"You must not—you shall not behold this!" said I, shudderingly, to +Usher, as I led him, with a gentle violence, from the window to a +seat. "These appearances, which bewilder you, are merely electrical +phenomena not uncommon—or it may be that they have their ghastly +origin in the rank miasma of the tarn. Let us close this casement—the +air is chilling and dangerous to your frame. Here is one of your +favorite romances. I will read and you shall listen; and so we will +pass away this terrible night together." +</p> + +<p> +The antique volume which I had taken up was the <i>Mad Trist</i> of Sir +Launcelot Canning[25]; but I had called it a favorite of Usher's more +in sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, there is little in its +uncouth and unimaginative prolixity which could have had interest for +the lofty and spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the +only book immediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that the +excitement which now agitated the hypochondriac, might find relief +(for the history of mental disorder is full of similar anomalies) even +in the extremeness of the folly which I should read. Could I have +judged, indeed, by the wild, overstrained air of vivacity with which +he hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the words of the tale, I +might well have congratulated myself upon the success of my design. +</p> + +<p> +I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where Ethelred, +the hero of the "Trist," having sought in vain for peaceable admission +into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds to make good an entrance by +force. Here, it will be remembered, the words of the narrative run +thus:— +</p> + +<p> +"And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and who was now +mighty withal, on account of the powerfulness of the wine which he had +drunken, waited no longer to hold parley with the hermit, who, in +sooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful turn; but, feeling the rain +upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of the tempest, uplifted +his mace outright, and, with blows, made quickly room in the plankings +of the door for his gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewith +sturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that the +noise of the dry and hollow-sounding wood alarummed[26] and +reverberated throughout the forest." +</p> + +<p> +At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a moment +paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once concluded that my +excited fancy had deceived me)—it appeared to me that, from some very +remote portion of the mansion, there came, indistinctly, to my ears +what might have been, in its exact similarity of character, the echo +(but a stifled and dull one certainly) of the very cracking and +ripping sound which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It +was, beyond doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my +attention; for, amid the rattling of the sashes of the casements, and +the ordinary commingled noises of the still increasing storm, the +sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should have interested or +disturbed, me. I continued the story:— +</p> + +<p> +"But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, was +sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the maliceful hermit; +but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly and prodigious +demeanor, and of a fiery tongue, which sate in guard before a palace +of gold, with a floor of silver; and upon the wall there hung a shield +of shining brass with this legend enwritten:— +</p> + +<p> + Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath been;<br/> + + Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. +</p> + +<p> +"And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the +dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with a +shriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred had +fain[27] to close his ears with his hands against the dreadful noise +of it, the like whereof was never before heard." +</p> + +<p> +Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of wild +amazement—for there could be no doubt whatever that, in this +instance, I did actually hear (although from what direction it +proceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and apparently distant, +but harsh, protracted, and most unusual screaming or grating +sound—the exact counterpart of what my fancy had already conjured up +for the dragon's unnatural shriek as described by the romancer. +</p> + +<p> +Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this second and +most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand conflicting sensations, +in which wonder and extreme terror were predominant, I still retained +sufficient presence of mind to avoid exciting, by any observation, the +sensitive nervousness of my companion. I was by no means certain that +he had noticed the sounds in question; although, assuredly, a strange +alteration had, during the last few minutes, taken place in his +demeanor. From a position fronting my own, he had gradually brought +round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the door of the +chamber; and thus I could but partially perceive his features, +although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were murmuring +inaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast—yet I knew that he +was not asleep, from the wide and rigid opening of the eye as I caught +a glance of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was at +variance with this idea—for he rocked from side to side with a gentle +yet constant and uniform sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all +this, I resumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus +proceeded:— +</p> + +<p> +"And now the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury of the +dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and of the breaking +up of the enchantment which was upon it, removed the carcass from out +of the way before him, and approached valorously over the silver +pavement of the castle to where the shield was upon the wall; which in +sooth tarried not for his full coming, but fell down at his feet upon +the silver floor, with a mighty, great and terrible ringing sound." +</p> + +<p> +No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than—as if a shield of +brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon a floor of +silver—I became aware of a distinct, hollow, metallic and clangorous, +yet apparently muffled reverberation. Completely unnerved, I leaped to +my feet; but the measured rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. I +rushed to the chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before +him, and throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony +rigidity. But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a +strong shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about +his lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering +murmur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over him, I +at length drank in the hideous import of his words. +</p> + +<p> +"Not hear it?—yes, I hear it, and <i>have</i> heard it. +Long—long—long—many minutes, many hours, many days, have I heard +it—yet I dared not—oh, pity me, miserable wretch that I am!—I dared +not—I <i>dared</i> not speak! <i>We have put her living in the tomb!</i> Said I +not that my senses were acute? I <i>now</i> tell you that I heard her first +feeble movements in the hollow coffin. I heard them—many, many days +ago—yet I dared not—<i>I dared not speak!</i> And +now—to-night—Ethelred—ha! ha!—-the breaking of the hermit's door, +and the death-cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield!—say, +rather, the rending of her coffin, and the grating of the iron hinges +of her prison, and her struggles within the coppered archway of the +vault! Oh, whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she not +hurrying to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her footstep on +the stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her +heart? Madman!"—here he sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked +out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up his +soul—"<i>Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the door!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had been found +the potency of a spell—the huge antique panels to which the speaker +pointed threw slowly back, upon the instant, their ponderous and ebony +jaws. It was the work of the rushing gust—but then without those +doors there <i>did</i> stand the lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady +Madeline of Usher. There was blood upon her white robes, and the +evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated +frame. For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon +the threshold—then, with a low, moaning cry, fell heavily inward upon +the person of her brother, and in her violent and now final +death-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to the +terrors he had anticipated. +</p> + +<p> +From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. The storm was +still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself crossing the old +causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path a wild light, and I +turned to see whence a gleam so unusual could have issued; for the +vast house and its shadows were alone behind me. The radiance was that +of the full, setting, and blood-red moon, which now shone vividly +through that once barely discernible fissure, of which I have before +spoken as extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzag +direction, to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly +widened—there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind—the entire orb +of the satellite burst at once upon my sight—my brain reeled as I saw +the mighty walls rushing asunder—there was a long tumultuous shouting +sound like the voice of a thousand waters—and the deep and dank tarn +at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the +"<i>House of Usher</i>." +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] <i>The Fall of the House of Usher</i> was written in 1839 and published +at the end of the same year in his Tales of the Grotesque and of the +Arabesque. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 70: Motto de Béranger. Popular French lyric poet (1780-1857). "His +heart is a suspended lute; as soon as it is touched it resounds." +</p> + +<p> +[3] 71:23 tarn. A small mountain lake. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 76:7 ennuyé. Mentally wearied or bored. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 78:11 bounden. An archaic word. +</p> + +<p> +[6] 79:19 Dread. Reading of the first edition, "Her figure, her air, +her features,—all, in their very minutest development, were +those—were identically (I can use no other sufficient term), were +identically those of the Roderick Usher who sat beside me. A feeling +of stupor," etc. +</p> + +<p> +[7] 80:16 Improvisations. Extemporaneous composition of poetry or +music. +</p> + +<p> +[8] 81:4 von Weber. The celebrated German composer (1786-1826). +</p> + +<p> +[9] 81:20 Fuseli. An artist and professor of painting at the Royal +Academy in London (1741-1825). +</p> + +<p> +[10] 82:24 "The Haunted Palace." First published in the <i>Baltimore +Museum</i> for April, 1839. +</p> + +<p> +[11] 83:18 Porphyrogene. Of royal birth. +</p> + +<p> +[12] 84:16 for other men. Watson, Dr. Percival, and especially the +Bishop of Llandaff. See "Chemical Essays," Vol. V. +</p> + +<p> +[13] 85:16 Ververt et Chartreuse. Two poems by Jean Baptiste Cresset +(1709-1777). +</p> + +<p> +[Footenote 14] 85:17 Belphegor. Satire on Marriage by Machiavelli +(1469-1527). +</p> + +<p> +[15] 85:17 Heaven and Hell. Extracts from "Arcana Coelestia" by +Swedenborg (1688-1772). +</p> + +<p> +[16] 85:18 Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm. A celebrated poem by +Ludwig Holberg (1684-1754). +</p> + +<p> +[17] 85:19 Chiromancy. Palmistry applied to the future. Poe refers +rather to physiognomy. The book was written by the English mystic, +Robert Fludd (1574-1637). +</p> + +<p> +[18] 85:19 Jean d'Indaginé and De la Chambre. Two continental writers +of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries respectively. +</p> + +<p> +[19] 85:21 Tieck. A great German romanticist (1773-1853). +</p> + +<p> +[20] 85:21 City of the Sun. A sketch of an ideal state by Campanella +(1568-1639). +</p> + +<p> +[21] 85:23 Directorium Inquisitorium. A detailed account of the +methods of the Inquisition by Cironne, inquisitor-general for Castile, +in 1356. +</p> + +<p> +[22] 85:24 Pomponius Mela. Spanish geographer in the first century +A.D. Author of "De Chorographia," the earliest extant account of the +geography of the ancient world. +</p> + +<p> +[23] 85:25 Oegipans. An epithet applied to Pan. +</p> + +<p> +[24] 85:30 Vigiliae Mortuorum. No such book is known. +</p> + +<p> +[25] 90:30 Mad Trist. No such book is known. +</p> + +<p> +[26] 91:29 alarummed. Alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +[27] 92:25 had fain. In the sense of was glad. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, January 19, 1809. His parents, who +were actors, died before their son was three years old. Mr. Allan, a +wealthy Richmond merchant, adopted the child and gave him a splendid +home. How scantily Poe appreciated and improved the advantages of this +kindness he himself confesses in a letter to Lowell in 1844. "I have +been too deeply conscious of the mutability and evanescence of +temporal things to give any continuous effort to anything—to be +consistent in anything. My life has been <i>whim</i>—impulse—passion—a +longing for solitude—a scorn of all things present in an earnest +desire for the future." He was a dreamer who had a fair chance to be +happy, but he flung the opportunity away. He was a spoiled child who +remained ignorant of life even unto his death. +</p> + +<p> +He entered the University of Virginia in 1826, where his conduct was +so bad that he was, after a year, removed from the college. This +action broke the strong friendship Mr. Allan had long held for his +adopted son. Poe, urged by a hot temper or possibly by a remorse for +his actions, ran away and enlisted in the regular army. In 1829 Mr. +Allan became partially reconciled with Poe, and again came to his +assistance. In 1830 Poe entered West Point, but was there only a short +time when he was dismissed for wilful neglect of duty. +</p> + +<p> +Following this dismissal Poe went to Baltimore, where he did hack work +for newspapers. This was the beginning of a process of writing that +has brought him high rank and an imperishable honor. His narrative is +clear, compressed, and powerful, and throughout his writings choice +symbols abound. He was fond of themes of death, insanity, and terror. +The wonder of it all is that this struggling, poverty-stricken +craftsman, irregular in his habits of living, using only negative life +and shadowy abstractions, should, from out his disordered fancies, +weave stories and poems of such undying beauty and force. +</p> + +<p> +Poe married his thirteen-year-old cousin, Virginia Clemm. Her health +was always delicate and her death confirmed Poe's tendency toward +dissipation. His life was filled with dire poverty and a hard struggle +for a livelihood. His home relations were happy. The last years of his +life were spent at Fordham, a suburb of New York. He died in a +Baltimore hospital, October 7, 1849. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Introduction to American Literature</i>, Brander Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Studies in American Literature</i>, Charles Noble. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Introduction to American Literature</i>, F.V.N. Painter. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Life of Poe</i>, Richard Henry Stoddard. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Edgar Allan Poe</i>, G.E. Woodberry. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Makers of English Fiction</i>, W.J. Dawson. +</p> + +<p> +"Art of Poe, <i>Independent</i>, 66: 157-8. January 21, 1909. +</p> + +<p> +"Dual Personality," <i>Current Literature</i>, 43: 287-8. +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +Some critics have maintained that Poe is our only original genius in +American Literature. Lowell wrote in his <i>Fable for Critics</i>:— +</p> + +<p> +"There comes Poe with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge, Three-fifths of +him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge." +</p> + +<p> +Whatever judgments the various critics may give of Poe and his +writings, they must all agree that he is original. He is a clever +writer in a limited field. His writings have a glow and burnish that +have their origin in his fondness for sensations, color, and vividness +of details. He loves mystery and terror,—not the fancies and fears of +a child, but overwrought nerves. His material is unreal, and remote +from ordinary life. His characters are abnormal, and the world they +live in is exceptional. He is inventive, original in arranging his +material, and shallow but keen in his thinking. +</p> + +<p> +He believed that art and life have little in common, and in his +writings seemed to be unmoved by friendship, loyalty, patriotism, +courage, self-sacrifice or any of the great positive attributes of +life that make living worth while. His writings lack the human touch, +tenderness, and the buoyancy of sympathy. He is an artist who does his +work with a clear-cut, hard finish. His choice of words, vivid +pictures, and clearly evolved plots make his writings excellent +studies for any one who wishes to develop literary appreciation and to +learn to write. +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Studies and Appreciations</i>, L.E. Gates. +</p> + +<p> +<i>American Prose Masters</i>, William Crary Brownwell. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Short Story in English</i>, Henry Seidel Canby. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Edgar Poe</i>, R.H. Button. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Inquiries and Opinions</i>, Brander Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +"Life of Edgar Allan Poe," <i>Nation</i>, 89: 100-110. +</p> + +<p> +"Weird Genius," <i>Cosmopolitan</i>, 46:243-252. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>Ligeia</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Cask of Amontillado</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Assignation</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ms. Pound in Bottle</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Black Cat</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Berenice</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Tell-Tale Heart</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The White Old Maid</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Moonlight</i> ("Odd Number"), Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Journey</i>, Edith Wharton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Brushwood Boy</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>At the Pit's Mouth</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>THE GOLD-BUG[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)</i> +</p> + +<p> + What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!<br/> + + He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.<br/> + + —<i>All in the Wrong</i>.[2] +</p> + +<p> +Many years ago I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He +was of an ancient Huguenot[3] 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. +</p> + +<p> +This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than +the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point +exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a +scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of +reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, +as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any +magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort +Moultrie[4] 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. +</p> + +<p> +In the utmost 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 +Swammerdam.[5] In these excursions he was usually accompanied by an +old negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted[6] 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 over-coat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited +patiently the arrival of my hosts. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>scarabaeus</i>[7] which he believed to be +totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on +the morrow. +</p> + +<p> +"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and +wishing the whole tribe of <i>scarabaei</i> at the devil. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"What!—sunrise?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>antennae[8]</i> are—" +</p> + +<p> +"Dey ain't <i>no</i> tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin' on you," here +interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goolebug, solid, ebery bit of him, +inside and all, 'sep him wing—neber feel half so hebby a bug in my +life." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, +it seemed to me, than the case demanded; "is that any reason for your +letting the birds burn? The color"—here he turned to me—"is really +almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more +brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit—but of this you cannot +judge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the +shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were +a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found +none. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this <i>is</i> a +strange <i>scarabaeus</i>, 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 <i>my</i> +observation." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw +tolerably—<i>should</i> do it at least—have had good masters, and flatter +myself that I am not quite a blockhead." +</p> + +<p> +"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I; "this is a very +passable <i>skull</i>—indeed, I may say that it is a very <i>excellent</i> +skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of +physiology—and your <i>scarabaeus</i> must be the queerest <i>scarabaeus</i> 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 +<i>scarabaeus caput hominis</i>,[9] or something of that kind—there are +many similar titles in the natural histories. But where are the +<i>antennae</i> you spoke of?" +</p> + +<p> +"The <i>antennae</i>!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably +warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the <i>antennae</i>. I made +them as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume +that is sufficient." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>no antennae</i> visible, and the whole +<i>did</i> bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a +death's-head. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?—how is your master?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be." +</p> + +<p> +"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dar! dat's it!—him nebber 'plain of notin'—but him berry sick for +all dat." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Very</i> sick, Jupiter!—why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined +to bed?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, dat he ain't!—he ain't 'find nowhar—dat's just whar de shoe +pinch—my mind is got to be berry hebby 'bout poor Massa Will." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, massa, 'tain't worf while for to git mad 'bout de matter—Massa +Will say noffin' at all ain't 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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Keeps a what, Jupiter?" +</p> + +<p> +"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.[10] 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 d——d good beating when he did come—but Ise +sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart after all—he look so berry poorly." +</p> + +<p> +"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 an idea of what has occasioned +this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything +unpleasant happened since I saw you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, massa, dey ain't bin noffin' onpleasant <i>since</i> den—'twas +<i>'fore</i> den, I'm feared—'twas de berry day you was dare."' +</p> + +<p> +"How? what do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, massa, I mean de bug—dare now." +</p> + +<p> +"The <i>what?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"De bug—I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere 'bout de +head by dat goole-bug." +</p> + +<p> +"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?" +</p> + +<p> +"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff, too. I nebber did see sich a d——d +bug—he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will +cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 'gin mighty quick, I tell +you—den was de time he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like de look ob +de bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my +finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I wrap him +up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff—dat was de way." +</p> + +<p> +"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the +beetle, and that the bite made him sick?" "I don't t'ink noffin' 'bout +it—I nose it. What make him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'tain't +cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd 'bout dem goole-bugs 'fore +dis." +</p> + +<p> +"But how do you know he dreams about gold?" +</p> + +<p> +"How I know? why, 'cause he talk about it in he sleep—dat's how I +nose." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate circumstances +am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?" +</p> + +<p> +"What de matter, massa?" +</p> + +<p> +"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, massa, I bring dis here 'pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me a +note, which ran thus: +</p> + +<p> +My dear ———: +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>brusquerie</i>[11] of mine; +but no, that is improbable. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>solus</i>, +among the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill looks +alone saved me a flogging. +</p> + +<p> +I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. +</p> + +<p> +If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupiter. +<i>Do</i> come. I wish to see you <i>to-night</i>, upon business of importance. +I assure you that it is of the <i>highest</i> importance. +</p> + +<p> +Ever yours, +</p> + +<p> +William Legrand. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>he</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +"Him syfe, massa, and spade." +</p> + +<p> +"Very true; but what are they doing here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will 'sis' 'pon my buying for him +in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for 'em." +</p> + +<p> +"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will' +going to do with scythes and spades?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dat's more dan <i>I</i> know, and debbil take me if I don't b'lieve 'tis +more dan he know, too. But it's all come ob de bug." +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>empressement</i>[12] 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 <i>scarabaeus</i> +from Lieutenant G——. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the next +morning. Nothing could tempt me to part with that <i>scarabaeus</i>. Do you +know that Jupiter is quite right about it!" +</p> + +<p> +"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart. +</p> + +<p> +"In supposing it to be a bug of <i>real gold</i>." He said this with an air +of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked. +</p> + +<p> +"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant +smile, and 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 <i>scarabaeus</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>scarabaeus</i>, 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 agreement with that opinion, I could +not, for the life of me, tell. +</p> + +<p> +"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"— +</p> + +<p> +"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"— +</p> + +<p> +"Feel my pulse," said he. +</p> + +<p> +I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indication +of fever. +</p> + +<p> +"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"— +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"And how is this to be done?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very easily, Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into the +hills, upon the mainland, 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." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"It has." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding." +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry—very sorry—for we shall have to try it by ourselves." +</p> + +<p> +"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad!—but stay!—how long do +you propose to be absent?" +</p> + +<p> +"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at all +events, by sunrise." