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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe

Volume 1 of the Raven Edition

April, 2000  [Etext #2147]


The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Works of Edgar Allan Poe V. 1
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[Redactor's note: This is the Project Gutenberg "Raven" edition of
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The Raven Edition

THE WORKS OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE

IN FIVE VOLUMES




VOLUME I  Contents

Edgar Allan Poe, An Appreciation
Life of Poe, by James Russell Lowell
Death of Poe, by N. P. Willis
The Unparalled Adventures of One Hans Pfall
The Gold Bug
Four Beasts in One
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
The Mystery of Marie RogΩt
The Balloon Hoax
MS. Found in a Bottle
The Oval Portrait




EDGAR ALLAN POE

AN APPRECIATION


Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
      Of "never--never more!"

THIS stanza from "The Raven" was recommended by James Russell Lowell
as an inscription upon the Baltimore monument which marks the resting
place of Edgar Allan Poe, the most interesting and original figure in
American letters. And, to signify that peculiar musical quality of
Poe's genius which inthralls every reader, Mr. Lowell suggested this
additional verse, from the "Haunted Palace":

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
 Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
 And sparkling ever more,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
 Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
 The wit and wisdom of their king.


Born in poverty at Boston, January 19 1809, dying under painful
circumstances at Baltimore, October 7, 1849, his whole literary
career of scarcely fifteen years a pitiful struggle for mere
subsistence, his memory malignantly misrepresented by his earliest
biographer, Griswold, how completely has truth at last routed
falsehood and how magnificently has Poe come into his own, For "The
Raven," first published in 1845, and, within a few months, read,
recited and parodied wherever the English language was spoken, the
half-starved poet received $10! Less than a year later his brother
poet, N. P. Willis, issued this touching appeal to the admirers of
genius on behalf of the neglected author, his dying wife and her
devoted mother, then living under very straitened circumstances in a
little cottage at Fordham, N. Y.:

"Here is one of the finest scholars, one of the most original men of
genius, and one of the most industrious of the literary profession of
our country, whose temporary suspension of labor, from bodily
illness, drops him immediately to a level with the common objects of
public charity. There is no intermediate stopping-place, no
respectful shelter, where, with the delicacy due to genius and
culture, be might secure aid, till, with returning health, he would
resume his labors, and his unmortified sense of independence."

And this was the tribute paid by the American public to the master
who had given to it such tales of conjuring charm, of witchery and
mystery as "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "Ligea; such
fascinating hoaxes as "The Unparalleled Adventure of Hans Pfaall,"
"MSS. Found in a Bottle," "A Descent Into a Maelstrom" and "The
Balloon Hoax"; such tales of conscience as "William Wilson," "The
Black Cat" and "The Tell-tale Heart," wherein the retributions of
remorse are portrayed with an awful fidelity; such tales of natural
beauty as "The Island of the Fay" and "The Domain of Arnheim"; such
marvellous studies in ratiocination as the "Gold-bug," "The Murders
in the Rue Morgue," "The Purloined Letter" and "The Mystery of Marie
Roget," the latter, a recital of fact, demonstrating the author's
wonderful capability of correctly analyzing the mysteries of the
human mind; such tales of illusion and banter as "The Premature
Burial" and "The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether"; such bits
of extravaganza as "The Devil in the Belfry" and "The Angel of the
Odd"; such tales of adventure as "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon
Pym"; such papers of keen criticism and review as won for Poe the
enthusiastic admiration of Charles Dickens, although they made him
many enemies among the over-puffed minor American writers so
mercilessly exposed by him; such poems of beauty and melody as "The
Bells," "The Haunted Palace," "Tamerlane," "The City in the Sea" and
"The Raven." What delight for the jaded senses of the reader is this
enchanted domain of wonder-pieces! What an atmosphere of beauty,
music, color! What resources of imagination, construction, analysis
and absolute art! One might almost sympathize with Sarah Helen
Whitman, who, confessing to a half faith in the old superstition of
the significance of anagrams, found, in the transposed letters of
Edgar Poe's name, the words "a God-peer." His mind, she says, was
indeed a "Haunted Palace," echoing to the footfalls of angels and
demons.

"No man," Poe himself wrote, "has recorded, no man has dared to
record, the wonders of his inner life."

In these twentieth century days -of lavish recognition-artistic,
popular and material-of genius, what rewards might not a Poe claim!

Edgar's father, a son of General David Poe, the American
revolutionary patriot and friend of Lafayette, had married Mrs.
Hopkins, an English actress, and, the match meeting with parental
disapproval, had himself taken to the stage as a profession.
Notwithstanding Mrs. Poe's beauty and talent the young couple had a
sorry struggle for existence. When Edgar, at the age of two years,
was orphaned, the family was in the utmost destitution. Apparently
the future poet was to be cast upon the world homeless and
friendless. But fate decreed that a few glimmers of sunshine were to
illumine his life, for the little fellow was adopted by John Allan, a
wealthy merchant of Richmond, Va. A brother and sister, the remaining
children, were cared for by others.

In his new home Edgar found all the luxury and advantages money could
provide. He was petted, spoiled and shown off to strangers. In Mrs.
Allan he found all the affection a childless wife could bestow. Mr.
Allan took much pride in the captivating, precocious lad. At the age
of five the boy recited, with fine effect, passages of English poetry
to the visitors at the Allan house.

From his eighth to his thirteenth year he attended the Manor House
school, at Stoke-Newington, a suburb of London. It was the Rev. Dr.
Bransby, head of the school, whom Poe so quaintly portrayed in
"William Wilson." Returning to Richmond in 1820 Edgar was sent to the
school of Professor Joseph H. Clarke. He proved an apt pupil. Years
afterward Professor Clarke thus wrote:

"While the other boys wrote mere mechanical verses, Poe wrote genuine
poetry; the boy was a born poet. As a scholar he was ambitious to
excel. He was remarkable for self-respect, without haughtiness. He
had a sensitive and tender heart and would do anything for a friend.
His nature was entirely free from selfishness."

At the age of seventeen Poe entered the University of Virginia at
Charlottesville. He left that institution after one session. Official
records prove that he was not expelled. On the contrary, he gained a
creditable record as a student, although it is admitted that he
contracted debts and had "an ungovernable passion for card-playing."
These debts may have led to his quarrel with Mr. Allan which
eventually compelled him to make his own way in the world.

Early in 1827 Poe made his first literary venture. He induced Calvin
Thomas, a poor and youthful printer, to publish a small volume of his
verses under the title "Tamerlane and Other Poems." In 1829 we find
Poe in Baltimore with another manuscript volume of verses, which was
soon published. Its title was "Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Other Poems."
Neither of these ventures seems to have attracted much attention.

Soon after Mrs. Allan's death, which occurred in 1829, Poe, through
the aid of Mr. Allan, secured admission to the United States Military
Academy at West Point. Any glamour which may have attached to cadet
life in Poe's eyes was speedily lost, for discipline at West Point
was never so severe nor were the accommodations ever so poor. Poe's
bent was more and more toward literature. Life at the academy daily
became increasingly distasteful. Soon he began to purposely neglect
his studies and to disregard his duties, his aim being to secure his
dismissal from the United States service. In this he succeeded. On
March 7, 1831, Poe found himself free. Mr. Allan's second marriage
had thrown the lad on his own resources. His literary career was to
begin.

Poe's first genuine victory was won in 1833, when .he was the
successful competitor for a prize of $100 offered by a Baltimore
periodical for the best prose story. "A MSS. Found in a Bottle" was
the winning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a volume. "Our
only difficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "was in
selecting from the rich contents of the volume."

During the fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connected with
various newspapers and magazines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New
York. He was faithful, punctual, industrious, thorough. N. P. Willis,
who for some time employed Poe as critic and sub-editor on the
"Evening Mirror," wrote thus:

"With the highest admiration for Poe's genius, and a willingness to
let it alone for more than ordinary irregularity, we were led by
common report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties,
and occasionally a scene of violence and difficulty. Time went on,
however, and he was invariably punctual and industrious. We saw but
one presentiment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious and most
gentlemanly person.

"We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in all
mention of his lamentable irregularities), that with a single glass
of wine his whole nature was reversed, the demon became 'uppermost,
and, though none of the usual signs of in

Poe's first genuine victory was won in 1833, when he was the
successful competitor for a prize of $100 offered by a Baltimore
periodical for the best prose story. "A MSS. Found in a Bottle" was
the winning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a volume. "Our
only difficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "was in
selecting from the rich contents of the volume."

During the fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connected with
various newspapers and magazines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New
York. He was faithful, punctual, industrious, thorough. N. P. Willis,
who for some time employed Poe as critic and sub-editor on the
"Evening Mirror," wrote thus:

"With the highest admiration for Poe's genius, and a willingness to
let it alone for more than ordinary irregularity, we were led by
common report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties,
and occasionally a scene of violence and difficulty. Time went on,
however, and he was invariably punctual and industrious. We saw but
one presentiment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious and most
gentlemanly person;

"We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in all
mention of his lamentable irregularities), that with a single glass
of wine his whole nature was reversed, the demon became uppermost,
and, though none of the usual signs of intoxication were visible, his
will was palpably insane. In this reversed character, we repeat, it
was never our chance to meet him."

On September 22, 1835, Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, in
Baltimore. She had barely turned thirteen years, Poe himself was but
twentysix. He then was a resident of Richmond and a regular
contributor to the "Southern Literary Messenger." It was not until a
year later that the bride and her widowed mother followed him thither.

Poe's devotion to his cbild-wife was one of the most beautiful
features of his life. Many of his famous poetic productions were
inspired by her beauty and charm. Consumption had marked her for its
victim, and the constant efforts of husband and mother were to secure
for her all the comfort and happiness their slender means permitted.
Virginia died January 30, 1847, when but twenty-five years of age. A
friend of the family pictures the death-bed scene-mother and husband
trying to impart warmth to her by chafing her hands and her feet,
while her pet cat was suffered to nestle upon her bosom for the sake
of added warmth.

These verses from "Annabel Lee," written by Poe in 1849, the last
year of his life, tell of his sorrow at the loss of his child-wife:

I was a child and _she_ was a child,
 In a kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with _a _love that was more than love-
  I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
 Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago;
 In this kingdom by the sea.
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
 My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her high-born kinsmen came
 And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
 In this kingdom by the sea,


Poe was connected at various times and in various capacities with the
"Southern Literary Messenger" in Richmond, Va.; "Graham's Magazine"
and the "Gentleman's Magazine" in Philadelphia.; the "Evening
Mirror," the "Broadway journal," and "Godey's Lady's Book" in New
York. Everywhere Poe's life was one of unremitting toil. No tales and
poems were ever produced at a greater cost of brain and spirit.

Poe's initial salary with the "Southern Literary Messenger," to which
he contributed the first drafts of a number of his best-known tales,
was $10 a week! Two years later his salary was but $600 a year. Even
in 1844, when his literary reputation was established securely, he
wrote to a friend expressing his pleasure because a magazine to which
he was to contribute had agreed to pay him $20 monthly for two pages
of criticism.

Those were discouraging times in American literature, but Poe never
lost faith. He was finally to triumph wherever pre-eminent talents
win admirers. His genius has had no better description than in this
stanza from William Winter's poem, read at the dedication exercises
of the Actors' Monument to Poe, May 4, 1885, in New York:

He was the voice of beauty and of woe,
Passion and mystery and the dread unknown;
Pure as the mountains of perpetual snow,
Cold as the icy winds that round them moan,
Dark as the eaves wherein earth's thunders groan,
Wild as the tempests of the upper sky,
Sweet as the faint, far-off celestial tone of angel
    whispers, fluttering from on high,
And tender as love's tear when youth and beauty die.


In the two and a half score years that have elapsed since Poe's death
he has come fully into his own. For a while Griswold's malignant
misrepresentations colored the public estimate of Poe as man and as
writer. But, thanks to J. H. Ingram, W. F. Gill, Eugene Didier, Sarah
Helen Whitman and others these scandals have been dispelled and Poe
is seen as he actually was-not as a man without failings, it is true,
but as the finest and most original genius in American letters. As
the years go on his fame increases. His works have been translated
into many foreign languages. His is a household name in France and
England-in fact, the latter nation has often uttered the reproach
that Poe's own country has been slow to appreciate him. But that
reproach, if it ever was warranted, certainly is untrue.

                                     W. H. R.

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

==========

EDGAR ALLAN POE{*1}

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL


THE situation of American literature is anomalous. It has no centre,
or, if it have, it is like that of the sphere of Hermes. It is,
divided into many systems, each revolving round its several suns, and
often presenting to the rest only the faint glimmer of a
milk-and-water way. Our capital city, unlike London or Paris, is not
a great central heart from which life and vigor radiate to the
extremities, but resembles more an isolated umbilicus stuck down as
near a's may be to the centre of the land, and seeming rather to tell
a legend of former usefulness than to serve any present need. Boston,
New York, Philadelphia, each has its literature almost more distinct
than those of the different dialects of Germany; and the Young Queen
of the West has also one of her own, of which some articulate rumor
barely has reached us dwellers by the Atlantic.

Perhaps there is no task more difficult than the just criticism of
contemporary literature. It is even more grateful to give praise
where it is needed than where it is deserved, and friendship so often
seduces the iron stylus of justice into a vague flourish, that she
writes what seems rather like an epitaph than a criticism. Yet if
praise be given as an alms, we could not drop so poisonous a one into
any man's hat. The critic's ink may suffer equally from too large an
infusion of nutgalls or of sugar. But it is easier to be generous
than to be just, and we might readily put faith in that fabulous
direction to the hiding place of truth, did we judge from the amount
of water which we usually find mixed with it.

Remarkable experiences are usually confined to the inner life of
imaginative men, but Mr. Poe's biography displays a vicissitude and
peculiarity of interest such as is rarely met with. The offspring of
a romantic marriage, and left an orphan at an early age, he was
adopted by Mr. Allan, a wealthy Virginian, whose barren marriage-bed
seemed the warranty of a large estate to the young poet.

Having received a classical education in England, he returned home
and entered the University of Virginia, where, after an extravagant
course, followed by reformation at the last extremity, he was
graduated with the highest honors of his class. Then came a boyish
attempt to join the fortunes of the insurgent Greeks, which ended at
St. Petersburg, where he got into difficulties through want of a
passport, from which he was rescued by the American consul and sent
home. He now entered the military academy at West Point, from which
he obtained a dismissal on hearing of the birth of a son to his
adopted father, by a second marriage, an event which cut off his
expectations as an heir. The death of Mr. Allan, in whose will his
name was not mentioned, soon after relieved him of all doubt in this
regard, and he committed himself at once to authorship for a support.
Previously to this, however, he had published (in 1827) a small
volume of poems, which soon ran through three editions, and excited
high expectations of its author's future distinction in the minds of
many competent judges.

That no certain augury can be drawn from a poet's earliest lispings
there are instances enough to prove. Shakespeare's first poems,
though brimful of vigor and youth and picturesqueness, give but a
very faint promise of the directness, condensation and overflowing
moral of his maturer works. Perhaps, however, Shakespeare is hardly a
case in point, his "Venus and Adonis" having been published, we
believe, in his twenty-sixth year. Milton's Latin verses show
tenderness, a fine eye for nature, and a delicate appreciation of
classic models, .but give no hint of the author of a new style in
poetry. Pope's youthful pieces have all the sing-song, wholly
unrelieved by the glittering malignity and eloquent irreligion of his
later productions. Collins' callow namby-pamby died and gave no sign
of the vigorous and original genius which he afterward displayed. We
have never thought that the world lost more in the "marvellous boy,"
Chatterton, than a very ingenious imitator of obscure and antiquated
dulness. Where he becomes original (as it is called), the interest of
ingenuity ceases and he becomes stupid. Kirke White's promises were
indorsed by the respectable name of Mr. Southey, but surely with no
authority from Apollo. They have the merit of a traditional piety,
which to our mind, if uttered at all, had been less objectionable in
the retired closet of a diary, and in the sober raiment of prose.
They do not clutch hold of the memory with

the drowning pertinacity of Watts; neither have they the interest of
his occasional simple, lucky beauty. Burns having fortunately been
rescued by his humble station from the contaminating society of the
"Best models," wrote well and naturally from the first. Had he been
unfortunate enough to have had an educated taste, we should have had
a series of poems from which, as from his letters, we could sift here
and there a kernel from the mass of chaff. Coleridge's youthful
efforts give no promise whatever of that poetical genius which
produced at once the wildest, tenderest, most original and most
purely imaginative poems of modem times. Byron's "Hours of Idleness"
would never find a reader except from an intrepid and indefatigable
curiosity. In Wordsworth's first preludings there is but a dim
foreboding of the creator of an era. From Southey's early poems, a
safer augury might have been drawn. They show the patient
investigator, the close student of history, and the unwearied
explorer of the beauties of predecessors, but they give no assurances
of a man who should add aught to stock of household words, or to the
rarer and more sacred delights of the fireside or the arbor. The
earliest specimens of Shelley's poetic mind already, also, give
tokens of that ethereal sublimation in which the spirit seems to soar
above the regions of words, but leaves its body, the verse, to be
entombed, without hope of resurrection, in a mass of them. Cowley is
generally instanced as a wonder of precocity. But his early
insipidities show only a capacity for rhyming and for the metrical
arrangement of certain conventional combinations of words, a capacity
wholly dependent on a delicate physical organization, and an unhappy
memory. An early poem is only remarkable when it displays an effort
of _reason, _and the rudest verses in which we can trace some
conception of the ends of poetry, are worth all the miracles of
smooth juvenile versification. A school-boy, one would say, might
acquire the regular see-saw of Pope merely by an association with the
motion of the play-ground tilt.

Mr. Poe's early productions show that he could see through the verse
to the spirit beneath, and that he already had a feeling that all the
life and grace of the one must depend on and be modulated by the will
of the other. We call them the most remarkable boyish poems that we
have ever read. We know of none that can compare with them for
maturity of purpose, and a nice understanding of the effects of
language and metre. Such pieces are only valuable when they display
what we can only express by the contradictory phrase of _innate
experience. _We copy one of the shorter poems, written when the
author was only fourteen. There is a little dimness in the filling
up, but the grace and symmetry of the outline are such as few poets
ever attain. There is a smack of ambrosia about it.

TO HELEN

Helen, thy beauty is to me
  Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
  The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
  Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
  To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
  How statue-like I see thee stand!
The agate lamp within thy hand,
  Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land !


It is the tendency of_ _the young poet that impresses us. Here is no
"withering scorn," no heart "blighted" ere it has safely got into its
teens, none of the drawing-room sansculottism which Byron had brought
into vogue. All is limpid and serene, with a pleasant dash of the
Greek Helicon in it. The melody of the whole, too, is remarkable. It
is not of that kind which can be demonstrated arithmetically upon the
tips of the fingers. It is of that finer sort which the inner ear
alone _can _estimate. It seems simple, like a Greek column, because
of its perfection. In a poem named "Ligeia," under which title he
intended to personify the music of nature,, our boy-poet gives us the
following exquisite picture:

  Ligeia ! Ligeia !
My beautiful one,
  Whose harshest idea
Will to melody run,
  Say, is it thy will,
On the breezes to toss,
  Or, capriciously still,
Like the lone albatross,
  Incumbent on night,
As she on the air,
  To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?

John Neal, himself a man of genius, and whose lyre has been too
long capriciously silent, appreciated the high merit of these and
similar passages, and drew a proud horoscope for their author.

Mr. Poe had that indescribable something which men have agreed to
call _genius. _No man could ever tell us precisely what it is, and
yet there is none who is not inevitably aware of its presence and its
power. Let talent writhe and contort itself as it may, it has no such
magnetism. Larger of bone and sinew it may be, but the wings are
wanting. Talent sticks fast to earth, and its most perfect works have
still one- foot of clay. Genius claims kindred with the very workings
of Nature herself, so that a sunset shall seem like a quotation from
Dante, and if Shakespeare be read in the very presence of the sea
itself, his verses shall but seem nobler for the sublime criticism of
ocean. Talent may make friends for itself, but only genius can give
to its creations the divine power of winning love and veneration.
Enthusiasm cannot cling to what itself is unenthusiastic, nor will he
ever have disciples who has not himself impulsive zeal enough to be a
disciple. Great wits are allied to madness only inasmuch as they are
possessed and carried away by their demon, While talent keeps him, as
Paracelsus did, securely prisoned in the pommel of his sword. To the
eye of genius, the veil of the spiritual world is ever rent asunder
that it may perceive the ministers of good and evil who throng
continually around it. No man of mere talent ever flung his inkstand
at the devil.

When we say that Mr. Poe had genius, we do not mean to say that he
has produced evidence of the highest. But to say that he possesses it
at all is to say that he needs only zeal, industry, and a reverence
for the trust reposed in him, to achieve the proudest triumphs and
the greenest laurels. If we may believe the Longinuses; and
Aristotles of our newspapers, we have quite too many geniuses of the
loftiest order to render a place among them at all desirable, whether
for its hardness of attainment or its seclusion. The highest peak of
our Parnassus is, according to these gentlemen, by far the most
thickly settled portion of the country, a circumstance which must
make it an uncomfortable residence for individuals of a poetical
temperament, if love of solitude be, as immemorial tradition asserts,
a necessary part of their idiosyncrasy.

Mr. Poe has two of the prime qualities of genius, a faculty of
vigorous yet minute analysis, and a wonderful fecundity of
imagination. The first of these faculties is as needful to the artist
in words, as a knowledge of anatomy is to the artist in colors or in
stone. This enables him to conceive truly, to maintain a proper
relation of parts, and to draw a correct outline, while the second
groups, fills up and colors. Both of these Mr. Poe has displayed with
singular distinctness in his prose works, the last predominating in
his earlier tales, and the first in his later ones. In judging of the
merit of an author, and assigning him his niche among our household
gods, we have a right to regard him from our own point of view, and
to measure him by our own standard. But, in estimating the amount of
power displayed in his works, we must be governed by his own design,
and placing them by the side of his own ideal, find how much is
wanting. We differ from Mr. Poe in his opinions of the objects of
art. He esteems that object to be the creation of Beauty, and perhaps
it is only in the definition of that word that we disagree with him.
But in what we shall say of his writings, we shall take his own
standard as our guide. The temple of the god of song is equally.
accessible from every side, and there is room enough in it for all
who bring offerings, or seek in oracle.

In his tales, Mr. Poe has chosen to exhibit his power chiefly in that
dim region which stretches from the very utmost limits of the
probable into the weird confines of superstition and unreality. He
combines in a very remarkable manner two faculties which are seldom
found united; a power of influencing the mind of the reader by the
impalpable shadows of mystery, and a minuteness of detail which does
not leave a pin or a button unnoticed. Both are, in truth, the
natural results of the predominating quality of his mind, to which we
have before alluded, analysis. It is this which distinguishes the
artist. His mind at once reaches forward to the effect to be
produced. Having resolved to bring about certain emotions in the
reader, he makes all subordinate parts tend strictly to the common
centre. Even his mystery is mathematical to his own mind. To him X is
a known quantity all along. In any picture that he paints he
understands the chemical properties of all his colors. However vague
some of his figures may seem, however formless the shadows, to him
the outline is as clear and distinct as that of a geometrical
diagram. For this reason Mr. Poe has no sympathy with Mysticism. The
Mystic dwells in the mystery, is enveloped with it; it colors all his
thoughts; it affects his optic nerve especially, and the commonest
things get a rainbow edging from it. Mr. Poe, on the other hand, is a
spectator _ab extra. _He analyzes, he dissects, he watches

   "with an eye serene,

The very pulse of the machine,"


for such it practically is to him, with wheels and cogs and
piston-rods, all working to produce a certain end.

This analyzing tendency of his mind balances the poetical, and by
giving him the patience to be minute, enables him to throw a
wonderful reality into his most unreal fancies. A monomania he paints
with great power. He loves to dissect one of these cancers of the
mind, and to trace all the subtle ramifications of its roots. In
raising images of horror, also, he has strange success, conveying to
us sometimes by a dusky hint some terrible _doubt _which is the
secret of all horror. He leaves to imagination the task of finishing
the picture, a task to which only she is competent.

"For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear
Grasped in an armed hand; himself behind
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind."

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

His style is highly finished, graceful and truly classical. It would
be hard to find a living author who had displayed such varied powers.
As an example of his style we would refer to one of his tales, "The
House of Usher," in the first volume of his "Tales of the Grotesque
and Arabesque." It has a singular charm for us, and we think that no
one could read it without being strongly moved by its serene and
sombre beauty. Had its author written nothing else, it would alone
have been enough to stamp him as a man of genius, and the master of a
classic style. In this tale occurs, perhaps, the most beautiful of
his poems.

The great masters of imagination have seldom resorted to the vague
and the unreal as sources of effect. They have not used dread and
horror alone, but only in combination with other qualities, as means
of subjugating the fancies of their readers. The loftiest muse has
ever a household and fireside charm about her. Mr. Poe's secret lies
mainly in the skill with which he has employed the strange
fascination of mystery and terror. In this his success is so great
and striking as to deserve the name of art, not artifice. We cannot
call his materials the noblest or purest, but we must concede to him
the highest merit of construction.

As a critic, Mr. Poe was aesthetically deficient. Unerring in his
analysis of dictions, metres and plots, he seemed wanting in the
faculty of perceiving the profounder ethics of art. His criticisms
are, however, distinguished for scientific precision and coherence of
logic. They have the exactness, and at the same time, the coldness of
mathematical demonstrations. Yet they stand in strikingly refreshing
contrast with the vague generalisms and sharp personalities of the
day. If deficient in warmth, they are also without the heat of
partisanship. They are especially valuable as illustrating the great
truth, too generally overlooked, that analytic power is a subordinate
quality of the critic.

On the whole, it may be considered certain that Mr. Poe has attained
an individual eminence in our literature which he will keep. He has
given proof of power and originality. He has done that which could
only be done once with success or safety, and the imitation or
repetition of which would produce weariness.

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

======

DEATH OF EDGAR A. POE

BY N. P. WILLIS


THE ancient fable of two antagonistic spirits imprisoned in one body,
equally powerful and having the complete mastery by turns-of one man,
that is to say, inhabited by both a devil and an angel seems to have
been realized, if all we hear is true, in the character of the
extraordinary man whose name we have written above. Our own
impression of the nature of Edgar A. Poe, differs in some important
degree, however, from that which has been generally conveyed in the
notices of his death. Let us, before telling what we personally know
of him, copy a graphic and highly finished portraiture, from the pen
of Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, which appeared in a recent number of the
"Tribune:"{*1}

"Edgar Allen Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore on Sunday, October
7th. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by
it. The poet was known, personally or by reputation, in all this
country; he had readers in England and in several of the states of
Continental Europe; but he had few or no friends; and the regrets for
his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in
him literary art has lost one of its most brilliant but erratic stars.

"His conversation was at times almost supramortal in its eloquence.
His voice was modulated with astonishing skill, and his large and
variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tumult into
theirs who listened, while his own face glowed, or was changeless in
pallor, as his imagination quickened his blood or drew it back frozen
to his heart. His imagery was from the worlds which no mortals can
see but with the vision of genius. Suddenly starting from a
proposition, exactly and sharply defined, in terms of utmost
simplicity and clearness, he rejected the forms of customary logic,
and by a crystalline process of accretion, built up his ocular
demonstrations in forms of gloomiest and ghastliest grandeur, or in
those of the most airy and delicious beauty, so minutely and
distinctly, yet so rapidly, that the attention which was yielded to
him was chained till it stood among his wonderful creations, till he
himself dissolved the spell, and brought his hearers back to common
and base existence, by vulgar fancies or exhibitions of the ignoblest
passion.

"He was at all times a dreamer-dwelling in ideal realms-in heaven or
hell-peopled with the creatures and the accidents of his brain. He
walked-the streets, in madness or melancholy, with lips moving in
indistinct curses, or with eyes upturned in passionate prayer (never
for himself, for he felt, or professed to feel, that he was already
damned, but) for their happiness who at the moment were objects of
his idolatry; or with his glances introverted to a heart gnawed with
anguish, and with a face shrouded in gloom, he would brave the
wildest storms, and all night, with drenched garments and arms
beating the winds and rains, would speak as if the spirits that at
such times only could be evoked by him from the Aidenn, close by
whose portals his disturbed soul sought to forget the ills to which
his constitution subjected him---close by the Aidenn where were those
he loved-the Aidenn which he might never see, but in fitful glimpses,
as its gates opened to receive the less fiery and more happy natures
whose destiny to sin did not involve the doom of death.

"He seemed, except when some fitful pursuit subjugated his will and
engrossed his faculties, always to bear the memory of some
controlling sorrow. The remarkable poem of 'The Raven' was probably
much more nearly than has been supposed, even by those who were very
intimate with him, a reflection and an echo of his own history. _He
_was that bird's

" ' unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
     Of 'Never-never more.'


"Every genuine author in a greater or less degree leaves in his
works, whatever their design, traces of his personal character:
elements of his immortal being, in which the individual survives the
person. While we read the pages of the 'Fall of the House of Usher,'
or of 'Mesmeric Revelations,' we see in the solemn and stately gloom
which invests one, and in the subtle metaphysical analysis of both,
indications of the idiosyncrasies of what was most remarkable and
peculiar in the author's intellectual nature. But we see here only
the better phases of his nature, only the symbols of his juster
action, for his harsh experience had deprived him of all faith in man
or woman. He had made up his mind upon the numberless complexities of
the social world, and the whole system with him was an imposture.
This conviction gave a direction to his shrewd and naturally
unamiable character. Still, though he regarded society as composed
altogether of villains, the sharpness of his intellect was not of
that kind which enabled him to cope with villany, while it
continually caused him by overshots to fail of the success of
honesty. He was in many respects like Francis Vivian in Bulwer's
novel of 'The Caxtons.' Passion, in him, comprehended -many of the
worst emotions which militate against human happiness. You could not
contradict him, but you raised quick choler; you could not speak of
wealth, but his cheek paled with gnawing envy. The astonishing
natural advantages of this poor boy--his beauty, his readiness, the
daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere--had
raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arrogance that
turned his very claims to admiration into prejudices against him.
Irascible, envious--bad enough, but not the worst, for these salient
angles were all varnished over with a cold, repellant cynicism, his
passions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed to him no moral
susceptibility; and, what was more remarkable in a proud nature,
little or nothing of the true point of honor. He had, to a morbid
excess, that, desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambition, but
no wish for the esteem or the love of his species; only the hard wish
to succeed-not shine, not serve -succeed, that he might have the
right to despise a world which galled his self-conceit.

"We have suggested the influence of his aims and vicissitudes upon
his literature. It was more conspicuous in his later than in his
earlier writings. Nearly all that he wrote in the last two or three
years-including much of his best poetry-was in some sense
biographical; in draperies of his imagination, those who had taken
the trouble to trace his steps, could perceive, but slightly
concealed, the figure of himself."

Apropos of the disparaging portion of the above well-written sketch,
let us truthfully say:

Some four or five years since, when editing a daily paper in this
city, Mr. Poe was employed by us, for several months, as critic and
sub-editor. This was our first personal acquaintance with him. He
resided with his wife and mother at Fordham, a few miles out of town,
but was at his desk in the office, from nine in the morning till the
evening paper went to press. With the highest admiration for his
genius, and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordinary
irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a very
capricious attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of
violence and difficulty. Time went on, however, and he was invariably
punctual and industrious. With his pale, beautiful, and intellectual
face, as a reminder of what genius was in him, it was impossible, of
course, not to treat him always with deferential courtesy, and, to
our occasional request that he would not probe too deep in a
criticism, or that he would erase a passage colored too highly with
his resentments against society and mankind, he readily and
courteously assented-far more yielding than most men, we thought, on
points so excusably sensitive. With a prospect of taking the lead in
another periodical, he, at last, voluntarily gave up his employment
with us, and, through all this considerable period, we had seen but
one presentment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious, and most
gentlemanly person, commanding the utmost respect and good feeling by
his unvarying deportment and ability.

Residing as he did in the country, we never met Mr. Poe in hours of
leisure; but he frequently called on us afterward at our place of
business, and we met him often in the street-invariably the same sad
mannered, winning and refined gentleman , such as we had always known
him. It was by rumor only, up to the day of his death, that we knew
of any other development of manner or character. We heard, from one
who knew him well (what should be stated in all mention of his
lamentable irregularities), that, with a single glass of wine, his
whole nature was reversed, the demon became uppermost, and, though
none of the usual signs of intoxication were visible, his will was
palpably insane. Possessing his reasoning faculties in excited
activity, at such times, and seeking his acquaintances with his
wonted look and memory, he easily seemed personating only another
phase of his natural character, and was accused, accordingly, of
insulting arrogance and bad-heartedness. In this reversed character,
we repeat, it was never our chance to see him. We know it from
hearsay, and we mention it in connection with this sad infirmity of
physical constitution; which puts it upon very nearly the ground of a
temporary and almost irresponsible insanity.

The arrogance, vanity, and depravity of heart, of which Mr. Poe was
generally accused, seem to us referable altogether to this reversed
phase of his character. Under that degree of intoxication which only
acted upon him by demonizing his sense of truth and right, he
doubtless said and did much that was wholly irreconcilable with his
better nature; but, when himself, and as we knew him only, his
modesty and unaffected humility, as to his own deservings, were a
constant charm to his character. His letters, of which the constant
application for autographs has taken from us, we are sorry to
confess, the greater portion, exhibited this quality very strongly.
In one of the carelessly written notes of which we chance still to
retain possession, for instance, he speaks of "The Raven"--that
extraordinary poem which electrified the world of imaginative
readers, and has become the type of a school of poetry of its
own-and, in evident earnest, attributes its success to the few words
of commendation with which we had prefaced it in this paper. -It will
throw light on his sane character to give a literal copy of the note:

                                  "FORDHAM, April 20, 1849


"My DEAR WILLIS--The poem which I inclose, and which I am so vain as
to hope you will like, in some respects, has been just published in a
paper for which sheer necessity compels me to write, now and then. It
pays well as times go-but unquestionably it ought to pay ten prices;
for whatever I send it I feel I am consigning to the tomb of the
Capulets. The verses accompanying this, may I beg you to take out of
the tomb, and bring them to light in the 'Home journal?' If you can
oblige me so far as to copy them, I do not think it will be necessary
to say 'From the ----, that would be too bad; and, perhaps, 'From a
late ---- paper,' would do.

"I have not forgotten how a 'good word in season' from you made 'The
Raven,' and made 'Ulalume' (which by-the-way, people have done me the
honor of attributing to you), therefore, I would ask you (if I dared)
to say something of these lines if they please you.

                      "Truly yours ever,

                        "EDGAR A. POE."


In double proof of his earnest disposition to do the best for
himself, and of the trustful and grateful nature which has been
denied him, we give another of the only three of his notes which we
chance to retain :

                          "FORDHAM, January 22, 1848.


"My DEAR MR. WILLiS-I am about to make an effort at re-establishing
myself in the literary world, and _feel _that I may depend upon your
aid.

"My general aim is to start a Magazine, to be called 'The Stylus,'
but it would be useless to me, even when established, if not entirely
out of the control of a publisher. I mean, therefore, to get up a
journal which shall be _my own_ at all points. With this end in view,
I must get a list of at least five hundred subscribers to begin with;
nearly two hundred I have already. I propose, however, to go South
and West, among my personal and literary friends--old college and
West Point acquaintances -and see what I can do. In order to get the
means of taking the first step, I propose to lecture at the Society
Library, on Thursday, the 3d of February, and, that there may be no
cause of _squabbling_, my subject shall _not be literary _at all. I
have chosen a broad text: 'The Universe.'

"Having thus given you _the facts _of the case, I leave all the rest
to the suggestions of your own tact and generosity. Gratefully, _most
gratefully,

                         _"Your friend always,

                             "EDGAR A. POE.''


Brief and chance-taken as these letters are, we think they
sufficiently prove the existence of the very qualities denied to Mr.
Poe-humility, willingness to persevere, belief in another's
friendship, and capability of cordial and grateful friendship! Such
he assuredly was when sane. Such only he has invariably seemed to us,
in all we have happened personally to know of him, through a
friendship of five or six years. And so much easier is it to believe
what we have seen and known, than what we hear of only, that we
remember him but with admiration and respect; these descriptions of
him, when morally insane, seeming to us like portraits, painted in
sickness, of a man we have only known in health.

But there is another, more touching, and far more forcible evidence
that there was _goodness _in Edgar A. Poe. To reveal it we are
obliged to venture upon the lifting of the veil which sacredly covers
grief and refinement in poverty; but we think it may be excused, if
so we can brighten the memory of the poet, even were there not a more
needed and immediate service which it may render to the nearest link
broken by his death.

Our first knowledge of Mr. Poe's removal to this city was by a call
which we received from a lady who introduced herself to us as the
mother of his wife. She was in search of employment for him, and she
excused her errand by mentioning that he was ill, that her daughter
was a confirmed invalid, and that their circumstances were such as
compelled her taking it upon herself. The countenance of this lady,
made beautiful and saintly with an evidently complete giving up of
her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness, her gentle and
mournful voice urging its plea, her long-forgotten but habitually and
unconsciously refined manners, and her appealing and yet appreciative
mention of the claims and abilities of her son, disclosed at once the
presence of one of those angels upon earth that women in adversity
can be. It was a hard fate that she was watching over. Mr. Poe wrote
with fastidious difficulty, and in a style too much above the popular
level to be well paid. He was always in pecuniary difficulty, and,
with his sick wife, frequently in want of the merest necessaries of
life. Winter after winter, for years, the most touching sight to us,
in this whole city, has been that tireless minister to genius, thinly
and insufficiently clad, going from office to office with a poem, or
an article on some literary subject, to sell, sometimes simply
pleading in a broken voice that he was ill, and begging for him,
mentioning nothing but that "he was ill," whatever might be the
reason for his writing nothing, and never, amid all her tears and
recitals of distress, suffering one syllable to escape her lips that
could convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessening of pride
in his genius and good intentions. Her daughter died a year and a
half since, but she did not desert him. She continued his ministering
angel--living with him, caring for him, guarding him against
exposure, and when he was carried away by temptation, amid grief and
the loneliness of feelings unreplied to, and awoke from his self
abandonment prostrated in destitution and suffering, _begging _for
him still. If woman's devotion, born with a first love, and fed with
human passion, hallow its object, as it is allowed to do, what does
not a devotion like this-pure, disinterested and holy as the watch of
an invisible spirit-say for him who inspired it?

We have a letter before us, written by this lady, Mrs. Clemm, on the
morning in which she heard of the death of this object of her
untiring care. It is merely a request that we would call upon her,
but we will copy a few of its words--sacred as its privacy is--to
warrant the truth of the picture we have drawn above, and add force
to the appeal we wish to make for her:

"I have this morning heard of the death of my darling Eddie. . . .
Can you give me any circumstances or particulars? . . . Oh! do not
desert your poor friend in his bitter affliction! . . . Ask -Mr. --
to come, as I must deliver a message to him from my poor Eddie. . . .
I need not ask you to notice his death and to speak well of him. I
know you will. But say what an affectionate son he was to me, his
poor desolate mother. . ."

To hedge round a grave with respect, what choice is there, between
the relinquished wealth and honors of the world, and the story of
such a woman's unrewarded devotion! Risking what we do, in delicacy,
by making it public, we feel--other reasons aside--that it betters
the world to make known that there are such ministrations to its
erring and gifted. What we have said will speak to some hearts. There
are those who will be glad to know how the lamp, whose light of
poetry has beamed on their far-away recognition, was watched over
with care and pain, that they may send to her, who is more darkened
than they by its extinction, some token of their sympathy. She is
destitute and alone. If any, far or near, will send to us what may
aid and cheer her through the remainder of her life, we will joyfully
place it in her bands.

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

==========


              The Unparalleled Adventures of

                   One Hans Pfaal {*1}

BY late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high
state of philosophical excitement. Indeed, phenomena have there
occurred of a nature so completely unexpected -- so entirely novel --
so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions -- as to leave no
doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all
physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears.

It appears that on the -- -- day of -- -- (I am not positive about
the date), a vast crowd of people, for purposes not specifically
mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Exchange in the
well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm -- unusually so
for the season -- there was hardly a breath of air stirring; and the
multitude were in no bad humor at being now and then besprinkled with
friendly showers of momentary duration, that fell from large white
masses of cloud which chequered in a fitful manner the blue vault of
the firmament. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but remarkable
agitation became apparent in the assembly: the clattering of ten
thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an instant afterward, ten
thousand faces were upturned toward the heavens, ten thousand pipes
descended simultaneously from the corners of ten thousand mouths, and
a shout, which could be compared to nothing but the roaring of
Niagara, resounded long, loudly, and furiously, through all the
environs of Rotterdam.

The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From
behind the huge bulk of one of those sharply-defined masses of cloud
already mentioned, was seen slowly to emerge into an open area of
blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solid substance,
so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not to be in any
manner comprehended, and never to be sufficiently admired, by the
host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it
be? In the name of all the vrows and devils in Rotterdam, what could
it possibly portend? No one knew, no one could imagine; no one -- not
even the burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk -- had the
slightest clew by which to unravel the mystery; so, as nothing more
reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe
carefully in the corner of his mouth, and cocking up his right eye
towards the phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddled about, and grunted
significantly -- then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally --
puffed again.

In the meantime, however, lower and still lower toward the goodly
city, came the object of so much curiosity, and the cause of so much
smoke. In a very few minutes it arrived near enough to be accurately
discerned. It appeared to be -- yes! it was undoubtedly a species of
balloon; but surely no such balloon had ever been seen in Rotterdam
before. For who, let me ask, ever heard of a balloon manufactured
entirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland certainly; yet here,
under the very noses of the people, or rather at some distance above
their noses was the identical thing in question, and composed, I have
it on the best authority, of the precise material which no one had
ever before known to be used for a similar purpose. It was an
egregious insult to the good sense of the burghers of Rotterdam. As
to the shape of the phenomenon, it was even still more reprehensible.
Being little or nothing better than a huge foolscap turned upside
down. And this similitude was regarded as by no means lessened when,
upon nearer inspection, there was perceived a large tassel depending
from its apex, and, around the upper rim or base of the cone, a
circle of little instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a
continual tinkling to the tune of Betty Martin. But still worse.
Suspended by blue ribbons to the end of this fantastic machine, there
hung, by way of car, an enormous drab beaver bat, with a brim
superlatively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black band and
a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat remarkable that many
citizens of Rotterdam swore to having seen the same hat repeatedly
before; and indeed the whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes
of familiarity; while the vrow Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it,
uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise, and declared it to be the
identical hat of her good man himself. Now this was a circumstance
the more to be observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had
actually disappeared from Rotterdam about five years before, in a
very sudden and unaccountable manner, and up to the date of this
narrative all attempts had failed of obtaining any intelligence
concerning them whatsoever. To be sure, some bones which were thought
to be human, mixed up with a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had
been lately discovered in a retired situation to the east of
Rotterdam, and some people went so far as to imagine that in this
spot a foul murder had been committed, and that the sufferers were in
all probability Hans Pfaall and his associates. But to return.

The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now descended to within a
hundred feet of the earth, allowing the crowd below a sufficiently
distinct view of the person of its occupant. This was in truth a very
droll little somebody. He could not have been more than two feet in
height; but this altitude, little as it was, would have been
sufficient to destroy his equilibrium, and tilt him over the edge of
his tiny car, but for the intervention of a circular rim reaching as
high as the breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon. The
body of the little man was more than proportionately broad, giving to
his entire figure a rotundity highly absurd. His feet, of course,
could not be seen at all, although a horny substance of suspicious
nature was occasionally protruded through a rent in the bottom of the
car, or to speak more properly, in the top of the hat. His hands were
enormously large. His hair was extremely gray, and collected in a cue
behind. His nose was prodigiously long, crooked, and inflammatory;
his eyes full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks, although
wrinkled with age, were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any
kind or character there was not a semblance to be discovered upon any
portion of his head. This odd little gentleman was dressed in a loose
surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breeches to match, fastened
with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was of some bright yellow
material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his
head; and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red silk handkerchief
enveloped his throat, and fell down, in a dainty manner, upon his
bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of super-eminent dimensions.

Having descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feet from
the surface of the earth, the little old gentleman was suddenly
seized with a fit of trepidation, and appeared disinclined to make
any nearer approach to terra firma. Throwing out, therefore, a
quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which, he lifted with great
difficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then proceeded, in
a hurried and agitated manner, to extract from a side-pocket in his
surtout a large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in
his hand, then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise, and was
evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened it, and
drawing there from a huge letter sealed with red sealing-wax and tied
carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the feet of the
burgomaster, Superbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it
up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having
apparently no farther business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at
this moment to make busy preparations for departure; and it being
necessary to discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to
reascend, the half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another,
without taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every
one of them, most unfortunately upon the back of the burgomaster, and
rolled him over and over no less than one-and-twenty times, in the
face of every man in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed, however,
that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the
little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on the
contrary, that during each and every one of his one-and twenty
circumvolutions he emitted no less than one-and-twenty distinct and
furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole time
with all his might, and to which he intends holding fast until the
day of his death.

In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring far away
above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud similar to
that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost forever to
the wondering eyes of the good citiezns of Rotterdam. All attention
was now directed to the letter, the descent of which, and the
consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally subversive of
both person and personal dignity to his Excellency, the illustrious
Burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk. That functionary, however,
had not failed, during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a
thought upon the important subject of securing the packet in
question, which was seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the
most proper hands, being actually addressed to himself and Professor
Rub-a-dub, in their official capacities of President and
Vice-President of the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was
accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to
contain the following extraordinary, and indeed very serious,
communications.

To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rub-a-dub, President and
Vice-President of the States' College of Astronomers, in the city of
Rotterdam.

"Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember an humble artizan,
by name Hans Pfaall, and by occupation a mender of bellows, who, with
three others, disappeared from Rotterdam, about five years ago, in a
manner which must have been considered by all parties at once sudden,
and extremely unaccountable. If, however, it so please your
Excellencies, I, the writer of this communication, am the identical
Hans Pfaall himself. It is well known to most of my fellow citizens,
that for the period of forty years I continued to occupy the little
square brick building, at the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in
which I resided at the time of my disappearance. My ancestors have
also resided therein time out of mind -- they, as well as myself,
steadily following the respectable and indeed lucrative profession of
mending of bellows. For, to speak the truth, until of late years,
that the heads of all the people have been set agog with politics, no
better business than my own could an honest citizen of Rotterdam
either desire or deserve. Credit was good, employment was never
wanting, and on all hands there was no lack of either money or
good-will. But, as I was saying, we soon began to feel the effects of
liberty and long speeches, and radicalism, and all that sort of
thing. People who were formerly, the very best customers in the
world, had now not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had,
so they said, as much as they could do to read about the revolutions,
and keep up with the march of intellect and the spirit of the age. If
a fire wanted fanning, it could readily be fanned with a newspaper,
and as the government grew weaker, I have no doubt that leather and
iron acquired durability in proportion, for, in a very short time,
there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam that ever stood in
need of a stitch or required the assistance of a hammer. This was a
state of things not to be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat, and,
having a wife and children to provide for, my burdens at length
became intolerable, and I spent hour after hour in reflecting upon
the most convenient method of putting an end to my life. Duns, in the
meantime, left me little leisure for contemplation. My house was
literally besieged from morning till night, so that I began to rave,
and foam, and fret like a caged tiger against the bars of his
enclosure. There were three fellows in particular who worried me
beyond endurance, keeping watch continually about my door, and
threatening me with the law. Upon these three I internally vowed the
bitterest revenge, if ever I should be so happy as to get them within
my clutches; and I believe nothing in the world but the pleasure of
this anticipation prevented me from putting my plan of suicide into
immediate execution, by blowing my brains out with a blunderbuss. I
thought it best, however, to dissemble my wrath, and to treat them
with promises and fair words, until, by some good turn of fate, an
opportunity of vengeance should be afforded me.

"One day, having given my creditors the slip, and feeling more than
usually dejected, I continued for a long time to wander about the
most obscure streets without object whatever, until at length I
chanced to stumble against the corner of a bookseller's stall. Seeing
a chair close at hand, for the use of customers, I threw myself
doggedly into it, and, hardly knowing why, opened the pages of the
first volume which came within my reach. It proved to be a small
pamphlet treatise on Speculative Astronomy, written either by
Professor Encke of Berlin or by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name.
I had some little tincture of information on matters of this nature,
and soon became more and more absorbed in the contents of the book,
reading it actually through twice before I awoke to a recollection of
what was passing around me. By this time it began to grow dark, and I
directed my steps toward home. But the treatise had made an indelible
impression on my mind, and, as I sauntered along the dusky streets, I
revolved carefully over in my memory the wild and sometimes
unintelligible reasonings of the writer. There are some particular
passages which affected my imagination in a powerful and
extraordinary manner. The longer I meditated upon these the more
intense grew the interest which had been excited within me. The
limited nature of my education in general, and more especially my
ignorance on subjects connected with natural philosophy, so far from
rendering me diffident of my own ability to comprehend what I had
read, or inducing me to mistrust the many vague notions which had
arisen in consequence, merely served as a farther stimulus to
imagination; and I was vain enough, or perhaps reasonable enough, to
doubt whether those crude ideas which, arising in ill-regulated
minds, have all the appearance, may not often in effect possess all
the force, the reality, and other inherent properties, of instinct or
intuition; whether, to proceed a step farther, profundity itself
might not, in matters of a purely speculative nature, be detected as
a legitimate source of falsity and error. In other words, I believed,
and still do believe, that truth, is frequently of its own essence,
superficial, and that, in many cases, the depth lies more in the
abysses where we seek her, than in the actual situations wherein she
may be found. Nature herself seemed to afford me corroboration of
these ideas. In the contemplation of the heavenly bodies it struck me
forcibly that I could not distinguish a star with nearly as much
precision, when I gazed on it with earnest, direct and undeviating
attention, as when I suffered my eye only to glance in its vicinity
alone. I was not, of course, at that time aware that this apparent
paradox was occasioned by the center of the visual area being less
susceptible of feeble impressions of light than the exterior portions
of the retina. This knowledge, and some of another kind, came
afterwards in the course of an eventful five years, during which I
have dropped the prejudices of my former humble situation in life,
and forgotten the bellows-mender in far different occupations. But at
the epoch of which I speak, the analogy which a casual observation of
a star offered to the conclusions I had already drawn, struck me with
the force of positive conformation, and I then finally made up my
mind to the course which I afterwards pursued.

"It was late when I reached home, and I went immediately to bed. My
mind, however, was too much occupied to sleep, and I lay the whole
night buried in meditation. Arising early in the morning, and
contriving again to escape the vigilance of my creditors, I repaired
eagerly to the bookseller's stall, and laid out what little ready
money I possessed, in the purchase of some volumes of Mechanics and
Practical Astronomy. Having arrived at home safely with these, I
devoted every spare moment to their perusal, and soon made such
proficiency in studies of this nature as I thought sufficient for the
execution of my plan. In the intervals of this period, I made every
endeavor to conciliate the three creditors who had given me so much
annoyance. In this I finally succeeded -- partly by selling enough of
my household furniture to satisfy a moiety of their claim, and partly
by a promise of paying the balance upon completion of a little
project which I told them I had in view, and for assistance in which
I solicited their services. By these means -- for they were ignorant
men -- I found little difficulty in gaining them over to my purpose.

"Matters being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid of my wife and
with the greatest secrecy and caution, to dispose of what property I
had remaining, and to borrow, in small sums, under various pretences,
and without paying any attention to my future means of repayment, no
inconsiderable quantity of ready money. With the means thus accruing
I proceeded to procure at intervals, cambric muslin, very fine, in
pieces of twelve yards each; twine; a lot of the varnish of
caoutchouc; a large and deep basket of wicker-work, made to order;
and several other articles necessary in the construction and
equipment of a balloon of extraordinary dimensions. This I directed
my wife to make up as soon as possible, and gave her all requisite
information as to the particular method of proceeding. In the
meantime I worked up the twine into a net-work of sufficient
dimensions; rigged it with a hoop and the necessary cords; bought a
quadrant, a compass, a spy-glass, a common barometer with some
important modifications, and two astronomical instruments not so
generally known. I then took opportunities of conveying by night, to
a retired situation east of Rotterdam, five iron-bound casks, to
contain about fifty gallons each, and one of a larger size; six
tinned ware tubes, three inches in diameter, properly shaped, and ten
feet in length; a quantity of a particular metallic substance, or
semi-metal, which I shall not name, and a dozen demijohns of a very
common acid. The gas to be formed from these latter materials is a
gas never yet generated by any other person than myself -- or at
least never applied to any similar purpose. The secret I would make
no difficulty in disclosing, but that it of right belongs to a
citizen of Nantz, in France, by whom it was conditionally
communicated to myself. The same individual submitted to me, without
being at all aware of my intentions, a method of constructing
balloons from the membrane of a certain animal, through which
substance any escape of gas was nearly an impossibility. I found it,
however, altogether too expensive, and was not sure, upon the whole,
whether cambric muslin with a coating of gum caoutchouc, was not
equally as good. I mention this circumstance, because I think it
probable that hereafter the individual in question may attempt a
balloon ascension with the novel gas and material I have spoken of,
and I do not wish to deprive him of the honor of a very singular
invention.

"On the spot which I intended each of the smaller casks to occupy
respectively during the inflation of the balloon, I privately dug a
hole two feet deep; the holes forming in this manner a circle
twenty-five feet in diameter. In the centre of this circle, being the
station designed for the large cask, I also dug a hole three feet in
depth. In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited a canister
containing fifty pounds, and in the larger one a keg holding one
hundred and fifty pounds, of cannon powder. These -- the keg and
canisters -- I connected in a proper manner with covered trains; and
having let into one of the canisters the end of about four feet of
slow match, I covered up the hole, and placed the cask over it,
leaving the other end of the match protruding about an inch, and
barely visible beyond the cask. I then filled up the remaining holes,
and placed the barrels over them in their destined situation.

"Besides the articles above enumerated, I conveyed to the depot, and
there secreted, one of M. Grimm's improvements upon the apparatus for
condensation of the atmospheric air. I found this machine, however,
to require considerable alteration before it could be adapted to the
purposes to which I intended making it applicable. But, with severe
labor and unremitting perseverance, I at length met with entire
success in all my preparations. My balloon was soon completed. It
would contain more than forty thousand cubic feet of gas; would take
me up easily, I calculated, with all my implements, and, if I managed
rightly, with one hundred and seventy-five pounds of ballast into the
bargain. It had received three coats of varnish, and I found the
cambric muslin to answer all the purposes of silk itself, quite as
strong and a good deal less expensive.

"Everything being now ready, I exacted from my wife an oath of
secrecy in relation to all my actions from the day of my first visit
to the bookseller's stall; and promising, on my part, to return as
soon as circumstances would permit, I gave her what little money I
had left, and bade her farewell. Indeed I had no fear on her account.
She was what people call a notable woman, and could manage matters in
the world without my assistance. I believe, to tell the truth, she
always looked upon me as an idle boy, a mere make-weight, good for
nothing but building castles in the air, and was rather glad to get
rid of me. It was a dark night when I bade her good-bye, and taking
with me, as aides-de-camp, the three creditors who had given me so
much trouble, we carried the balloon, with the car and accoutrements,
by a roundabout way, to the station where the other articles were
deposited. We there found them all unmolested, and I proceeded
immediately to business.

"It was the first of April. The night, as I said before, was dark;
there was not a star to be seen; and a drizzling rain, falling at
intervals, rendered us very uncomfortable. But my chief anxiety was
concerning the balloon, which, in spite of the varnish with which it
was defended, began to grow rather heavy with the moisture; the
powder also was liable to damage. I therefore kept my three duns
working with great diligence, pounding down ice around the central
cask, and stirring the acid in the others. They did not cease,
however, importuning me with questions as to what I intended to do
with all this apparatus, and expressed much dissatisfaction at the
terrible labor I made them undergo. They could not perceive, so they
said, what good was likely to result from their getting wet to the
skin, merely to take a part in such horrible incantations. I began to
get uneasy, and worked away with all my might, for I verily believe
the idiots supposed that I had entered into a compact with the devil,
and that, in short, what I was now doing was nothing better than it
should be. I was, therefore, in great fear of their leaving me
altogether. I contrived, however, to pacify them by promises of
payment of all scores in full, as soon as I could bring the present
business to a termination. To these speeches they gave, of course,
their own interpretation; fancying, no doubt, that at all events I
should come into possession of vast quantities of ready money; and
provided I paid them all I owed, and a trifle more, in consideration
of their services, I dare say they cared very little what became of
either my soul or my carcass.

"In about four hours and a half I found the balloon sufficiently
inflated. I attached the car, therefore, and put all my implements in
it -- not forgetting the condensing apparatus, a copious supply of
water, and a large quantity of provisions, such as pemmican, in which
much nutriment is contained in comparatively little bulk. I also
secured in the car a pair of pigeons and a cat. It was now nearly
daybreak, and I thought it high time to take my departure. Dropping a
lighted cigar on the ground, as if by accident, I took the
opportunity, in stooping to pick it up, of igniting privately the
piece of slow match, whose end, as I said before, protruded a very
little beyond the lower rim of one of the smaller casks. This
manoeuvre was totally unperceived on the part of the three duns; and,
jumping into the car, I immediately cut the single cord which held me
to the earth, and was pleased to find that I shot upward, carrying
with all ease one hundred and seventy-five pounds of leaden ballast,
and able to have carried up as many more.

"Scarcely, however, had I attained the height of fifty yards, when,
roaring and rumbling up after me in the most horrible and tumultuous
manner, came so dense a hurricane of fire, and smoke, and sulphur,
and legs and arms, and gravel, and burning wood, and blazing metal,
that my very heart sunk within me, and I fell down in the bottom of
the car, trembling with unmitigated terror. Indeed, I now perceived
that I had entirely overdone the business, and that the main
consequences of the shock were yet to be experienced. Accordingly, in
less than a second, I felt all the blood in my body rushing to my
temples, and immediately thereupon, a concussion, which I shall never
forget, burst abruptly through the night and seemed to rip the very
firmament asunder. When I afterward had time for reflection, I did
not fail to attribute the extreme violence of the explosion, as
regarded myself, to its proper cause -- my situation directly above
it, and in the line of its greatest power. But at the time, I thought
only of preserving my life. The balloon at first collapsed, then
furiously expanded, then whirled round and round with horrible
velocity, and finally, reeling and staggering like a drunken man,
hurled me with great force over the rim of the car, and left me
dangling, at a terrific height, with my head downward, and my face
outwards, by a piece of slender cord about three feet in length,
which hung accidentally through a crevice near the bottom of the
wicker-work, and in which, as I fell, my left foot became most
providentially entangled. It is impossible -- utterly impossible --
to form any adequate idea of the horror of my situation. I gasped
convulsively for breath -- a shudder resembling a fit of the ague
agitated every nerve and muscle of my frame -- I felt my eyes
starting from their sockets -- a horrible nausea overwhelmed me --
and at length I fainted away.

"How long I remained in this state it is impossible to say. It must,
however, have been no inconsiderable time, for when I partially
recovered the sense of existence, I found the day breaking, the
balloon at a prodigious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a
trace of land to be discovered far and wide within the limits of the
vast horizon. My sensations, however, upon thus recovering, were by
no means so rife with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed,
there was much of incipient madness in the calm survey which I began
to take of my situation. I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one
after the other, and wondered what occurrence could have given rise
to the swelling of the veins, and the horrible blackness of the
fingemails. I afterward carefully examined my head, shaking it
repeatedly, and feeling it with minute attention, until I succeeded
in satisfying myself that it was not, as I had more than half
suspected, larger than my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt
in both my breeches pockets, and, missing therefrom a set of tablets
and a toothpick case, endeavored to account for their disappearance,
and not being able to do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. It now
occurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of my
left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation began to glimmer
through my mind. But, strange to say! I was neither astonished nor
horror-stricken. If I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind of
chuckling satisfaction at the cleverness I was about to display in
extricating myself from this dilemma; and I never, for a moment,
looked upon my ultimate safety as a question susceptible of doubt.
For a few minutes I remained wrapped in the profoundest meditation. I
have a distinct recollection of frequently compressing my lips,
putting my forefinger to the side of my nose, and making use of other
gesticulations and grimaces common to men who, at ease in their
arm-chairs, meditate upon matters of intricacy or importance. Having,
as I thought, sufficiently collected my ideas, I now, with great
caution and deliberation, put my hands behind my back, and unfastened
the large iron buckle which belonged to the waistband of my
inexpressibles. This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat
rusty, turned with great difficulty on their axis. I brought them,
however, after some trouble, at right angles to the body of the
buckle, and was glad to find them remain firm in that position.
Holding the instrument thus obtained within my teeth, I now proceeded
to untie the knot of my cravat. I had to rest several times before I
could accomplish this manoeuvre, but it was at length accomplished.
To one end of the cravat I then made fast the buckle, and the other
end I tied, for greater security, tightly around my wrist. Drawing
now my body upwards, with a prodigious exertion of muscular force, I
succeeded, at the very first trial, in throwing the buckle over the
car, and entangling it, as I had anticipated, in the circular rim of
the wicker-work.

"My body was now inclined towards the side of the car, at an angle of
about forty-five degrees; but it must not be understood that I was
therefore only forty-five degrees below the perpendicular. So far
from it, I still lay nearly level with the plane of the horizon; for
the change of situation which I had acquired, had forced the bottom
of the car considerably outwards from my position, which was
accordingly one of the most imminent and deadly peril. It should be
remembered, however, that when I fell in the first instance, from the
car, if I had fallen with my face turned toward the balloon, instead
of turned outwardly from it, as it actually was; or if, in the second
place, the cord by which I was suspended had chanced to hang over the
upper edge, instead of through a crevice near the bottom of the car,
-- I say it may be readily conceived that, in either of these
supposed cases, I should have been unable to accomplish even as much
as I had now accomplished, and the wonderful adventures of Hans
Pfaall would have been utterly lost to posterity, I had therefore
every reason to be grateful; although, in point of fact, I was still
too stupid to be anything at all, and hung for, perhaps, a quarter of
an hour in that extraordinary manner, without making the slightest
farther exertion whatsoever, and in a singularly tranquil state of
idiotic enjoyment. But this feeling did not fail to die rapidly away,
and thereunto succeeded horror, and dismay, and a chilling sense of
utter helplessness and ruin. In fact, the blood so long accumulating
in the vessels of my head and throat, and which had hitherto buoyed
up my spirits with madness and delirium, had now begun to retire
within their proper channels, and the distinctness which was thus
added to my perception of the danger, merely served to deprive me of
the self-possession and courage to encounter it. But this weakness
was, luckily for me, of no very long duration. In good time came to
my rescue the spirit of despair, and, with frantic cries and
struggles, I jerked my way bodily upwards, till at length, clutching
with a vise-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my person over
it, and fell headlong and shuddering within the car.

"It was not until some time afterward that I recovered myself
sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares of the balloon. I then,
however, examined it with attention, and found it, to my great
relief, uninjured. My implements were all safe, and, fortunately, I
had lost neither ballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so well
secured them in their places, that such an accident was entirely out
of the question. Looking at my watch, I found it six o'clock. I was
still rapidly ascending, and my barometer gave a present altitude of
three and three-quarter miles. Immediately beneath me in the ocean,
lay a small black object, slightly oblong in shape, seemingly about
the size, and in every way bearing a great resemblance to one of
those childish toys called a domino. Bringing my telescope to bear
upon it, I plainly discerned it to be a British ninety four-gun ship,
close-hauled, and pitching heavily in the sea with her head to the
W.S.W. Besides this ship, I saw nothing but the ocean and the sky,
and the sun, which had long arisen.

"It is now high time that I should explain to your Excellencies the
object of my perilous voyage. Your Excellencies will bear in mind
that distressed circumstances in Rotterdam had at length driven me to
the resolution of committing suicide. It was not, however, that to
life itself I had any, positive disgust, but that I was harassed
beyond endurance by the adventitious miseries attending my situation.
In this state of mind, wishing to live, yet wearied with life, the
treatise at the stall of the bookseller opened a resource to my
imagination. I then finally made up my mind. I determined to depart,
yet live -- to leave the world, yet continue to exist -- in short, to
drop enigmas, I resolved, let what would ensue, to force a passage,
if I could, to the moon. Now, lest I should be supposed more of a
madman than I actually am, I will detail, as well as I am able, the
considerations which led me to believe that an achievement of this
nature, although without doubt difficult, and incontestably full of
danger, was not absolutely, to a bold spirit, beyond the confines of
the possible.

"The moon's actual distance from the earth was the first thing to be
attended to. Now, the mean or average interval between the centres of
the two planets is 59.9643 of the earth's equatorial radii, or only
about 237,000 miles. I say the mean or average interval. But it must
be borne in mind that the form of the moon's orbit being an ellipse
of eccentricity amounting to no less than 0.05484 of the major
semi-axis of the ellipse itself, and the earth's centre being
situated in its focus, if I could, in any manner, contrive to meet
the moon, as it were, in its perigee, the above mentioned distance
would be materially diminished. But, to say nothing at present of
this possibility, it was very certain that, at all events, from the
237,000 miles I would have to deduct the radius of the earth, say
4,000, and the radius of the moon, say 1080, in all 5,080, leaving an
actual interval to be traversed, under average circumstances, of
231,920 miles. Now this, I reflected, was no very extraordinary
distance. Travelling on land has been repeatedly accomplished at the
rate of thirty miles per hour, and indeed a much greater speed may be
anticipated. But even at this velocity, it would take me no more than
322 days to reach the surface of the moon. There were, however, many
particulars inducing me to believe that my average rate of travelling
might possibly very much exceed that of thirty miles per hour, and,
as these considerations did not fail to make a deep impression upon
my mind, I will mention them more fully hereafter.

"The next point to be regarded was a matter of far greater
importance. From indications afforded by the barometer, we find that,
in ascensions from the surface of the earth we have, at the height of
1,000 feet, left below us about one-thirtieth of the entire mass of
atmospheric air, that at 10,600 we have ascended through nearly
one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not far from the elevation of
Cotopaxi, we have surmounted one-half the material, or, at all
events, one-half the ponderable, body of air incumbent upon our
globe. It is also calculated that at an altitude not exceeding the
hundredth part of the earth's diameter -- that is, not exceeding
eighty miles -- the rarefaction would be so excessive that animal
life could in no manner be sustained, and, moreover, that the most
delicate means we possess of ascertaining the presence of the
atmosphere would be inadequate to assure us of its existence. But I
did not fail to perceive that these latter calculations are founded
altogether on our experimental knowledge of the properties of air,
and the mechanical laws regulating its dilation and compression, in
what may be called, comparatively speaking, the immediate vicinity of
the earth itself; and, at the same time, it is taken for granted that
animal life is and must be essentially incapable of modification at
any given unattainable distance from the surface. Now, all such
reasoning and from such data must, of course, be simply analogical.
The greatest height ever reached by man was that of 25,000 feet,
attained in the aeronautic expedition of Messieurs Gay-Lussac and
Biot. This is a moderate altitude, even when compared with the eighty
miles in question; and I could not help thinking that the subject
admitted room for doubt and great latitude for speculation.

"But, in point of fact, an ascension being made to any given
altitude, the ponderable quantity of air surmounted in any farther
ascension is by no means in proportion to the additional height
ascended (as may be plainly seen from what has been stated before),
but in a ratio constantly decreasing. It is therefore evident that,
ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally speaking, arrive at a
limit beyond which no atmosphere is to be found. It must exist, I
argued; although it may exist in a state of infinite rarefaction.

"On the other hand, I was aware that arguments have not been wanting
to prove the existence of a real and definite limit to the
atmosphere, beyond which there is absolutely no air whatsoever. But a
circumstance which has been left out of view by those who contend for
such a limit seemed to me, although no positive refutation of their
creed, still a point worthy very serious investigation. On comparing
the intervals between the successive arrivals of Encke's comet at its
perihelion, after giving credit, in the most exact manner, for all
the disturbances due to the attractions of the planets, it appears
that the periods are gradually diminishing; that is to say, the major
axis of the comet's ellipse is growing shorter, in a slow but
perfectly regular decrease. Now, this is precisely what ought to be
the case, if we suppose a resistance experienced from the comet from
an extremely rare ethereal medium pervading the regions of its orbit.
For it is evident that such a medium must, in retarding the comet's
velocity, increase its centripetal, by weakening its centrifugal
force. In other words, the sun's attraction would be constantly
attaining greater power, and the comet would be drawn nearer at every
revolution. Indeed, there is no other way of accounting for the
variation in question. But again. The real diameter of the same
comet's nebulosity is observed to contract rapidly as it approaches
the sun, and dilate with equal rapidity in its departure towards its
aphelion. Was I not justifiable in supposing with M. Valz, that this
apparent condensation of volume has its origin in the compression of
the same ethereal medium I have spoken of before, and which is only
denser in proportion to its solar vicinity? The lenticular-shaped
phenomenon, also called the zodiacal light, was a matter worthy of
attention. This radiance, so apparent in the tropics, and which
cannot be mistaken for any meteoric lustre, extends from the horizon
obliquely upward, and follows generally the direction of the sun's
equator. It appeared to me evidently in the nature of a rare
atmosphere extending from the sun outward, beyond the orbit of Venus
at least, and I believed indefinitely farther.{*2} Indeed, this
medium I could not suppose confined to the path of the comet's
ellipse, or to the immediate neighborhood of the sun. It was easy, on
the contrary, to imagine it pervading the entire regions of our
planetary system, condensed into what we call atmosphere at the
planets themselves, and perhaps at some of them modified by
considerations, so to speak, purely geological.

Having adopted this view of the subject, I had little further
hesitation. Granting that on my passage I should meet with atmosphere
essentially the same as at the surface of the earth, I conceived
that, by means of the very ingenious apparatus of M. Grimm, I should
readily be enabled to condense it in sufficient quantity for the
purposes of respiration. This would remove the chief obstacle in a
journey to the moon. I had indeed spent some money and great labor in
adapting the apparatus to the object intended, and confidently looked
forward to its successful application, if I could manage to complete
the voyage within any reasonable period. This brings me back to the
rate at which it might be possible to travel.

"It is true that balloons, in the first stage of their ascensions
from the earth, are known to rise with a velocity comparatively
moderate. Now, the power of elevation lies altogether in the superior
lightness of the gas in the balloon compared with the atmospheric
air; and, at first sight, it does not appear probable that, as the
balloon acquires altitude, and consequently arrives successively in
atmospheric strata of densities rapidly diminishing -- I say, it does
not appear at all reasonable that, in this its progress upwards, the
original velocity should be accelerated. On the other hand, I was not
aware that, in any recorded ascension, a diminution was apparent in
the absolute rate of ascent; although such should have been the case,
if on account of nothing else, on account of the escape of gas
through balloons ill-constructed, and varnished with no better
material than the ordinary varnish. It seemed, therefore, that the
effect of such escape was only sufficient to counterbalance the
effect of some accelerating power. I now considered that, provided in
my passage I found the medium I had imagined, and provided that it
should prove to be actually and essentially what we denominate
atmospheric air, it could make comparatively little difference at
what extreme state of rarefaction I should discover it -- that is to
say, in regard to my power of ascending -- for the gas in the balloon
would not only be itself subject to rarefaction partially similar (in
proportion to the occurrence of which, I could suffer an escape of so
much as would be requisite to prevent explosion), but, being what it
was, would, at all events, continue specifically lighter than any
compound whatever of mere nitrogen and oxygen. In the meantime, the
force of gravitation would be constantly diminishing, in proportion
to the squares of the distances, and thus, with a velocity
prodigiously accelerating, I should at length arrive in those distant
regions where the force of the earth's attraction would be superseded
by that of the moon. In accordance with these ideas, I did not think
it worth while to encumber myself with more provisions than would be
sufficient for a period of forty days.

"There was still, however, another difficulty, which occasioned me
some little disquietude. It has been observed, that, in balloon
ascensions to any considerable height, besides the pain attending
respiration, great uneasiness is experienced about the head and body,
often accompanied with bleeding at the nose, and other symptoms of an
alarming kind, and growing more and more inconvenient in proportion
to the altitude attained.{*3} This was a reflection of a nature
somewhat startling. Was it not probable that these symptoms would
increase indefinitely, or at least until terminated by death itself?
I finally thought not. Their origin was to be looked for in the
progressive removal of the customary atmospheric pressure upon the
surface of the body, and consequent distention of the superficial
blood-vessels -- not in any positive disorganization of the animal
system, as in the case of difficulty in breathing, where the
atmospheric density is chemically insufficient for the due renovation
of blood in a ventricle of the heart. Unless for default of this
renovation, I could see no reason, therefore, why life could not be
sustained even in a vacuum; for the expansion and compression of
chest, commonly called breathing, is action purely muscular, and the
cause, not the effect, of respiration. In a word, I conceived that,
as the body should become habituated to the want of atmospheric
pressure, the sensations of pain would gradually diminish -- and to
endure them while they continued, I relied with confidence upon the
iron hardihood of my constitution.

"Thus, may it please your Excellencies, I have detailed some, though
by no means all, the considerations which led me to form the project
of a lunar voyage. I shall now proceed to lay before you the result
of an attempt so apparently audacious in conception, and, at all
events, so utterly unparalleled in the annals of mankind.

"Having attained the altitude before mentioned, that is to say three
miles and three-quarters, I threw out from the car a quantity of
feathers, and found that I still ascended with sufficient rapidity;
there was, therefore, no necessity for discharging any ballast. I was
glad of this, for I wished to retain with me as much weight as I
could carry, for reasons which will be explained in the sequel. I as
yet suffered no bodily inconvenience, breathing with great freedom,
and feeling no pain whatever in the head. The cat was lying very
demurely upon my coat, which I had taken off, and eyeing the pigeons
with an air of nonchalance. These latter being tied by the leg, to
prevent their escape, were busily employed in picking up some grains
of rice scattered for them in the bottom of the car.

"At twenty minutes past six o'clock, the barometer showed an
elevation of 26,400 feet, or five miles to a fraction. The prospect
seemed unbounded. Indeed, it is very easily calculated by means of
spherical geometry, what a great extent of the earth's area I beheld.
The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to the entire
surface of the sphere itself, as the versed sine of the segment to
the diameter of the sphere. Now, in my case, the versed sine -- that
is to say, the thickness of the segment beneath me -- was about equal
to my elevation, or the elevation of the point of sight above the
surface. "As five miles, then, to eight thousand," would express the
proportion of the earth's area seen by me. In other words, I beheld
as much as a sixteen-hundredth part of the whole surface of the
globe. The sea appeared unruffled as a mirror, although, by means of
the spy-glass, I could perceive it to be in a state of violent
agitation. The ship was no longer visible, having drifted away,
apparently to the eastward. I now began to experience, at intervals,
severe pain in the head, especially about the ears -- still, however,
breathing with tolerable freedom. The cat and pigeons seemed to
suffer no inconvenience whatsoever.

"At twenty minutes before seven, the balloon entered a long series of
dense cloud, which put me to great trouble, by damaging my condensing
apparatus and wetting me to the skin. This was, to be sure, a
singular recontre, for I had not believed it possible that a cloud of
this nature could be sustained at so great an elevation. I thought it
best, however, to throw out two five-pound pieces of ballast,
reserving still a weight of one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Upon
so doing, I soon rose above the difficulty, and perceived
immediately, that I had obtained a great increase in my rate of
ascent. In a few seconds after my leaving the cloud, a flash of vivid
lightning shot from one end of it to the other, and caused it to
kindle up, throughout its vast extent, like a mass of ignited and
glowing charcoal. This, it must be remembered, was in the broad light
of day. No fancy may picture the sublimity which might have been
exhibited by a similar phenomenon taking place amid the darkness of
the night. Hell itself might have been found a fitting image. Even as
it was, my hair stood on end, while I gazed afar down within the
yawning abysses, letting imagination descend, as it were, and stalk
about in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddy gulfs, and red ghastly
chasms of the hideous and unfathomable fire. I had indeed made a
narrow escape. Had the balloon remained a very short while longer
within the cloud -- that is to say -- had not the inconvenience of
getting wet, determined me to discharge the ballast, inevitable ruin
would have been the consequence. Such perils, although little
considered, are perhaps the greatest which must be encountered in
balloons. I had by this time, however, attained too great an
elevation to be any longer uneasy on this head.

"I was now rising rapidly, and by seven o'clock the barometer
indicated an altitude of no less than nine miles and a half. I began
to find great difficulty in drawing my breath. My head, too, was
excessively painful; and, having felt for some time a moisture about
my cheeks, I at length discovered it to be blood, which was oozing
quite fast from the drums of my ears. My eyes, also, gave me great
uneasiness. Upon passing the hand over them they seemed to have
protruded from their sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all
objects in the car, and even the balloon itself, appeared distorted
to my vision. These symptoms were more than I had expected, and
occasioned me some alarm. At this juncture, very imprudently, and
without consideration, I threw out from the car three five-pound
pieces of ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus obtained,
carried me too rapidly, and without sufficient gradation, into a
highly rarefied stratum of the atmosphere, and the result had nearly
proved fatal to my expedition and to myself. I was suddenly seized
with a spasm which lasted for more than five minutes, and even when
this, in a measure, ceased, I could catch my breath only at long
intervals, and in a gasping manner -- bleeding all the while
copiously at the nose and ears, and even slightly at the eyes. The
pigeons appeared distressed in the extreme, and struggled to escape;
while the cat mewed piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out of
her mouth, staggered to and fro in the car as if under the influence
of poison. I now too late discovered the great rashness of which I
had been guilty in discharging the ballast, and my agitation was
excessive. I anticipated nothing less than death, and death in a few
minutes. The physical suffering I underwent contributed also to
render me nearly incapable of making any exertion for the
preservation of my life. I had, indeed, little power of reflection
left, and the violence of the pain in my head seemed to be greatly on
the increase. Thus I found that my senses would shortly give way
altogether, and I had already clutched one of the valve ropes with
the view of attempting a descent, when the recollection of the trick
I had played the three creditors, and the possible consequences to
myself, should I return, operated to deter me for the moment. I lay
down in the bottom of the car, and endeavored to collect my
faculties. In this I so far succeeded as to determine upon the
experiment of losing blood. Having no lancet, however, I was
constrained to perform the operation in the best manner I was able,
and finally succeeded in opening a vein in my right arm, with the
blade of my penknife. The blood had hardly commenced flowing when I
experienced a sensible relief, and by the time I had lost about half
a moderate basin full, most of the worst symptoms had abandoned me
entirely. I nevertheless did not think it expedient to attempt
getting on my feet immediately; but, having tied up my arm as well as
I could, I lay still for about a quarter of an hour. At the end of
this time I arose, and found myself freer from absolute pain of any
kind than I had been during the last hour and a quarter of my
ascension. The difficulty of breathing, however, was diminished in a
very slight degree, and I found that it would soon be positively
necessary to make use of my condenser. In the meantime, looking
toward the cat, who was again snugly stowed away upon my coat, I
discovered to my infinite surprise, that she had taken the
opportunity of my indisposition to bring into light a litter of three
little kittens. This was an addition to the number of passengers on
my part altogether unexpected; but I was pleased at the occurrence.
It would afford me a chance of bringing to a kind of test the truth
of a surmise, which, more than anything else, had influenced me in
attempting this ascension. I had imagined that the habitual endurance
of the atmospheric pressure at the surface of the earth was the
cause, or nearly so, of the pain attending animal existence at a
distance above the surface. Should the kittens be found to suffer
uneasiness in an equal degree with their mother, I must consider my
theory in fault, but a failure to do so I should look upon as a
strong confirmation of my idea.

"By eight o'clock I had actually attained an elevation of seventeen
miles above the surface of the earth. Thus it seemed to me evident
that my rate of ascent was not only on the increase, but that the
progression would have been apparent in a slight degree even had I
not discharged the ballast which I did. The pains in my head and ears
returned, at intervals, with violence, and I still continued to bleed
occasionally at the nose; but, upon the whole, I suffered much less
than might have been expected. I breathed, however, at every moment,
with more and more difficulty, and each inhalation was attended with
a troublesome spasmodic action of the chest. I now unpacked the
condensing apparatus, and got it ready for immediate use.

"The view of the earth, at this period of my ascension, was beautiful
indeed. To the westward, the northward, and the southward, as far as
I could see, lay a boundless sheet of apparently unruffled ocean,
which every moment gained a deeper and a deeper tint of blue and
began already to assume a slight appearance of convexity. At a vast
distance to the eastward, although perfectly discernible, extended
the islands of Great Britain, the entire Atlantic coasts of France
and Spain, with a small portion of the northern part of the continent
of Africa. Of individual edifices not a trace could be discovered,
and the proudest cities of mankind had utterly faded away from the
face of the earth. From the rock of Gibraltar, now dwindled into a
dim speck, the dark Mediterranean sea, dotted with shining islands as
the heaven is dotted with stars, spread itself out to the eastward as
far as my vision extended, until its entire mass of waters seemed at
length to tumble headlong over the abyss of the horizon, and I found
myself listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the mighty cataract.
Overhead, the sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were
brilliantly visible.

"The pigeons about this time seeming to undergo much suffering, I
determined upon giving them their liberty. I first untied one of
them, a beautiful gray-mottled pigeon, and placed him upon the rim of
the wicker-work. He appeared extremely uneasy, looking anxiously
around him, fluttering his wings, and making a loud cooing noise, but
could not be persuaded to trust himself from off the car. I took him
up at last, and threw him to about half a dozen yards from the
balloon. He made, however, no attempt to descend as I had expected,
but struggled with great vehemence to get back, uttering at the same
time very shrill and piercing cries. He at length succeeded in
regaining his former station on the rim, but had hardly done so when
his head dropped upon his breast, and be fell dead within the car.
The other one did not prove so unfortunate. To prevent his following
the example of his companion, and accomplishing a return, I threw him
downward with all my force, and was pleased to find him continue his
descent, with great velocity, making use of his wings with ease, and
in a perfectly natural manner. In a very short time he was out of
sight, and I have no doubt he reached home in safety. Puss, who
seemed in a great measure recovered from her illness, now made a
hearty meal of the dead bird and then went to sleep with much
apparent satisfaction. Her kittens were quite lively, and so far
evinced not the slightest sign of any uneasiness whatever.

"At a quarter-past eight, being no longer able to draw breath without
the most intolerable pain, I proceeded forthwith to adjust around the
car the apparatus belonging to the condenser. This apparatus will
require some little explanation, and your Excellencies will please to
bear in mind that my object, in the first place, was to surround
myself and cat entirely with a barricade against the highly rarefied
atmosphere in which I was existing, with the intention of introducing
within this barricade, by means of my condenser, a quantity of this
same atmosphere sufficiently condensed for the purposes of
respiration. With this object in view I had prepared a very strong
perfectly air-tight, but flexible gum-elastic bag. In this bag, which
was of sufficient dimensions, the entire car was in a manner placed.
That is to say, it (the bag) was drawn over the whole bottom of the
car, up its sides, and so on, along the outside of the ropes, to the
upper rim or hoop where the net-work is attached. Having pulled the
bag up in this way, and formed a complete enclosure on all sides, and
at botttom, it was now necessary to fasten up its top or mouth, by
passing its material over the hoop of the net-work -- in other words,
between the net-work and the hoop. But if the net-work were separated
from the hoop to admit this passage, what was to sustain the car in
the meantime? Now the net-work was not permanently fastened to the
hoop, but attached by a series of running loops or nooses. I
therefore undid only a few of these loops at one time, leaving the
car suspended by the remainder. Having thus inserted a portion of the
cloth forming the upper part of the bag, I refastened the loops --
not to the hoop, for that would have been impossible, since the cloth
now intervened -- but to a series of large buttons, affixed to the
cloth itself, about three feet below the mouth of the bag, the
intervals between the buttons having been made to correspond to the
intervals between the loops. This done, a few more of the loops were
unfastened from the rim, a farther portion of the cloth introduced,
and the disengaged loops then connected with their proper buttons. In
this way it was possible to insert the whole upper part of the bag
between the net-work and the hoop. It is evident that the hoop would
now drop down within the car, while the whole weight of the car
itself, with all its contents, would be held up merely by the
strength of the buttons. This, at first sight, would seem an
inadequate dependence; but it was by no means so, for the buttons
were not only very strong in themselves, but so close together that a
very slight portion of the whole weight was supported by any one of
them. Indeed, had the car and contents been three times heavier than
they were, I should not have been at all uneasy. I now raised up the
hoop again within the covering of gum-elastic, and propped it at
nearly its former height by means of three light poles prepared for
the occasion. This was done, of course, to keep the bag distended at
the top, and to preserve the lower part of the net-work in its proper
situation. All that now remained was to fasten up the mouth of the
enclosure; and this was readily accomplished by gathering the folds
of the material together, and twisting them up very tightly on the
inside by means of a kind of stationary tourniquet.

"In the sides of the covering thus adjusted round the car, had been
inserted three circular panes of thick but clear glass, through which
I could see without difficulty around me in every horizontal
direction. In that portion of the cloth forming the bottom, was
likewise, a fourth window, of the same kind, and corresponding with a
small aperture in the floor of the car itself. This enabled me to see
perpendicularly down, but having found it impossible to place any
similar contrivance overhead, on account of the peculiar manner of
closing up the opening there, and the consequent wrinkles in the
cloth, I could expect to see no objects situated directly in my
zenith. This, of course, was a matter of little consequence; for had
I even been able to place a window at top, the balloon itself would
have prevented my making any use of it.

"About a foot below one of the side windows was a circular opening,
eight inches in diameter, and fitted with a brass rim adapted in its
inner edge to the windings of a screw. In this rim was screwed the
large tube of the condenser, the body of the machine being, of
course, within the chamber of gum-elastic. Through this tube a
quantity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent being drawn by means of
a vacuum created in the body of the machine, was thence discharged,
in a state of condensation, to mingle with the thin air already in
the chamber. This operation being repeated several times, at length
filled the chamber with atmosphere proper for all the purposes of
respiration. But in so confined a space it would, in a short time,
necessarily become foul, and unfit for use from frequent contact with
the lungs. It was then ejected by a small valve at the bottom of the
car -- the dense air readily sinking into the thinner atmosphere
below. To avoid the inconvenience of making a total vacuum at any
moment within the chamber, this purification was never accomplished
all at once, but in a gradual manner -- the valve being opened only
for a few seconds, then closed again, until one or two strokes from
the pump of the condenser had supplied the place of the atmosphere
ejected. For the sake of experiment I had put the cat and kittens in
a small basket, and suspended it outside the car to a button at the
bottom, close by the valve, through which I could feed them at any
moment when necessary. I did this at some little risk, and before
closing the mouth of the chamber, by reaching under the car with one
of the poles before mentioned to which a hook had been attached.

"By the time I had fully completed these arrangements and filled the
chamber as explained, it wanted only ten minutes of nine o'clock.
During the whole period of my being thus employed, I endured the most
terrible distress from difficulty of respiration, and bitterly did I
repent the negligence or rather fool-hardiness, of which I had been
guilty, of putting off to the last moment a matter of so much
importance. But having at length accomplished it, I soon began to
reap the benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed with perfect
freedom and ease -- and indeed why should I not? I was also agreeably
surprised to find myself, in a great measure, relieved from the
violent pains which had hitherto tormented me. A slight headache,
accompanied with a sensation of fulness or distention about the
wrists, the ankles, and the throat, was nearly all of which I had now
to complain. Thus it seemed evident that a greater part of the
uneasiness attending the removal of atmospheric pressure had actually
worn off, as I had expected, and that much of the pain endured for
the last two hours should have been attributed altogether to the
effects of a deficient respiration.

"At twenty minutes before nine o'clock -- that is to say, a short
time prior to my closing up the mouth of the chamber, the mercury
attained its limit, or ran down, in the barometer, which, as I
mentioned before, was one of an extended construction. It then
indicated an altitude on my part of 132,000 feet, or five-and-twenty
miles, and I consequently surveyed at that time an extent of the
earth's area amounting to no less than the three
hundred-and-twentieth part of its entire superficies. At nine o'clock
I had again lost sight of land to the eastward, but not before I
became aware that the balloon was drifting rapidly to the N. N. W.
The convexity of the ocean beneath me was very evident indeed,
although my view was often interrupted by the masses of cloud which
floated to and fro. I observed now that even the lightest vapors
never rose to more than ten miles above the level of the sea.

"At half past nine I tried the experiment of throwing out a handful
of feathers through the valve. They did not float as I had expected;
but dropped down perpendicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and with
the greatest velocity -- being out of sight in a very few seconds. I
did not at first know what to make of this extraordinary phenomenon;
not being able to believe that my rate of ascent had, of a sudden,
met with so prodigious an acceleration. But it soon occurred to me
that the atmosphere was now far too rare to sustain even the
feathers; that they actually fell, as they appeared to do, with great
rapidity; and that I had been surprised by the united velocities of
their descent and my own elevation.

"By ten o'clock I found that I had very little to occupy my immediate
attention. Affairs went swimmingly, and I believed the balloon to be
going upward witb a speed increasing momently although I had no
longer any means of ascertaining the progression of the increase. I
suffered no pain or uneasiness of any kind, and enjoyed better
spirits than I had at any period since my departure from Rotterdam,
busying myself now in examining the state of my various apparatus,
and now in regenerating the atmosphere within the chamber. This
latter point I determined to attend to at regular intervals of forty
minutes, more on account of the preservation of my health, than from
so frequent a renovation being absolutely necessary. In the meanwhile
I could not help making anticipations. Fancy revelled in the wild and
dreamy regions of the moon. Imagination, feeling herself for once
unshackled, roamed at will among the ever-changing wonders of a
shadowy and unstable land. Now there were boary and time-honored
forests, and craggy precipices, and waterfalls tumbling with a loud
noise into abysses without a bottom. Then I came suddenly into still
noonday solitudes, where no wind of heaven ever intruded, and where
vast meadows of poppies, and slender, lily-looking flowers spread
themselves out a weary distance, all silent and motionless forever.
Then again I journeyed far down away into another country where it
was all one dim and vague lake, with a boundary line of clouds. And
out of this melancholy water arose a forest of tall eastern trees,
like a wilderness of dreams. And I have in mind that the shadows of
the trees which fell upon the lake remained not on the surface where
they fell, but sunk slowly and steadily down, and commingled with the
waves, while from the trunks of the trees other shadows were
continually coming out, and taking the place of their brothers thus
entombed. "This then," I said thoughtfully, "is the very reason why
the waters of this lake grow blacker with age, and more melancholy as
the hours run on." But fancies such as these were not the sole
possessors of my brain. Horrors of a nature most stern and most
appalling would too frequently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and
shake the innermost depths of my soul with the bare supposition of
their possibility. Yet I would not suffer my thoughts for any length
of time to dwell upon these latter speculations, rightly judging the
real and palpable dangers of the voyage sufficient for my undivided
attention.

"At five o'clock, p.m., being engaged in regenerating the atmosphere
within the chamber, I took that opportunity of observing the cat and
kittens through the valve. The cat herself appeared to suffer again
very much, and I had no hesitation in attributing her uneasiness
chiefly to a difficulty in breathing; but my experiment with the
kittens had resulted very strangely. I had expected, of course, to
see them betray a sense of pain, although in a less degree than their
mother, and this would have been sufficient to confirm my opinion
concerning the habitual endurance of atmospheric pressure. But I was
not prepared to find them, upon close examination, evidently enjoying
a high degree of health, breathing with the greatest ease and perfect
regularity, and evincing not the slightest sign of any uneasiness
whatever. I could only account for all this by extending my theory,
and supposing that the highly rarefied atmosphere around might
perhaps not be, as I had taken for granted, chemically insufficient
for the purposes of life, and that a person born in such a medium
might, possibly, be unaware of any inconvenience attending its
inhalation, while, upon removal to the denser strata near the earth,
he might endure tortures of a similar nature to those I had so lately
experienced. It has since been to me a matter of deep regret that an
awkward accident, at this time, occasioned me the loss of my little
family of cats, and deprived me of the insight into this matter which
a continued experiment might have afforded. In passing my hand
through the valve, with a cup of water for the old puss, the sleeves
of my shirt became entangled in the loop which sustained the basket,
and thus, in a moment, loosened it from the bottom. Had the whole
actually vanished into air, it could not have shot from my sight in a
more abrupt and instantaneous manner. Positively, there could not
have intervened the tenth part of a second between the disengagement
of the basket and its absolute and total disappearance with all that
it contained. My good wishes followed it to the earth, but of course,
I had no hope that either cat or kittens would ever live to tell the
tale of their misfortune.

"At six o'clock, I perceived a great portion of the earth's visible
area to the eastward involved in thick shadow, which continued to
advance with great rapidity, until, at five minutes before seven, the
whole surface in view was enveloped in the darkness of night. It was
not, however, until long after this time that the rays of the setting
sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and this circumstance, although
of course fully anticipated, did not fail to give me an infinite deal
of pleasure. It was evident that, in the morning, I should behold the
rising luminary many hours at least before the citizens of Rotterdam,
in spite of their situation so much farther to the eastward, and
thus, day after day, in proportion to the height ascended, would I
enjoy the light of the sun for a longer and a longer period. I now
determined to keep a journal of my passage, reckoning the days from
one to twenty-four hours continuously, without taking into
consideration the intervals of darkness.

"At ten o'clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie down for the
rest of the night; but here a difficulty presented itself, which,
obvious as it may appear, had escaped my attention up to the very
moment of which I am now speaking. If I went to sleep as I proposed,
how could the atmosphere in the chamber be regenerated in the
interim? To breathe it for more than an hour, at the farthest, would
be a matter of impossibility, or, if even this term could be extended
to an hour and a quarter, the most ruinous consequences might ensue.
The consideration of this dilemma gave me no little disquietude; and
it will hardly be believed, that, after the dangers I had undergone,
I should look upon this business in so serious a light, as to give up
all hope of accomplishing my ultimate design, and finally make up my
mind to the necessity of a descent. But this hesitation was only
momentary. I reflected that man is the veriest slave of custom, and
that many points in the routine of his existence are deemed
essentially important, which are only so at all by his having
rendered them habitual. It was very certain that I could not do
without sleep; but I might easily bring myself to feel no
inconvenience from being awakened at intervals of an hour during the
whole period of my repose. It would require but five minutes at most
to regenerate the atmosphere in the fullest manner, and the only real
difficulty was to contrive a method of arousing myself at the proper
moment for so doing. But this was a question which, I am willing to
confess, occasioned me no little trouble in its solution. To be sure,
I had heard of the student who, to prevent his falling asleep over
his books, held in one hand a ball of copper, the din of whose
descent into a basin of the same metal on the floor beside his chair,
served effectually to startle him up, if, at any moment, he should be
overcome with drowsiness. My own case, however, was very different
indeed, and left me no room for any similar idea; for I did not wish
to keep awake, but to be aroused from slumber at regular intervals of
time. I at length hit upon the following expedient, which, simple as
it may seem, was hailed by me, at the moment of discovery, as an
invention fully equal to that of the telescope, the steam-engine, or
the art of printing itself.

"It is necessary to premise, that the balloon, at the elevation now
attained, continued its course upward with an even and undeviating
ascent, and the car consequently followed with a steadiness so
perfect that it would have been impossible to detect in it the
slightest vacillation whatever. This circumstance favored me greatly
in the project I now determined to adopt. My supply of water had been
put on board in kegs containing five gallons each, and ranged very
securely around the interior of the car. I unfastened one of these,
and taking two ropes tied them tightly across the rim of the
wicker-work from one side to the other; placing them about a foot
apart and parallel so as to form a kind of shelf, upon which I placed
the keg, and steadied it in a horizontal position. About eight inches
immediately below these ropes, and four feet from the bottom of the
car I fastened another shelf -- but made of thin plank, being the
only similar piece of wood I had. Upon this latter shelf, and exactly
beneath one of the rims of the keg, a small earthern pitcher was
deposited. I now bored a hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher,
and fitted in a plug of soft wood, cut in a tapering or conical
shape. This plug I pushed in or pulled out, as might happen, until,
after a few experiments, it arrived at that exact degree of
tightness, at which the water, oozing from the hole, and falling into
the pitcher below, would fill the latter to the brim in the period of
sixty minutes. This, of course, was a matter briefly and easily
ascertained, by noticing the proportion of the pitcher filled in any
given time. Having arranged all this, the rest of the plan is
obvious. My bed was so contrived upon the floor of the car, as to
bring my head, in lying down, immediately below the mouth of the
pitcher. It was evident, that, at the expiration of an hour, the
pitcher, getting full, would be forced to run over, and to run over
at the mouth, which was somewhat lower than the rim. It was also
evident, that the water thus falling from a height of more than four
feet, could not do otherwise than fall upon my face, and that the
sure consequences would be, to waken me up instantaneously, even from
the soundest slumber in the world.

"It was fully eleven by the time I had completed these arrangements,
and I immediately betook myself to bed, with full confidence in the
efficiency of my invention. Nor in this matter was I disappointed.
Punctually every sixty minutes was I aroused by my trusty
chronometer, when, having emptied the pitcher into the bung-hole of
the keg, and performed the duties of the condenser, I retired again
to bed. These regular interruptions to my slumber caused me even less
discomfort than I had anticipated; and when I finally arose for the
day, it was seven o'clock, and the sun had attained many degrees
above the line of my horizon.

"April 3d. I found the balloon at an immense height indeed, and the
earth's apparent convexity increased in a material degree. Below me
in the ocean lay a cluster of black specks, which undoubtedly were
islands. Far away to the northward I perceived a thin, white, and
exceedingly brilliant line, or streak, on the edge of the horizon,
and I had no hesitation in supposing it to be the southern disk of
the ices of the Polar Sea. My curiosity was greatly excited, for I
had hopes of passing on much farther to the north, and might
possibly, at some period, find myself placed directly above the Pole
itself. I now lamented that my great elevation would, in this case,
prevent my taking as accurate a survey as I could wish. Much,
however, might be ascertained. Nothing else of an extraordinary
nature occurred during the day. My apparatus all continued in good
order, and the balloon still ascended without any perceptible
vacillation. The cold was intense, and obliged me to wrap up closely
in an overcoat. When darkness came over the earth, I betook myself to
bed, although it was for many hours afterward broad daylight all
around my immediate situation. The water-clock was punctual in its
duty, and I slept until next morning soundly, with the exception of
the periodical interruption.

"April 4th. Arose in good health and spirits, and was astonished at
the singular change which had taken place in the appearance of the
sea. It had lost, in a great measure, the deep tint of blue it had
hitherto worn, being now of a grayish-white, and of a lustre dazzling
to the eye. The islands were no longer visible; whether they had
passed down the horizon to the southeast, or whether my increasing
elevation had left them out of sight, it is impossible to say. I was
inclined, however, to the latter opinion. The rim of ice to the
northward was growing more and more apparent. Cold by no means so
intense. Nothing of importance occurred, and I passed the day in
reading, having taken care to supply myself with books.

"April 5th. Beheld the singular phenomenon of the sun rising while
nearly the whole visible surface of the earth continued to be
involved in darkness. In time, however, the light spread itself over
all, and I again saw the line of ice to the northward. It was now
very distinct, and appeared of a much darker hue than the waters of
the ocean. I was evidently approaching it, and with great rapidity.
Fancied I could again distinguish a strip of land to the eastward,
and one also to the westward, but could not be certain. Weather
moderate. Nothing of any consequence happened during the day. Went
early to bed.

"April 6th. Was surprised at finding the rim of ice at a very
moderate distance, and an immense field of the same material
stretching away off to the horizon in the north. It was evident that
if the balloon held its present course, it would soon arrive above
the Frozen Ocean, and I had now little doubt of ultimately seeing the
Pole. During the whole of the day I continued to near the ice. Toward
night the limits of my horizon very suddenly and materially
increased, owing undoubtedly to the earth's form being that of an
oblate spheroid, and my arriving above the flattened regions in the
vicinity of the Arctic circle. When darkness at length overtook me, I
went to bed in great anxiety, fearing to pass over the object of so
much curiosity when I should have no opportunity of observing it.

"April 7th. Arose early, and, to my great joy, at length beheld what
there could be no hesitation in supposing the northern Pole itself.
It was there, beyond a doubt, and immediately beneath my feet; but,
alas! I had now ascended to so vast a distance, that nothing could
with accuracy be discerned. Indeed, to judge from the progression of
the numbers indicating my various altitudes, respectively, at
different periods, between six A.M. on the second of April, and
twenty minutes before nine A.M. of the same day (at which time the
barometer ran down), it might be fairly inferred that the balloon had
now, at four o'clock in the morning of April the seventh, reached a
height of not less, certainly, than 7,254 miles above the surface of
the sea. This elevation may appear immense, but the estimate upon
which it is calculated gave a result in all probability far inferior
to the truth. At all events I undoubtedly beheld the whole of the
earth's major diameter; the entire northern hemisphere lay beneath me
like a chart orthographically projected: and the great circle of the
equator itself formed the boundary line of my horizon. Your
Excellencies may, however, readily imagine that the confined regions
hitherto unexplored within the limits of the Arctic circle, although
situated directly beneath me, and therefore seen without any
appearance of being foreshortened, were still, in themselves,
comparatively too diminutive, and at too great a distance from the
point of sight, to admit of any very accurate examination.
Nevertheless, what could be seen was of a nature singular and
exciting. Northwardly from that huge rim before mentioned, and which,
with slight qualification, may be called the limit of human discovery
in these regions, one unbroken, or nearly unbroken, sheet of ice
continues to extend. In the first few degrees of this its progress,
its surface is very sensibly flattened, farther on depressed into a
plane, and finally, becoming not a little concave, it terminates, at
the Pole itself, in a circular centre, sharply defined, wbose
apparent diameter subtended at the balloon an angle of about
sixty-five seconds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity, was,
at all times, darker than any other spot upon the visible hemisphere,
and occasionally deepened into the most absolute and impenetrable
blackness. Farther than this, little could be ascertained. By twelve
o'clock the circular centre had materially decreased in
circumference, and by seven P.M. I lost sight of it entirely; the
balloon passing over the western limb of the ice, and floating away
rapidly in the direction of the equator.

"April 8th. Found a sensible diminution in the earth's apparent
diameter, besides a material alteration in its general color and
appearance. The whole visible area partook in different degrees of a
tint of pale yellow, and in some portions had acquired a brilliancy
even painful to the eye. My view downward was also considerably
impeded by the dense atmosphere in the vicinity of the surface being
loaded with clouds, between whose masses I could only now and then
obtain a glimpse of the earth itself. This difficulty of direct
vision had troubled me more or less for the last forty-eight hours;
but my present enormous elevation brought closer together, as it
were, the floating bodies of vapor, and the inconvenience became, of
course, more and more palpable in proportion to my ascent.
Nevertheless, I could easily perceive that the balloon now hovered
above the range of great lakes in the continent of North America, and
was holding a course, due south, which would bring me to the tropics.
This circumstance did not fail to give me the most heartful
satisfaction, and I hailed it as a happy omen of ultimate success.
Indeed, the direction I had hitherto taken, had filled me with
uneasiness; for it was evident that, had I continued it much longer,
there would have been no possibility of my arriving at the moon at
all, whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at only the small angle
of 5 degrees 8' 48".

"April 9th. To-day the earth's diameter was greatly diminished, and
the color of the surface assumed hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The
balloon kept steadily on her course to the southward, and arrived, at
nine P.M., over the northern edge of the Mexican Gulf.

"April 10th. I was suddenly aroused from slumber, about five o'clock
this morning, by a loud, crackling, and terrific sound, for which I
could in no manner account. It was of very brief duration, but, while
it lasted resembled nothing in the world of which I had any previous
experience. It is needless to say that I became excessively alarmed,
having, in the first instance, attributed the noise to the bursting
of the balloon. I examined all my apparatus, however, with great
attention, and could discover nothing out of order. Spent a great
part of the day in meditating upon an occurrence so extraordinary,
but could find no means whatever of accounting for it. Went to bed
dissatisfied, and in a state of great anxiety and agitation.

"April 11th. Found a startling diminution in the apparent diameter of
the earth, and a considerable increase, now observable for the first
time, in that of the moon itself, which wanted only a few days of
being full. It now required long and excessive labor to condense
within the chamber sufficient atmospheric air for the sustenance of
life.

"April 12th. A singular alteration took place in regard to the
direction of the balloon, and although fully anticipated, afforded me
the most unequivocal delight. Having reached, in its former course,
about the twentieth parallel of southern latitude, it turned off
suddenly, at an acute angle, to the eastward, and thus proceeded
throughout the day, keeping nearly, if not altogether, in the exact
plane of the lunar elipse. What was worthy of remark, a very
perceptible vacillation in the car was a consequence of this change
of route -- a vacillation which prevailed, in a more or less degree,
for a period of many hours.

"April 13th. Was again very much alarmed by a repetition of the loud,
crackling noise which terrified me on the tenth. Thought long upon
the subject, but was unable to form any satisfactory conclusion.
Great decrease in the earth's apparent diameter, which now subtended
from the balloon an angle of very little more than twenty-five
degrees. The moon could not be seen at all, being nearly in my
zenith. I still continued in the plane of the elipse, but made little
progress to the eastward.

"April 14th. Extremely rapid decrease in the diameter of the earth.
To-day I became strongly impressed with the idea, that the balloon
was now actually running up the line of apsides to the point of
perigee- in other words, holding the direct course which would bring
it immediately to the moon in that part of its orbit the nearest to
the earth. The moon iself was directly overhead, and consequently
hidden from my view. Great and long-continued labor necessary for the
condensation of the atmosphere.

"April 15th. Not even the outlines of continents and seas could now
be traced upon the earth with anything approaching distinctness.
About twelve o'clock I became aware, for the third time, of that
appalling sound which had so astonished me before. It now, however,
continued for some moments, and gathered intensity as it continued.
At length, while, stupefied and terror-stricken, I stood in
expectation of I knew not what hideous destruction, the car vibrated
with excessive violence, and a gigantic and flaming mass of some
material which I could not distinguish, came with a voice of a
thousand thunders, roaring and booming by the balloon. When my fears
and astonishment had in some degree subsided, I had little difficulty
in supposing it to be some mighty volcanic fragment ejected from that
world to which I was so rapidly approaching, and, in all probability,
one of that singular class of substances occasionally picked up on
the earth, and termed meteoric stones for want of a better
appellation.

"April 16th. To-day, looking upward as well as I could, through each
of the side windows alternately, I beheld, to my great delight, a
very small portion of the moon's disk protruding, as it were, on all
sides beyond the huge circumference of the balloon. My agitation was
extreme; for I had now little doubt of soon reaching the end of my
perilous voyage. Indeed, the labor now required by the condenser had
increased to a most oppressive degree, and allowed me scarcely any
respite from exertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out of the question.
I became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaustion. It was
impossible that human nature could endure this state of intense
suffering much longer. During the now brief interval of darkness a
meteoric stone again passed in my vicinity, and the frequency of
these phenomena began to occasion me much apprehension.

"April 17th. This morning proved an epoch in my voyage. It will be
remembered that, on the thirteenth, the earth subtended an angular
breadth of twenty-five degrees. On the fourteenth this had greatly
diminished; on the fifteenth a still more remarkable decrease was
observable; and, on retiring on the night of the sixteenth, I had
noticed an angle of no more than about seven degrees and fifteen
minutes. What, therefore, must have been my amazement, on awakening
from a brief and disturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the
seventeenth, at finding the surface beneath me so suddenly and
wonderfully augmented in volume, as to subtend no less than
thirty-nine degrees in apparent angular diameter! I was
thunderstruck! No words can give any adequate idea of the extreme,
the absolute horror and astonishment, with which I was seized
possessed, and altogether overwhelmed. My knees tottered beneath me
-- my teeth chattered -- my hair started up on end. "The balloon,
then, had actually burst!" These were the first tumultuous ideas that
hurried through my mind: "The balloon had positively burst! -- I was
falling -- falling with the most impetuous, the most unparalleled
velocity! To judge by the immense distance already so quickly passed
over, it could not be more than ten minutes, at the farthest, before
I should meet the surface of the earth, and be hurled into
annihilation!" But at length reflection came to my relief. I paused;
I considered; and I began to doubt. The matter was impossible. I
could not in any reason have so rapidly come down. Besides, although
I was evidently approaching the surface below me, it was with a speed
by no means commensurate with the velocity I had at first so horribly
conceived. This consideration served to calm the perturbation of my
mind, and I finally succeeded in regarding the phenomenon in its
proper point of view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprived me
of my senses, when I could not see the vast difference, in
appearance, between the surface below me, and the surface of my
mother earth. The latter was indeed over my head, and completely
hidden by the balloon, while the moon -- the moon itself in all its
glory -- lay beneath me, and at my feet.

"The stupor and surprise produced in my mind by this extraordinary
change in the posture of affairs was perhaps, after all, that part of
the adventure least susceptible of explanation. For the
bouleversement in itself was not only natural and inevitable, but had
been long actually anticipated as a circumstance to be expected
whenever I should arrive at that exact point of my voyage where the
attraction of the planet should be superseded by the attraction of
the satellite -- or, more precisely, where the gravitation of the
balloon toward the earth should be less powerful than its gravitation
toward the moon. To be sure I arose from a sound slumber, with all my
senses in confusion, to the contemplation of a very startling
phenomenon, and one which, although expected, was not expected at the
moment. The revolution itself must, of course, have taken place in an
easy and gradual manner, and it is by no means clear that, had I even
been awake at the time of the occurrence, I should have been made
aware of it by any internal evidence of an inversion -- that is to
say, by any inconvenience or disarrangement, either about my person
or about my apparatus.

"It is almost needless to say that, upon coming to a due sense of my
situation, and emerging from the terror which had absorbed every
faculty of my soul, my attention was, in the first place, wholly
directed to the contemplation of the general physical appearance of
the moon. It lay beneath me like a chart -- and although I judged it
to be still at no inconsiderable distance, the indentures of its
surface were defined to my vision with a most striking and altogether
unaccountable distinctness. The entire absence of ocean or sea, and
indeed of any lake or river, or body of water whatsoever, struck me,
at first glance, as the most extraordinary feature in its geological
condition. Yet, strange to say, I beheld vast level regions of a
character decidedly alluvial, although by far the greater portion of
the hemisphere in sight was covered with innumerable volcanic
mountains, conical in shape, and having more the appearance of
artificial than of natural protuberance. The highest among them does
not exceed three and three-quarter miles in perpendicular elevation;
but a map of the volcanic districts of the Campi Phlegraei would
afford to your Excellencies a better idea of their general surface
than any unworthy description I might think proper to attempt. The
greater part of them were in a state of evident eruption, and gave me
fearfully to understand their fury and their power, by the repeated
thunders of the miscalled meteoric stones, which now rushed upward by
the balloon with a frequency more and more appalling.

"April 18th. To-day I found an enormous increase in the moon's
apparent bulk -- and the evidently accelerated velocity of my descent
began to fill me with alarm. It will be remembered, that, in the
earliest stage of my speculations upon the possibility of a passage
to the moon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an atmosphere, dense
in proportion to the bulk of the planet, had entered largely into my
calculations; this too in spite of many theories to the contrary,
and, it may be added, in spite of a general disbelief in the
existence of any lunar atmosphere at all. But, in addition to what I
have already urged in regard to Encke's comet and the zodiacal light,
I had been strengthened in my opinion by certain observations of Mr.
Schroeter, of Lilienthal. He observed the moon when two days and a
half old, in the evening soon after sunset, before the dark part was
visible, and continued to watch it until it became visible. The two
cusps appeared tapering in a very sharp faint prolongation, each
exhibiting its farthest extremity faintly illuminated by the solar
rays, before any part of the dark hemisphere was visible. Soon
afterward, the whole dark limb became illuminated. This prolongation
of the cusps beyond the semicircle, I thought, must have arisen from
the refraction of the sun's rays by the moon's atmosphere. I
computed, also, the height of the atmosphere (which could refract
light enough into its dark hemisphere to produce a twilight more
luminous than the light reflected from the earth when the moon is
about 32 degrees from the new) to be 1,356 Paris feet; in this view,
I supposed the greatest height capable of refracting the solar ray,
to be 5,376 feet. My ideas on this topic had also received
confirmation by a passage in the eighty-second volume of the
Philosophical Transactions, in which it is stated that at an
occultation of Jupiter's satellites, the third disappeared after
having been about 1" or 2" of time indistinct, and the fourth became
indiscernible near the limb.{*4}

"Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and the fixed stars,
when approaching the moon to occultation, to have their circular
figure changed into an oval one; and, in other occultations, he found
no alteration of figure at all. Hence it might be supposed, that at
some times and not at others, there is a dense matter encompassing
the moon wherein the rays of the stars are refracted.

"Upon the resistance or, more properly, upon the support of an
atmosphere, existing in the state of density imagined, I had, of
course, entirely depended for the safety of my ultimate descent.
Should I then, after all, prove to have been mistaken, I had in
consequence nothing better to expect, as a finale to my adventure,
than being dashed into atoms against the rugged surface of the
satellite. And, indeed, I had now every reason to be terrified. My
distance from the moon was comparatively trifling, while the labor
required by the condenser was diminished not at all, and I could
discover no indication whatever of a decreasing rarity in the air.

"April 19th. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o'clock, the
surface of the moon being frightfully near, and my apprehensions
excited to the utmost, the pump of my condenser at length gave
evident tokens of an alteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had
reason to believe its density considerably increased. By eleven, very
little labor was necessary at the apparatus; and at twelve o'clock,
with some hesitation, I ventured to unscrew the tourniquet, when,
finding no inconvenience from having done so, I finally threw open
the gum-elastic chamber, and unrigged it from around the car. As
might have been expected, spasms and violent headache were the
immediate consequences of an experiment so precipitate and full of
danger. But these and other difficulties attending respiration, as
they were by no means so great as to put me in peril of my life, I
determined to endure as I best could, in consideration of my leaving
them behind me momently in my approach to the denser strata near the
moon. This approach, however, was still impetuous in the extreme; and
it soon became alarmingly certain that, although I had probably not
been deceived in the expectation of an atmosphere dense in proportion
to the mass of the satellite, still I had been wrong in supposing
this density, even at the surface, at all adequate to the support of
the great weight contained in the car of my balloon. Yet this should
have been the case, and in an equal degree as at the surface of the
earth, the actual gravity of bodies at either planet supposed in the
ratio of the atmospheric condensation. That it was not the case,
however, my precipitous downfall gave testimony enough; why it was
not so, can only be explained by a reference to those possible
geological disturbances to which I have formerly alluded. At all
events I was now close upon the planet, and coming down with the most
terrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throwing
overboard first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing
apparatus and gum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within
the car. But it was all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible
rapidity, and was now not more than half a mile from the surface. As
a last resource, therefore, having got rid of my coat, hat, and
boots, I cut loose from the balloon the car itself, which was of no
inconsiderable weight, and thus, clinging with both hands to the
net-work, I had barely time to observe that the whole country, as far
as the eye could reach, was thickly interspersed with diminutive
habitations, ere I tumbled headlong into the very heart of a
fantastical-looking city, and into the middle of a vast crowd of ugly
little people, who none of them uttered a single syllable, or gave
themselves the least trouble to render me assistance, but stood, like
a parcel of idiots, grinning in a ludicrous manner, and eyeing me and
my balloon askant, with their arms set a-kimbo. I turned from them in
contempt, and, gazing upward at the earth so lately left, and left
perhaps for ever, beheld it like a huge, dull, copper shield, about
two degrees in diameter, fixed immovably in the heavens overhead, and
tipped on one of its edges with a crescent border of the most
brilliant gold. No traces of land or water could be discovered, and
the whole was clouded with variable spots, and belted with tropical
and equatorial zones.

"Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series of great
anxieties, unheard of dangers, and unparalleled escapes, I had, at
length, on the nineteenth day of my departure from Rotterdam, arrived
in safety at the conclusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most
extraordinary, and the most momentous, ever accomplished, undertaken,
or conceived by any denizen of earth. But my adventures yet remain to
be related. And indeed your Excellencies may well imagine that, after
a residence of five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting
in its own peculiar character, but rendered doubly so by its intimate
connection, in capacity of satellite, with the world inhabited by
man, I may have intelligence for the private ear of the States'
College of Astronomers of far more importance than the details,
however wonderful, of the mere voyage which so happily concluded.
This is, in fact, the case. I have much -- very much which it would
give me the greatest pleasure to communicate. I have much to say of
the climate of the planet; of its wonderful alternations of heat and
cold, of unmitigated and burning sunshine for one fortnight, and more
than polar frigidity for the next; of a constant transfer of
moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo, from the point beneath
the sun to the point the farthest from it; of a variable zone of
running water, of the people themselves; of their manners, customs,
and political institutions; of their peculiar physical construction;
of their ugliness; of their want of ears, those useless appendages in
an atmosphere so peculiarly modified; of their consequent ignorance
of the use and properties of speech; of their substitute for speech
in a singular method of inter-communication; of the incomprehensible
connection between each particular individual in the moon with some
particular individual on the earth -- a connection analogous with,
and depending upon, that of the orbs of the planet and the
satellites, and by means of which the lives and destinies of the
inhabitants of the one are interwoven with the lives and destinies of
the inhabitants of the other; and above all, if it so please your
Excellencies -- above all, of those dark and hideous mysteries which
lie in the outer regions of the moon -- regions which, owing to the
almost miraculous accordance of the satellite's rotation on its own
axis with its sidereal revolution about the earth, have never yet
been turned, and, by God's mercy, never shall be turned, to the
scrutiny of the telescopes of man. All this, and more- much more --
would I most willingly detail. But, to be brief, I must have my
reward. I am pining for a return to my family and to my home, and as
the price of any farther communication on my part -- in consideration
of the light which I have it in my power to throw upon many very
important branches of physical and metaphysical science -- I must
solicit, through the influence of your honorable body, a pardon for
the crime of which I have been guilty in the death of the creditors
upon my departure from Rotterdam. This, then, is the object of the
present paper. Its bearer, an inhabitant of the moon, whom I have
prevailed upon, and properly instructed, to be my messenger to the
earth, will await your Excellencies' pleasure, and return to me with
the pardon in question, if it can, in any manner, be obtained.

"I have the honor to be, etc., your Excellencies' very humble
servant,

HANS PFAALL."

Upon finishing the perusal of this very extraordinary document,
Professor Rub-a-dub, it is said, dropped his pipe upon the ground in
the extremity of his surprise, and Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk
having taken off his spectacles, wiped them, and deposited them in
his pocket, so far forgot both himself and his dignity, as to turn
round three times upon his heel in the quintessence of astonishment
and admiration. There was no doubt about the matter -- the pardon
should be obtained. So at least swore, with a round oath, Professor
Rub-a-dub, and so finally thought the illustrious Von Underduk, as he
took the arm of his brother in science, and without saying a word,
began to make the best of his way home to deliberate upon the
measures to be adopted. Having reached the door, however, of the
burgomaster's dwelling, the professor ventured to suggest that as the
messenger had thought proper to disappear -- no doubt frightened to
death by the savage appearance of the burghers of Rotterdam -- the
pardon would be of little use, as no one but a man of the moon would
undertake a voyage to so vast a distance. To the truth of this
observation the burgomaster assented, and the matter was therefore at
an end. Not so, however, rumors and speculations. The letter, having
been published, gave rise to a variety of gossip and opinion. Some of
the over-wise even made themselves ridiculous by decrying the whole
business; as nothing better than a hoax. But hoax, with these sort of
people, is, I believe, a general term for all matters above their
comprehension. For my part, I cannot conceive upon what data they
have founded such an accusation. Let us see what they say:

Imprimus. That certain wags in Rotterdam have certain especial
antipathies to certain burgomasters and astronomers.

Don't understand at all.

Secondly. That an odd little dwarf and bottle conjurer, both of whose
ears, for some misdemeanor, have been cut off close to his head, has
been missing for several days from the neighboring city of Bruges.

Well -- what of that?

Thirdly. That the newspapers which were stuck all over the little
balloon were newspapers of Holland, and therefore could not have been
made in the moon. They were dirty papers -- very dirty -- and Gluck,
the printer, would take his Bible oath to their having been printed
in Rotterdam.

He was mistaken -- undoubtedly -- mistaken.

Fourthly, That Hans Pfaall himself, the druken villain, and the three
very idle gentlemen styled his creditors, were all seen, no longer
than two or three days ago, in a tippling house in the suburbs,
having just returned, with money in their pockets, from a trip beyond
the sea.

Don't believe it -- don't believe a word of it.

Lastly. That it is an opinion very generally received, or which ought
to be generally received, that the College of Astronomers in the city
of Rotterdam, as well as other colleges in all other parts of the
world, -- not to mention colleges and astronomers in general, -- are,
to say the least of the matter, not a whit better, nor greater, nor
wiser than they ought to be.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

Notes to Hans Pfaal

{*1} NOTE--Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity between
the above sketchy trifle and the celebrated "Moon-Story" of Mr.
Locke; but as both have the character of _hoaxes _(although the one
is in a tone of banter, the other of downright earnest), and as both
hoaxes are on the same subject, the moon--moreover, as both attempt
to give plausibility by scientific detail--the author of "Hans
Pfaall" thinks it necessary to say, in _self-defence, _that his own
_jeu d'esprit _was published in the "Southern Literary Messenger"
about three weeks before the commencement of Mr. L's in the "New York
Sun." Fancying a likeness which, perhaps, does not exist, some of the
New York papers copied "Hans Pfaall," and collated it with the
"Moon-Hoax," by way of detecting the writer of the one in the writer
of the other.

As many more persons were actually gulled by the "Moon-Hoax" than
would be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may here afford some
little amusement to show why no one should have been deceived-to
point out those particulars of the story which should have been
sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed, however rich the
imagination displayed in this ingenious fiction, it wanted much of
the force which might have been given it by a more scrupulous
attention to facts and to general analogy. That the public were
misled, even for an instant, merely proves the gross ignorance which
is so generally prevalent upon subjects of an astronomical nature.

The moon's distance from the earth is, in round numbers, 240,000
miles. If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a lens would
bring the satellite (or any distant object), we, of course, have but
to divide the distance by the magnifying or, more strictly, by the
space-penetrating power of the glass. Mr. L. makes his lens have a
power of 42,000 times. By this divide 240,000 (the moon's real
distance), and we have five miles and five sevenths, as the apparent
distance. No animal at all could be seen so far; much less the minute
points particularized in the story. Mr. L. speaks about Sir John
Herschel's perceiving flowers (the Papaver rheas, etc.), and even
detecting the color and the shape of the eyes of small birds. Shortly
before, too, he has himself observed that the lens would not render
perceptible objects of less than eighteen inches in diameter; but
even this, as I have said, is giving the glass by far too great
power. It may be observed, in passing, that this prodigious glass is
said to have been molded at the glasshouse of Messrs. Hartley and
Grant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.'s establishment had ceased
operations for many years previous to the publication of the hoax.

On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of "a hairy veil" over the
eyes of a species of bison, the author says: "It immediately occurred
to the acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a providential
contrivance to protect the eyes of the animal from the great extremes
of light and darkness to which all the inhabitants of our side of the
moon are periodically subjected." But this cannot be thought a very
"acute" observation of the Doctor's. The inhabitants of our side of
the moon have, evidently, no darkness at all, so there can be nothing
of the "extremes" mentioned. In the absence of the sun they have a
light from the earth equal to that of thirteen full unclouded moons.

The topography throughout, even when professing to accord with
Blunt's Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or any other
lunar chart, and even grossly at variance with itself. The points of
the compass, too, are in inextricable confusion; the writer appearing
to be ignorant that, on a lunar map, these are not in accordance with
terrestrial points; the east being to the left, etc.

Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, Mare
Tranquillitatis, Mare Faecunditatis, etc., given to the dark spots by
former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details regarding oceans
and other large bodies of water in the moon; whereas there is no
astronomical point more positively ascertained than that no such
bodies exist there. In examining the boundary between light and
darkness (in the crescent or gibbous moon) where this boundary
crosses any of the dark places, the line of division is found to be
rough and jagged; but, were these dark places liquid, it would
evidently be even.

The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is but a
literal copy of Peter Wilkins' account of the wings of his flying
islanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at least,
it might be thought.

On page 23, we have the following: "What a prodigious influence must
our thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon this satellite
when an embryo in the womb of time, the passive subject of chemical
affinity!" This is very fine; but it should be observed that no
astronomer would have made such remark, especially to any journal of
Science; for the earth, in the sense intended, is not only thirteen,
but forty-nine times larger than the moon. A similar objection
applies to the whole of the concluding pages, where, by way of
introduction to some discoveries in Saturn, the philosophical
correspondent enters into a minute schoolboy account of that planet
-- this to the "Edinburgh journal of Science!"

But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayed the
fiction. Let us imagine the power actually possessed of seeing
animals upon the moon's surface -- what would first arrest the
attention of an observer from the earth? Certainly neither their
shape, size, nor any other such peculiarity, so soon as their
remarkable _situation_. They would appear to be walking, with heels
up and head down, in the manner of flies on a ceiling. The _real_
observer would have uttered an instant ejaculation of surprise
(however prepared by previous knowledge) at the singularity of their
position; the _fictitious_ observer has not even mentioned the
subject, but speaks of seeing the entire bodies of such creatures,
when it is demonstrable that he could have seen only the diameter of
their heads!

It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the size, and
particularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their ability
to fly in so rare an atmosphere--if, indeed, the moon have any), with
most of the other fancies in regard to animal and vegetable
existence, are at variance, generally, with all analogical reasoning
on these themes; and that analogy here will often amount to
conclusive demonstration. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add,
that all the suggestions attributed to Brewster and Herschel, in the
beginning of the article, about "a transfusion of artificial light
through the focal object of vision," etc., etc., belong to that
species of figurative writing which comes, most properly, under the
denomination of rigmarole.

There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery among
the stars--a limit whose nature need only be stated to be understood.
If, indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that is required,
man's ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the task, and we
might have them of any size demanded. But, unhappily, in proportion
to the increase of size in the lens, and consequently of
space-penetrating power, is the diminution of light from the object,
by diffusion of its rays. And for this evil there is no remedy within
human ability; for an object is seen by means of that light alone
which proceeds from itself, whether direct or reflected. Thus the
only "artificial" light which could avail Mr. Locke, would be some
artificial light which he should be able to throw-not upon the "focal
object of vision," but upon the real object to be viewed-to wit: upon
the moon. It has been easily calculated that, when the light
proceeding from a star becomes so diffused as to be as weak as the
natural light proceeding from the whole of the stars, in a clear and
moonless night, then the star is no longer visible for any practical
purpose.

The Earl of Ross's telescope, lately constructed in England, has a
_speculum_ with a reflecting surface of 4,071 square inches; the
Herschel telescope having one of only 1,811. The metal of the Earl of
Ross's is 6 feet diameter; it is 5 1/2 inches thick at the edges, and
5 at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal length is 50 feet.

I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book,
whose title-page runs thus: "L'Homme dans la lvne ou le Voyage
Chimerique fait au Monde de la Lvne, nouuellement decouuert par
Dominique Gonzales, Aduanturier Espagnol, autremΘt dit le Courier
volant. Mis en notre langve par J. B. D. A. Paris, chez Francois
Piot, pres la Fontaine de Saint Benoist. Et chez J. Goignard, au
premier pilier de la grand'salle du Palais, proche les Consultations,
MDCXLVII." Pp. 76.

The writer professes to have translated his work from the English of
one Mr. D'Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a terrible ambiguity
in the statement. "J' en ai eu," says he "l'original de Monsieur
D'Avisson, medecin des mieux versez qui soient aujourd'huy dans la
c≥noissance des Belles Lettres, et sur tout de la Philosophic
Naturelle. Je lui ai cette obligation entre les autres, de m' auoir
non seulement mis en main cc Livre en anglois, mais encore le
Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D'Anan, gentilhomme Eccossois,
recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la version duquel j' advoue que j'
ay tirΘ le plan de la mienne."

After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil Blas, and
which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates that, being
ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, together with a
negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To increase the chances
of obtaining food, the two separate, and live as far apart as
possible. This brings about a training of birds, to serve the purpose
of carrier-pigeons between them. By and by these are taught to carry
parcels of some weight-and this weight is gradually increased. At
length the idea is entertained of uniting the force of a great number
of the birds, with a view to raising the author himself. A machine is
contrived for the purpose, and we have a minute description of it,
which is materially helped out by a steel engraving. Here we perceive
the Signor Gonzales, with point ruffles and a huge periwig, seated
astride something which resembles very closely a broomstick, and
borne aloft by a multitude of wild swans _(ganzas) _who had strings
reaching from their tails to the machine.

The main event detailed in the Signor's narrative depends upon a very
important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance until near
the end of the book. The _ganzas, _with whom he had become so
familiar, were not really denizens of St. Helena, but of the moon.
Thence it had been their custom, time out of mind, to migrate
annually to some portion of the earth. In proper season, of course,
they would return home; and the author, happening, one day, to
require their services for a short voyage, is unexpectedly carried
straight tip, and in a very brief period arrives at the satellite.
Here he finds, among other odd things, that the people enjoy extreme
happiness; that they have no _law; _that they die without pain; that
they are from ten to thirty feet in height; that they live five
thousand years; that they have an emperor called Irdonozur; and that
they can jump sixty feet high, when, being out of the gravitating
influence, they fly about with fans.

I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general _philosophy _of the
volume.

"I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of
the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it
the larger they seemed. I have also me and the earth. As to the
stars, _since there was no night where I was, they always had the
same appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearly
like the moon of a morning. _But few of them were visible, and these
ten times larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem to the
inhabitants of the earth. The moon, which wanted two days of being
full, was of a terrible bigness.

 "I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side
of the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to
it the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whether it
was calm weather or stormy, I found myself _always immediately
between the moon and the earth._ I_ _was convinced of this for two
reasons-because my birds always flew in a straight line; and because
whenever we attempted to rest, _we were carried insensibly around the
globe of the earth. _For I admit the opinion of Copernicus, who
maintains that it never ceases to revolve _from the east to the west,
_not upon the poles of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of
the world, but upon those of the Zodiac, a question of which I
propose to speak more at length here-after, when I shall have leisure
to refresh my memory in regard to the astrology which I learned at
Salamanca when young, and have since forgotten."

Notwithstanding the blunders italicized, the book is not without some
claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of the current
astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed, that the
"gravitating power" extended but a short distance from the earth's
surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager "carried insensibly
around the globe," etc.

There have been other "voyages to the moon," but none of higher merit
than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly meaningless.
In the third volume of the "American Quarterly Review" will be found
quite an elaborate criticism upon a certain "journey" of the kind in
question--a criticism in which it is difficult to say whether the
critic most exposes the stupidity of the book, or his own absurd
ignorance of astronomy. I forget the title of the work; but the
_means _of the voyage are more deplorably ill conceived than are even
the _ganzas _of our friend the Signor Gonzales. The adventurer, in
digging the earth, happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the
moon has a strong attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box,
which, when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with
him, forthwith, to the satellite. The "Flight of Thomas O'Rourke," is
a _jeu d' esprit _not altogether contemptible, and has been
translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the
gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to the
tale. The "flight" is made on an eagle's back, from Hungry Hill, a
lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.

In these various _brochures _the aim is always satirical; the theme
being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours. In
none is there any effort at _plausibility _in the details of the
voyage itself. The writers seem, in each instance, to be utterly
uninformed in respect to astronomy. In "Hans Pfaall" the design is
original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at _verisimilitude, _in the
application of scientific principles (so far as the whimsical nature
of the subject would permit), to the actual passage between the earth
and the moon.

{*2} The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes.
Emicant Trabes quos docos vocant. -- Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26.

{*3} Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr.
Green, of Nassau balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts, deny
the assertions of Humboldt, in this respect, and speak of a
decreasing inconvenience, -- precisely in accordance with the theory
here urged in a mere spirit of banter.

{*4} Havelius writes that he has several times found, in skies
perfectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude
were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the moon, at the same
elongation from the earth, and with one and the same excellent
telescope, the moon and its maculae did not appear equally lucid at
all times. From the circumstances of the observation, it is evident
that the cause of this phenomenon is not either in our air, in the
tube, in the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be looked
for in something (an atmosphere?) existing about the moon.


======


                        THE GOLD-BUG

     What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad !

          He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.

               _--All in the Wrong._

    MANY years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William
Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been
wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To
avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New
Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at
Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. This Island is a
very singular one. It consists of little else than the sea sand, and
is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter
of a mile. It is separated from the main land by a scarcely
perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and
slime, a favorite resort of the marsh hen. The vegetation, as might
be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any
magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort
Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings,
tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust and
fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole
island, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard,
white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of
the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England.
The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet,
and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with its
fragrance.

    In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern
or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small
hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his
acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship - for there was much
in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well
educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy,
and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy.
He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief
amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach
and through the myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological
specimens; - his collection of the latter might have been envied by a
Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was usually accompanied by an old
negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses of
the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by
promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attendance upon
the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." It is not improbable that
the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in
intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with
a view to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.

    The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a
fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18-, there
occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset
I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend,
whom I had not visited for several weeks - my residence being, at
that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the Island,
while the facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind
those of the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my
custom, and getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was
secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon
the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I
threw off an overcoat, took an arm-chair by the crackling
logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.

    Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some
marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits - how else
shall I term them? - of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve,
forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and
secured, with Jupiter's assistance, a scarabµus which he believed to
be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion
on the morrow.

    "And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze,
and wishing the whole tribe of scarabµi at the devil.

    "Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's
so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay
me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met
Lieutenant G--, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the
bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning.
Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is
the loveliest thing in creation!"

    "What? - sunrise?"

    "Nonsense! no! - the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color - about
the size of a large hickory-nut - with two jet black spots near one
extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other.
The antennµ are - "

    "Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you,"
here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole bug, solid, ebery bit of
him, inside and all, sep him wing - neber feel half so hebby a bug in
my life."

    "Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more
earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that any
reason for your letting the birds burn? The color" - here he turned
to me - "is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never
saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit - but of
this you cannot judge till tomorrow. In the mean time I can give you
some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small
table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some
in a drawer, but found none.

    "Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer;" and he
drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very
dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While
he did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly.
When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I
received it, a loud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the
door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to
Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with
caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previous visits.
When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the
truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friend had
depicted.

    "Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this is
a strange scarabµus, I must confess: new to me: never saw anything
like it before - unless it was a skull, or a death's-head - which it
more nearly resembles than anything else that has come under my
observation."

    "A death's-head!" echoed Legrand -"Oh - yes - well, it has
something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper
black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like
a mouth - and then the shape of the whole is oval."

    "Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I
must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of
its personal appearance."

    "Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw
tolerably - should do it at least - have had good masters, and
flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

    "But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a
very passable skull - indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent
skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of
physiology - and your scarabµus must be the queerest scarabµus 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
scarabµus caput hominis, or something of that kind - there are many
similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennµ
you spoke of?"

    "The antennµ!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting
unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the
antennµ. I made them as distinct as they are in the original insect,
and I presume that is sufficient."

    "Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have - still I don't see
them;" and I handed him the paper without additional remark, not
wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn
affairs had taken; his ill humor puzzled me - and, as for the drawing
of the beetle, there were positively no antennµ visible, and the
whole did bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a
death's-head.

    He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple
it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the
design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face
grew violently red - in another as excessively pale. For some minutes
he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At
length he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat
himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here
again he made an anxious examination of the paper; turning it in all
directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly
astonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the growing
moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he took from his
coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited
both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in
his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite
disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the
evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in reverie, from
which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention
to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but,
seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did
not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with
even more than his usual cordiality.

    It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had
seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from
his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so
dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my
friend.

    "Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? - how is your
master?"

    "Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought
be."

    "Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain
of?"

    "Dar! dat's it! - him neber plain of notin - but him berry sick
for all dat."

    "Very sick, Jupiter! - why didn't you say so at once? Is he
confined to bed?"

    "No, dat he aint! - he aint find nowhar - dat's just whar de shoe
pinch - my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."

    "Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking
about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails
him?"

    "Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad about de matter -
Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him - but den what
make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he
soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon all de
time - "

    "Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

    "Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate - de queerest figgurs
I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to
keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore
de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick
ready cut for to gib him deuced good beating when he did come - but
Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all - he look so berry
poorly."

    "Eh? - what? - ah yes! - upon the whole I think you had better
not be too severe with the poor fellow - don't flog him, Jupiter - he
can't very well stand it - but can you form no idea of what has
occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has
anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"

    "No, massa, dey aint bin noffin unpleasant since den - 'twas fore
den I'm feared - 'twas de berry day you was dare."

    "How? what do you mean?"

    "Why, massa, I mean de bug - dare now."

    "The what?"

    "De bug, - I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere
bout de head by dat goole-bug."

    "And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"

    "Claws enuff, massa, and mouth too. I nebber did see sick a
deuced bug - he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa
Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I
tell you - den was de time he must ha got de bite. I did n't like de
look oh de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I would n't take hold ob him
wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I
rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff - dat was de
way."

    "And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the
beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"

    "I do n't tink noffin about it - I nose it. What make him dream
bout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise
heerd bout dem goole-bugs fore dis."

    "But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

    "How I know? why cause he talk about it in he sleep - dat's how I
nose."

    "Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate
circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?"

    "What de matter, massa?"

    "Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand "

    "No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me
a note which ran thus:

        MY DEAR --

    Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you have not
been so foolish as to take offence at any little _brusquerie_ of
mine; but no, that is improbable. Since I saw you I have had great
cause for anxiety. I have something to tell you, yet scarcely know
how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at all.

    I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup
annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions
Would you believe it? - he had prepared a huge stick, the other day,
with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the
day, _solus_, among the hills on the main land. I verily believe that
my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.

    I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.

    If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with
Jupiter. _Do_ come. I wish to see you to-_night_, upon business of
importance. I assure you that it is of the _highest_ importance.

            Ever yours,                     WILLIAM LEGRAND.

    There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great
uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand.
What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed his
excitable brain? What "business of the highest importance" could he
possibly have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I
dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at length,
fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's
hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.

    Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all
apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were to
embark.

    "What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired.

    "Him syfe, massa, and spade."

    "Very true; but what are they doing here?"

    "Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for
him in de town, and de debbils own lot of money I had to gib for em."

    "But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa
Will' going to do with scythes and spades?"

    "Dat's more dan I know, and debbil take me if I don't blieve 'tis
more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob do bug."

    Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose
whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped into
the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran
into the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of
some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in the
afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager
expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous empressement which
alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions already entertained. His
countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes
glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries respecting his
health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say, if he had yet
obtained the scarabµus from Lieutenant G --.

    "Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the
next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that scarabµus. Do
you know that Jupiter is quite right about it?"

    "In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

    "In supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this with an
air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.

    "This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant
smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder,
then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it
upon me, I have only to use it properly and I shall arrive at the
gold of which it is the index. Jupiter; bring me that scarabµus!"

    "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 scarabµus, and, at that time,
unknown to naturalists - of course a great prize in a scientific
point of view. There were two round, black spots near one extremity
of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were
exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished
gold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all
things into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his
opinion respecting it; but what to make of Legrand's concordance with
that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell.

    "I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had
completed my examination of the beetle, "I sent for you, that I might
have your counsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and
of the bug" -

    "My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainly
unwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go to
bed, and I will remain with you a few days, until you get over this.
You are feverish and" -

    "Feel my pulse," said he.

    I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest
indication of fever.

    "But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to
prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next" -

    "You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I can expect
to be under the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me
well, you will relieve this excitement."

    "And how is this to be done?"

    "Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition
into the hills, upon the main land, and, in this expedition we shall
need the aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only
one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which
you now perceive in me will be equally allayed."

    "I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; "but do you
mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your
expedition into the hills?"

    "It has."

    "Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd
proceeding."

    "I am sorry - very sorry - for we shall have to try it by
ourselves."

    "Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! - but stay! - how
long do you propose to be absent?"

    "Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at
all events, by sunrise."

    "And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak
of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to your
satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice
implicitly, as that of your physician?"

    "Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to
lose."

    With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four
o'clock - Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him
the scythe and spades - the whole of which he insisted upon carrying
- more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the
implements within reach of his master, than from any excess of
industry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and
"dat deuced bug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during
the journey. For my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark
lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with the scarabµus, which
he carried attached to the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to
and fro, with the air of a conjuror, as he went. When I observed this
last, plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could
scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his
fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some more
energetic measures with a chance of success. In the mean time I
endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in regard to the object of
the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he
seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of minor
importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other reply than
"we shall see!"

    We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a
skiff; and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the main land,
proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a tract of country
excessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a human footstep was
to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision; pausing only for an
instant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be certain
landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion.

    In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was
just setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any
yet seen. It was a species of table land, near the summit of an
almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, and
interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the
soil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves
into the valleys below, merely by the support of the trees against
which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air
of still sterner solemnity to the scene.

    The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly
overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it
would have been impossible to force our way but for the scythe; and
Jupiter, by direction of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path
to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, with some
eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and
all other trees which I had then ever seen, in the beauty of its
foliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches, and in the
general majesty of its appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand
turned to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it. The
old man seemed a little staggered by the question, and for some
moments made no reply. At length he approached the huge trunk, walked
slowly around it, and examined it with minute attention. When he had
completed his scrutiny, he merely said,

    "Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life."

    "Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too
dark to see what we are about."

    "How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter.

    "Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way
to go - and here - stop! take this beetle with you."

    "De bug, Massa Will! - de goole bug!" cried the negro, drawing
back in dismay - "what for mus tote de bug way up de tree? - d-n if I
do!"

    "If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold
of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by this
string - but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall
be under the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel."

    "What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into
compliance; "always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only
funnin any how. Me feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he
took cautiously hold of the extreme end of the string, and,
maintaining the insect as far from his person as circumstances would
permit, prepared to ascend the tree.

    In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron Tulipferum, the most
magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, and
often rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in its
riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short
limbs make their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of
ascension, in the present case, lay more in semblance than in
reality. Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with
his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and
resting his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow
escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great
fork, and seemed to consider the whole business as virtually
accomplished. The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over,
although the climber was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.

    "Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked.

    "Keep up the largest branch - the one on this side," said
Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but
little trouble; ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his
squat figure could be obtained through the dense foliage which
enveloped it. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of halloo.

    "How much fudder is got for go?"

    "How high up are you?" asked Legrand.

    "Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob
de tree."

    "Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the
trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have
you passed?"

    "One, two, tree, four, fibe - I done pass fibe big limb, massa,
pon dis side."

    "Then go one limb higher."

    In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the
seventh limb was attained.

    "Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to
work your way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see
anything strange, let me know." By this time what little doubt I
might have entertained of my poor friend's insanity, was put finally
at rest. I had no alternative but to conclude him stricken with
lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. While
I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's voice was
again heard.

    "Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far - tis dead limb
putty much all de way."

    "Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a
quavering voice.

    "Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail - done up for sartain -
done departed dis here life."

    "What in the name heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in
the greatest distress. "Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to
interpose a word, "why come home and go to bed. Come now! - that's a
fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remember your
promise."

    "Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you
hear me?"

    "Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."

    "Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think
it very rotten."

    "Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few
moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out
leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's true."

    "By yourself! - what do you mean?"

    "Why I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I drop him down
fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight ob one nigger."

    "You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much
relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As
sure as you drop that beetle I'll break your neck. Look here,
Jupiter, do you hear me?"

    "Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style."

    "Well! now listen! - if you will venture out on the limb as far
as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make you a present
of a silver dollar as soon as you get down."

    "I'm gwine, Massa Will - deed I is," replied the negro very
promptly - "mos out to the eend now."

    "Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you say you
are out to the end of that limb?"

    "Soon be to de eend, massa, - o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what
is dis here pon de tree?"

    "Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?"

    "Why taint noffin but a skull - somebody bin lef him head up de
tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off."

    "A skull, you say! - very well! - how is it fastened to the limb?
- what holds it on?"

    "Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance,
pon my word - dare's a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it
on to de tree."

    "Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you - do you hear?"

    "Yes, massa."

    "Pay attention, then! - find the left eye of the skull."

    "Hum! hoo! dat's good! why dare aint no eye lef at all."

    "Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your
left?"

    "Yes, I nose dat - nose all bout dat - tis my lef hand what I
chops de wood wid."

    "To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left. eye is on the
same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find the left
eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you
found it?"

    Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked,

    "Is de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de
skull, too? - cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all -
nebber mind! I got de lef eye now - here de lef eye! what mus do wid
it?"

    "Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach
- but he careful and not let go your hold of the string."

    "All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru
de hole - look out for him dare below!"

    During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could be
seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was now
visible at the end of the string, and glistened, like a globe of
burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which
still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood. The
scarabµus hung quite clear of any branches, and, if allowed to fall,
would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe,
and cleared with it a circular space, three or four yards in
diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having accomplished this,
ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down from the tree.

    Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the precise
spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocket a
tape measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of the trunk,
of the tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reached
the peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the direction already
established by the two points of the tree and the peg, for the
distance of fifty feet - Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the
scythe. At the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about
this, as a centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter,
described. Taking now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and
one to me, Legrand begged us to set about digging as quickly as
possible.

    To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amusement
at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly
have declined it; for the night was coming on, and I felt much
fatigued with the exercise already taken; but I saw no mode of
escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor friend's equanimity by
a refusal. Could I have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would
have had no hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home by
force; but I was too well assured of the old negro's disposition, to
hope that he would assist me, under any circumstances, in a personal
contest with his master. I made no doubt that the latter had been
infected with some of the innumerable Southern superstitions about
money buried, and that his phantasy had received confirmation by the
finding of the scarabµus, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in
maintaining it to be "a bug of real gold." A mind disposed to lunacy
would readily be led away by such suggestions - especially if chiming
in with favorite preconceived ideas - and then I called to mind the
poor fellow's speech about the beetle's being "the index of his
fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at
length, I concluded to make a virtue of necessity - to dig with a
good will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by ocular
demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions he entertained.

    The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal
worthy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our persons
and implements, I could not help thinking how picturesque a group we
composed, and how strange and suspicious our labors must have
appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon
our whereabouts.

    We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our
chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took
exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, became so
obstreperous that we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some
stragglers in the vicinity; - or, rather, this was the apprehension
of Legrand; - for myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption
which might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was,
at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of
the hole with a dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up
with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle,
to his task.

    When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of
five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A
general pause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an
end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped
his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the entire
circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit,
and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared.
The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from
the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every
feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat,
which he had thrown off at the beginning of his labor. In the mean
time I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to
gather up his tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we
turned in profound silence towards home.

    We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when,
with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the
collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the fullest
extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees.

    "You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from
between his clenched teeth - "you infernal black villain! - speak, I
tell you! - answer me this instant, without prevarication! - which -
which is your left eye?"

    "Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?"
roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right organ
of vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if
in immediate dread of his master's attempt at a gouge.

    "I thought so! - I knew it! hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting
the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracols, much to
the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked,
mutely, from his master to myself, and then from myself to his
master.

    "Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's not up
yet;" and he again led the way to the tulip-tree.

    "Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! was the
skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face to
the limb?"

    "De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes
good, widout any trouble."

    "Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped
the beetle?" - here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes.

    "Twas dis eye, massa - de lef eye - jis as you tell me," and here
it was his right eye that the negro indicated.

    "That will do - must try it again."

    Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I
saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg which marked the
spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the
westward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape measure from
the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing
the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a
spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from the point at
which we had been digging.

    Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the
former instance, was now described, and we again set to work with the
spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had
occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great
aversion from the labor imposed. I had become most unaccountably
interested - nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all
the extravagant demeanor of Legrand - some air of forethought, or of
deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then
caught myself actually looking, with something that very much
resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of which
had demented my unfortunate companion. At a period when such vagaries
of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had been at work
perhaps an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the violent
howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been,
evidently, but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now
assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to
muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the hole,
tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few seconds he had
uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete skeletons,
intermingled with several buttons of metal, and what appeared to be
the dust of decayed woollen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned
the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or
four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light.

    At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be
restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme
disappointment He urged us, however, to continue our exertions, and
the words were hardly uttered when I stumbled and fell forward,
having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay
half buried in the loose earth.

    We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of
more intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed
an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and
wonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizing
process - perhaps that of the Bi-chloride of Mercury. This box was
three feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet
deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and
forming a kind of open trelliswork over the whole. On each side of
the chest, near the top, were three rings of iron - six in all - by
means of which a firm hold could be obtained by six persons. Our
utmost united endeavors served only to disturb the coffer very
slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so
great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of
two sliding bolts. These we drew back - trembling and panting with
anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming
before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there
flashed upwards a glow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and
of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes.

    I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed.
Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted
with excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's
countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is
possible, in nature of things, for any negro's visage to assume. He
seemed stupified - thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees
in the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let
them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length,
with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy,

    "And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole bug! de poor
little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aint you
shamed ob yourself, nigger? - answer me dat!"

    It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master
and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growing
late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might get every
thing housed before daylight. It was difficult to say what should be
done, and much time was spent in deliberation - so confused were the
ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the box by removing two thirds
of its contents, when we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it
from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited among the
brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from
Jupiter neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to
open his mouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for home with
the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive toil, at
one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it was not in human
nature to do more immediately. We rested until two, and had supper;
starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed with three stout
sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. A little before
four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as
equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again
set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited our
golden burthens, just as the first faint streaks of the dawn gleamed
from over the tree-tops in the East.

    We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excitement of
the time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three or
four hours' duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make
examination of our treasure.

    The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day,
and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its
contents. There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Every
thing had been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted all with
care, we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than we had
at first supposed. In coin there was rather more than four hundred
and fifty thousand dollars - estimating the value of the pieces, as
accurately as we could, by the tables of the period. There was not a
particle of silver. All was gold of antique date and of great variety
- French, Spanish, and German money, with a few English guineas, and
some counters, of which we had never seen specimens before. There
were several very large and heavy coins, so worn that we could make
nothing of their inscriptions. There was no American money. The value
of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. There were
diamonds - some of them exceedingly large and fine - a hundred and
ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable
brilliancy; - three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and
twenty-one sapphires, with an opal. These stones had all been broken
from their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings
themselves, which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared
to have been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identification.
Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments;
- nearly two hundred massive finger and earrings; - rich chains -
thirty of these, if I remember; - eighty-three very large and heavy
crucifixes; - five gold censers of great value; - a prodigious golden
punch bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-leaves and
Bacchanalian figures; with two sword-handles exquisitely embossed,
and many other smaller articles which I cannot recollect. The weight
of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds
avoirdupois; and in this estimate I have not included one hundred and
ninety-seven superb gold watches; three of the number being worth
each five hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and as
time keepers valueless; the works having suffered, more or less, from
corrosion - but all were richly jewelled and in cases of great worth.
We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a
million and a half of dollars; and upon the subsequent disposal of
the trinkets and jewels (a  few being retained for our own
use), it was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure.
When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and the intense
excitement of the time had, in some measure, subsided, Legrand, who
saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution of this most
extraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the
circumstances connected with it.

    "You remember;" said he, "the night when I handed you the rough
sketch I had made of the scarabµus. You recollect also, that I became
quite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembled a
death's-head. When you first made this assertion I thought you were
jesting; but afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots on the
back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had some
little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers
irritated me - for I am considered a good artist - and, therefore,
when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it
up and throw it angrily into the fire."

    "The scrap of paper, you mean," said I.

    "No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first I
supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I discovered
it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite
dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it
up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had been looking, and
you may imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure
of a death's-head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing
of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed to think with
accuracy. I knew that my design was very different in detail from
this - although there was a certain similarity in general outline.
Presently I took a candle, and seating myself at the other end of the
room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely. Upon
turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had
made it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really
remarkable similarity of outline - at the singular coincidence
involved in the fact, that unknown to me, there should have been a
skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately beneath my
figure of the scarabµus, and that this skull, not only in outline,
but in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I say
the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupified me for a
time. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind
struggles to establish a connexion - a sequence of cause and effect -
and, being unable to do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis.
But, when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me
gradually a conviction which startled me even far more than the
coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there
had been no drawing upon the parchment when I made my sketch of the
scarabµus. I became perfectly certain of this; for I recollected
turning up first one side and then the other, in search of the
cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of course I could not
have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it
impossible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there seemed
to glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of my
intellect, a glow-worm-like conception of that truth which last
night's adventure brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose
at once, and putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all
farther reflection until I should be alone.

    "When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook
myself to a more methodical investigation of the affair. In the first
place I considered the manner in which the parchment had come into my
possession. The spot where we discovered the scarabaeus was on the
coast of the main land, about a mile eastward of the island, and but
a short distance above high water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, it
gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, with
his accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had flown
towards him, looked about him for a leaf, or something of that
nature, by which to take hold of it. It was at this moment that his
eyes, and mine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then
supposed to be paper. It was lying half buried in the sand, a corner
sticking up. Near the spot where we found it, I observed the remnants
of the hull of what appeared to have been a ship's long boat. The
wreck seemed to have been there for a very great while; for the
resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced.

    "Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it,
and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go home, and on the
way met Lieutenant G-. I showed him the insect, and he begged me to
let him take it to the fort. Upon my consenting, he thrust it
forthwith into his waistcoat pocket, without the parchment in which
it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold in my hand
during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my mind, and
thought it best to make sure of the prize at once - you know how
enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected with Natural History. At
the same time, without being conscious of it, I must have deposited
the parchment in my own pocket.

    "You remember that when I went to the table, for the purpose of
making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper where it was usually
kept. I looked in the drawer, and found none there. I searched my
pockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand fell upon the
parchment. I thus detail the precise mode in which it came into my
possession; for the circumstances impressed me with peculiar force.

    "No doubt you will think me fanciful - but I had already
established a kind of connexion. I had put together two links of a
great chain. There was a boat lying upon a sea-coast, and not far
from the boat was a parchment - not a paper - with a skull depicted
upon it. You will, of course, ask 'where is the connexion?' I reply
that the skull, or death's-head, is the well-known emblem of the
pirate. The flag of the death's head is hoisted in all engagements.

    "I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper.
Parchment is durable - almost imperishable. Matters of little moment
are rarely consigned to parchment; since, for the mere ordinary
purposes of drawing or writing, it is not nearly so well adapted as
paper. This reflection suggested some meaning - some relevancy - in
the death's-head. I did not fail to observe, also, the form of the
parchment. Although one of its corners had been, by some accident,
destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong. It was
just such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for a memorandum
- for a record of something to be long remembered and carefully
preserved."

    "But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was not upon the
parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How then do you
trace any connexion between the boat and the skull - since this
latter, according to your own admission, must have been designed (God
only knows how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your
sketching the scarabµus?"

    "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 scarabµus, there was no skull
apparent upon the parchment. When I had completed the drawing I gave
it to you, and observed you narrowly until you returned it. You,
therefore, did not design the skull, and no one else was present to
do it. Then it was not done by human agency. And nevertheless it was
done. "At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and
did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which occurred
about the period in question. The weather was chilly (oh rare and
happy accident!), and a fire was blazing upon the hearth. I was
heated with exercise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn
a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your
hand, and as you were in the act of in. inspecting it, Wolf, the
Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left
hand you caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the
parchment, was permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and
in close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had
caught it, and was about to caution you, but, before I could speak,
you had withdrawn it, and were engaged in its examination. When I
considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a moment that
heat had been the agent in bringing to light, upon the parchment, the
skull which I saw designed upon it. You are well aware that chemical
preparations exist, and have existed time out of mind, by means of
which it is possible to write upon either paper or vellum, so that
the characters shall become visible only when subjected to the action
of fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia, and diluted with four times
its weight of water, is sometimes employed; a green tint results. The
regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These
colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the material
written upon cools, but again become apparent upon the
re-application of heat.

    "I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer edges -
the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vellum - were far
more distinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the
caloric had been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire,
and subjected every portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At
first, the only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in
the skull; but, upon persevering in the experiment, there became
visible, at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot
in which the death's-head was delineated, the figure of what I at
first supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me
that it was intended for a kid."

    "Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at you - a
million and a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth - but
you are not about to establish a third link in your chain - you will
not find any especial connexion between your pirates and a goat -
pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they appertain to
the farming interest."

    "But I have just said that the figure was not that of a goat."

    "Well, a kid then - pretty much the same thing."

    "Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You may have
heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked upon the figure of the
animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say
signature; because its position upon the vellum suggested this idea.
The death's-head at the corner diagonally opposite, had, in the same
manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out by the
absence of all else - of the body to my imagined instrument - of the
text for my context."

    "I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp and
the signature."

    "Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly
impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I
can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than
an actual belief; - but do you know that Jupiter's silly words, about
the bug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect upon my fancy?
And then the series of accidents and coincidences - these were so
very extraordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident it was that
these events should have occurred upon the sole day of all the year
in which it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, and that
without the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at the
precise moment in which he appeared, I should never have become aware
of the death's-head, and so never the possessor of the treasure?"

    "But proceed - I am all impatience."

    "Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current - the
thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, somewhere upon the
Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumors must have
had some foundation in fact. And that the rumors have existed so long
and so continuous, could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from
the circumstance of the buried treasure still remaining entombed. Had
Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards reclaimed it,
the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their present unvarying
form. You will observe that the stories told are all about
money-seekers, not about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his
money, there the affair would have dropped. It seemed to me that some
accident - say the loss of a memorandum indicating its locality - had
deprived him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident
had become known to his followers, who otherwise might never have
heard that treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying
themselves in vain, because unguided attempts, to regain it, had
given first birth, and then universal currency, to the reports which
are now so common. Have you ever heard of any important treasure
being unearthed along the coast?"

    "Never."

    "But that Kidd's accumulations were immense, is well known. I
took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still held them; and
you will scarcely be surprised when I tell you that I felt a hope,
nearly amounting to certainty, that the parchment so strangely found,
involved a lost record of the place of deposit."

    "But how did you proceed?"

    "I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat;
but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating of
dirt might have something to do with the failure; so I carefully
rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over it, and,
having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull downwards,
and put the pan upon a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes,
the pan having become thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, to
my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what
appeared to be figures arranged in lines. Again I placed it in the
pan, and suffered it to remain another minute. Upon taking it off,
the whole was just as you see it now." Here Legrand, having re-heated
the parchment, submitted it to my inspection. The following
characters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the
death's-head and the goat:

"53ççå305))6*;4826)4ç)4ç;806*;48ç8╢60))85;1-(;:*8-83(88)5*ç

;46(;88*96*?;8)*ç(;485);5*å2:*ç(;4956*2(5*- 4)8╢8*;40692

85);)6å8)4;1(ç9;48081;8:8ç1;48å85;4)485å528806*81(ç9;48;

(88;4(ç?34;48)4ç;161;:188;ç?;"

    "But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark
as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me upon my solution
of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be unable to earn
them."

    "And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so
difficult as you might be lead to imagine from the first hasty
inspection of the characters. These characters, as any one might
readily guess, form a cipher - that is to say, they convey a meaning;
but then, from what is known of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable
of constructing any of the more abstruse cryptographs. I made up my
mind, at once, that this was of a simple species - such, however, as
would appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, absolutely
insoluble without the key."

    "And you really solved it?"

    "Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousand
times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have led me
to take interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether
human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind which human
ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve. In fact, having
once established connected and legible characters, I scarcely gave a
thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import.

    "In the present case - indeed in all cases of secret writing -
the first question regards the language of the cipher; for the
principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple
ciphers are concerned, depend upon, and are varied by, the genius of
the particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative but
experiment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to him
who attempts the solution, until the true one be attained. But, with
the cipher now before us, all difficulty was removed by the
signature. The pun upon the word 'Kidd' is appreciable in no other
language than the English. But for this consideration I should have
begun my attempts with the Spanish and French, as the tongues in
which a secret of this kind would most naturally have been written by
a pirate of the Spanish main. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to
be English.

    "You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there
been divisions, the task would have been comparatively easy. In such
case I should have commenced with a collation and analysis of the
shorter words, and, had a word of a single letter occurred, as is
most likely, (a or I, for example,) I should have considered the
solution as assured. But, there being no division, my first step was
to ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent.
Counting all, I constructed a table, thus:

    Of the character          8 there are    33.

                              ;        "     26.

                              4        "     19.

                            ç )        "     16.

                              *        "     13.

                              5        "     12.

                              6        "     11.

                            å 1        "      8.

                              0        "      6.

                           9 2         "      5.

                            : 3        "      4.

                              ?        "      3.

                              ╢        "      2.

                              -.       "      1.

    "Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is e.
Afterwards, succession runs thus: _a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m w
b k p q x z_. _E_ predominates so remarkably that an individual
sentence of any length is rarely seen, in which it is not the
prevailing character.

    "Here, then, we leave, in the very beginning, the groundwork for
something more than a mere guess. The general use which may be made
of the table is obvious - but, in this particular cipher, we shall
only very partially require its aid. As our predominant character is
8, we will commence by assuming it as the _e_ of the natural
alphabet. To verify the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen
often in couples - for _e_ is doubled with great frequency in English
- in such words, for example, as 'meet,' '.fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,'
been,' 'agree,' &c. In the present instance we see it doubled no less
than five times, although the cryptograph is brief.

    "Let us assume 8, then, as _e_. Now, of all _words_ in the
language, 'the' is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether there
are not repetitions of any three characters, in the same order of
collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover repetitions of
such letters, so arranged, they will most probably represent the word
'the.' Upon inspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements,
the characters being ;48. We may, therefore, assume that ; represents
_t_, 4 represents _h_, and 8 represents _e_ - the last being now well
confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken.

    "But, having established a single word, we are enabled to
establish a vastly important point; that is to say, several
commencements and terminations of other words. Let us refer, for
example, to the last instance but one, in which the combination ;48
occurs - not far from the end of the cipher. We know that the ;
immediately ensuing is the commencement of a word, and, of the six
characters succeeding this 'the,' we are cognizant of no less than
five. Let us set these characters down, thus, by the letters we know
them to represent, leaving a space for the unknown -

t eeth.

    "Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the 'th,' as forming no
portion of the word commencing with the first t; since, by experiment
of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy, we
perceive that no word can be formed of which this _th_ can be a part.
We are thus narrowed into

t ee,

and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we arrive
at the word 'tree,' as the sole possible reading. We thus gain
another letter, _r_, represented by (, with the words 'the tree' in
juxtaposition.

    "Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again see
the combination ;48, and employ it by way of _termination_ to what
immediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement:

the tree ;4(ç?34 the,

or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus:

the tree thrç?3h the.

    "Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank
spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus:

the tree thr...h the,

when the word '_through_' makes itself evident at once. But this
discovery gives us three new letters, _o_, _u_ and _g_, represented
by ç ? and 3.

    "Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of
known characters, we find, not very far from the beginning, this
arrangement,

83(88, or egree,

which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree,' and gives us
another letter, _d_, represented by å.

    "Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we perceive the
combination

;46(;88.

    "Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown
by dots, as before, we read thus: th rtee. an arrangement immediately
suggestive of the word 'thirteen,' and again furnishing us with two
new characters, _i_ and _n_, represented by 6 and *.

    "Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find the
combination,

53ççå.

    "Translating, as before, we obtain

good,

which assures us that the first letter is _A_, and that the first two
words are 'A good.'

    "It is now time that we arrange our key, as far as discovered, in
a tabular form, to avoid confusion. It will stand thus:

                    5 represents      a

                    å       "         d

                    8       "         e

                    3       "         g

                    4       "         h

                    6       "         i

                    *       "         n

                    ç       "         o

                    (        "         r

                    ;        "         t

    "We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important
letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with the
details of the solution. I have said enough to convince you that
ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and to give you some
insight into the rationale of their development. But be assured that
the specimen before us appertains to the very simplest species of
cryptograph. It now only remains to give you the full translation of
the characters upon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:

    " '_A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat
forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by north main
branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the
death's-head a bee line from the tree through the shot fifty feet
out_.' "

    "But," said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as
ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this jargon
about 'devil's seats,' 'death's heads,' and 'bishop's hotels?' "

    "I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears a
serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavor
was to divide the sentence into the natural division intended by the
cryptographist."

    "You mean, to punctuate it?"

    "Something of that kind."

    "But how was it possible to effect this?"

    "I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run his
words together without division, so as to increase the difficulty of
solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such an object would
be nearly certain to overdo the matter. When, in the course of his
composition, he arrived at a break in his subject which would
naturally require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to
run his characters, at this place, more than usually close together.
If you will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will easily
detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting upon this hint, I
made the division thus: 'A good glass in the Bishop's hostel in the
Devil's seat - forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes - northeast and
by north - main branch seventh limb east side - shoot from the left
eye of the death's-head - a bee-line from the tree through the shot
fifty feet out.' "

    "Even this division," said I, "leaves me still in the dark."

    "It left me also in the dark," replied Legrand, "for a few days;
during which I made diligent inquiry, in the neighborhood of
Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by the name of the
'Bishop's Hotel;' for, of course, I dropped the obsolete word
'hostel.' Gaining no information on the subject, I was on the point
of extending my sphere of search, and proceeding in a more systematic
manner, when, one morning, it entered into my head, quite suddenly,
that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might have some reference to an old
family, of the name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held
possession of an ancient manor-house, about four miles to the
northward of the Island. I accordingly went over to the plantation,
and re-instituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the place.
At length one of the most aged of the women said that she had heard
of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she could guide
me to it, but that it was not a castle nor a tavern, but a high rock.

    "I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some
demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We found it without
much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I proceeded to examine the
place. The 'castle' consisted of an irregular assemblage of cliffs
and rocks - one of the latter being quite remarkable for its height
as well as for its insulated and artificial appearance I clambered to
its apex, and then felt much at a loss as to what should be next
done.

    "While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrow
ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the
summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen
inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff
just above it, gave it a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed
chairs used by our ancestors. I made no doubt that here was the
'devil's seat' alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to grasp the
full secret of the riddle.

    "The 'good glass,' I knew, could have reference to nothing but a
telescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed in any other sense
by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, and a
definite point of view, admitting no variation, from which to use it.
Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrases, "forty-one degrees
and thirteen minutes,' and 'northeast and by north,' were intended as
directions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by these
discoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to
the rock.

    "I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible
to retain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This fact
confirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of
course, the 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could allude to
nothing but elevation above the visible horizon, since the horizontal
direction was clearly indicated by the words, 'northeast and by
north.' This latter direction I at once established by means of a
pocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of
forty-one degrees of elevation as I could do it by guess, I moved it
cautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a circular
rift or opening in the foliage of a large tree that overtopped its
fellows in the distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived a
white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was.
Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked, and now made it
out to be a human skull.

    "Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the enigma
solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, east side,' could
refer only to the position of the skull upon the tree, while 'shoot
from the left eye of the death's head' admitted, also, of but one
interpretation, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I
perceived that the design was to drop a bullet from the left eye of
the skull, and that a bee-line, or, in other words, a straight line,
drawn from the nearest point of the trunk through 'the shot,' (or the
spot where the bullet fell,) and thence extended to a distance of
fifty feet, would indicate a definite point - and beneath this point
I thought it at least possible that a deposit of value lay
concealed."

    "All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although
ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's
Hotel, what then?"

    "Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turned
homewards. The instant that I left 'the devil's seat,' however, the
circular rift vanished; nor could I get a glimpse of it afterwards,
turn as I would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity in this whole
business, is the fact (for repeated experiment has convinced me it is
a fact) that the circular opening in question is visible from no
other attainable point of view than that afforded by the narrow ledge
upon the face of the rock.

    "In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had been attended
by Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed, for some weeks past, the
abstraction of my demeanor, and took especial care not to leave me
alone. But, on the next day, getting up very early, I contrived to
give him the slip, and went into the hills in search of the tree.
After much toil I found it. When I came home at night my valet
proposed to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure I
believe you are as well acquainted as myself."

    "I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the first attempt
at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall
through the right instead of through the left eye of the skull."

    "Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two inches
and a half in the 'shot' - that is to say, in the position of the peg
nearest the tree; and had the treasure been beneath the 'shot,' the
error would have been of little moment; but 'the shot,' together with
the nearest point of the tree, were merely two points for the
establishment of a line of direction; of course the error, however
trivial in the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line,
and by the time we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent.
But for my deep-seated impressions that treasure was here somewhere
actually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain."

    "But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging the beetle
- how excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. And why did you
insist upon letting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from the
skull?"

    "Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident
suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly,
in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this
reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall it from
the tree. An observation of yours about its great weight suggested
the latter idea."

    "Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which puzzles
me. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?"

    "That is a question I am no more able to answer than yourself.
There seems, however, only one plausible way of accounting for them -
and yet it is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my suggestion
would imply. It is clear that Kidd - if Kidd indeed secreted this
treasure, which I doubt not - it is clear that he must have had
assistance in the labor. But this labor concluded, he may have
thought it expedient to remove all participants in his secret.
Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were sufficient, while his
coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it required a dozen - who
shall tell?"

_

_

~~~ End of Text ~~~

==========


                          FOUR BEASTS IN ONE

                        THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD

                         Chacun a ses vertus.
                            --_Crebillon's Xerxes._

ANTIOCHUS EPIPHANES is very generally looked upon as the Gog of the
prophet Ezekiel. This honor is, however, more properly attributable
to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the character of the
Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of any adventitious
embellishment. His accession to the throne, or rather his usurpation
of the sovereignty, a hundred and seventy-one years before the coming
of Christ; his attempt to plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus; his
implacable hostility to the Jews; his pollution of the Holy of
Holies; and his miserable death at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of
eleven years, are circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore
more generally noticed by the historians of his time than the
impious, dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsical achievements which
make up the sum total of his private life and reputation.

Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the world
three thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a few
minutes, imagine ourselves at that most grotesque habitation of man,
the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in Syria and
other countries, sixteen cities of that appellation, besides the one
to which I more particularly allude. But ours is that which went by
the name of Antiochia Epidaphne, from its vicinity to the little
village of Daphne, where stood a temple to that divinity. It was
built (although about this matter there is some dispute) by Seleucus
Nicanor, the first king of the country after Alexander the Great, in
memory of his father Antiochus, and became immediately the residence
of the Syrian monarchy. In the flourishing times of the Roman Empire,
it was the ordinary station of the prefect of the eastern provinces;
and many of the emperors of the queen city (among whom may be
mentioned, especially, Verus and Valens) spent here the greater part
of their time. But I perceive we have arrived at the city itself. Let
us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes upon the town and
neighboring country.

"What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way, with
innumerable falls, through the mountainous wilderness, and finally
through the wilderness of buildings?"

That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the
exception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad mirror,
about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has seen the
Mediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who have had a peep
at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and me, have had, at
the same time, the advantages of a modern education. Therefore cease
to regard that sea, and give your whole attention to the mass of
houses that lie beneath us. You will remember that it is now the year
of the world three thousand eight hundred and thirty. Were it later
-- for example, were it the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and
forty-five, we should be deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In
the nineteenth century Antioch is -- that is to say, Antioch will be
-- in a lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time,
totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three successive
earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of its former self
may then remain, will be found in so desolate and ruinous a state
that the patriarch shall have removed his residence to Damascus. This
is well. I see you profit by my advice, and are making the most of
your time in inspecting the premises -- in

-satisfying your eyes

With the memorials and the things of fame

That most renown this city.-

I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish for
seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the
appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?

"It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to
nature as to art."

Very true.

"There are a prodigious number of stately palaces."

There are.

"And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear
comparison with the most lauded of antiquity."

All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud huts,
and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance of filth
in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering fumes of
idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a most intolerable
stench. Did you ever behold streets so insufferably narrow, or houses
so miraculously tall? What gloom their shadows cast upon the ground!
It is well the swinging lamps in those endless colonnades are kept
burning throughout the day; we should otherwise have the darkness of
Egypt in the time of her desolation.

"It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder
singular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to the
eastward of what I take to be the royal palace."

That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under the
title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman Emperor will
institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a cognomen,
Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peep at the
divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the heavens; his
Sunship is not there -- at least not the Sunship adored by the
Syrians. That deity will be found in the interior of yonder building.
He is worshipped under the figure of a large stone pillar terminating
at the summit in a cone or pyramid, whereby is denoted Fire.

"Hark -- behold! -- who can those ridiculous beings be, half naked,
with their faces painted, shouting and gesticulating to the rabble?"

Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the race
of philosophers. The greatest portion, however -- those especially
who belabor the populace with clubs -- are the principal courtiers of
the palace, executing as in duty bound, some laudable comicality of
the king's.

"But what have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming with wild
beasts! How terrible a spectacle! -- how dangerous a peculiarity!"

Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous. Each
animal if you will take the pains to observe, is following, very
quietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure, are led
with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the lesser or timid
species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are entirely without
restraint. They have been trained without difficulty to their present
profession, and attend upon their respective owners in the capacity
of valets-de-chambre. It is true, there are occasions when Nature
asserts her violated dominions; -- but then the devouring of a
man-at-arms, or the throttling of a consecrated bull, is a
circumstance of too little moment to be more than hinted at in
Epidaphne.

"But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud noise
even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual interest."

Yes -- undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle -- some
gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome -- or perhaps the massacre
of the Scythian prisoners -- or the conflagration of his new palace
-- or the tearing down of a handsome temple -- or, indeed, a bonfire
of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter ascend the
skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind instruments, and horrible
with clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, for the love of
fun, and see what is going on! This way -- be careful! Here we are in
the principal street, which is called the street of Timarchus. The
sea of people is coming this way, and we shall find a difficulty in
stemming the tide. They are pouring through the alley of Heraclides,
which leads directly from the palace; -- therefore the king is most
probably among the rioters. Yes; -- I hear the shouts of the herald
proclaiming his approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We
shall have a glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of
Ashimah. Let us ensconce ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary;
he will be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What
is it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah in proper person. You perceive,
however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr, neither
has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet all these
appearances have been given -- I beg pardon -- will be given -- by
the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the Syrians. Put on
your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is it?

"Bless me! it is an ape!"

True -- a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is a
derivation of the Greek Simia -- what great fools are antiquarians!
But see! -- see! -- yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is
he going? What is he bawling about? What does he say? Oh! he says the
king is coming in triumph; that he is dressed in state; that he has
just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a thousand chained
Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the ragamuffin is lauding him
to the skies. Hark! here comes a troop of a similar description. They
have made a Latin hymn upon the valor of the king, and are singing it
as they go:

Mille, mille, mille,

Mille, mille, mille,

Decollavimus, unus homo!

Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!

Mille, mille, mille,

Vivat qui mille mille occidit!

Tantum vini habet nemo

Quantum sanguinis effudit!{*1}

Which may be thus paraphrased:

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

We, with one warrior, have slain!

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand.

Sing a thousand over again!

Soho! -- let us sing

Long life to our king,

Who knocked over a thousand so fine!

Soho! -- let us roar,

He has given us more

Red gallons of gore

Than all Syria can furnish of wine!

"Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"

Yes: the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with admiration,
and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence. He comes; -- he
is coming; -- there he is!

"Who? -- where? -- the king? -- do not behold him -- cannot say that
I perceive him."

Then you must be blind.

"Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of idiots
and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic
cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs.
See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabble over -- and
another -- and another -- and another. Indeed, I cannot help admiring
the animal for the excellent use he is making of his feet."

Rabble, indeed! -- why these are the noble and free citizens of
Epidaphne! Beasts, did you say? -- take care that you are not
overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of a
man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than Antiochus
Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and the most
potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true, that he is
entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes -- Antiochus the madman -- but
that is because all people have not the capacity to appreciate his
merits. It is also certain that he is at present ensconced in the
hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play the part of a
cameleopard; but this is done for the better sustaining his dignity
as king. Besides, the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the dress
is therefore neither unbecoming nor over large. We may, however,
presume he would not have adopted it but for some occasion of
especial state. Such, you will allow, is the massacre of a thousand
Jews. With how superior a dignity the monarch perambulates on all
fours! His tail, you perceive, is held aloft by his two principal
concubines, Elline and Argelais; and his whole appearance would be
infinitely prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his
eyes, which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color
of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of wine
he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome, whither he is
proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which he is commencing:

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Say -- do you know?

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Bravo! -- bravo!

There is none but Epiphanes,

No -- there is none:

So tear down the temples,

And put out the sun!

Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him 'Prince of
Poets,' as well as 'Glory of the East,' 'Delight of the Universe,'
and 'Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.' They have encored his
effusion, and do you hear? -- he is singing it over again. When he
arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with the poetic wreath,
in anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.

"But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?"

Behind us, did you say? -- oh! ah! -- I perceive. My friend, it is
well that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as
soon as possible. Here! -- let us conceal ourselves in the arch of
this aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the
commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The
singular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man, has, it
seems, given offence to the notions of propriety entertained, in
general, by the wild animals domesticated in the city. A mutiny has
been the result; and, as is usual upon such occasions, all human
efforts will be of no avail in quelling the mob. Several of the
Syrians have already been devoured; but the general voice of the
four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the cameleopard. 'The
Prince of Poets,' therefore, is upon his hinder legs, running for his
life. His courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubines
have followed so excellent an example. 'Delight of the Universe,'
thou art in a sad predicament! 'Glory of the East,' thou art in
danger of mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail;
it will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no
help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation; but
take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the hippodrome!
Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus the
Illustrious! -- also 'Prince of Poets,' 'Glory of the East,' 'Delight
of the Universe,' and 'Most Remarkable of Cameleopards!' Heavens!
what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity for
leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince! -- Bravo, Epiphanes! Well
done, Cameleopard! -- Glorious Antiochus! -- He runs! -- he leaps! --
he flies! Like an arrow from a catapult he approaches the hippodrome!
He leaps! -- he shrieks! -- he is there! This is well; for hadst
thou, 'Glory of the East,' been half a second longer in reaching the
gates of the Amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub in Epidaphne
that would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let us be off -- let
us take our departure! -- for we shall find our delicate modern ears
unable to endure the vast uproar which is about to commence in
celebration of the king's escape! Listen! it has already commenced.
See! -- the whole town is topsy-turvy.

"Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a wilderness
of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a multiplicity
of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes! what a Babel of
languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a tinkling of
instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!"

Come let us be off.

"Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is the
meaning of it, I beseech you?"

That? -- oh, nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne being,
as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, and
divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been eye-witnesses of
his late superhuman agility, do think it no more than their duty to
invest his brows (in addition to the poetic crown) with the wreath of
victory in the footrace -- a wreath which it is evident he must
obtain at the celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, therefore,
they now give him in advance.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

Footnotes  -- Four Beasts

{*1} Flavius Vospicus says, that the hymn here introduced was sung by
the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war, having
slain, with his own hand, nine hundred and fifty of the enemy.


==========


                     THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid
himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond
_all_ conjecture.

                      --_Sir Thomas Browne._


The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in
themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them
only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they
are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source
of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical
ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into
action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which
_disentangles._ He derives pleasure from even the most trivial
occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of
conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a
degree of _acumen_ which appears to the ordinary apprehension
prµternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and
essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.

The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by
mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it
which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations,
has been called, as if _par excellence_, analysis. Yet to calculate
is not in itself to analyse. A chess-player, for example, does the
one without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess,
in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am
not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar
narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore,
take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective
intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the
unostentatious game of draughts than by a the elaborate frivolity of
chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and _bizarre_
motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex is
mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is profound. The _attention_
is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an
oversight is committed resulting in injury or defeat. The possible
moves being not only manifold but involute, the chances of such
oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is the
more concentrative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In
draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are _unique_ and have but
little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished,
and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed, what
advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superior
_acumen_. To be less abstract - Let us suppose a game of draughts
where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no
oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can
be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some _recherchΘ_
movement, the result of some strong exertion of the intellect.
Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the
spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not
unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometime
indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or
hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been noted for its influence upon what is termed the
calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellect have
been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it, while
eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a
similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best
chess-player in Christendom _may_ be little more than the best player
of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in
all those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind.
When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which
includes a comprehension of _all_ the sources whence legitimate
advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold but multiform,
and lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible
to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively is to remember
distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very
well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the
mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally
comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to proceed by
"the book," are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good
playing. But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rule that the
skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host of
observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the
difference in the extent of the information obtained, lies not so
much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the
observation. The necessary knowledge is that of _what_ to observe.
Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because the game is the
object, does he reject deductions from things external to the game.
He examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully
with that of each of his opponents. He considers the mode of
assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by trump, and
honor by honor, through the glances bestowed by their holders upon
each. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses,
gathering a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of
certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or of chagrin. From the manner of
gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make
another in the suit. He recognises what is played through feint, by
the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or
inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with
the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its
concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their
arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepidation -
all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of
the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been
played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and
thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of
purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of
their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded with ample ingenuity;
for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is
often remarkably incapable of analysis. The constructive or combining
power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the
phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ,
supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in
those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have
attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between
ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far
greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but
of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact,
that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the _truly_ imaginative
never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the
light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18--, I
there became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young
gentleman was of an excellent - indeed of an illustrious family, but,
by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty
that the energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased
to bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his
fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his
possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the income
arising from this, he managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to
procure the necessaries of life, without troubling himself about its
superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris
these are easily obtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre,
where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare
and very remarkable volume, brought us into closer communion. We saw
each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little
family history which he detailed to me with all that candor which a
Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is his theme. I was astonished,
too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my
soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness
of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I
felt that the societyof such a man would be to me a treasure beyond
price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length
arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; and
as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his
own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing
in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common
temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through
superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its
fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we
should have been regarded as madmen - although, perhaps, as madmen of
a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no
visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement had been carefully
kept a secret from my own former associates; and it had been many
years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed
within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?)
to be enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this
_bizarrerie_, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself
up to his wild whims with a perfect _abandon_. The sable divinity
would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her
presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the messy
shutters of our old building; lighting a couple of tapers which,
strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of
rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams -
reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the
advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets
arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide
until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the
populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet
observation can afford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (although from
his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar
analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight
in its exercise - if not exactly in its display - and did not
hesitate to confess the pleasure thus derived. He boastedto me, with
a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore
windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by
direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own.
His manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were
vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose
into a treble which would have sounded petulantly but for the
deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing
him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old
philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a
double Dupin - the creative and the resolvent.

Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I am
detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What I have described
in the Frenchman, was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of
a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at the
periods in question an example will best convey the idea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street in the vicinity
of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently, occupied with thought,
neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All
at once Dupin broke forth with these words:

"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would do better for the
_ThΘΓtre des VariΘtΘs_."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied unwittingly, and not at
first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the
extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with my
meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my
astonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension. I do not
hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses.
How was it possible you should know I was thinking of ----- ?" Here I
paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I
thought.

-- "of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarking to
yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections.
Chantilly was a _quondam_ cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming
stage-mad, had attempted the _r⌠le_ of Xerxes, in CrΘbillon's tragedy
so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the method - if method
there is - by which you have been enabled to fathom my soul in this
matter." In fact I was even more startled than I would have been
willing to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who brought you to the
conclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height for
Xerxes _et id genus omne_."

"The fruiterer! - you astonish me - I know no fruiterer whomsoever."

"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street - it may
have been fifteen minutes ago."

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a
large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we
passed from the Rue C ---- into the thoroughfare where we stood; but
what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.

There was not a particle of _charlΓtanerie_ about Dupin. "I will
explain," he said, "and that you may comprehend all clearly, we will
first retrace the course of your meditations, from the moment in
which I spoke to you until that of the _rencontre_ with the fruiterer
in question. The larger links of the chain run thus - Chantilly,
Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the
fruiterer."

There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives,
amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular
conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is
often full of interest and he who attempts it for the first time is
astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence
between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been
my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just
spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken
the truth. He continued:

"We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright, just before
leaving the Rue C ---- . This was the last subject we discussed. As
we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon
his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving
stones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing repair.
You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly
strained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words,
turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not
particularly attentive to what you did; but observation has become
with me, of late, a species of necessity.

"You kept your eyes upon the ground - glancing, with a petulant
expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement, (so that I saw you
were still thinking of the stones,) until we reached the little alley
called Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, with
the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenance brightened
up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you
murmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied to
this species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself
'stereotomy' without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of
the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject
not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how
little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with
confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not
avoid casting your eyes upward to the great _nebula_ in Orion, and I
certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was
now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that
bitter _tirade_ upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday's
'_MusΘe_,' the satirist, making some disgraceful allusions to the
cobbler s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin
line about which we have often conversed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera sonum.

I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written
Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this explanation,
I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear,
therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion
and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by the character of
the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor
cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but
now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure
that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this
point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, be
was a very little fellow - that Chantilly - he would do better at the
_ThΘΓtre des VariΘtΘs_."

Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the
"Gazette des Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs arrested our
attention.

"EXTRAORDINARY MURDERS. - This morning, about three o'clock, the
inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a
succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth
story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy
of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter Mademoiselle Camille
L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to
procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with
a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered accompanied by
two _gendarmes_. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party
rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in
angry contention were distinguished and seemed to proceed from the
upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these
sounds, also, had ceased and everything remained perfectly quiet. The
party spread themselves and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving
at a large back chamber in the fourth story, (the door of which,
being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open,) a
spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less
with horror than with astonishment.

"The apartment was in the wildest disorder - the furniture broken and
thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from
this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the
floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth
were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also
dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots.
Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three
large silver spoons, three smaller of_ mΘtal d'Alger_, and two bags,
containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a
_bureau_, which stood in one corner were open, and had been,
apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A
small iron safe was discovered under the _bed_ (not under the
bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no
contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little
consequence.

"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual
quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made
in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the; corpse of the
daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus
forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body
was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived,
no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up
and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon
the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as
if the deceased had been throttled to death.

"After a thorough investigation of every portion of the house,
without farther discovery, the party made its way into a small paved
yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old
lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise
her, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully
mutilated - the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance
of humanity.

"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the
slightest clew."

The next day's paper had these additional particulars.

"_The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue._ Many individuals have been examined
in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful affair. [The
word 'affaire' has not yet, in France, that levity of import which it
conveys with us,] "but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light
upon it. We give below all the material testimony elicited.

"_Pauline Dubourg_, laundress, deposes that she has known both the
deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period.
The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms - very
affectionate towards each other. They were excellent pay. Could not
speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed that
Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put
by. Never met any persons in the house when she called for the
clothes or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in
employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building
except in the fourth story.

"_Pierre Moreau_, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit
of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye
for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, and has always
resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house
in which the corpses were found, for more than six years. It was
formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to
various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became
dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved
into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was
childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during
the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life - were
reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that
Madame L. told fortunes - did not believe it. Had never seen any
person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter
once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.

"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No
one was spoken of as frequenting the house. It was not known whether
there were any living connexions of Madame L. and her daughter. The
shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear
were always closed, with the exception of the large back room, fourth
story. The house was a good house - not very old.

"_Isidore Muset_, _gendarme_, deposes that he was called to the house
about three o'clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty
persons at the gateway, endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it
open, at length, with a bayonet - not with a crowbar. Had but little
difficulty in getting it open, on account of its being a double or
folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom not top. The shrieks were
continued until the gate was forced - and then suddenly ceased. They
seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony -
were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way up
stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and
angry contention - the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller - a
very strange voice. Could distinguish some words of the former, which
was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was not a woman's
voice. Could distinguish the words '_sacrΘ_' and '_diable._' The
shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it
was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was
said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room
and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them
yesterday.

"_Henri Duval_, a neighbor, and by trade a silver-smith, deposes that
he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates the
testimony of MusΦt in general. As soon as they forced an entrance,
they reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd, which collected very
fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice,
this witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not
French. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might have
been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the Italian language. Could
not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the intonation that
the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had
conversed with both frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was
not that of either of the deceased.

"-- _Odenheimer, restaurateur._ This witness volunteered his
testimony. Not speaking French, was examined through an interpreter.
Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time of the
shrieks. They lasted for several minutes - probably ten. They were
long and loud - very awful and distressing. Was one of those who
entered the building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every
respect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man -
of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were
loud and quick - unequal - spoken apparently in fear as well as in
anger. The voice was harsh - not so much shrill as harsh. Could not
call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly '_sacrΘ_,'
'_diable_,' and once '_mon Dieu._'

"_Jules Mignaud_, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue
Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye had some property.
Had opened an account with his banking house in the spring of the
year - (eight years previously). Made frequent deposits in small
sums. Had checked for nothing until the third day before her death,
when she took out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum was paid
in gold, and a clerk went home with the money.

"_Adolphe Le Bon_, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that on the day
in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her
residence with the 4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door
being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took from his hands one of
the