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to lose." +</p> + +<p> +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 d——d 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 <i>scarabaeus</i>, which he +carried attached to the end of a bit of whipcord, twirling it to and +fro, with the air of a conjurer, as he went. When I observed this last +plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely +refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at +least for the present, or until I could adopt some more energetic +measures with a chance of success. In the meantime I endeavored, but +all in vain, to sound him in regard to the object of the expedition. +Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he seemed unwilling +to hold conversation upon any topic of minor importance, and to all my +questions vouchsafed no other reply than "We shall see!" +</p> + +<p> +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 mainland, +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 is to be certain +landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 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: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life." +</p> + +<p> +"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark to +see what we are about." +</p> + +<p> +"How far mus' go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter. +</p> + +<p> +"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way to +go—and here—stop! take this beetle with you." +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"'What de matter, now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into +compliance; "always want fur to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only +funnin' anyhow. <i>Me</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +In youth the tulip-tree, or <i>Liriodendron tulipifera</i>, 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 <i>risk</i> of +the achievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber was some +sixty or seventy feet from the ground. +</p> + +<p> +"Which way mus' go now, Massa Will?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"How much fudder I's got for go?" +</p> + +<p> +"How high up are you?" asked Legrand. +</p> + +<p> +"Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob de +tree." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"One, two, three, four, fibe—I done pass fibe big limb, massa, 'pon +dis side." +</p> + +<p> +"Then go one limb higher." +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the +seventh limb was attained. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Mos' feerd for to ventur' 'pon dis limb berry far—'tis dead limb +putty much all de way." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you say it was a <i>dead</i> limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand, in a +quavering voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail—done up for sartain—done +departed dis here life." +</p> + +<p> +"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in +the greatest distress. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear +me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain," +</p> + +<p> +"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it +<i>very</i> rotten." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"By yourself! What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis <i>berry</i> hebby bug. S'pose I drop him down +fust, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight of one nigger." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, massa, needn' hollo at poor nigger dat style." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm gwine, Massa Will—deed I is," replied the negro very +promptly—"mos' out to de eend now." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Out to the end</i>!" here fairly screamed Legrand; "do you say you are +out to the end of that limb?" +</p> + +<p> +"Soon be to de eend, massa—o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what <i>is</i> dis +here 'pon de tree?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"A skull, you say! Very well; how is it fastened to the limb? What +holds it on?" +</p> + +<p> +"Shure 'nuff, massa; mus' look. Why, dis berry curous sarcumstance, +'pon my word—dare's a great big nail in do skull, what fastens ob it +on to de tree." +</p> + +<p> +"Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you—do you hear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, massa." +</p> + +<p> +"Pay attention, then!—find the left eye of the skull." +</p> + +<p> +"Hum! hoo! dat's good! why, dare ain't no eye lef' at all." +</p> + +<p> +"Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your left?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I nose dat—nose all 'bout dat—'tis my lef' hand what I chops +de wood wid." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked: +</p> + +<p> +"Is de lef' eye ob de skull 'pon de same side as de lef' hand ob de +skull, too?—'cause the skull ain't 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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach, but +be careful and not let go your hold of the string." +</p> + +<p> +"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru de +hole; look out for him dar below!" +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>scarabaeus</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 fantasy had received confirmation by the finding of the +<i>scarabaeus</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chief +embarrassment lay in the yelping 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 meantime 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! ain't dis here my lef' eye for sartain?" +roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his <i>right</i> organ +of vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if in +immediate dread of his master's attempt at a gouge. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought so! I knew it! hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting the +negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracoles[13], 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. +</p> + +<p> +"Come! we must go back," said the latter; "the game's not up yet;" and +he again led the way to the tulip-tree. +</p> + +<p> +"Jupiter," said he, when he reached its foot, "come here! was the +skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face to +the limb?" +</p> + +<p> +"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good, +widout any trouble." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped the +beetle?"—here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"'Twas dis eye, massa—de lef' eye—jis as you tell me," and here it +was his right eye that the negro indicated. +</p> + +<p> +"That will do—we must try it again." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +woolen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large +Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four pieces of gold +and silver coin came to light. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 bichloride 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 trellis-work over the whole. On each side of the chest, near +the top, were three rings of iron—six in all—by means of which a +firm hold could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 the nature of +things, for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed +stupefied—-thunder-stricken. 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: +</p> + +<p> +"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! Ain't you +'shamed ofa yourself, nigger?—answer me dat!" +</p> + +<p> +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 everything +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 just now. 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 burdens, just as the first streaks of dawn gleamed from over +the treetops in the east. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day, and +the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its contents. +There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Everything had been +heaped in promiscuously. +</p> + +<p> +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[14] 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 +indentification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid +gold ornaments—nearly two hundred massive finger and ear rings; rich +chains—thirty of these, if I remember; eighty-three very large and +heavy crucifixes; five gold censers of great value; a prodigious +golden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-leaves and +Bacchanalian[15] 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 we had greatly undervalued the treasure. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"You remember," said he, "the night when I handed you the rough sketch +I had made of the <i>scarabaeus</i>. 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." +</p> + +<p> +"The scrap of paper, you mean," said I. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>scarabaeus</i>, and +that this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closely +resemble my drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidence +absolutely stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of such +coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connection—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 <i>no</i> drawing upon the parchment when I made my sketch +of the <i>scarabaeus</i>. 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 glowworm-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 further +reflection until I should be alone. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>scarabaeus</i> was on the +coast of the mainland, 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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"No doubt you will think me fanciful, but I had already established a +kind of <i>connection</i>. I had put together two links of a great chain. +There was a boat lying upon a seacoast, and not far from the boat was +a parchment—<i>not a paper</i>—with a skull depicted upon it. You will, +of course, ask, 'Where is the connection?' I reply that the skull, or +death's-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of the +death's-head is hoisted in all engagements. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>form</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +"But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was <i>not</i> upon the +parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How, then, do you +trace any connection 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 <i>scarabaeus</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>scarabaeus</i>, 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, <i>You</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +"At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and <i>did</i> +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 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 +<i>heat</i> 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[16], digested in <i>aqua regia</i>[17], and diluted +with four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed; a green +tint results. The regulus[18] 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. +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>distinct</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +"Ha! ha!" said I; "to be sure I have no right to laugh at you—a +million and a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth—but you +are not about to establish a third link in your chain: you will not +find any especial connection between your pirates and a goat; pirates, +you know, have nothing to do with goats; they appertain to the farming +interests." +</p> + +<p> +"But I have said that the figure was <i>not</i> that of a goat." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, a kid, then—pretty much the same thing." +</p> + +<p> +"Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. +</p> + +<p> +"You may have heard of one <i>Captain</i> Kidd[19]. I at once looked on 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." +</p> + +<p> +"I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp and the +signature." +</p> + +<p> +"Something of the 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 <i>very</i> +extraordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident it was that these +events should have occurred upon the <i>sole</i> 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?" +</p> + +<p> +"But proceed—I am all impatience." +</p> + +<p> +"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 continuously could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from the +circumstance of the buried treasure still <i>remaining</i> 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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But how did you proceed?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Here Legrand, having reheated 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: +</p> + +<p> + "53‡‡†305))6*;4826)4‡.);806*;48†8 + ¶60))85;1‡(;:‡*8†83(88)5*†;46(;88*96 + ?;8)*‡(;485);5*†2:*‡(;4956*2(5*—4)8 + ¶8*;4069285);)6†8)4‡‡;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡ + 1;48†85;4)485†528806*81(‡9;48;(88;4 + (‡?34;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?;" +</p> + +<p> +"But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark as +ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda[20] awaiting me on my solution +of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be unable to earn them." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so difficult as +you might be led to imagine from the first hasty inspection of the +characters. These characters, as any one might readily guess, form a +cipher, that is to say, they convey a meaning; but then, from what is +known of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of constructing any of +the more abstruse cryptographs[21]. 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." +</p> + +<p> +"And you really solved it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"In the present case—indeed, in all cases of secret writing—the +first question regards the <i>language</i> 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[22]. As it was, I assume the cryptograph to be English. +</p> + +<p> +"You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there been +divisions, the task would have been comparatively easy. In such case I +would have commenced with a collation and analysis of the shorter +words; and had a word of a single letter occurred, as is most likely +(<i>a</i> or <i>I</i>, for example), I should have considered the solution as +assured. But there being no divisions, my first step was to ascertain +the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent, +</p> + +<p> +"Counting all, I constructed a table thus;— +</p> + +<p> + Of the character 8 there are 33.<br/> + + ; " 26.<br/> + + 4 " 19.<br/> + + ‡) " 16.<br/> + + * " 13.<br/> + + 5 " 12.<br/> + + 6 " 11.<br/> + + †1 " 8.<br/> + + 0 " 6.<br/> + + 92 " 5.<br/> + + :3 " 4.<br/> + + ? " 3.<br/> + + ¶ " 2.<br/> + + —. " 1. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is <i>e</i>. +Afterwards, the succession runs thus: <i>a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m +w b k p q x z</i>. E predominates, however, so remarkably that an +individual sentence of any length is rarely seen in which it is not +the prevailing character. +</p> + +<p> +"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the groundwork for +something more than a mere guess. The general use which may be made of +the table is obvious—but in this particular cipher we shall only very +partially require its aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will +commence by assuming it as the <i>e</i> of the natural alphabet. To verify +the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in couples—for +<i>e</i> is doubled with great frequency in English—in such words, for +example, as 'meet,' 'fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,' 'been,' 'agree,' etc. In +the present instance we see it doubled no less than five times, +although the cryptograph is brief. +</p> + +<p> +"Let us assume 8, then, as <i>e</i>. Now of all <i>words</i> 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 the semicolon +represents <i>t</i>, that 4 represents <i>h</i>, and that 8 represents <i>e</i>—the +last being now well confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken. +</p> + +<p> +"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 semicolon 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— +</p> + +<p> + t eeth. +</p> + +<p> +"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the '<i>th</i>,' as forming no +portion of the word commencing with the first <i>t</i>; 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 <i>th</i> can be a part. +We are thus narrowed into +</p> + +<p> + t ee, +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>r</i>, represented by (, with the words 'the tree" in +juxtaposition. +</p> + +<p> +"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again see the +combination ;48, and employ it by way of <i>termination</i> to what +immediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement: +</p> + +<p> + the tree ;4 (‡?34 the, +</p> + +<p> +or, substituting the natural letters, whereknown, it reads thus: +</p> + +<p> + the tree thr‡?3h the. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank spaces, +or substitute dots, we read thus: +</p> + +<p> + the tree thr…h the, +</p> + +<p> +when the word '<i>through</i>' makes itself evident at once. But the +discovery gives us three new letters, <i>o, u</i>, and <i>g</i>, represented by +‡ ? and 3. +</p> + +<p> +"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of known, +characters, we find, not very far from the beginning, this +arrangement. +</p> + +<p> + 83(88, or, egree, +</p> + +<p> +which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree' and gives us +another letter, <i>d</i>, represented by †. +</p> + +<p> +"Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we perceive the combination. +</p> + +<p> + ;46(;88*. +</p> + +<p> +"Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown by +dots, as before, we read thus: +</p> + +<p> + th.rtee, +</p> + +<p> +an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 'thirteen,' and +again furnishing us with two new characters, <i>i</i>, and <i>n</i>, represented +by 6 and *. +</p> + +<p> +"Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find the +combination, +</p> + +<p> + 53 ‡‡†. +</p> + +<p> +"Translating, as before, we obtain +</p> + +<p> + .good, +</p> + +<p> +which assures us that the first letter is <i>A</i>, and that the first two +words are 'A good.' +</p> + +<p> +"To avoid confusion, it is now time that we arrange our key, as far as +discovered, in a tabular form. It will stand thus: +</p> + +<p> + 5 represents a + † " d + 8 " e + 3 " g + 4 " h + 6 " i + * " n + ‡ " o + ( " r + ; " t +</p> + +<p> +"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[23] 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: +</p> + +<p> + "'<i>A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat + twenty-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</i>.'" +</p> + +<p> +"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'?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 divisions intended by the +cryptographist." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean to punctuate it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Something of that kind." +</p> + +<p> +"But how was it possible to effect this?" +</p> + +<p> +"I reflected that it had been a <i>point</i> with the writer to run his +words together without divisions, 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 on this hint, I +made the division thus: +</p> + +<p> + "'<i>A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's + seat—twenty-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</i>.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Even this division," said I, "leaves me still in the dark." +</p> + +<p> +"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 reinstituted my +inquiries among the older negroes of the place. At length one of the +most aged of the women said that she had heard of such a place as +<i>Bessop's Castle</i> and thought that she could guide me to it, but that +it was not a castle, nor tavern, but a high rock. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"While I was buried 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. +</p> + +<p> +"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, <i>admitting no variation</i>, from which to use +it. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrase 'twenty-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. +</p> + +<p> +"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 'twenty-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 +twenty-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 over-topped 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. +</p> + +<p> +"On 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 on 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 +<i>possible</i> that a deposit of value lay concealed." +</p> + +<p> +"All this." I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although ingenious, +still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's Hotel, what +then?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>is</i> +a fact) that the circular opening in question is visible from no other +attainable point of view than that afforded by the narrow ledge on the +face of the rock. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>beneath</i> 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 convictions that treasure was here somewhere +actually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain." +</p> + +<p> +"I presume the fancy of <i>the skull</i>—of letting fall a bullet through +the skull's eye—was suggested to Kidd by the piratical flag. No doubt +he felt a kind of poetical consistency in recovering his money through +this ominous insignium[24]." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps so; still, I cannot help thinking that common-sense had quite +as much to do with the matter as poetical consistency. To be visible +from the Devil's seat, it was necessary that the object, if small, +should be <i>white</i>: and there is nothing like your human skull for +retaining and even increasing its whiteness under exposure to all +vicissitudes of weather." +</p> + +<p> +"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging the beetle—how +excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. And why did you insist on +letting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from the skull?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident suspicions +touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly, in my own +way, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this reason I swung +the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall from the tree. An +observation of yours about its great weight suggested the latter +idea." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] <i>The Gold-Bug</i> was first published in <i>The Dollar Magazine</i> in +1843. The story won a prize of one hundred dollars. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 100:3 All in the Wrong. The title of an amusing comedy by Arthur +Murphy (1730-1805). +</p> + +<p> +[3] 100:4 Huguenot. French Protestants, many of whom settled in South +Carolina. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 100: 18 Fort Moultrie. Erected in. 1776. Defended against the +British by Colonel William Moultrie. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 101:23 Swammerdam. A famous Dutch naturalist (1637-1680). +</p> + +<p> +[6] 101:25 manumitted. Freed from slavery. +</p> + +<p> +[7] 102:27 scarabaeus. The Latin for beetle. +</p> + +<p> +[8] 103:15 antennae. The feelers. +</p> + +<p> +[9] 105:8 scarabaeus caput hominis. Man's-head beetle. +</p> + +<p> +[10] 107:20 noovers. Manoeuvres. +</p> + +<p> +[11] 109:10 brusquerie. Lack of cordiality. +</p> + +<p> +[12] 110:26 empressement. Demonstrativeness. +</p> + +<p> +[13] 123:20 curvets and caracoles. Leaping and prancing of a horse. +</p> + +<p> +[14] 128:9 counters. Various coins. +</p> + +<p> +[15] 128:28 Bacchanalian. Revelling like the worshippers of Bacchus, +the god of wine. +</p> + +<p> +[16] 134:28 Zaffre. An oxide of cobalt. See dictionary. +</p> + +<p> +[17] 134:28 aqua regia. Royal water—a mixture of nitric and +hydrochloric acids. +</p> + +<p> +[18] 134:30 regulus. An old chemical term. +</p> + +<p> +[19] 135: 28 Captain Kidd. A Scottish sea captain who lived in New +York in the seventeenth century. +</p> + +<p> +[20] 138:19 Golconda. A town in India noted for its diamond market. +</p> + +<p> +[21] 138:28 cryptographs. Secret forms of writing. +</p> + +<p> +[22] 139:27 Spanish main. The northeastern portion of South America, +the Caribbean Sea, and the coast of North America to the Carolinas +were harassed by the Spaniards. +</p> + +<p> +[23] 144:6 rationale. Reasonable basis. +</p> + +<p> +[24] 149:19 insignium. Sign. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Mystery of Marie Rogêt</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Purloined Letter</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Sign of the Four</i>, A. Conan Doyle. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Scandal in Bohemia</i>, A. Conan Doyle. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Chronicles of Addington</i>, B. Fletcher Robinson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Mystery of the Steel Disk</i>, Broughton Brandenburg. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Rajah's Diamond</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock</i>, Anna Katharine Green. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes</i>, A. Conan Doyle. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Hound of the Baskervilles</i>, A. Conan Doyle. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Double-Barrelled Detective Story</i>, Mark Twain. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gallegher</i>, Richard Harding Davis. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE BIRTHMARK[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1862)</i>. +</p> + +<p> +In the latter part of the last century there lived a man of science, +an eminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy, who not +long before our story opens had made experience of a spiritual +affinity more attractive than any chemical one. He had left his +laboratory to the care of an assistant, cleared his fine countenance +from the furnace-smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingers, +and persuaded a beautiful woman to become his wife. In those days, +when the comparatively recent discovery of electricity and other +kindred mysteries of Nature seemed to open paths into the region of +miracle, it was not unusual for the love of science to rival the love +of woman in its depth and absorbing energy. The higher intellect, the +imagination, the spirit, and even the heart might all find their +congenial aliment in pursuits which, as some of their ardent votaries +believed, would ascend from one step of powerful intelligence to +another, until the philosopher should lay his hand on the secret of +creative force and perhaps make new worlds for himself. We know not +whether Aylmer possessed this degree of faith in man's ultimate +control over nature. He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedly +to scientific studies ever to be weakened from them by any second +passion. His love for his young wife might prove the stronger of the +two; but it could only be by intertwining itself with his love of +science and uniting the strength of the latter to his own. +</p> + +<p> +Such a union accordingly took place, and was attended with truly +remarkable consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day, very +soon after their marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife with a +trouble in his countenance that grew stronger until he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Georgiana," said he, "has it never occurred to you that the mark upon +your cheek might be removed?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, indeed," said she, smiling; but, perceiving the seriousness of +his manner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth, it has been so +often called a charm, that I was simple enough to imagine it might be +so." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, upon another face perhaps it might," replied her husband; "but +never on yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect from +the hand of Nature that this slightest possible defect, which we +hesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty, shocks me, as being the +visible mark of earthly imperfection." +</p> + +<p> +"Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at first +reddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Then +why did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocks +you!" +</p> + +<p> +To explain this conversation, it must be mentioned that in the centre +of Georgiana's left cheek there was a singular mark, deeply +interwoven, as it were, with the texture and substance of her face. In +the usual state of her complexion—a healthy though delicate +bloom—the mark wore a tint of deeper crimson, which imperfectly +defined its shape amid the surrounding rosiness. When she blushed it +gradually became more indistinct, and finally vanished amid the +triumphant rush of blood that bathed the whole cheek with its +brilliant glow. But if any shifting emotion caused her to turn pale, +there was the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in what +Aylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful distinctness. Its shape bore +not a little similarity to the human hand, though of the smallest +pygmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to say that some fairy at her +birth-hour had laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, and left +this impress there in token of the magic endowments that were to give +her such sway over all hearts. Many a desperate swain would have +risked life for the privilege of pressing his lips to the mysterious +hand. It must not be concealed, however, that the impression wrought +by this fairy sign-manual varied exceedingly according to the +difference of temperament in the beholders. Some fastidious +persons—but they were exclusively of her own sex—affirmed that the +bloody hand, as they chose to call it, quite destroyed the effect of +Georgiana's beauty and rendered her countenance even hideous. But it +would be as reasonable to say that one of those small blue stains +which sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble would convert the +Eve of Powers[2] to a monster. Masculine observers, if the birthmark +did not heighten their admiration, contented themselves with wishing +it away, that the world might possess one living specimen of ideal +loveliness without the semblance of a flaw. After his marriage,—for +he thought little or nothing of the matter before,—Aylmer discovered +that this was the case with himself. +</p> + +<p> +Had she been less beautiful,—if Envy's self could have found aught +else to sneer at,—he might have felt his affection heightened by the +prettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost, now +stealing forth again and glimmering to and fro with every pulse of +emotion that throbbed within her heart; but, seeing her otherwise so +perfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable with +every moment of their united lives. It was the fatal flaw of humanity +which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably on all her +productions, either to imply that they are temporary and finite, or +that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The crimson +hand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the +highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them into kindred with +the lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visible +frames return to dust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol of +his wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer's sombre +imagination was not long in rendering the birthmark a frightful +object, causing him more trouble and horror than ever Georgiana's +beauty, whether of soul or sense, had given him delight. +</p> + +<p> +At all the seasons which should have been their happiest he +invariably, and without intending it, nay, in spite of a purpose to +the contrary, reverted to this one disastrous topic. Trifling as it at +first appeared, it so connected itself with innumerable trains of +thought and modes of feeling that it became the central point of all. +With the morning twilight Aylmer opened his eyes upon his wife's face +and recognized the symbol of imperfection, and when they sat together +at the evening hearth his eyes wandered stealthily to her cheek, and +beheld, flickering with the blaze of the wood-fire, the spectral hand +that wrote mortality where he would fain have worshipped, Georgiana +soon learned to shudder at his gaze. It needed but a glance with the +peculiar expression that his face often wore to change the roses of +her cheek into a deathlike paleness, amid which the crimson hand was +brought strongly out, like a bas-relief of ruby on the whitest marble. +</p> + +<p> +Late one night, when the lights were growing dim so as hardly to +betray the stain on the poor wife's cheek, she herself, for the first +time, voluntarily took up the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember, my dear Aylmer," said she, with a feeble attempt at +a smile, "have you any recollection of a dream last night about this +odious hand?" +</p> + +<p> +"None! none whatever!" replied Aylmer, starting: but then he added, in +a dry, cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing the real depth +of his emotion, "I might well dream of it; for, before I fell asleep, +it had taken a pretty firm hold of my fancy." +</p> + +<p> +"And you did dream of it?" continued Georgiana, hastily; for she +dreaded lest a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say. "A +terrible dream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possible to +forget this one expression?—'It is in her heart now; we must have it +out!' Reflect, my husband; for by all means I would have you recall +that dream." +</p> + +<p> +The mind is in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannot +confine her spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffers +them to break forth, affrighting this actual life with secrets that +perchance belong to a deeper one. Aylmer now remembered his dream. He +had fancied himself with his servant Aminadab attempting an operation +for the removal of the birthmark; but the deeper went the knife, the +deeper sank the hand, until at length its tiny grasp appeared to have +caught hold of Georgiana's heart; whence, however, her husband was +inexorably resolved to cut or wrench it away. +</p> + +<p> +When the dream had shaped itself perfectly in his memory, Aylmer sat +in his wife's presence with a guilty feeling. Truth often finds its +way to the mind close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks with +uncompromising directness of matters in regard to which we practice an +unconscious self-deception during our waking moments. Until now he had +not been aware of the tyrannizing influence acquired by one idea over +his mind, and of the lengths which he might find in his heart to go +for the sake of giving himself peace. +</p> + +<p> +"Aylmer," resumed Georgiana, solemnly, "I know not what may be the +cost to both of us to rid me of this fatal birthmark. Perhaps its +removal may cause cureless deformity; or it may be the stain goes as +deep as life itself. Again; do we know that there is a possibility, on +any terms, of unclasping the firm gripe of this little hand which was +laid upon me before I came into the world?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest Georgiana, I have spent much thought upon the subject," +hastily interrupted Aylmer. "I am convinced of the perfect +practicability of its removal." +</p> + +<p> +"If there be the remotest possibility of it," continued Georgiana, +"let the attempt be made, at whatever risk. Danger is nothing to rue; +for life, while this hateful mark makes me the object of your horror +and disgust,—life is a burden which I would fling down with joy. +Either remove this dreadful hand, or take my wretched life! You have +deep science. All the world bears witness of it. You have achieved +great wonders. Cannot you remove this little, little mark, which I +cover with the tips of two small fingers? Is this beyond your power, +for the sake of your own peace, and to save your poor wife from +madness?" +</p> + +<p> +"Noblest, dearest, tenderest wife," cried Aylmer, rapturously, "doubt +not my power. I have already given this matter the deepest +thought,—thought which might almost have enlightened me to create a +being less perfect than yourself. Georgiana, you have led me deeper +than ever into the heart of science. I feel myself fully competent to +render this dear cheek as faultless as its fellow; and then, most +beloved, what will be my triumph when I shall have corrected what +Nature left imperfect in her fairest work! Even Pygmalion[3], when his +sculptured woman assumed life, felt not greater ecstasy than mine will +be." +</p> + +<p> +"It is resolved, then," said Georgiana, faintly smiling. "And, Aylmer, +spare me not, though you should find the birthmark take refuge in my +heart at last." +</p> + +<p> +Her husband tenderly kissed her cheek,—her right cheek,—not that +which bore the impress of the crimson hand. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Aylmer apprised his wife of a plan that he had formed +whereby he might have opportunity for the intense thought and constant +watchfulness which the proposed operation would require, while +Georgiana, likewise, would enjoy the perfect repose essential to its +success. They were to seclude themselves in the extensive apartments +occupied by Aylmer as a laboratory, and where, during his toilsome +youth, he had made discoveries in the elemental powers of nature that +had roused the admiration of all the learned societies in Europe. +Seated calmly in this laboratory, the pale philosopher had +investigated the secrets of the highest cloud-region and of the +profoundest mines; he had satisfied himself of the causes that kindled +and kept alive the fires of the volcano; and had explained the mystery +of fountains, and how it is that they gush forth, some so bright and +pure, and others with such rich medicinal virtues, from the dark bosom +of the earth. Here, too, at an earlier period, he had studied the +wonders of the human frame, and attempted to fathom the very process +by which Nature assimilates all her precious influences from earth and +air, and from the spiritual world, to create and foster man, her +masterpiece. The latter pursuit, however, Aylmer had long laid aside +in unwilling recognition of the truth—against which all seekers +sooner or later stumble—that our great creative Mother, while she +amuses us with apparently working in the broadest sunshine, is yet +severely careful to keep her own secrets, and, in spite of her +pretended openness, shows us nothing but results. She permits us, +indeed, to mar, but seldom to mend, and, like a jealous patentee, on +no account to make. Now, however, Aylmer resumed these half-forgotten +investigations; not, of course, with such hopes or wishes as first +suggested them; but because they involved much physiological truth and +lay in the path of his proposed scheme for the treatment of Georgiana. +</p> + +<p> +As he led her over the threshold of the laboratory Georgiana was cold +and tremulous. Aylmer looked cheerfully into her face, with intent to +reassure her, but was so startled with the intense glow of the +birthmark upon the whiteness of her cheek that he could not restrain a +strong convulsive shudder. His wife fainted. +</p> + +<p> +"Aminadab! Aminadab!" shouted Aylmer, stamping violently on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Forthwith there issued from an inner apartment a man of low stature, +but bulky frame, with shaggy hair hanging about his visage, which was +grimed with the vapors of the furnace. This personage had been +Aylmer's under-worker during his whole scientific career, and was +admirably fitted for that office by his great mechanical readiness, +and the skill with which, while incapable of comprehending a single +principle, he executed all the details of his master's experiments. +With his vast strength, his shaggy hair, his smoky aspect, and the +indescribable earthiness that incrusted him, he seemed to represent +man's physical nature; while Aylmer's slender figure, and pale, +intellectual face, were no less apt a type of the spiritual element. +</p> + +<p> +"Throw open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab," said Aylmer, "and burn +a pastil." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, master," answered Aminadab, looking intently at the lifeless +form of Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, "If she were my +wife, I'd never part with that birthmark." +</p> + +<p> +When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing an +atmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentle potency of which had +recalled her from her deathlike faintness. The scene around her looked +like enchantment. Aylmer had converted those smoky, dingy, sombre +rooms, where he had spent his brightest years in recondite[4] +pursuits, into a series of beautiful apartments not unfit to be the +secluded abode of a lovely woman. The walls were hung with gorgeous +curtains, which imparted the combination of grandeur and grace that no +other species of adornment can achieve; and, as they fell from the +ceiling to the floor, their rich and ponderous folds, concealing all +angles and straight lines, appeared to shut in the scene from infinite +space. For aught Georgiana knew, it might be a pavilion among the +clouds. And Alymer, excluding the sunshine, which would have +interfered with his chemical processes, had supplied its place with +perfumed lamps, emitting flames of various hue, but all uniting in a +soft, impurpled radiance. He now knelt by his wife's side, watching +her earnestly, but without alarm; for he was confident in his science, +and felt that he could draw a magic circle round her within which no +evil might intrude. +</p> + +<p> +"Where am I? Ah, I remember," said Georgiana, faintly; and she placed +her hand over her cheek to hide the terrible mark from her husband's +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Fear not, dearest!" exclaimed he. "Do not shrink from me! Believe me, +Georgiana, I even rejoice in this single imperfection, since it will +be such a rapture to remove it." +</p> + +<p> +"O, spare me!" sadly replied his wife. "Pray do not look at it again. +I never can forget that convulsive shudder." +</p> + +<p> +In order to soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release her mind +from the burden of actual things, Aylmer now put in practice some of +the light and playful secrets which science had taught him among its +profounder lore. Airy figures, absolutely bodiless ideas, and forms of +unsubstantial beauty came and danced before her, imprinting their +momentary footsteps on beams of light. Though she had some indistinct +idea of the method of these optical phenomena, still the illusion was +almost perfect enough to warrant the belief that her husband possessed +sway over the spiritual world. Then again, when she felt a wish to +look forth from her seclusion, immediately, as if her thoughts were +answered, the procession of external existence flitted across a +screen. The scenery and the figures of actual life were perfectly +represented, but with that bewitching yet indescribable difference +which always makes a picture, an image, or a shadow so much more +attractive than the original. When wearied of this, Aylmer bade her +cast her eyes upon a vessel containing a quantity of earth. She did so +with little interest at first; but was soon startled to perceive the +germ of a plant shooting upward from the soil: Then came the slender +stalk; the leaves gradually unfolded themselves; and amid them was a +perfect and lovely flower. +</p> + +<p> +"It is magical!" cried Georgiana. "I dare not touch it." +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, pluck it," answered Aylmer,—"pluck it, and inhale its brief +perfume while you may. The flower will wither in a few moments and +leave nothing save its brown seed-vessels; but thence may be +perpetuated a race as ephemeral as itself." +</p> + +<p> +But Georgiana had no sooner touched the flower than the whole plant +suffered a blight, its leaves turning coal black as if by the agency +of fire. +</p> + +<p> +"There was too powerful a stimulus," said Aylmer, thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +To make up for this abortive experiment, he proposed to take her +portrait by a scientific process of his own invention. It was to be +effected by rays of light striking upon a polished plate of metal. +Georgiana assented; but, on looking at the result, was affrighted to +find the features of the portrait blurred and indefinable; while the +minute figure of a hand appeared where the cheek should have been. +Alymer snatched the metallic plate and threw it into a jar of +corrosive[5] acid. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, however, he forgot these mortifying failures. In the intervals +of study and chemical experiment he came to her flushed and exhausted, +but seemed invigorated by her presence, and spoke in glowing language +of the resources of his art. He gave a history of the long dynasty of +the alchemists, who spent so many ages in quest of the universal +solvent by which the golden principle might be elicited from all +things vile and base, Aylmer appeared to believe that, by the plainest +scientific logic, it was altogether within the limits of possibility +to discover this long-sought medium. "But," he added, "a philosopher +who should go deep enough to acquire the power would attain too lofty +a wisdom to stoop to the exercise of it." Not less singular were his +opinions in regard to the elixir vitae[6]. He more than intimated that +it was at his option to concoct a liquid that should prolong life for +years, perhaps interminably; but that it would produce a discord in +nature which all the world, and chiefly the quaffer of the immortal +nostrum, would find cause to curse. +</p> + +<p> +"Aylmer, are you in earnest?" asked Georgiana, looking at him with +amazement and fear. "It is terrible to possess such power, or even to +dream of possessing it." +</p> + +<p> +"O, do not tremble, my love," said her husband. "I would not wrong +either you or myself by working such inharmonious effects upon our +lives; but I would have you consider how trifling, in comparison, is +the skill requisite to remove this little hand." +</p> + +<p> +At the mention of the birthmark, Georgiana, as usual, shrank as if a +red-hot iron had touched her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +Again Aylmer applied himself to his labors. She could hear his voice +in the distant furnace-room giving directions to Aminadab, whose +harsh, uncouth, misshapen tones were audible in response, more like +the grunt or growl of a brute than human speech. After hours of +absence, Aylmer reappeared and proposed that she should now examine +his cabinet of chemical products and natural treasures of the earth. +Among the former he showed her a small vial, in which, he remarked, +was contained a gentle yet most powerful fragrance, capable of +impregnating all the breezes that blow across a kingdom. They were of +inestimable value, the contents of that little vial; and, as he said +so, he threw some of the perfume into the air and filled the room with +piercing and invigorating delight. +</p> + +<p> +"And what is this?" asked Georgiana, pointing to a small crystal globe +containing a gold-colored liquid. "It is so beautiful to the eye that +I could imagine it the elixir of life." +</p> + +<p> +"In one sense it is," replied Aylmer; "or rather, the elixir of +immortality. It is the most precious poison that ever was concocted in +this world. By its aid I could apportion the lifetime of any mortal at +whom you might point your finger. The strength of the dose would +determine whether he were to linger out years, or drop dead in the +midst of a breath. No king on his guarded throne could keep his life +if I, in my private station, should deem that the welfare of millions +justified me in depriving him of it." +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you keep such a terrific drug?" inquired Georgiana, in horror. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not mistrust me, dearest," said her husband, smiling; "its +virtuous potency is yet greater than its harmful one. But see! here is +a powerful cosmetic. With a few drops of this in a vase of water, +freckles may be washed away as easily as the hands are cleansed. A +stronger infusion[7] would take the blood out of the cheek, and leave +the rosiest beauty a pale ghost." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it with this lotion that you intend to bathe my cheek?" asked +Georgiana, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"O no," hastily replied her husband; "this is merely superficial. Your +case demands a remedy that shall go deeper." +</p> + +<p> +In his interviews with Georgiana, Aylmer generally made minute +inquiries as to her sensations, and whether the confinement of the +rooms and the temperature of the atmosphere agreed with her. These +questions had such a particular drift that Georgiana began to +conjecture that she was already subjected to certain physical +influences, either breathed in with the fragrant air or taken with her +food. She fancied likewise, but it might be altogether fancy, that +there was a stirring up of her system,—a strange, indefinite +sensation creeping through her veins, and tingling, half painfully, +half pleasurably, at her heart. Still, whenever she dared to look into +the mirror, there she beheld herself pale as a white rose and with the +crimson birthmark stamped upon her cheek. Not even Aylmer now hated it +so much as she. +</p> + +<p> +To dispel the tedium of the hours which her husband found it necessary +to devote to the processes of combination and analysis, Georgiana +turned over the volumes of his scientific library. In many dark old +tomes she met with chapters full of romance and poetry. They were the +works of the philosophers of the Middle Ages, such as Albertus +Magnus[8], Cornelius Agrippa[9], Paracelsus[10], and the famous friar +who created the prophetic Brazen Head. All these antique naturalists +stood in advance of their centuries, yet were imbued with some of +their credulity, and therefore were believed, and perhaps imagined +themselves to have acquired from the investigation of nature a power +above nature, and from physics a sway over the spiritual world. Hardly +less curious and imaginative were the early volumes of the +Transactions of the Royal Society[11], in which the members, knowing +little of the limits of natural possibility, were continually +recording wonders or proposing methods whereby wonders might be +wrought. +</p> + +<p> +But, to Georgiana, the most engrossing volume was a large folio from +her husband's own hand, in which he had recorded every experiment of +his scientific career, its original aim, the methods adopted for its +development, and its final success or failure, with the circumstances +to which either event was attributable. The book, in truth; was both +the history and emblem of his ardent, ambitious, imaginative, yet +practical and laborious life. He handled physical details as if there +were nothing beyond them; yet spiritualized them all, and redeemed +himself from materialism by his strong and eager aspiration towards +the infinite. In his grasp the veriest clod of earth assumed a soul. +Georgiana, as she read, reverenced Aylmer and loved him more +profoundly than ever, but with a less entire dependence on his +judgment than heretofore. Much as he had accomplished, she could not +but observe that his most splendid successes were almost invariably +failures, if compared with the ideal at which he aimed. His brightest +diamonds were the merest pebbles, and felt to be so by himself, in +comparison with the inestimable gems which lay hidden beyond his +reach. The volume, rich with achievements that had won renown for its +author, was yet as melancholy a record as over mortal hand had penned. +It was the sad confession and continual exemplification of the +shortcomings of the composite man, the spirit burdened with clay and +working in matter, and of the despair that assails the higher nature +at finding itself so miserably thwarted by the earthly part. Perhaps +every man of genius, in whatever sphere, might recognize the image of +his own experience in Aylmer's journal. +</p> + +<p> +So deeply did these reflections affect Georgiana that she laid her +face upon the open volume and burst into tears. In this situation she +was found by her husband. +</p> + +<p> +"It is dangerous to read in a sorcerer's books," said he with a smile, +though his countenance was uneasy and displeased. "Georgiana, there +are pages in that volume which I can scarcely glance over and keep my +senses. Take heed lest it prove as detrimental to you." +</p> + +<p> +"It has made me worship you more than ever." said she. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, wait for this one success," rejoined he, "then worship me if you +will. I shall deem myself hardly unworthy of it. But come. I have +sought you for the luxury of your voice. Sing to me, dearest." +</p> + +<p> +So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirst +of his spirit. He then took his leave with a boyish exuberance of +gayety, assuring her that her seclusion would endure but a little +longer, and that the result was already certain. Scarcely had he +departed when Georgiana felt irresistibly impelled to follow him. She +had forgotten to inform Aylmer of a symptom which for two or three +hours past had begun to excite her attention. It was a sensation in +the fatal birthmark, not painful, but which induced a restlessness +throughout her system. Hastening after her husband, she intruded for +the first time into the laboratory. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hot and +feverish worker, with the intense glow of its fire, which by the +quantities of soot clustered above it seemed to have been burning for +ages. There was a distilling-apparatus in full operation. Around the +room were retorts, tubes, cylinders, crucibles, and other apparatus of +chemical research. An electrical machine stood ready for immediate +use. The atmosphere felt oppressively close, and was tainted with +gaseous odors which had been tormented forth by the processes of +science. The severe and homely simplicity of the apartment, with its +naked walls and brick pavement, looked strange, accustomed as +Georgiana had become to the fantastic elegance of her boudoir. But +what chiefly, indeed almost solely, drew her attention, was the aspect +of Aylmer himself. +</p> + +<p> +He was pale as death, anxious and absorbed, and hung over the furnace +as if it depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether the liquid +which it was distilling should be the draught of immortal happiness or +misery. How different from the sanguine and joyous mien that he had +assumed for Georgiana's encouragement! +</p> + +<p> +"Carefully now, Aminadab; carefully, thou human machine; carefully, +thou man of clay," muttered Aylmer, more to himself than his +assistant. "Now, If there be a thought too much or too little, it is +all over." +</p> + +<p> +"Ho! ho!" mumbled Aminadab. "Look, master! look!" +</p> + +<p> +Aylmer raised his eyes hastily, and at first reddened, then grew paler +than ever, on beholding Georgiana. He rushed towards her and seized +her arm with a gripe that left the print of his fingers upon it. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you come thither? Have you no trust in your husband?" cried +he, impetuously. "Would you throw the blight of that fatal birthmark +over my labors? It is not well done. Go, prying woman! go!" +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, Aylmer," said Georgiana with the firmness of which she possessed +no stinted endowment, "it is not you that have a right to complain. +You mistrust your wife; you have concealed the anxiety with which you +watch the development of this experiment. Think not so unworthily of +me, my husband. Tell me all the risk we run, and fear not that I shall +shrink: for my share in it is far less than your own." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, Georgiana!" said Aylmer, impatiently; "it must not be." +</p> + +<p> +"I submit," replied she, calmly. "And, Aylmer, I shall quaff whatever +draught you bring me; but it will be on the same principle that would +induce me to take a dose of poison if offered by your hand." +</p> + +<p> +"My noble wife," said Aylmer, deeply moved, "I knew not the height and +depth of your nature until now. Nothing shall be concealed. Know, +then, that this crimson hand, superficial as it seems, has clutched +its grasp into your being with a strength of which I had no previous +conception. I have already administered agents powerful enough to do +aught except to change your entire physical system. Only one thing +remains to be tried. If that fail us we are ruined." +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you hesitate to tell me this?" asked she. +</p> + +<p> +"Because, Georgiana," said Aylmer, in a low voice, "there is danger." +</p> + +<p> +"Danger? There is but one danger,—that this horrible stigma shall be +left upon my cheek!" cried Georgiana. "Remove it, remove it, whatever +be the cost, or we shall both go mad!" +</p> + +<p> +"Heaven knows your words are too true," said Aylmer, sadly. "And now, +dearest, return to your boudoir. In a little while all will be +tested." +</p> + +<p> +He conducted her back and took leave of her with a solemn tenderness +which spoke far more than his words how much was now at stake. After +his departure Georgiana became rapt in musings. She considered the +character of Aylmer, and did it completer justice than at any previous +moment. Her heart exulted, while it trembled, at his honorable +love,—so pure and lofty that it would accept nothing less than +perfection, nor miserably make itself contented with an earthlier +nature than he had dreamed of. She felt how much more precious was +such a sentiment than that meaner kind which would have borne with the +imperfection for her sake, and have been guilty of treason to holy +love by degrading its perfect idea to the level of the actual; and +with her whole spirit she prayed that, for a single moment, she might +satisfy his highest and deepest conception. Longer than one moment she +well knew it could not be; for his spirit was ever on the march, ever +ascending, and each instant required something that was beyond the +scope of the instant before. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of her husband's footsteps aroused her. He bore a crystal +goblet containing a liquor colorless as water, but bright enough to be +the draught of immortality. Aylmer was pale; but it seemed rather the +consequence of a highly wrought state of mind and tension of spirit +than of fear or doubt. +</p> + +<p> +"The concoction of the draught has been perfect," said he, in answer +to Georgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceived me, it +cannot fail." +</p> + +<p> +"Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer," observed his wife, "I might +wish to put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishing mortality +itself in preference to any other mode. Life is but a sad possession +to those who have attained precisely the degree of moral advancement +at which I stand. Were I weaker and blinder, it might be happiness. +Were I stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I find +myself, methinks I am of all mortals the most fit to die." +</p> + +<p> +"You are fit for heaven without tasting death!" replied her husband. +"But why do we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail. Behold its +effect upon this plant." +</p> + +<p> +On the window-seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellow +blotches, which had overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured a small +quantity of the liquid upon the soil in which it grew. In a little +time, when the roots of the plant had taken up the moisture, the +unsightly blotches began to be extinguished in a living verdure. +</p> + +<p> +"There needed no proof," said Georgiana, quietly. "Give me the goblet. +I joyfully stake all upon your word." +</p> + +<p> +"Drink, then, thou lofty creature!" exclaimed Aylmer, with fervid +admiration. "There is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. Thy +sensible frame, too, shall soon be all perfect." +</p> + +<p> +She quaffed the liquid and returned the goblet to his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"It is grateful," said she, with a placid smile. "Methinks it is like +water from a heavenly fountain; for it contains I know not what of +unobtrusive fragrance and deliciousness. It allays a feverish thirst +that had parched me for many days. Now, dearest, let me sleep. My +earthly senses are closing over my spirit like the leaves around the +heart of a rose at sunset." +</p> + +<p> +She spoke the last words with a gentle reluctance, as if it required +almost more energy than she could command to pronounce the faint and +lingering syllables. Scarcely had they loitered through her lips ere +she was lost in slumber. Aylmer sat by her side, watching her aspect +with the emotions proper to a man, the whole value of whose existence +was involved in the process now to be tested. Mingled with this mood, +however, was the philosophic investigation characteristic of the man +of science. Not the minutest symptom escaped him. A heightened flush +of the cheek, a slight irregularity of breath, a quiver of the eyelid, +a hardly perceptible tremor through the frame,—such were the details +which, as the moments passed, he wrote down, in his folio volume. +Intense thought had set its stamp upon every previous page of that +volume; but the thoughts of years were all concentrated upon the last. +</p> + +<p> +While thus employed, he failed not to gaze often at the fatal hand, +and not without a shudder. Yet once, by a strange and unaccountable +impulse, he pressed it with his lips. His spirit recoiled, however, in +the very act; and Georgiana, out of the midst of her deep sleep, moved +uneasily, and murmured, as if in remonstrance. Again Aylmer resumed, +his watch. Nor was it without avail. The crimson hand, which at first +had been strongly visible upon the marble paleness of Georgiana's +cheek, now grew more faintly outlined. She remained not less pale than +ever; but the birthmark, with every breath that came and went, lost +somewhat of its former distinctness. Its presence had been awful; its +departure was more awful still. Watch the stain of the rainbow fading +out of the sky, and you will know how that mysterious symbol passed +away. +</p> + +<p> +"By Heaven! it is well-nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, in almost +irrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now. Success! success! +And now it is like the faintest rose color. The lightest flush of +blood across her cheek would overcome it. But she is so pale!" +</p> + +<p> +He drew aside the window-curtain and suffered the light of natural day +to fall into the room and rest upon her cheek. At the same time he +heard a gross, hoarse chuckle, which he had long known as his servant +Aminadab's expression of delight. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, clod! ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort of +frenzy, "you have served me well! Matter and spirit—earth and +heaven—have both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses! +You have earned the right to laugh." +</p> + +<p> +These exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosed her +eyes and gazed into the mirror which her husband had arranged for that +purpose. A faint smile flitted over her lips when she recognized how +barely perceptible was now that crimson hand which had once blazed +forth with such disastrous brilliancy as to scare away all their +happiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer's face with a trouble and +anxiety that he could by no means account for. +</p> + +<p> +"My poor Aylmer!" murmured she. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor? Nay, richest, happiest, most favored!" exclaimed he. "My +peerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!" +</p> + +<p> +"My poor Aylmer," she repeated, with a more than human tenderness, +"you have aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that, with +so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the best the earth could +offer. Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I am dying!" +</p> + +<p> +Alas! it was too true! The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery of +life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in union +with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark—that +sole token of human imperfection—faded from her cheek, the parting +breath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere, and her +soul, lingering a moment, near her husband, took its heavenward +flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh was heard again! Thus ever does +the gross fatality of earth exult in its invariable triumph over the +immortal essence which, in this dim sphere of half-development, +demands the completeness of a higher state. Yet, had Aylmer reached a +profounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness +which would have woven his mortal life of the selfsame texture with +the celestial. The momentary circumstance was too strong for him; he +failed to look beyond the shadowy scope of time, and, living once for +all in eternity, to find the perfect future in the present. +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] Published in the March, 1843, number of <i>The Pioneer</i>, edited by +J. R. Lowell. Republished in <i>Mosses from an Old Manse</i> in 1846. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 154:29 "Eve," of Powers. A noted American sculptor (1805-1873). +"Eve," "The Fisher Boy," and "America" are some of his chief works. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 168:28 Pygmalion. A sculptor and king of Cyprus. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 181:16 recondite. Abstruse or secret. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 168:27 corrosive. Destructive of tissue. +</p> + +<p> +[6] 184:12 vitae. Of life. +</p> + +<p> +[7] 166:3 infusion. The act of pouring in. +</p> + +<p> +[8] 167:1 Albertus Magnus. A famous scholastic philosopher and member +of the Dominican order (1193-1280). +</p> + +<p> +[9] 167:1 Cornelius Agrippa. A German philosopher and student of +alchemy and magic (1486-1535). +</p> + +<p> +[10] 167:1 Paracelsus. A German-Swiss physician, and alchemist +(1492-1541). +</p> + +<p> +[11] 167:10 Royal Society. An association for the advancement of +science, founded in London a little before 1660. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in Salem, Massachusetts, July 4, 1804. +His ancestors were prominent in the affairs of the colony: John +Hawthorne was one of the judges who tried the witches in 1620; and +another John Hawthorne was a member of the dignified school committee +of Salem in 1796. Hawthorne's father, a ship captain, died in a +foreign land when his son was only four years old; his mother lived +for forty years after the death of her husband the life of a recluse +in her own house. The family's star was in the decline and the people +of Salem looked on Nathaniel as a lazy and very queer boy. He grew up +in a unique solitude. During these years of seclusion Hawthorne +acquired the habit of keeping silent on all occasions, and reading a +few books frequently and thoroughly. The <i>Newgate Calendar</i> must have +supplied him with many subtle suggestions for his later writings on +sin and crime, for in almost all of his productions his imagination is +tinged with, this old Puritanic philosophy and theology. +</p> + +<p> +He entered Bowdoin College in 1821 and graduated from this institution +in 1825. He had as classmates Longfellow, and Franklin Pierce, who +afterward became president of the United States. After his graduation +Hawthorne returned to Salem, where he lived with his mother and +sisters in almost absolute seclusion for fourteen years. During this +period he wrote daily, and spent his nights in burning what he had +written in the daytime. +</p> + +<p> +He was clerk of the Boston Custom House from 1839 to 1841, when the +Whig party removed him for being ultra-partisan in behalf of the +Democrats. At this time Hawthorne wrote: "As to the Salem people, I +really thought I had been exceedingly good-natured in my treatment of +them. They certainly do not deserve good usage at my hands, after +permitting me to be deliberately lied down, not merely once, but at +two separate attacks, and on two false indictments, without hardly a +voice being raised in my behalf." He married Sophia Peabody, July 9, +1842. From 1842 until 1846 they lived in Concord in the house formerly +occupied by Emerson. These were the happiest years of his life. In +1846 he returned to Salem as surveyor in the Salem Custom House. He +retired from this office in 1850 and lived in Lenox, Massachusetts, +for two years. In 1852 he settled in Concord. President Pierce +appointed him consul at Liverpool in 1853, and he served in this +position until 1857. +</p> + +<p> +After leaving Liverpool he travelled three years in England and on the +continent. He returned to Concord in 1860. He died in the White +Mountains, May 18, 1864. Although a silent man and a seeker of +solitude during his life, few writers have ever experienced such wide +publicity of their inmost lives as has Hawthorne since his death. The +publication of his <i>Notes</i> has opened his desk and work-shop to every +one, and has revealed to us a magnanimous, sympathetic, and pure man, +who realized his responsibilities as a writer and improved all his +literary opportunities. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>History of American Literature</i>, Moses Coit Tyler. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Introduction to American Literature</i>, Henry S. Pancoast. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Studies in American Literature</i>, Charles Noble. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Introduction to American Literature</i>, Brander Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +"Gloom and Cheer in Hawthorne," <i>Critic</i>, 45: 28-36. +</p> + +<p> +"Hawthorne and his Circle," <i>Nation</i>, 77: 410-411. +</p> + +<p> +"Hawthorne as seen by his Publisher," <i>Critic</i>, 45: 51-55. +</p> + +<p> +"Hawthorne from an English Point of View." <i>Critic</i>, 45: 60-66. +</p> + +<p> +"Hawthorne's Last Years," <i>Critic</i>, 45: 67-71. +</p> + +<p> +"Life of Hawthorne," <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, 90: 563-567, +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +Many influences in Hawthorne's environment served to condition and +mold him as a writer. Salem had reached its highest prosperity in all +lines and was just beginning its retrogression in Hawthorne's time; +the primeval forests of Maine produced a subtle and lasting influence +on him during his sojourn in Maine for his health; transcendentalism +was the ruling thought at the time when Hawthorne was in his most +plastic and solitary age; his interest in <i>Brook Farm</i> brought him in +contact with all the good and bad points of that social movement; his +life in the <i>Old Manse</i> in Concord and in the Berkshire Hills +contributed largely to the deepening of his convictions and +sympathies; and over all, like a sombre cloud, hung his ancestral +Puritanic training which penetrated and suffused all his writings. He +is the most native and the least imitative of all our fiction writers. +</p> + +<p> +Hawthorne did not write on the common subjects and facts of his day, +but chose to have his readers go with him, away from prosaic life, out +into a world of mysteries where we may revel in all kinds of imaginary +sports. By this process he succeeded in producing poetic effects from +the most unpromising materials. His writings are fanciful. He enjoyed +subjects that deal with the occult, such as mesmerism, hypnotism, and +subtle suggestions. He harked back to the rigid beliefs and laws of +the Puritans, but he and his subjects are spiritually advanced far +above the crude, ponderous, and highly theological tenets of his +forefathers. +</p> + +<p> +Hawthorne is very provincial. He travelled little until he was fifty +years old. He naturally loved the antique and poetic countries, but he +always qualified his admiration of these foreign lands by praising +something in his own New England. He conceded that there was little or +nothing in this prosperous and crude country to inspire a writer to +produce poetry, but his patriotism was so strong that he could never +free himself wholly from its provincial effects. All his works were +produced in the stress created by this pull of opposing forces—his +high poetic ideals and his love of country. +</p> + +<p> +In form he tends toward the polish of a classicist; in quality and +freedom of thought he is very responsive to the mysteries of +romanticism. He is introspective in his thinking and symbolical in his +writing. Naturally he thinks abstractly, but is compelled to construct +concrete methods of presenting his ideas. He never describes a strong +emotion in detail, but delights in using suggestions and sidelights. +His pure and refined manhood, his delicate fancy and deep interest in +moral and religious questions, his conscience in its most artistic +form, all are presented to the reader in the choicest garb of well +chosen words and attuned to a subtle rhythm that adds beauty and +attractiveness to his style. +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hours in a Library</i>, Leslie Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Literary History of America</i>, Barrett Wendell. +</p> + +<p> +<i>American Literature</i>, William P. Trent. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Makers of English Fiction</i>, W.J. Dawson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Leading American Novelists</i>, J. Erskine. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Studies and Appreciations</i>, L.E. Gates. +</p> + +<p> +"An Estimate," <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>, 43: 69-84. +</p> + +<p> +"Unknown Quantity in Hawthorne's Personality," <i>Current Literature</i>, +42: 517-518. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>Biographical Stories for Children</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mosses from an Old Manse</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Wonder Boot</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Blithedale Romance</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tanglewood Tales</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lady Eleanore's Mantle</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Great Stone Face</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Prophetic Pictures</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Necklace</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Solitary</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Lady or the Tiger</i>, Frank R. Stockton. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Strange Ride</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rikki-Tikki-Tavi</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>They</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Twelfth Guest</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Shadows on the Wall</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>ETHAN BRAND[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +A Chapter From An Abortive Romance +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864)</i> +</p> + +<p> +Bartram the lime-burner, a rough, heavy-looking man, begrimed with +charcoal, sat watching his kiln, at nightfall, while his little son +played at building houses with the scattered fragments of marble, +when, on the hillside below them, they heard a roar of laughter, not +mirthful, but slow, and even solemn, like a wind shaking the boughs of +the forest. +</p> + +<p> +"Father, what is that?" asked the little boy, leaving his play, and +pressing betwixt his father's knees. +</p> + +<p> +"O, some drunken man, I suppose," answered the lime-burner; "some +merry fellow from the bar-room in the village, who dared not laugh +loud enough within doors lest he should blow the roof of the house +off. So here he is, shaking his jolly sides at the foot of Graylock." +</p> + +<p> +"But, father," said the child, more sensitive than the obtuse, +middle-aged clown, "he does not laugh like a man that is glad. So the +noise frightens me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be a fool, child!" cried his father, gruffly. "You will never +make a man, I do believe; there is too much of your mother in you. I +have known the rustling of a leaf startle you. Hark! Here comes the +merry fellow now. You shall see that there is no harm in him." +</p> + +<p> +Bartram and his little son, while they were talking thus, sat watching +the same lime-kiln that had been the scene of Ethan Brand's solitary +and meditative life, before he began his search for the Unpardonable +Sin. Many years, as we have seen, had now elapsed, since that +portentous night when the IDEA was first developed. The kiln, however, +on the mountain-side stood unimpaired, and was in nothing changed +since he had thrown his dark thoughts into the intense glow of its +furnace, and melted them, as it were, into the one thought that took +possession of his life. It was a rude, round, towerlike structure, +about twenty feet high, heavily built of rough stones, and with a +hillock of earth heaped about the larger part of its circumference; so +that the blocks and fragments of marble might be drawn by cart-loads, +and thrown in at the top. There was an opening at the bottom of the +tower, like an oven-mouth, but large enough to admit a man in a +stooping posture, and provided with a massive iron door. With the +smoke and jets of flame issuing from the chinks and crevices of this +door, which seemed to give admittance into the hillside, it resembled +nothing so much as the private entrance to the infernal regions, which +the shepherds of the Delectable Mountains[2] were accustomed to show +to pilgrims. +</p> + +<p> +There are many such lime-kilns in that tract of country, for the +purpose of burning the white marble which composes a large part of the +substance of the hills. Some of them, built years ago, and long +deserted, with weeds growing in the vacant round of the interior, +which is open to the sky, and grass and wild flowers rooting +themselves into the chinks of the stones, look already like relics of +antiquity, and may yet be overspread with the lichens of centuries to +come. Others, where the lime-burner still feeds his daily and +night-long fire, afford points of interest to the wanderer among the +hills, who seats himself on a log of wood or a fragment of marble, to +hold a chat with the solitary man. It is a lonesome, and, when the +character is inclined to thought, may be an intensely thoughtful, +occupation; as it proved in the case of Ethan Brand, who had mused to +such strange purpose, in days gone by, while the fire in this very +kiln was burning. +</p> + +<p> +The man who now watched the fire was of a different order, and +troubled himself with no thoughts save the very few that were +requisite to his business. At frequent intervals he flung back the +clashing weight of the iron door, and, turning his face from the +insufferable glare, thrust in huge logs of oak, or stirred the immense +brands with a long pole. Within the furnace were seen the curling and +riotous flames, and the burning marble, almost molten with the +intensity of heat; while without, the reflection of the fire quivered +on the dark intricacy of the surrounding forest, and showed in the +foreground a bright and ruddy little picture of the hut, the spring +beside its door, the athletic and coal-begrimed figure of the +lime-burner, and the half-frightened child, shrinking into the +protection of his father's shadow. And when again the iron door was +closed, then reappeared the tender light of the half-full moon, which +vainly strove to trace out the indistinct shapes of the neighboring +mountains; and, in the upper sky, there was a flitting congregation of +clouds, still faintly tinged with the rosy sunset, though thus far +down into the valley the sunshine had vanished long and long ago. +</p> + +<p> +The little boy now crept still closer to his father, as footsteps were +heard ascending the hillside, and a human form thrust aside the bushes +that clustered beneath the trees. +</p> + +<p> +"Halloo! who is it?" cried the lime-burner, vexed at his son's +timidity, yet half infected by it, "Come forward, and show yourself, +like a man, or I'll fling this chunk of marble at your head !" +</p> + +<p> +"You offer me a rough welcome," said a gloomy voice, as the unknown +man drew nigh. "Yet I neither claim nor desire a kinder one, even at +my own fireside." +</p> + +<p> +To obtain a distincter view, Bartram threw open the iron door of the +kiln, whence immediately issued a gush of fierce light, that smote +full upon the stranger's face and figure. To a careless eye there +appeared nothing very remarkable in his aspect, which was that of a +man in a coarse, brown, country-made suit of clothes, tall and thin, +with the staff and heavy shoes of a wayfarer. As he advanced, he fixed +his eyes—which were very bright—intently upon the brightness of the +furnace, as if he beheld, or expected to behold, some object worthy of +note within it. +</p> + +<p> +"Good evening, stranger," said the lime-burner; "whence come you, so +late in the day?" +</p> + +<p> +"I come from my search," answered the wayfarer; "for, at last, it is +finished." +</p> + +<p> +"Drunk!—or crazy!" muttered Bartram to himself. "I shall have trouble +with the fellow. The sooner I drive him away, the better." +</p> + +<p> +The little boy, all in a tremble, whispered to his father, and begged +him to shut the door of the kiln, so that there might not be so much +light; for that there was something in the man's face which he was +afraid to look at, yet could not look away from. And, indeed, even the +lime-burner's dull and torpid sense began to be impressed by an +indescribable something in that thin, rugged, thoughtful visage, with +the grizzled hair hanging wildly about it, and those deeply sunken +eyes, which gleamed like fires within the entrance of a mysterious +cavern. But, as he closed the door, the stranger turned towards him, +and spoke in a quiet, familiar way, that made Bartram feel as if he +were a sane and sensible man, after all. +</p> + +<p> +"Your task draws to an end, I see," said he. "This marble has already +been burning three days. A few hours more will convert the stone to +lime." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, who are you?" exclaimed the lime-burner. "You seem as well +acquainted with my business as I am myself." +</p> + +<p> +"And well I may be," said the stranger; "for I followed the same craft +many a long year, and here, too, on this very spot. But you are a +newcomer in these parts. Did you never hear of Ethan Brand?" +</p> + +<p> +"The man that went in search of the Unpardonable Sin?" asked Bartram, +with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"The same," answered the stranger. "He has found what he sought, and +therefore he comes back again," +</p> + +<p> +"What! then you are Ethan Brand himself?" cried the lime-burner, in +amazement. "I am a newcomer here, as you say, and they call it +eighteen years since you left the foot of Graylock, But, I can tell +you, the good folks still talk about Ethan Brand, in the village +yonder, and what a strange errand took him away from his lime-kiln. +Well and so you have found the Unpardonable Sin?" +</p> + +<p> +"Even so!" said the stranger, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +"If the 'question is a fair one." proceeded Bartrarn, "where might it +be?" +</p> + +<p> +Ethan Brand laid his finger on his own heart.' +</p> + +<p> +"Here!" replied he. +</p> + +<p> +And then, without mirth in his countenance, but as if moved by an +involuntary recognition of the infinite absurdity of seeking +throughout the world for what was the closest of all things to +himself, and looking into every heart, save his own, for what was +hidden in no other breast, he broke into a laugh of scorn. It was the +same slow, heavy laugh that had almost appalled the lime-burner when +it heralded the wayfarer's approach. +</p> + +<p> +The solitary mountain side was made dismal by it. Laughter, when out +of place, mistimed, or bursting forth from a disordered state of +feeling, may be the most terrible modulation of the human voice. The +laughter of one asleep, even if it be a little child,—the madman's +laugh,—the wild, screaming laugh of a born idiot,—are sounds that we +sometimes tremble to hear, and would always willingly forget. Poets +have imagined no utterance of fiends Or hobgoblins so fearfully +appropriate as a laugh. And even the obtuse lime-burner felt his +nerves shaken, as this strange man looked inward at his own heart, and +burst into laughter that rolled away into the night, and was +indistinctly reverberated among the hills. +</p> + +<p> +"Joe," said he to his little son, "scamper down to the tavern in the +village, and tell the jolly fellows there that Ethan Brand has come +back, and that he has found the Unpardonable Sin!" +</p> + +<p> +The boy darted away on his errand, to which Ethan Brand made no +objection, nor seemed hardly to notice it. He sat on a log of wood, +looking steadfastly at the iron door of the kiln. When the child was +out of sight, and his swift and light footsteps ceased to be heard +treading first on the fallen leaves and then on the rocky mountain +path, the lime-burner began to regret his departure. He felt that the +little fellow's presence had been a barrier between his guest and +himself, and that he must now deal, heart to heart, with a man who, on +his own confession, had committed the one only crime for which Heaven +could afford no mercy. That crime, in its indistinct blackness, seemed +to overshadow him. The lime-burner's own sins rose up within him, and +made his memory riotous with a throng of evil shapes that asserted +their kindred with the Master Sin, whatever it might be, which it was +within the scope of man's corrupted nature to conceive and cherish. +They were all of one family; they went to and fro between his breast +and Ethan Brand's, and carried dark greetings from one to the other. +</p> + +<p> +Then Bartram remembered the stories which had grown traditionary in +reference to this strange man, who had come upon him like a shadow of +the night, and was making himself at home in his old place, after so +long absence that the dead people, dead and buried for years, would +have had more right to be at home, in any familiar spot, than he. +Ethan Brand, it was said, had conversed with Satan himself in the +lurid blaze of this very kiln. The legend had been matter of mirth +heretofore, but looked grisly now. According to this tale, before +Ethan Brand departed on his search, he had been accustomed to evoke a +fiend from the hot furnace of the lime-kiln, night after night, in +order to confer with him about the Unpardonable Sin; the man and the +fiend each laboring to frame the image of some mode of guilt which +could neither be atoned for nor forgiven. And, with the first gleam of +light upon the mountain-top, the fiend crept in at the iron door, +there to abide the intensest element of fire, until again summoned +forth to share in the dreadful task of extending man's possible guilt +beyond the scope of Heaven's else infinite mercy. +</p> + +<p> +While the lime-burner was struggling with the horror of these +thoughts, Ethan Brand rose from the log, and flung open the door of +the kiln. The action was in such accordance with the idea in Bartram's +mind, that he almost expected to see the Evil One issue forth, red-hot +from the raging furnace. +</p> + +<p> +"Hold! hold!" cried he, with a tremulous attempt to laugh; for he was +ashamed of his fears, although they overmastered him. "Don't, for +mercy's sake, bring out your Devil now!" +</p> + +<p> +"Man!" sternly replied Ethan Brand, "what need have I of the Devil? I +have left him behind me, on my track. It is with such halfway sinners +as you that he busies himself. Fear not, because I open the door. I do +but act by old custom, and am going to trim your fire, like a +lime-burner, as I was once." +</p> + +<p> +He stirred the vast coals, thrust in more wood, and bent forward to +gaze into the hollow prison-house of the fire, regardless of the +fierce glow that reddened upon his face. The lime-burner sat watching +him, and half suspected his strange guest of a purpose, if not to +evoke a fiend, at least to plunge bodily into the flames, and thus +vanish from the sight of man. Ethan Brand, however, drew quietly back, +and closed the door of the kiln. +</p> + +<p> +"I have looked," said he, "into many a human heart that was seven +times hotter with sinful passions than yonder furnace is with fire. +But I found not there what I sought. No, not the Unpardonable Sin!" +</p> + +<p> +"What is the Unpardonable Sin?" asked the lime-burner; and then he +shrank farther from his companion, trembling lest his question should +be answered. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a sin that grew within my own breast," replied Ethan Brand, +standing erect, with a pride that distinguishes all enthusiasts of his +stamp. "A sin that grew nowhere else! The sin of an intellect that +triumphed over the sense of brotherhood with man and reverence for +God, and sacrificed everything to its own mighty claims! the only sin +that deserves a recompense of immortal agony! Freely, were it to do +again, would I incur the guilt. Unshrinkingly I accept the +retribution!" +</p> + +<p> +"The man's head is turned," muttered the lime-burner to himself. "He +may be a sinner, like the rest of us,—nothing more likely,—but, I'll +be sworn, he is a madman too." +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, he felt uncomfortable at his situation, alone with Ethan +Brand on the wild mountain side, and was right glad to hear the rough +murmur of tongues, and the footsteps of what seemed a pretty numerous +party, stumbling over the stones and rustling through the under-brush. +Soon appeared the whole lazy regiment that was wont to infest the +village tavern, comprehending three or four individuals who had drunk +flip beside the bar-room fire through all the winters, and smoked +their pipes beneath the stoop through all the summers, since Ethan +Brand's departure. Laughing boisterously, and mingling all their +voices together in unceremonious talk, they now burst into the +moonshine and narrow streaks of firelight that illuminated the open +space before the lime-kiln. Bartram set the door ajar again, flooding +the spot with light, that the whole company might get a fair view of +Ethan Brand, and he of them. +</p> + +<p> +There, among other old acquaintances, was a once ubiquitous[3] man, +now almost extinct, but whom we were formerly sure to encounter at the +hotel of every thriving village throughout the country. It was the +stage-agent. The present specimen of the genus was a wilted and +smoke-dried man, wrinkled and red-nosed, in a smartly cut, brown, +bob-tailed coat, with brass buttons, who, for a length of time +unknown, had kept his desk and corner in the bar-room, and was still +puffing what seemed to be the same cigar that he had lighted twenty +years before. He had great fame as a dry joker, though, perhaps, less +on account of any intrinsic humor than from a certain flavor of brandy +toddy and tobacco smoke, which impregnated all his ideas and +expressions, as well as his person. Another well-remembered though +strangely altered face was that of Lawyer Giles, as people still +called him in courtesy; an elderly ragamuffin, in his soiled +shirt-sleeves and tow-cloth trousers. This poor fellow had been an +attorney, in what he called his better days, a sharp practitioner, and +in great vogue among the village litigants; but flip, and sling, and +toddy, and cocktails, imbibed at all hours, morning, noon, and night, +had caused him to slide from intellectual to various kinds and degrees +of bodily labor, till, at last, to adopt his own phrase, he slid into +a soap vat. In other words, Giles was now a soap boiler, in a small +way. He had come to be but the fragment of a human being, a part of +one foot having been chopped off by an axe, and an entire hand torn +away by the devilish grip of a steam engine. Yet, though the corporeal +hand was gone, a spiritual member remained; for, stretching forth the +stump, Giles steadfastly averred that he felt an invisible thumb and +fingers with as vivid a sensation as before the real ones were +amputated. A maimed and miserable wretch he was; but one, +nevertheless, whom the world could not trample on, and had no right to +scorn, either in this or any previous stage of his misfortunes, since +he had still kept up the courage and spirit of a man, asked nothing in +charity, and with his one hand—and that the left one—fought a stern +battle against want and hostile circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Among the throng, too, came another personage, who, with certain +points of similarity to Lawyer Giles, had many more of difference. It +was the village doctor; a man of some fifty years, whom, at an earlier +period of his life, we introduced as paying a professional visit to +Ethan Brand during the latter's supposed insanity. He was now a +purple-visaged, rude, and brutal, yet half-gentlemanly figure, with +something wild, ruined, and desperate in his talk, and in all the +details of his gesture and manners. Brandy possessed this man like an +evil spirit, and made him as surly and savage as a wild beast, and as +miserable as a lost soul; but there was supposed to be in him such +wonderful skill, such native gifts of healing, beyond any which +medical science could impart, that society caught hold of him, and +would not let him sink out of its reach. So, swaying to and fro upon +his horse, and grumbling thick accents at the bedside, he visited all +the sick chambers for miles about among the mountain towns, and +sometimes raised a dying man, as it were, by miracle, or quite as +often, no doubt, sent his patient to a grave that was dug many a year +too soon. The doctor had an everlasting pipe in his mouth, and, as +somebody said, in allusion to his habit of swearing, it was always +alight with hell-fire. +</p> + +<p> +These three worthies pressed forward, and greeted Ethan Brand each +after his own fashion, earnestly inviting him to partake of the +contents of a certain black bottle, in which, as they averred, he +would find something far better worth seeking for than the +Unpardonable Sin. No mind, which has wrought itself by intense and +solitary meditation into a high state of enthusiasm, can endure the +kind of contact with low and vulgar modes of thought and feeling to +which Ethan Brand was now subjected. It made him doubt—and, strange +to say, it was a painful doubt,—whether he had indeed found the +Unpardonable Sin and found it within himself. The whole question on +which he had exhausted life, and more than life, looked like a +delusion. +</p> + +<p> +"Leave me," he said bitterly, "ye brute beasts, that have made +yourselves so, shrivelling up your souls with fiery liquors! I have +done with you. Years and years ago, I groped into your hearts, and +found nothing there for my purpose. Get ye gone!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you uncivil scoundrel," cried the fierce doctor, "is that the +way you respond to the kindness of your best friends? Then let me tell +you the truth. You have no more found the Unpardonable Sin than yonder +boy Joe has. You are but a crazy fellow,—I told you so twenty years +ago,—neither better nor worse than a crazy fellow, and a fit +companion of old Humphrey, here!" +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to an old man, shabbily dressed, with long white hair, thin +visage, and unsteady eyes. For some years past this aged person had +been wandering about among the hills, inquiring of all travellers whom +he met for his daughter. The girl, it seemed, had gone off with a +company of circus performers; and occasionally tidings of her came to +the village, and fine stories were told of her glittering appearance +as she rode on horseback in the ring, or performed marvellous feats on +the tight rope. +</p> + +<p> +The white-haired father now approached Ethan Brand, and gazed +unsteadily into his face. +</p> + +<p> +"They tell me you have been all over the earth," said he, wringing his +hands with earnestness. "You must have seen my daughter, for she makes +a grand figure in the world, and everybody goes to see her. Did she +send any word to her old father, or say when she was coming back?" +</p> + +<p> +Ethan Brand's eye quailed beneath the old man's. That daughter, from +whom he so earnestly desired a word of greeting, was the Esther of our +tale, the very girl whom, with such cold and remorseless purpose, +Ethan Brand had made the subject of a psychological experiment, and +wasted, absorbed, and perhaps annihilated her soul, in the process. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," murmured he, turning away from the hoary wanderer; "it is no +delusion. There is an Unpardonable Sin!" +</p> + +<p> +While these things were passing, a merry scene was going forward in +the area of cheerful light, beside the spring and before the door of +the hut. A number of the youth of the village, young men and girls, +had hurried up the hillside, impelled by curiosity to see Ethan Brand, +the hero of so many a legend familiar to their childhood. Finding +nothing, however, very remarkable in his aspect,—nothing but a +sunburnt wayfarer, in plain garb and dusty shoes, who sat looking into +the fire, as if he fancied pictures among the coals,—these young +people speedily grew tired of observing him. As it happened, there was +other amusement at hand. An old German Jew, travelling with a +diorama[4] on his back, was passing down, the mountain road towards +the village just as the party turned aside from it, and, in hopes of +eking out the profits of the day, the showman had kept them company to +the lime-kiln. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, old Dutchman," cried one of the young men, "let us see your +pictures, if you can swear they are worth looking at!" +</p> + +<p> +"O yes, Captain," answered the Jew,—whether as a matter of courtesy +or craft, he styled everybody Captain,—"I shall show you, indeed, +some very superb pictures!" +</p> + +<p> +So, placing his box in a proper position, he invited the young men and +girls to look through the glass orifices of the machine, and proceeded +to exhibit a series of the most outrageous scratchings and daubings, +as specimens of the fine arts, that ever an itinerant showman had the +face to impose upon his circle of spectators. The pictures were worn +out, moreover, tattered, full of cracks and wrinkles, dingy with +tobacco smoke, and otherwise in a most pitiable condition. Some +purported to be cities, public edifices, and ruined castles in Europe; +others represented Napoleon's battles and Nelson's sea fights; and in +the midst of these would be seen a gigantic, brown, hairy hand,—which +might have been mistaken for the Hand of Destiny, though, in truth, it +was only the showman's,—pointing its forefinger to various scenes of +the conflict, while its owner gave historical illustrations. When, +with much merriment at its abominable deficiency of merit, the +exhibition was concluded, the German bade little Joe put his head into +the box. Viewed through the magnifying glasses, the boy's round, rosy +visage assumed the strangest imaginable aspect of an immense +Titanic[5] child, the mouth grinning broadly, and the eyes and every +other feature overflowing with fun at the joke. Suddenly, however, +that merry face turned pale, and its expression changed to horror, for +this easily impressed and excitable child had become sensible that the +eye of Ethan Brand was fixed upon him through the glass. +</p> + +<p> +"You make the little man to be afraid. Captain." said the German Jew, +turning up the dark and strong outline of his visage, from his +stooping posture, "But look again, and, by chance, I shall cause you +to see somewhat that is very fine, upon my word!" +</p> + +<p> +Ethan Brand gazed into the box for an instant, and then starting back, +looked fixedly at the German. What had he seen? Nothing, apparently; +for a curious youth, who had peeped in almost at the same moment, +beheld only a vacant space of canvas. +</p> + +<p> +"I remember you now," muttered Ethan Brand to the showman. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Captain," whispered the Jew of Nuremburg, with a dark smile, "I +find it to be a heavy matter in my show-box,—this Unpardonable Sin! +By my faith, Captain, it has wearied my shoulders, this long day, to +carry it over the mountain." +</p> + +<p> +"Peace," answered Ethan Brand, sternly, "or get thee into the furnace +yonder!" +</p> + +<p> +The Jew's exhibition had scarcely concluded, when a great, elderly +dog—who seemed to be his own master, as no person in the company laid +claim to him—saw fit to render himself the object of public notice. +Hitherto, he had shown himself a very quiet, well-disposed old dog, +going round from one to another, and, by way of being sociable, +offering his rough head to be patted by any kindly hand that would +take so much trouble. But now, all of a sudden, this grave and +venerable quadruped, of his own mere motion, and without the slightest +suggestion from anybody else, began to run round after his tail, +which, to heighten the absurdity of the proceeding, was a great deal +shorter than it should have been. Never was seen such headlong +eagerness in pursuit of an object that could not possibly be attained; +never was heard such a tremendous outbreak of growling, snarling, +barking, and snapping,—as if one end of the ridiculous brute's body +were at deadly and most unforgivable enmity with the other. Faster and +faster, round about went the cur; and faster and still faster fled the +unapproachable brevity of his tail; and louder and fiercer grew his +yells of rage and animosity; until, utterly exhausted, and as far from +the goal as ever, the foolish old dog ceased his performance as +suddenly as he had begun it. The next moment he was as mild, quiet, +sensible, and respectable in his deportment, as when he first scraped +acquaintance with the company. +</p> + +<p> +As may be supposed, the exhibition was greeted with universal +laughter, clapping of hands, and shouts of encore, to which the canine +performer responded by wagging all that there was to wag of his tail, +but appeared totally unable to repeat his very successful effort to +amuse the spectators. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Ethan Brand had resumed his seat upon the log, and moved, +it might be, by a perception of some remote analogy between his own +case and that of this self-pursuing cur, he broke into the awful +laugh, which, more than any other token, expressed the condition of +his inward being. From that moment, the merriment of the party was at +an end; they stood aghast, dreading lest the inauspicious sound should +be reverberated around the horizon, and that mountain would thunder it +to mountain, and so the horror be prolonged upon their ears. Then, +whispering one to another that it was late,—that the moon was almost +down,—that the August night was growing chill,—they hurried +homewards, leaving the lime-burner and little Joe to deal as they +might with their unwelcome guest. Save for these three human beings, +the open space on the hillside was a solitude, set in a vast gloom of +forest. Beyond that darksome verge, the firelight glimmered on the +stately trunks and almost black foliage of pines, intermixed with the +lighter verdure of sapling oaks, maples, and poplars, while here and +there lay the gigantic corpses of dead trees, decaying on the +leaf-strewn soil. And it seemed to little Joe—a timorous and +imaginative child—that the silent forest was holding, its breath, +until some fearful thing should happen. +</p> + +<p> +Ethan Brand thrust more wood into the fire, and closed the door of the +kiln; then looking over his shoulder at the lime-burner and his son, +he bade, rather than advised, them to retire to rest. +</p> + +<p> +"For myself, I cannot sleep." said he, "I have matters that it +concerns me to meditate upon. I will watch the fire, as I used to do +in the old time." +</p> + +<p> +"And call the Devil out of the furnace to keep you company, I +suppose," muttered Bartram, who had been making intimate acquaintance +with the black bottle above mentioned. "But watch, if you like, and +call as many devils as you like! For my part, I shall be all the +better for a snooze. Come, Joe!" +</p> + +<p> +As the boy followed his father into the hut, he looked back at the +wayfarer, and the tears came into his eyes, for his tender spirit had +an intuition of the bleak and terrible loneliness in which this man +had enveloped himself. +</p> + +<p> +When they had gone, Ethan Brand sat listening to the crackling of the +kindled wood, and looking at the little spirits of fire that issued +through the chinks of the door. These trifles, however, once so +familiar, had but the slightest hold of his attention, while deep +within his mind he was reviewing the gradual but marvellous change +that had been wrought upon him by the search to which he had devoted +himself. He remembered how the night dew had fallen upon him,—how the +dark forest had whispered to him,—how the stars had gleamed upon +him,—a simple and loving man, watching his fire in the years gone by, +and ever musing as it burned. He remembered with what tenderness, with +what love and sympathy for mankind, and what pity for human guilt and +woe, he had first begun to contemplate those ideas which afterwards +became the inspiration of his life; with what reverence he had then +looked into the heart of man, viewing it as a temple originally +divine, and, however desecrated, still to be held sacred by a brother; +with what awful fear he had deprecated the success of his pursuit, and +prayed that the Unpardonable Sin might never be revealed to him. Then +ensued that vast intellectual development, which, in its progress, +disturbed the counterpoise between his mind and heart. The Idea that +possessed his life had operated as a means of education; it had gone +on cultivating his powers to the highest point of which they were +susceptible; it had raised him from the level of an unlettered laborer +to stand on a starlit eminence, whither the philosophers of the earth, +laden with the lore of universities, might vainly strive to clamber +after him. So much for the intellect! But where was the heart? That, +indeed, had withered,—had contracted.—had hardened,—had perished! +It had ceased to partake of the universal throb, He had lost his hold +of the magnetic chain of humanity. He was no longer a brother-man, +opening the chambers of the dungeons of our common nature by the key +of holy sympathy, which gave him a right to share in all its secrets; +he was now a cold observer, looking on mankind as the subject of his +experiment, and, at length, converting man and woman to be his +puppets, and pulling the wires that moved them to such degrees of +crime as were demanded for his study. +</p> + +<p> +Thus Ethan Brand became a fiend. He began to be so from the moment +that his moral nature had ceased to keep the pace of improvement with +his intellect. And now, as his highest effort and inevitable +development,—as the bright and gorgeous flower, and rich, delicious +fruit of his life's labor,—he had produced the Unpardonable Sin! +</p> + +<p> +"What more have I to seek? what more to achieve?" said Ethan Brand to +himself, "My task Is done, and well done!" +</p> + +<p> +Starting from the log with a certain alacrity in his gait and +ascending the hillock of earth that was raised against the stone +circumference of the lime-kiln, he thus reached the top of the +structure. It was a space of perhaps ten feet across, from edge to +edge, presenting a view of the upper surface of the immense mass of +broken marble with which the kiln was heaped. All these innumerable +blocks and fragments of marble were red-hot and vividly on fire, +sending up great spouts of blue flame, which quivered aloft and danced +madly, as within a magic circle, and sank and rose again, with +continual and multitudinous activity. As the lonely man bent forward +over this terrible body of fire, the blasting heat smote up against +his person with a breath that, it might be supposed, would have +scorched and shrivelled him up in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +Ethan Brand stood erect, and raised his arms on high. The blue flames +played upon his face, and imparted the wild and ghastly light which +alone could have suited its expression; it was that of a fiend on the +verge of plunging into his gulf of intensest torment. +</p> + +<p> +"O Mother Earth," cried he, "who art no more my Mother, and into whose +bosom this frame shall never be resolved! O mankind, whose brotherhood +I have cast off, and trampled thy great heart beneath my feet! O stars +of heaven, that shone on me of old, as if to light me onward and +upward!—farewell all, and forever. Come, deadly element of +Fire,—henceforth my familiar frame! Embrace me, as I do thee!" +</p> + +<p> +That night the sound of a fearful peal of laughter rolled heavily +through the sleep of the lime-burner and his little son; dim shapes of +horror and anguish haunted their dreams, and seemed still present in +the rude hovel, when they opened their eyes to the daylight. +</p> + +<p> +"Up, boy, up!" cried the lime-burner, staring about him. "Thank +Heaven, the night is gone, at last; and rather than pass such another, +I would watch, my lime-kiln, wide awake, for a twelvemonth. This Ethan +Brand, with his humbug of an Unpardonable Sin, has done me no such +mighty favor, in taking my place!" +</p> + +<p> +He issued from the hut, followed by little Joe, who kept fast hold, of +his father's hand. The early sunshine was already pouring its gold +upon the mountain tops; and though the valleys were still in shadow, +they smiled cheerfully in the promise of the bright day that was +hastening onward. The village, completely shut in by hills, which +swelled away gently about it, looked as if it had rested peacefully in +the hollow of the great hand of Providence. Every dwelling was +distinctly visible; the little spires of the two churches pointed +upwards, and caught a fore-glimmering of brightness from the sun-gilt +skies upon their gilded weathercocks. The tavern was astir, and the +figure of the old, smoke-dried stage-agent, cigar in mouth, was seen +beneath the stoop. Old Graylock was glorified with a golden cloud upon +his head. Scattered likewise over the breasts of the surrounding +mountains, there were heaps of hoary mist, in fantastic shapes, some +of them far down into the valley, others high up towards the summits, +and still others, of the same family of mist or cloud, hovering in the +gold radiance of the upper atmosphere. Stepping from one to another of +the clouds that rested on the hills, and thence to the loftier +brotherhood that sailed in air, it seemed almost as if a mortal man +might thus ascend into the heavenly regions. Earth was so mingled with +sky that it was a day-dream to look at it. +</p> + +<p> +To supply that charm of the familiar and homely, which Nature so +readily adopts into a scene like this, the stage-coach was rattling +down the mountain road, and the driver sounded his horn, while echo +caught up the notes, and intertwined them into a rich and varied and +elaborate harmony, of which the original performer could lay claim to +little share. The great hills played a concert among themselves, each +contributing a strain of airy sweetness. +</p> + +<p> +Little Joe's face brightened at once. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear father," cried he, skipping cheerily to and fro, "that strange +man is gone, and the sky and the mountains all seem glad of it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," growled the lime-burner, with an oath, "but he has let the fire +go down, and no thanks to him if five hundred bushels of lime are not +spoiled. If I catch the fellow hereabouts again, I shall feel like +tossing him into the furnace!" +</p> + +<p> +With his long pole in his hand, he ascended to the top of the kiln. +After a moment's pause, he called to his son. +</p> + +<p> +"Come up here, Joe!" said he. +</p> + +<p> +So little Joe ran up the hillock, and stood by his father's side. The +marble was all burnt into perfect, snow-white lime. But on its +surface, in the midst of the circle,—snow-white too, and thoroughly +converted into lime,—lay a human skeleton, in the attitude of a +person who, after long toil, lies down to long repose. Within the +ribs—strange to say—was the shape of a human heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Was the fellow's heart made of marble?" cried Bartram, in some +perplexity at this phenomenon. "At any rate, it is burnt into what +looks like special good lime; and, taking all the bones together, my +kiln is half a bushel the richer for him." +</p> + +<p> +So saying, the rude lime-burner lifted his pole, and, letting it fall +upon the skeleton, the relics of Ethan Brand were crumbled into +fragments. +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] Written in 1848; published in Holden's <i>Dollar Magazine</i> in 1851. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 182:26 Delectable Mountains. A range of mountains referred to in +Bunyan's <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 190:22 ubiquitous. Being present everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 194:29 diorama. A series of paintings arranged for exhibition. See +dictionary. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 195:30 Titanic. Characteristic of the Titans; therefore large. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Scarlet Letter</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The House of Seven Gables</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Marble Faun</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Gray Champion</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Wedding Knell</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Great Carbuncle</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dr. Heidegger's Experiment</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Haunted Mind</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Feathertop</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rip Van Winkle</i>, Washington Irving. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Elixir of Life</i>, Honoré de Balzac. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Leather Funnel</i>, A. Conan Doyle. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Return of Imray's Ghost</i>, Rudyard Kipling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Gentle Ghost</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)</i> +</p> + +<p> +Denis de Beaulieu was not yet two-and-twenty, but he counted himself a +grown man, and a very accomplished cavalier into the bargain. Lads +were early formed in that rough, warfaring epoch; and when one has +been in a pitched battle and a dozen raids, has killed one's man in an +honorable fashion, and knows a thing or two of strategy and mankind, a +certain swagger in the gait is surely to be pardoned. He had put up +his horse with due care, and supped with due deliberation; and then, +in a very agreeable frame of mind, went out to pay a visit in the gray +of the evening. It was not a very wise proceeding on the young man's +part. He would have done better to remain beside the fire or go +decently to bed. For the town was full of the troops of Burgundy and +England under a mixed command; and though Denis was there on +safe-conduct, his safe-conduct was like to serve him little on a +chance encounter. +</p> + +<p> +It was September, 1429; the weather had fallen sharp; a flighty piping +wind, laden with showers, beat about the township; and the dead leaves +ran riot along the streets. Here and there a window was already +lighted up; and the noise of men-at-arms making merry over supper +within came forth in fits and was swallowed up and carried away by the +wind. The night fell swiftly: the flag of England, fluttering on the +spire top, grew ever fainter and fainter against the flying clouds—a +black speck like a swallow in the tumultuous, leaden chaos of the sky. +As the night fell the wind rose, and began to hoot under archways and +roar amid the tree-tops in the valley below the town. +</p> + +<p> +Denis de Beaulieu walked fast and was soon knocking at his friend's +door; but though he promised himself to stay only a little while and +make an early return, his welcome was so pleasant, and he found so +much to delay him, that it was already long past midnight before he +said good-by upon the threshold. The wind had fallen again in the +meanwhile; the night was as black as the grave; not a star, nor a +glimmer of moonshine, slipped through the canopy of cloud. Denis was +ill-acquainted with the intricate lanes of Chateau Landon; even by +daylight he had found some trouble in picking his way; and in this +absolute darkness he soon lost it altogether. He was certain of one +thing only—to keep mounting the hill; for his friend's house lay at +the lower end, or tail, of Chateau Landon, while the inn was up at the +head, under the great church spire. With this clew to go upon he +stumbled and groped forward, now breathing more freely in the open +places where there was a good slice of sky overhead, now feeling along +the wall in stifling closes. It is an eerie and mysterious position to +be thus submerged in opaque blackness in an almost unknown town. The +silence is terrifying in its possibilities. The touch of cold window +bars to the exploring hand startles the man like the touch of a toad; +the inequalities of the pavement shake his heart into his mouth; a +piece of denser darkness threatens an ambuscade or a chasm in the +pathway; and where the air is brighter, the houses put on strange and +bewildering appearances, as if to lead him further from his way. For +Denis, who had to regain his inn without attracting notice, there was +real danger as well as mere discomfort in the walk; and he went warily +and boldly at once, and at every corner paused to make an observation. +</p> + +<p> +He had been for some time threading a lane so narrow that he could +touch a wall with either hand, when it began to open out and go +sharply downward. Plainly this lay no longer in the direction of his +inn; but the hope of a little more light tempted him forward to +reconnoitre. The lane ended in a terrace with a bartizan[2] wall, +which gave an outlook between high houses, as out of an embrasure, +into the valley lying dark and formless several hundred feet below. +Denis looked down, and could discern a few tree-tops waving and a +single speck of brightness where the river ran across a weir. The +weather was clearing up, and the sky had lightened, so as to show the +outline of the heavier clouds and the dark margin of the hills. By the +uncertain glimmer, the house on his left hand should be a place of +some pretensions; it was surmounted by several pinnacles and +turret-tops; the round stern of a chapel, with a fringe of flying +buttresses, projected boldly from the main block; and the door was +sheltered under a deep porch carved with figures and overhung by two +long gargoyles[3]. The windows of the chapel gleamed through their +intricate tracery with a light as of many tapers, and threw out the +buttresses and the peaked roof in a more intense blackness against the +sky. It was plainly the hotel of some great family of the +neighborhood; and as it reminded Denis of a town house of his own at +Bourges, he stood for some time gazing up at it and mentally gauging +the skill of the architects and the consideration of the two families. +</p> + +<p> +There seemed to be no issue to the terrace but the lane by which he +had reached it; he could only retrace his steps, but he had gained +some notion of his whereabouts, and hoped by this means to hit the +main thoroughfare and speedily regain the inn. He was reckoning +without that chapter of accidents which was to make this night +memorable above all others in his career; for he had not gone back +above a hundred yards before he saw a light coming to meet him, and +heard loud voices speaking together in the echoing narrows of the +lane. It was a party of men-at-arms going the night round with +torches. Denis assured himself that they had all been making free with +the wine bowl, and were in no mood to be particular about +safe-conducts or the niceties of chivalrous war. It, was as like as +not that they would kill him like a dog and leave him where he fell. +The situation was inspiriting but nervous. Their own torches would +conceal him from sight, he reflected; and he hoped that they would +drown the noise of his footsteps with their own empty voices. If he +were but fleet and silent, he might evade their notice altogether. +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately, as he turned to beat a retreat, his foot rolled upon a +pebble; he fell against the wall with an ejaculation, and his sword +rang loudly on the stones. Two or three voices demanded who went +there—some in French, some in English; but Denis made no reply, and +ran the faster down the lane. Once upon the terrace, he paused to look +back. They still kept calling after him, and just then began to double +the pace in pursuit, with a considerable clank of armor, and great +tossing of the torchlight to and fro in the narrow jaws of the +passage. +</p> + +<p> +Denis cast a look around and darted into the porch. There he might +escape observation, or—if that were too much to expect—was in a +capital posture whether for parley or defence. So thinking, he drew +his sword and tried to set his back against the door. To his surprise +it yielded behind his weight; and though he turned in a moment, +continued to swing back on oiled and noiseless hinges until it stood +wide open on a black interior. When things fall out opportunely for +the person concerned, he is not apt to be critical about the how or +why, his own immediate personal convenience seeming a sufficient +reason for the strangest oddities and revolutions in our sublunary +things; and so Denis, without a moment's hesitation, stepped within +and partly closed the door behind him to conceal his place of refuge. +Nothing was further from his thoughts than to close it altogether; but +for some inexplicable reason—perhaps by a spring or a weight—the +ponderous mass of oak whipped itself out of his fingers and clanked +to, with a formidable rumble and a noise like the falling of an +automatic bar. +</p> + +<p> +The round, at that very moment, debouched[4] upon the terrace and +proceeded to summon him with shouts and curses. He heard them +ferreting in the dark corners; the stock of a lance even rattled along +the outer surface of the door behind which he stood; but these +gentlemen were in too high a humor to be long delayed, and soon made +off down a corkscrew pathway which had escaped Denis' observation, and +passed out of sight and hearing along the battlements of the town. +</p> + +<p> +Denis breathed again. He gave them a few minutes' grace for fear of +accidents, and then groped about for some means of opening the door +and slipping forth again. The inner surface was quite smooth, not a +handle, not a moulding, not a projection of any sort. He got his +finger nails round the edges and pulled, but the mass was immovable. +He shook it, it was as firm as a rock, Denis de Beaulieu frowned, and +gave vent to a little noiseless whistle. What ailed the door? he +wondered. Why was it open? How came it to shut so easily and so +effectually after him? There was something obscure and underhand about +all this, that was little to the young man's fancy. It looked like a +snare, and yet who could suppose a snare in such a quiet by-street and +in a house of so prosperous and even noble an exterior? And yet—snare +or no snare, intentionally or unintentionally—here he was, prettily +trapped; and for the life of him he could see no way out of it again. +The darkness began to weigh upon him. He gave ear; all was silent +without, but within and close by he seemed to catch a faint sighing, a +faint sobbing rustle, a little stealthy creak—as though many persons +were at his side, holding themselves quite still, and governing even +their respiration with the extreme of slyness. The idea went to his +vitals with a shock, and he faced about suddenly as if to defend his +life. Then, for the first time, he became aware of a light about the +level of his eyes and at some distance in the interior of the house—a +vertical thread of light, widening toward the bottom, such as might +escape between two wings of arras over a doorway. +</p> + +<p> +To see anything was a relief to Denis; it was like a piece of solid +ground to a man laboring in a morass; his mind seized upon it with +avidity; and he stood staring at it and trying to piece together some +logical conception of his surroundings. Plainly there was a flight of +steps ascending from his own level to that of this illuminated +doorway, and indeed he thought he could make out another thread of +light, as fine as a needle and as faint as phosphorescence, which +might very well be reflected along the polished wood of a handrail. +Since he had begun to suspect that he was not alone, his heart had +continued to beat with smothering violence, and an intolerable desire +for action of any sort had possessed itself of his spirit. He was in +deadly peril, he believed. What could be more natural than to mount +the staircase, lift the curtain, and confront his difficulty at once? +At least he would be dealing with something tangible; at least he +would be no longer in the dark. He stepped slowly forward with +outstretched hands, until his foot struck the bottom step; then he +rapidly scaled the stairs, stood for a moment to compose his +expression, lifted the arras and went in. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself in a large apartment of polished stone. There were +three doors, one on each of three sides, all similarly curtained with +tapestry. The fourth side was occupied by two large windows and a +great stone chimney-piece, carved with the arms of the Malétroits. +Denis recognized the bearings, and was gratified to find himself in +such good hands. The room was strongly illuminated; but it contained +little furniture except a heavy table and a chair or two; the hearth +was innocent of fire, and the pavement was but sparsely strewn with +rushes clearly many days old. +</p> + +<p> +On a high chair beside the chimney, and directly facing Denis as he +entered, sat a little old gentleman in a fur tippet. He sat with his +legs crossed and his hands folded, and a cup of spiced wine stood by +his elbow on a bracket on the wall. His countenance had a strong +masculine cast; not properly human, but such as we see in the bull, +the goat, or the domestic boar; something equivocal and wheedling, +something greedy, brutal and dangerous. The upper lip was inordinately +full, as though swollen by a blow or a toothache; and the smile, the +peaked eyebrows, and the small, strong eyes were quaintly and almost +comically evil in expression. Beautiful white hair hung straight all +round his head, like a saint's, and fell in a single curl upon the +tippet. His beard and mustache were the pink of venerable sweetness. +Age, probably in consequence of inordinate precautions, had left no +mark upon his hands; and the Malétroit hand was famous. It would be +difficult to imagine anything at once so fleshy and so delicate in +design; the taper, sensual fingers were like those of one of +Leonardo's[5] women; the fork of the thumb made a dimpled protuberance +when closed; the nails were perfectly shaped, and of a dead, +surprising whiteness. It rendered his aspect tenfold more redoubtable, +that a man with hands like these should keep them devoutly folded like +a virgin martyr—that a man with so intent and startling an expression +of face should sit patiently on his seat and contemplates people with +an unwinking stare, like a god, or a god's statue. His quiescence +seemed ironical and treacherous, it fitted so poorly with his looks. +</p> + +<p> +Such was Alain, Sire de Malétroit. +</p> + +<p> +Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second or two. +</p> + +<p> +"Pray step in," said the Sire de Malétroit. "I have been expecting you +all the evening." +</p> + +<p> +He had not risen, but he accompanied his words with a smile and a +slight but courteous inclination of the head. Partly from the smile, +partly from the strange musical murmur with which the sire prefaced +his observation, Denis felt a strong shudder of disgust go through his +marrow. And what with disgust and honest confusion of mind, he could +scarcely get words together in reply. +</p> + +<p> +"I fear," he said, "that this is a double accident. I am not the +person you suppose me. It seems you were looking for a visit; but for +my part, nothing was further from my thoughts—nothing could be more +contrary to my wishes—than this intrusion." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well," replied the old gentleman indulgently, "here you are, +which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put yourself +entirely at your ease. We shall arrange our little affairs presently." +</p> + +<p> +Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated with some +misconception, and he hastened to continue his explanation. +</p> + +<p> +"Your door," he began. +</p> + +<p> +"About my door?" asked the other raising his peaked eyebrows. "A +little piece of ingenuity." And he shrugged his shoulders. "A +hospitable fancy! By your own account, you were not desirous of making +any acquaintance. We old people look for such reluctance now and then; +when it touches our honor, we cast about until we find some way of +overcoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe me, very welcome." +</p> + +<p> +"You persist in error, sir," said Denis. "There can be no question +between you and me. I am a stranger in this countryside. My name is +Denis, damoiseau de Beaulieu. If you see me in your house it is +only—" +</p> + +<p> +"My young friend," interrupted the other, "you will permit me to have +my own ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours at the +present moment," he added with a leer, "but time will show which of us +is in the right." +</p> + +<p> +Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He seated himself +with a shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued, during +which he thought he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as of a +prayer from behind the arras immediately opposite him. Sometimes there +seemed to be but one person engaged, sometimes two; and the vehemence +of the voice, low as it was, seemed to indicate either great haste or +an agony of spirit. It occurred to him that this piece of tapestry +covered the entrance to the chapel he had noticed from without. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head to foot with a +smile, and from time to time emitted little noises like a bird or a +mouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction. This +state of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to put an +end to it, remarked politely that the wind had gone down. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so prolonged and +violent that he became quite red in the face. Denis got upon his feet +at once, and put on his hat with a flourish. +</p> + +<p> +"Sir," he said, "if you are in your wits, you have affronted me +grossly. If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find better +employment for my brains than to talk with lunatics. My conscience is +clear; you have made a fool of me from the first moment; you have +refused to hear my explanations; and now there is no power under God +will make me stay here any longer; and if I cannot make my way out in +a more decent fashion, I will hack your door in pieces with my sword." +</p> + +<p> +The Sire de Malétroit raised his right hand and wagged it at Denis +with the fore and little fingers extended. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear nephew," he said, "sit down." +</p> + +<p> +"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat;" and he snapped his +fingers in his face. +</p> + +<p> +"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old gentleman, in a sudden, harsh +voice like the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy," he went on, "that +when I had made my little contrivance for the door I had stopped short +with that? If you prefer to be bound hand and foot till your bones +ache, rise and try to go away. If you choose to remain a free young +buck, agreeably conversing with an old gentleman—why, sit where you +are in peace, and God be with you." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean, I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis. +</p> + +<p> +"I state the facts," replied the other. "I would rather leave the +conclusion to yourself." +</p> + +<p> +Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pretty calm, but +within, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with apprehension. +He no longer felt convinced that he was dealing with a madman. And if +the old gentleman was sane, what, in God's name, had he to look for? +What absurd or tragical adventure had befallen him? What countenance +was he to assume? +</p> + +<p> +While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that overhung the +chapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his robes came forth, +and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in an +undertone to Sire de Malétroit. +</p> + +<p> +"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter. +</p> + +<p> +"She is more resigned, messire," replied the priest. +</p> + +<p> +"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to please!" sneered the old +gentleman. "A likely stripling—not ill-born—and of her own choosing, +too? Why, what more would the jade have?" +</p> + +<p> +"The situation is not usual for a young damsel," said the other, "and +somewhat trying to her blushes." +</p> + +<p> +"She should have thought of that before she began the dance! It was +none of my choosing, God knows that; but since she is in it, by our +Lady, she shall carry it to the end." And then addressing Denis, +"Monsieur de Beaulieu," he asked, "may I present you to my niece? She +has been waiting your arrival, I may say, with even greater impatience +than myself." +</p> + +<p> +Denis had resigned himself with a good grace—all he desired was to +know the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at once, and +bowed in acquiescence. The Sire de Malétroit followed his example and +limped, with the assistance of the chaplain's arm, toward the chapel +door. The priest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. The +building had considerable architectural pretensions. A light groining +sprang from six stout columns, and hung down in two rich pendants from +the centre of the vault. The place terminated behind the altar in a +round end, embossed and honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament in +relief, and pierced by many little windows shaped like stars, +trefoils, or wheels. These windows were imperfectly is glazed, so that +the night air circulated freely in the chapel. The tapers, of which +there must have been half a hundred burning on the altar, were +unmercifully blown about; and the light went through many different +phases of brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On the steps in front of the +altar knelt a young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settled +over Denis as he observed her costume; he fought with desperate energy +against the conclusion that was being thrust upon his mind; it could +not—it should not—be as he feared. +</p> + +<p> +"Blanche," said the sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I have +brought a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give him +your pretty hand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary to be +polite, my niece." +</p> + +<p> +The girl rose to her feet and turned toward the newcomers. She moved +all of a piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in every line +of her fresh young body; and she held her head down and kept her eyes +upon the pavement, as she came slowly forward. In the course of her +advance her eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet—feet of which he +was justly vain, be it remarked, and wore in the most elegant +accoutrement even while travelling. She paused—started, as if his +yellow boots had conveyed some shocking meaning—and glanced, suddenly +up into the wearer's countenance. Their eyes met; shame gave place to +horror and terror in her looks; the blood left her lips, with a +piercing scream she covered her face with her hands and sank upon, the +chapel floor. +</p> + +<p> +"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is not the man!" +</p> + +<p> +The Sire de Malétroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not," he said; "I +expected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember his +name." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till this +moment—I have never so much as set eyes upon him—I never wish to see +him again. Sir," she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman, +you will hear me out. Have I ever seen you—have you ever seen +me—before this accursed hour?" +</p> + +<p> +"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure," answered the +young man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with your +engaging niece." +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"I am distressed to hear it," he said. "But it is never too late to +begin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere I +married her; which proves," he added, with a grimace, "that these +impromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding in +the long run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I +will give him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceed +with the ceremony." And he turned toward the door, followed by the +clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be in +earnest," she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself rather +than be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbids +such marriages; you dishonor your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me! +There is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such a +nuptial. Is it possible," she added, faltering—"is it possible that +you do not believe me—that you still think this"—and she pointed at +Denis with a tremor of anger and contempt—"that you still think +<i>this</i> to be the man?" +</p> + +<p> +"Frankly," said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do. +But let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Malétroit, my way +of thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head to +dishonor my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, +for more than threescore years, you forfeited, not only the right to +question my designs, but that of looking me in the face. If your +father had been alive, he would have spat on you and turned you out of +doors. His was the hand of iron. You may bless your God you have only +to deal with the hand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to get +you married without delay. Out of pure goodwill, I have tried to find +your own gallant for you. And I believe I have succeeded. But before +God and all the holy angels, Blanche de Malétroit, if I have not, I +care not one jack-straw. So let me recommend you to be polite to our +young friend; for, upon my word, your next groom may be less +appetizing." +</p> + +<p> +And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his heels; and the +arras fell behind the pair. +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"And what, sir," she demanded, "may be the meaning of all this?" +</p> + +<p> +"God knows," returned Denis, gloomily, "I am a prisoner in this house, +which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and nothing do I +understand." +</p> + +<p> +"And pray how came you here?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest," he added, "perhaps +you will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all these +riddles, and what, in God's name, is like to be the end of it." +</p> + +<p> +She stood silent for a little, and lie could see her lips tremble and +her tearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she pressed her +forehead in both hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Alas, how my head aches!" she said, wearily—"to say nothing of my +poor heart! But it is due to you to know my story, unmaidenly as it +must seem. I am called Blanche de Malétroit; I have been without +father or mother for—oh! for as long as I can recollect, and indeed I +have been most unhappy all my life. Three months ago a young captain +began to stand near me every day in church. I could see that I pleased +him; I am much to blame, but I was so glad that any one should love +me; and when he passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read it +with great pleasure. Since that time he has written many. He was so +anxious to speak with me, poor fellow! and kept asking me to leave the +door open some evening that we might have two words upon the stair. +For he knew how much my uncle trusted me." She gave something like a +sob at that, and it was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle is +a hard man, but he is very shrewd," she said, at last. "He has +performed many feats in war, and was a great person at court, and much +trusted by Queen Isabeau in old days. How he came to suspect me I +cannot tell; but it is hard to keep anything from his knowledge; and +this morning, as we came from mass, he took my hand into his, forced +it open, and read my little billet, walking by my side all the while. +</p> + +<p> +"When he finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. It +contained another request to have the door left open; and this has +been the ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my room until +evening, and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me—a hard +mockery for a young girl, do you not think so? I suppose, when he +could not prevail with me to tell him the young captain's name, he +must have laid a trap for him; into which, alas! you have fallen in +the anger of God. I looked for much confusion; for how could I tell +whether he was willing to take me for his wife on these sharp terms? +He might have been trifling with me from the first; or I might have +made myself too cheap in his eyes. But truly I had not looked for such +a shameful punishment as this? I could not think that God would let a +girl be so disgraced before a young man. And now I tell you all; and I +can scarcely hope that you will not despise me." +</p> + +<p> +Denis made her a respectful inclination. +</p> + +<p> +"Madam," he said, "you have honored me by your confidence. It remains +for me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honor. Is Messire de +Malétroit at hand?" +</p> + +<p> +"I believe he is writing in the <i>salle[6]</i> without," she answered. +</p> + +<p> +"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering his hand with +his most courtly bearing. +</p> + +<p> +She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in a +very drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strutting and +raffling in the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish certainty +of accomplishing it with honor. +</p> + +<p> +The Sire Malétroit rose to meet them with an ironical obeisance. +</p> + +<p> +"Sir," said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I believe I am to +have some say in the matter of this marriage; and let me tell you at +once, I will be no party to forcing the inclination of this young +lady. Had it been freely offered to me, I should have been proud to +accept her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful; +but as things are, I have now the honor, messire, of refusing." +</p> + +<p> +Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but the old +gentleman only smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positively +sickening to Denis. +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid," he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do not +perfectly understand the choice I have offered you. Follow me, I +beseech you, to this window." And he led the way to one of the large +windows which stood open on the night. "You observe," he went on, +"there is an iron ring in the upper masonry, and reeved through that, +a very efficacious rope. Now, mark my words: if you should find your +disinclination to my niece's person insurmountable, I shall have you +hanged out of this window before sunrise. I shall only proceed to such +an extremity with the greatest regret, you may believe me. For it is +not at all your death that I desire, but my niece's establishment in +life. At the same time, it must come to that if you prove obstinate. +Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way; but if you +sprung from Charlemagne[7], you should not refuse the hand of a +Malétroit with impunity—not if she had been as common as the Paris +road—not if she was as hideous as the gargoyle over my door. Neither +my niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move me at all in this +matter. The honor of my house has been compromised; I believe you to +be the guilty person, at least you are now in the secret; and you can +hardly wonder if I request you to wipe out the stain. If you will not, +your blood be on your own head! It will be no great satisfaction to me +to have your interesting relics kicking their heels in the breeze +below my windows, but half a loaf is better than no bread, and if I +cannot cure the dishonor, I shall at least stop the scandal." +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbroglios among +gentlemen," said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear you have used it +with distinction." +</p> + +<p> +The Sire de Malétroit made a signal to the chaplain, who crossed the +room with long silent strides and raised the arras over the third of +the three doors. It was only a moment before he let it fall again; but +Denis had time to see a dusky passage full of armed men. +</p> + +<p> +"When I was a little younger, I should have been delighted to honor +you, Monsieur de Beaulieu," said Sire Alain: "but I am now too old. +Faithful retainers are the sinews of age, and I must employ the +strength I have. This is one of the hardest things to swallow as a man +grows up in years; but with a little patience, even this becomes +habitual. You and the lady seem to prefer the <i>salle</i> for what remains +of your two hours; and as I have no desire to cross your preference, I +shall resign it to your use with all the pleasure in the world. No +haste!" he added, holding up his hand, as he saw a dangerous look come +into Denis de Beaulieu's face. "If your mind revolt against hanging, +it will be time enough two hours hence to throw yourself out of the +window or upon the pikes of my retainers. Two hours of life are always +two hours. A great many things may turn up in even as little a while +as that. And, besides. If I understand her appearance, my niece has +something to say to you. You will not disfigure your last hours by a +want of politeness to a lady?" +</p> + +<p> +Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture. +</p> + +<p> +It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this symptom +of an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added sweetly: "If you +will give me your word of honor, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await my +return at the end of the two hours before attempting anything +desperate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and let you speak in greater +privacy with mademoiselle." +</p> + +<p> +Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech him to agree. +</p> + +<p> +"I give you my word of honor," he said. +</p> + +<p> +Messire de Malétroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about the apartment, +clearing his throat the while with that odd musical chirp which had +already grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de Bealieu. He first +possessed himself of some papers which lay upon the table; then he +went to the mouth of the passage and appeared to give an order to the +men behind the arras; and lastly he hobbled out through the door by +which Denis had come in, turning upon the threshold to address a last +smiling bow to the young couple, and followed by the chaplain with a +hand lamp. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced toward Denis with her +hands extended. Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes shone +with tears. +</p> + +<p> +"You shall not die!" she cried, "you shall marry me after all." +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to think, madam," replied Denis, "that I stand much in fear +of death." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, no," she said, "I see you are no poltroon[8]. It is for my +own sake—I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple." +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid," returned Denis, "that you underrate the difficulty, +madam. What you may be too generous to refuse, I may be too proud to +accept. In a moment of noble feeling toward me, you forget what you +perhaps owe to others." +</p> + +<p> +He had the decency to keep his eyes on the floor as he said this, and +after he had finished, so as not to spy upon her confusion. She stood +silent for a moment, then walked suddenly away, and falling on her +uncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was in the acme of +embarrassment. He looked round, as if to seek for inspiration, and, +seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something to do. There he +sat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and wishing himself dead a +thousand times over, and buried in the nastiest kitchen-heap in +France. His eyes wandered round the apartment, but found nothing to +arrest them. There were such wide spaces between the furniture, the +light fell so badly and cheerlessly over all, the dark outside air +looked in so coldly through the windows, that he thought he had never +seen a church so vast, nor a tomb so melancholy. The regular sobs of +Blanche de Malétroit measured out the time like the ticking of a +clock. He read the device upon the shield over and over again, until +his eyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners until he +imagined they were swarming with horrible animals; and every now and +again he awoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours were +running, and death was on the march. +</p> + +<p> +Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance settle on the +girl herself. Her face was bowed forward and covered with her hands, +and she was shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccough of grief. +Even thus she was not an unpleasant object to dwell upon, so plump and +yet so fine, with a warm brown skin, and the most beautiful hair, +Denis thought, in the whole world of womankind. Her hands were like +her uncle's: but they were more in place at the end of her young arms, +and looked infinitely soft and caressing. He remembered how her blue +eyes had shone upon him, full of anger, pity, and innocence. And the +more he dwelt on her perfections, the uglier death looked, and the +more deeply was he smitten with penitence at her continued tears. Now +he felt that no man could have the courage to leave a world which +contained so beautiful a creature; and now he would have given forty +minutes of his last hour to have unsaid his cruel speech. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to their ears from +the dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise in the +silence of all around was like a light in a dark place, and shook them +both out of their reflections. +</p> + +<p> +"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, looking up. +</p> + +<p> +"Madam," replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I have said +anything to wound you, believe me, it was for your own sake and not +for mine." +</p> + +<p> +She thanked him with a tearful look. +</p> + +<p> +"I feel your position cruelly," he went on. "The world has been +bitter, hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe me, +madam, there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad of +my opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service." +</p> + +<p> +"I know already that you can be very brave and generous," she +answered. "What I <i>want</i> to know is whether I can serve you—now or +afterward," she added, with a quaver. +</p> + +<p> +"Most certainly," he answered, with a smile. "Let me sit beside you as +if I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget how +awkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments go +pleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible." +</p> + +<p> +"You are very gallant," she added, with a yet deeper sadness—"very +gallant—and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if you please; and +if you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of a +very friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu," she broke +forth—"ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" And +she fell to weeping again with a renewed effusion. +</p> + +<p> +"Madam," said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on the +little time I have before me, and the great bitterness into which I am +cast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, the +spectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life." +</p> + +<p> +"I am very selfish," answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur de +Beaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness in the +future—if you have no friends to whom I could carry your adieux. +Charge me as heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by so +little, the invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to do +something more for you than weep." +</p> + +<p> +"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. My +brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in error, that +will content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapor that +passeth away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in +a fair way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself +to make a very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies to +him; the trumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he rides +into town before his company; he receives many assurances of trust and +regard—sometimes by express in a letter—sometimes face to face, with +persons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderful +if his head is turned for a time. But once he is dead, were he as +brave as Hercules[9] or as wise as Solomon[10], he is soon forgotten. +It is not ten years since my father fell, with many other knights +around him, in a very fierce encounter, and I do not think that any +one of them, nor so much as the name of the fight, is now remembered. +No, no, madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark +and dusty corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut +after him till the judgment day. I have few friends just now, and once +I am dead I shall have none." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget Blanche de +Malétroit." +</p> + +<p> +"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased to estimate a +little service far beyond its worth." +</p> + +<p> +"It is not that," she answered. "You mistake me if you think I am +easily touched by my own concerns. I say so because you are the +noblest man I have ever met; because I recognize in you a spirit that +would have made even a common person famous in the land." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet here I die in a mousetrap—with no more noise about it than +my own squeaking," answered he. +</p> + +<p> +A look of pain crossed her face and she was silent for a little while. +Then a light came into her eyes, and with a smile she spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot have my champion think meanly of himself. Any one who gives +his life for another will be met in paradise by all the heralds and +angels of the Lord God. And you have no such cause to hang your head. +For—Pray, do you think me beautiful?" she asked, with a deep flush. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, madam, I do," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad of that," she answered heartily. "Do you think there are +many men in France who have been asked in marriage by a beautiful +maiden—with her own lips—and who have refused her to her face? I +know you men would half despise such a triumph; but believe me, we +women know more of what is precious in love. There is nothing that +should set a person higher in his own esteem; and we women would prize +nothing more dearly." +</p> + +<p> +"You are very good," he said; "but you cannot make me forget that I +was asked in pity and not for love." +</p> + +<p> +"I am not so sure of that," she replied, holding down her head. "Hear +me to an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know how you must despise me; I +feel you are right to do so; I am too poor a creature to occupy one +thought of your mind, although, alas! you must die for me this +morning. But when I asked you to marry me, indeed, and indeed, it was +because I respected and admired you, and loved you with my whole soul, +from the very moment that you took my part against my uncle. If you +had seen yourself, and how noble you looked, you would pity rather +than despise me. And now," she went on, hurriedly checking him with +her hand, "although I have laid aside all reserve and told you so +much, remember that I know your sentiments toward me already. I would +not, believe me, being nobly born, weary you with importunities into +consent. I too have a pride of my own: and I declare before the holy +mother of God, if you should now go back from your word already given, +I would no more marry you than I would marry my uncle's groom." +</p> + +<p> +Denis smiled a little bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a small love," he said, "that shies at a little pride." +</p> + +<p> +She made no answer, although she probably had her own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +"Come hither to the window," he said with a sigh. "Here is the dawn." +</p> + +<p> +And indeed the dawn was already beginning. The hollow of the sky was +full of essential daylight, colorless and clean; and the valley +underneath was flooded with a gray reflection. A few thin vapors clung +in the coves of the forest or lay along the winding course of the +river. The scene disengaged a surprising effect of stillness, which +was hardly interrupted when the cocks began once more to crow among +the steadings[11]. Perhaps the same fellow who had made so horrid a +clangor in the darkness not half an hour before, now sent up the +merriest cheer to greet the coming day. A little wind went bustling +and eddying among the tree-tops underneath the windows. And still the +daylight kept flooding insensibly out of the east, which was soon to +grow incandescent and cast up that red-hot cannon-ball, the rising +sun. +</p> + +<p> +Denis looked out over all this with a bit of a shiver. He had taken +her hand, and retained it in his almost unconsciously. +</p> + +<p> +"Has the day begun already?" she said; and then illogically enough: +"the night has been so long! Alas! what shall we say to my uncle when +he returns?" +</p> + +<p> +"What you will," said Denis, and he pressed her fingers in his. +</p> + +<p> +She was silent. +</p> + +<p> +"Blanche," he said, with a swift, uncertain, passionate utterance, +"you have seen whether I fear death. You must know well enough that I +would as gladly leap out of that window into the empty air as to lay a +finger on you without your free and full consent. But if you care for +me at all do not let me lose my life in a misapprehension; for I love +you better than the whole world; and though I will die for you +blithely, it would be like all the joys of Paradise to live on and +spend my life in your service." +</p> + +<p> +As he stopped speaking, a bell began to ring loudly in the interior of +the house; and a clatter of armor in the corridor showed that the +retainers were returning to their post, and the two hours were at an +end. +</p> + +<p> +"After all that you have heard?" she whispered, leaning toward him +with her lips and eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I have heard nothing," he replied. +</p> + +<p> +"The captain's name was Florimond de Champdivers," she said in his +ear. +</p> + +<p> +"I did not hear it," he answered, taking her supple body in his arms, +and covered her wet face with kisses. +</p> + +<p> +A melodious chirping was audible behind, followed by a beautiful +chuckle, and the voice of Messire de Malétroit wished his new nephew a +good morning. +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] Published in 1878. Acknowledgment is due to the Charles Scribner's +Sons Company, Publishers, for the use of the text of their edition of +Stevenson's works. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 207:18 bartizan. A small overhanging turret with loop-holes and +embrasures projecting from the parapet of a medieval building. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 208:1 gargoyles. Mouths of spouts, in antic shapes. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 209:30 debouched. Passed out. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 212:29 Leonardo. (1452-1519.) A famous Italian painter, architect, +sculptor, scientist, engineer, mechanician, and musician. +</p> + +<p> +[6] 222:7 salle. French word for hall or room. +</p> + +<p> +[7] 223:13 Charlemagne. (742 or 747-814.) A great king of the Franks +and emperor of the Romans. +</p> + +<p> +[8] 225:25 poltroon. A coward, a dastard. +</p> + +<p> +[9] 229:12 Hercules. A mighty hero in Greek and Roman mythology. +</p> + +<p> +[10] 229:13 Solomon. Son of David. King of Israel, 993-953 B.C. +</p> + +<p> +[11] 231: 26 steadings. A farmstead—barns, stables, cattle-sheds, +etc. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHY</h4> + +<p> +Robert Louis Stevenson was born November 13, 1850, in Edinburgh. He +was an only child. On his mother's side he came from a line of Scotch +philosophers and ministers; on his father's, from a line of active +workers and scientists. His grandfather, Robert Stevenson, and his +father, Thomas Stevenson, gained world-wide reputations in +engineering. +</p> + +<p> +Robert inherited from his mother throat and lung troubles. His health +was very poor from his birth and his life was preserved only by the +careful watchfulness of his mother and his devoted nurse, Alison +Cunningham. As a child he was very lovable and possessed a very active +imagination. +</p> + +<p> +He went to school in Edinburgh between the years 1858-1867. He first +attended a preparatory school, then the Edinburgh academy. He spent +considerable time at his maternal grandfather's home. It was there +that he first tasted the delights of romance. In his school work he +was none too studious, but all his teachers were charmed by his +pleasing manner and general intelligence. Though an idler in other +things, he worked constantly on the art of writing. Throughout his +study in Edinburgh University and his unsuccessful efforts in +engineering and the practice of law, literature became more and more a +passion with him. +</p> + +<p> +The period between 1875 and 1879 was one of improved health and +considerable literary activity. During this time he published <i>A +Lodging for the Night, Will o' the Mill, The New Arabian Nights</i>, and +an <i>Inland Voyage</i>. +</p> + +<p> +While in southern Europe he met and fell in love with Mrs. Osbourne. +So after she returned to her home in California, Stevenson received +the news that she was seriously ill. He immediately sailed for San +Francisco, travelling as a steerage passenger because of lack of funds +and a desire for literary material. Out of this experience grew a +number of stories and essays. Exposure on the voyage affected his +health and caused a very dangerous illness. After his recovery he +married Mrs. Osbourne and returned to England with his wife and +stepson. +</p> + +<p> +For a few years his work was more or less spasmodic on account of his +bitter struggle with poor health, in 1883 he achieved success by the +publication of <i>Treasure Island</i>. <i>Markheim</i> appeared in 1884. +<i>Kidnapped</i> and <i>Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde</i> were published in 1886. +</p> + +<p> +After the death of his father in 1887, Stevenson and his family sailed +to America, where they settled in the Adirondacks for the winter of +1888. Here his health was good and he wrote a number of essays for +<i>Scribner's Magazine</i>. In the spring of the same year they started on +a cruise of the south seas. They visited many of the southern islands +and settled at Vailima, Samoa. Stevenson was interested in the Samoaas +and took an active part in their political affairs. The tropical +climate agreed with him and his creative power was renewed. He wrote a +number of short stories, a series of letters on the South Seas, and +the novel <i>David Balfour</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Political reverses and failing strength took away for a time his power +to write. He was again stimulated, however, by the love and +appreciation of his Samoan followers, and started on what promised to +be his period of highest achievement. This promise was soon blighted +by his untimely death from a stroke of apoplexy, December 13, 1894. He +was buried in Samoa. +</p> + +<h4>BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Life of Robert Louis Stevenson</i>, 2 vols., Graham Balfour. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i>, Isobel Strong. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Memories and Portraits</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Friends on the Shelf</i>, Bradford Torrey. +</p> + +<p> +"Personal Recollections," Edmund Gosse, <i>Century Magazine</i>, 50:447. +</p> + +<p> +"Character Sketch," <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, 89:89-99. +</p> + +<p> +"The Real Stevenson," <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, 85:702-5. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Bibliography of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson</i>, W.F. +Prideaux. +</p> + +<h4>CRITICISMS</h4> + +<p> +Fundamentally Stevenson's style is marked by a conscious aim to +entertain. His engaging humor, free of all affectation, +sentimentality, and exaggeration, is spontaneous and natural. His most +original writing is <i>The Child's Garden of Verses</i>. His touch is light +and his thought is clear and lucid. <i>Across the Plains</i> is written in +his most straightforward and natural style. +</p> + +<p> +Stevenson was a careful writer, doing with great skill any established +piece of art. He practised diligently, and gained, as he himself +states, his high rank by constantly drilling himself in the art of +writing. This imitation of form to the point of perfection, rather +than an expression of a great and moving idea, gives an air of +insincerity to some of Stevenson's works. Yet, although seemingly +artificial, he never chose words for the sake of mere sounds, but for +their accuracy in truth and fitness. He was as an ephemeral shadow +with an optimistic and real spirit. He infused an intimacy and +spirituality into his writings that prove delightful to all his +readers. +</p> + +<p> +The subject of Markheim, a man failing through weakness, was a +favorite topic for Stevenson. Markheim is almost an ideal specimen of +the impressionistic short-story. It has a plot in which Hawthorne +might justly have revelled, a treatment as intellectual as that of +Poe, descriptions not unlike those of Flaubert's, and a moral ending +true to the Puritanic type. The movement of the story is swift and +possesses perfect unity. The surprise at the end comes as a shock +although the author has consistently and logically constructed his +plot. +</p> + +<h4>GENERAL REFERENCES</h4> + +<p> +<i>Emerson and Other Essays</i>, John Jay Chapman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i>, L. Cope Cornford. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Modern Novelists</i>, William Lyon Phelps. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Makers of English Fiction</i>, W.J. Dawson. +</p> + +<p> +"Art of Stevenson," <i>North American Review</i>, 171: 348-358. +</p> + +<p> +"Criticism," <i>Dial</i>, 30:345. May 18, 1901. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Suicide Club (New Arabian Nights)</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Story of the Physician and the Saratoga Trunk</i>, Robert Louis +Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Adventure of the Hansom Cab</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Rajah's Diamond</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Story of the House with the Green Blinds</i>, Robert Louis +Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Adventure of Prince Florizel and the Detective</i>, Robert Louis +Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Lodging for the Night</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson, +</p> + +<p> +<i>Providence and the Guitar</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>In the Valley</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>With the Children of Israel</i>, Robert Louis Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Lotus and the Cockleburrs</i>, "O. Henry." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Two Bites at a Cherry</i>, Thomas Bailey Aldrich. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Notary of Perigueux</i>, Henry W. Longfellow. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>MARKHEIM[1]</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)</i> +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the dealer, "our windfalls[2] are of various kinds. Some +customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend[3] on my superior +knowledge. Some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle, so +that the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he +continued, "I profit by my virtue." +</p> + +<p> +Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes +had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the +shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the +flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. +</p> + +<p> +The dealer chuckled. "You come to me on Christmas Day," he resumed, +"when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and +make a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for +that; you will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be +balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides; for a kind of +manner that I remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of +discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannot +look me in the eye, he has to pay for it." The dealer once more +chuckled; and then, changing to his usual business voice, though still +with a note of irony, "You can give, as usual, a clear account of how +you came into the possession of the object?" he continued. "Still your +uncle's cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir!" +</p> + +<p> +And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tiptoe, +looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with +every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of +infinite pity, and a touch of horror. +</p> + +<p> +"This time," said he, "you are in error. I have not come to sell, but +to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to +the wainscot: even were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock +Exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my +errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek, a Christmas present for a +lady," he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech +he had prepared; "and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus +disturbing you upon so small a matter. But the thing was neglected +yesterday; I must produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you +very well know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected." +</p> + +<p> +There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh this +statement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curious +lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near +thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, sir," said the dealer, "be it so. You are an old customer after +all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, far +be it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady, +now," he went on, "this hand glass—fifteenth century, warranted; +comes from a good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the +interests of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, +the nephew and sole heir of a remarkable collector." +</p> + +<p> +The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had +stooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, +a shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, +a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as +swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of +the hand that now received the glass. +</p> + +<p> +"A glass," he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more +clearly. "A glass? For Christmas? Surely not." +</p> + +<p> +"And why not?" cried the dealer. "Why not a glass?" +</p> + +<p> +Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. "You ask +me why not?" he said. "Why, look here—look in it—look at yourself! +Do you like to see it? No! nor I—nor any man." +</p> + +<p> +The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly +confronted him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing +worse on hand, he chuckled. "Your future lady, sir, must be pretty +hard favored," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"I ask you," said Markheim, "for a Christmas present, and you give me +this—this damned reminder of years and sins and follies—this +hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tell +me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself, +I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?" +</p> + +<p> +The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheim +did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like an +eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you driving at?" the dealer asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Not charitable?" returned the other, gloomily. "Not charitable; not +pious; not scrupulous; unloving; unbeloved; a hand to get money, a +safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?" +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell you what it is," began the dealer, with some sharpness, +and then broke off again into a chuckle. "But I see this is a love +match of yours, and you have been drinking the lady's health." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity, "Ah, have you been in +love? Tell me about that." +</p> + +<p> +"I!" cried the dealer. "I in love! I never had the time, nor have I +the time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?" +</p> + +<p> +"Where is the hurry?" returned Markheim. "It is very pleasant to stand +here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurry +away from any pleasure—no, not even from so mild a one as this. We +should, rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a +cliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it—a cliff a +mile high—high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of +humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each +other; why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who +knows, we might become friends?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have just one word to say to you," said the dealer. "Either make +your purchase, or walk out of my shop." +</p> + +<p> +"True, true," said Markheim. "Enough fooling. To business. Show me +something else." +</p> + +<p> +The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon the +shelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. +Markheim moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his +greatcoat; he drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time +many different emotions were depicted together on his face—terror, +horror, and resolve, fascination, and a physical repulsion; and +through a haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out. +</p> + +<p> +"This, perhaps, may suit," observed the dealer; and then, as he began +to re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, +skewer-like[4] dagger flashed and fell. The dealer straggled like a +hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor +in a heap. +</p> + +<p> +Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and +slow as was becoming to their great age, others garrulous and hurried. +All these told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. +Then the passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, +broke in upon these smaller voices and startled Markheim into the +consciousness of his surroundings. He looked about him awfully. The +candle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; +and by that inconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled with +noiseless bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows +nodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as with +respiration, the faces of the portraits and the china gods changing +and wavering like images in water. The inner door stood ajar, and +peered into that leaguer[5] of shadows with a long slit of daylight +like a pointing finger. +</p> + +<p> +From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes returned to the body +of his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incredibly +small and strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly +clothes, in that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much +sawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And +yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began +to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was none to work the +cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion—there it must lie +till it was found. Found! aye, and then? Then would this dead flesh +lift up a cry that would ring over England, and fill the world with +the echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. +"Time was that when the brains were out[6]," he thought; and the +first word struck into his mind. Time, now that the deed was +accomplished—time, which had dosed for the victim, had become +instant and momentous for the slayer. +</p> + +<p> +The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, +with every variety of pace and voice—one deep as the bell from a +cathedral turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a +waltz—the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggered +him. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, +beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance +reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home designs, some from +Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it were +an army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound of +his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. And +still as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him, with +a sickening iteration[7], of the thousand faults of his design. He +should have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an +alibi; he should not have used a knife; he should have been more +cautious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he +should have been more bold, and killed the servant also; he should +have done all things otherwise; poignant regrets, weary, incessant +toiling of the mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was +now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, +and behind all this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of +rats in a deserted attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain +with riot; the hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, +and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in +galloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black +coffin. Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind +like a besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some +rumor of the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge +their curiosity; and now, in all the neighboring houses, he divined +them sitting motionless and with uplifted ear—solitary people, +condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, +and now startlingly recalled from that tender exercise: happy family +parties, struck into silence round the table, the mother still with +raised finger; every degree and age and humor, but all, by their own +hearths, prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang +him. Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; the +clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and +alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the +clocks. And then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, the +very silence of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing to +strike and freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, and +bustle aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with +elaborate bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his own +house. +</p> + +<p> +But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while one +portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on +the brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a strong +hold on his credulity. The neighbor hearkening with white face beside +his window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on the +pavement—these could at worst suspect, they could not know; through +the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. But +here, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched +the servant set forth sweethearting, in her poor best, "out for the +day" written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; +and yet, in the bulk of empty house about him, he could surely hear +a stir of delicate footing—he was surely conscious, inexplicably +conscious, of some presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner +of the house his imagination followed it; and now it was a faceless +thing, and yet had eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of +himself; and yet again behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired +with cunning and hatred. +</p> + +<p> +At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door which +still seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight small +and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to +the ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the +threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, +did there not hang wavering a shadow? +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to +beat with a staff on the shop door, accompanying his blows with shouts +and railleries[8] in which the dealer was continually called upon by +name. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he +lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows +and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, +which would once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, +had become an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desisted +from his knocking and departed. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth +from, this accusing neighborhood, to plunge into a bath of London +multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of +safety and apparent, innocence—-his bed. One visitor had come: at +any moment it another might follow and be more obstinate. To have +done the deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent +a failure. The money, that was now Markheim's concern: and as a means +to that, the keys. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow was +still lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of the +mind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his +victim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suit +half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on +the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy and +inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more significance +to the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and turned it on its +back. It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had +been broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all +expression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with +blood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing +circumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain fair +day in a fishers' village: a gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the +street, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of +a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in the +crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon +the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen +with pictures, dismally designed, garishly[9] colored: Brownrigg[10] +with her apprentice; the Mannings[11] with their murdered guest; Weare +in the death grip of Thurtell[12]; and a score besides of famous +crimes. The thing was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that +little boy; he was looking once again, and with the same sense of +physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the +thumping of the drums. A bar of that day's music returned upon his +memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a +breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must +instantly resist and conquer. +</p> + +<p> +He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these +considerations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending his +mind to realize the nature and greatness of his crime. So little a +while ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that +pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable +energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had been +arrested, as the horologist[13], with interjected finger, arrests the +beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more +remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before +the painted effigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, +he felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all +those faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one +who had never lived and who was now dead. But of penitence, no, not a +tremor. +</p> + +<p> +With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the +keys and advanced toward the open door of the shop. Outside, it had +begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof had +banished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house +were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled +with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, +he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of +another foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated +loosely on the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon his +muscles, and drew back the door. +</p> + +<p> +The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and +stairs; on the bright suit of armor posted, halbert in hand, upon the +landing; and on the dark wood carvings and framed pictures that hung +against the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of +the rain through all the house that, in Markheim's ears, it began to +be distinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the +tread of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in the +counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to +mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of +the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him +to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by +presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, +he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a +great effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and +followed stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how +tranquilly he would possess his soul! And then again, and hearkening +with ever fresh attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense +which held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His +head turned continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting +from their orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half +rewarded as with the tail of something nameless vanishing. The +four-and-twenty steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. +</p> + +<p> +On that first story the doors stood ajar, three of them like three +ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could +never again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men's +observing eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among +bed-clothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought he +wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear +they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, at +least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callous +and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence of +his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious +terror, some scission[14] in the continuity of man's experience, some +wilful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on +the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as +the defeated tyrant overthrew the chessboard, should break the mould +of their succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) +when the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might +befall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal +his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might +yield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch; +aye, and there were soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, for +instance, the house should fall and imprison him beside the body of +his victim; or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen +invade him from all sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, +these things might be called the hands of God reached forth against +sin. But about God himself he was at ease; his act was doubtless +exceptional, but so were his excuses, which God knew; it was there, +and not among men, that he felt sure of justice. +</p> + +<p> +When he got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, +he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, +uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases and incongruous +furniture; several great pier glasses, in which he beheld himself at +various angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed and +unframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine Sheraton[15] +sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry[16], and a great old bed, with +tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good +fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this +concealed him from the neighbors. Here, then, Markheim drew in a +packing case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. +It was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome, +besides; for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and +time was on the wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. +With the tail of his eye he saw the door—even glanced at it from time +to time directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the good +estate of his defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling +in the street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other +side, the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and +the voices of many children took up the air and words. How stately, +how comfortable was the melody! How fresh the youthful voices! +Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and his +mind was thronged with answerable ideas and images; church-going +children and the pealing of the high organ; children afield, bathers +by the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite-flyers in the +windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another cadence of the +hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of summer Sundays, and +the high, genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little to +recall), and the painted Jacobean[17] tombs, and the dim lettering of +the Ten Commandments in the chancel. +</p> + +<p> +And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his +feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, went +over him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted +the stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the +knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. +</p> + +<p> +Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether the +dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some +chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But +when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, +looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, and +then withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke +loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the +visitant returned. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you call me?" he asked pleasantly, and with that he entered the +room, and closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was a +film upon his sight, but the outlines of the newcomer seemed to change +and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candlelight of the +shop: and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he +bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, +there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the +earth and not of God. +</p> + +<p> +And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood +looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: "You are looking +for the money, I believe?" it was in the tones of everyday politeness. +</p> + +<p> +Markheim made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +"I should warn you," resumed the other, "that the maid has left her +sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim +be found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences." +</p> + +<p> +"You know me?" cried the murderer. +</p> + +<p> +The visitor smiled. "You have long been a favorite of mine," he said; +"and I have long observed and often sought to help you." +</p> + +<p> +"What are you?" cried Markheim: "the devil?" +</p> + +<p> +"What I may be," returned the other, "cannot affect the service I +propose to render you." +</p> + +<p> +"It can," cried Markheim; "it does! Be helped by you? No, never; not +by you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know you," replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or +rather firmness. "I know you to the soul." +</p> + +<p> +"Know me!" cried Markheim. "Who can do so? My life is but a +travesty[18] and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. +All men do; all men are better than this disguise that grows about and +stifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos +have seized and muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control—if +you could see their faces, they would be altogether different, they +would shine out for heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself is +more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, +I could disclose myself." +</p> + +<p> +"To me?" inquired the visitant. +</p> + +<p> +"To you before all," returned the murderer. "I supposed you were +intelligent. I thought—since you exist—you would prove a reader of +the heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of +it; my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants +have dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother—the +giants of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you +not look within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? +Can you not see within me the clear writing of conscience, never +blurred by any wilful sophistry[19] although too often disregarded? +Can you not read me for a thing that surely must be common as +humanity—the unwilling sinner?" +</p> + +<p> +"All this is very feelingly expressed," was the reply, "but it regards +me not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I care +not in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, so +as you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the +servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures +on the hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it +is as if the gallows itself were striding toward you through the +Christmas streets! Shall I help you—I, who know all? Shall I tell you +where to find the money?" +</p> + +<p> +"For what price?" asked Markheim. +</p> + +<p> +"I offer you the service for a Christmas gift," returned the other. +</p> + +<p> +Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph, +"No," said he, "I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying of +thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should +find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing +to commit myself to evil." +</p> + +<p> +"I have no objection to a death-bed repentance," observed the +visitant. +</p> + +<p> +"Because you disbelieve their efficacy[20]!" Markheim cried. +</p> + +<p> +"I do not say so," returned the other; "but I look on these things +from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. +The man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under color of +religion, or to sow tares[21] in the wheat field, as you do, in a +course of weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near to +his deliverance, he can add but one act of service—to repent, to die +smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous +of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Accept +my help. Please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; please +yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the +night begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for +your greater comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound your +quarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. +I came but now from such a death-bed, and the room was full of sincere +mourners, listening to the man's last words; and when I looked into +that face, which had been set as a flint against mercy, I found it +smiling with hope." +</p> + +<p> +"And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?" asked Markheim. "Do +you think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, +and sin, and, at last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the +thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because +you find me with red hands that you presume such baseness? and is this +crime of murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of +good?" +</p> + +<p> +"Murder is to me no special category[22]," replied the other. "All +sins are murder, even all life is war. I behold your race, like +starving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of +famine and feeding on each other's lives. I follow sins beyond the +moment of their acting; I find in all that the last consequence is +death; and to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with +such taking graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with +human gore than such a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow +sins? I follow virtues also; they differ not by the thickness of a +nail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for +which I live, consists not in action but in character. The bad man is +dear to me; not the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far +enough down the hurtling[23] cataract of the ages, might yet be found +more blessed than those of the rarest virtues. And it is not because +you have killed a dealer, but because you are Markheim, that I offered +to forward your escape." +</p> + +<p> +"I will lay my heart open to you," answered Markheim. "This crime on +which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned many +lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been +driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bondslave to poverty, +driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in these +temptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, +and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches—both the power +and a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor +in the world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the +agents of good, this heart at peace. Some thing comes over me out of +the past; something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the +sound of the church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over +noble books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies +my life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my city +of destination." +</p> + +<p> +"You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?" remarked +the visitor; "and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost some +thousands?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," said Markheim, "but this time I have a sure thing." +</p> + +<p> +"This time, again, you will lose," replied the visitor, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, but I keep back the half!" cried Markheim. +</p> + +<p> +"That also you will lose," said the other. +</p> + +<p> +The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. "Well, then, what matter?" he +exclaimed. "Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall +one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override +the better? Evil and good ran strong in me, hailing me both ways. I do +not love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, +renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as +murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows +their trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I +love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth +but I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, +and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the +mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts." +</p> + +<p> +But the visitant raised his finger. "For six-and-thirty years that you +have been in this world," said he, "through many changes of fortune +and varieties of humor, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen +years ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back you +would have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is +there any cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil?—five +years from now I shall detect you in the fact! Downward, downward lies +your way; nor can anything but death avail to stop you." +</p> + +<p> +"It is true," Markheim said huskily, "I have in some degree complied +with evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere +exercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their +surroundings." +</p> + +<p> +"I will propound to you one simple question," said the other; "and as +you answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grown +in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at any +account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in +any one particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with +your own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?" +</p> + +<p> +"In any one?" repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. +"No," he added, with despair, "in none! I have gone down in all." +</p> + +<p> +"Then," said the visitor, "content yourself with what you are, for you +will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are +irrevocably written down." +</p> + +<p> +Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitor +who first broke the silence. "That being so," he said, "shall I show +you the money?" +</p> + +<p> +"And grace?" cried Markheim. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you not tried it?" returned the other. "Two or three years ago, +did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not +your voice the loudest in the hymn?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is true," said Markheim; "and I see clearly what remains for me by +way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes are +opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am." +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the +house; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for +which he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanor. +</p> + +<p> +"The maid!" he cried. "She has returned, as I forewarned you, and +there is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you +must say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather +serious countenance—no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you +success! Once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity +that has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last +danger in your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening—the +whole night, if needful—to ransack the treasures of the house and to +make good your safety. This is help that comes to you with the mask of +danger. Up!" he cried: "up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the +scales: up, and act!" +</p> + +<p> +Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. "If I be condemned to evil +acts," he said, "there is still one door of freedom open—I can cease +from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I +be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can +yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. +My love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! +But I have still my hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling +disappointment, you shall see that I can draw both energy and +courage." +</p> + +<p> +The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely +change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph; and, even +as they brightened, faded and dislimned[24]. But Markheim did not +pause to watch or understand the transformation. He opened the door +and went downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went +soberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like +a dream, random as chance-medley—a scene of defeat. Life, as he +thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the farther side he +perceived a quiet haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and +looked into the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. +It was strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, +as he stood gazing. And then the bell once more broke out into +impatient clamor. +</p> + +<p> +He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"You had better go for the police," said he: "I have killed your +master." +</p> + +<h4>NOTES</h4> + +<p> +[1] Written in 1884. This story is used by permission of and special +arrangement with the Charles Scribner's Sons Company, Publishers. +</p> + +<p> +[2] 237:1 windfalls. Unexpected gains. +</p> + +<p> +[3] 237:3 dividend. His knowledge a business asset that draws +interest. +</p> + +<p> +[4] 241:22 skewer-like. Like a wooden pin now used to fasten meat. +</p> + +<p> +[5] 242:11 leaguer. Place besieged with shadows. +</p> + +<p> +[6] 242:27 Time was that when the brains were out. See Macbeth, Act +III, sc. 4, line 78. +</p> + +<p> +[7] 243:16 iteration. Repetition. +</p> + +<p> +[8] 246:25 railleries. Merry jesting or ridicule. +</p> + +<p> +[9] 247:7 garishly. A blinding, gaudy effect. +</p> + +<p> +[10] 247:7 Brownrigg. A notorious murderess living in England in the +middle of the eighteenth century. She was hanged and her skeleton is +still preserved. +</p> + +<p> +[11] 247:8 Mannings. Marie Manning and her husband murdered a former +suitor. They were given, a death sentence. +</p> + +<p> +[12] 247:9 Thurtell. A gambler who quarrelled with Weare and killed +him after he had professed peace. He designed his own gallows. +</p> + +<p> +[13] 247:25 horologist. One who makes timepieces. +</p> + +<p> +[14] 249:27 scission. A cleaving or a dividing. +</p> + +<p> +[15] 250:25 Sheraton. Next to Chippendale the greatest furniture +designer and cabinet-maker. +</p> + +<p> +[16] 250:25 marquetry. An inlay of some thin material in the surface +of a piece of furniture or other object. +</p> + +<p> +[17] 251:23 Jacobean. Pertaining to the time of James I of England. +</p> + +<p> +[18] 253:12 travesty. A grotesque imitation. +</p> + +<p> +[19] 254:3 sophistry. Methods of the Greek sophists. +</p> + +<p> +[20] 254:29 efficacy. Effective energy. +</p> + +<p> +[21] 255:5 sow tares, etc. See Matthew XII, 24-30. +</p> + +<p> +[22] 255:29 category. A class, condition, or predicament. +</p> + +<p> +[23] 256:14 hurtling. Rushing headlong or confusedly. +</p> + +<p> +[24] 280:10 dislimned. Erased or effaced. +</p> + +<h4>COLLATERAL READINGS</h4> + +<p> +<i>Treasure Island</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Kidnapped</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prince Otto</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Across the Plains</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Travels with a Donkey</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>An Inland Voyage</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Essays on Burns and Thoreau</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Virginibus Puerisque</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Child's Garden of Verses</i>, R.L. Stevenson. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Masque of the Red Death</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Pit and the Pendulum</i>, Edgar Allan Poe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Coward</i>, Guy de Maupassant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Substitute</i>, François Coppée. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Revolt of Mother</i>, Mary Wilkins Freeman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Flute and Violin</i>, James Lane Alien. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Lear of the Steppes</i>, Ivan Turgeneff. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rappacini's Daughter</i>, Nathaniel Hawthorne. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12732 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + |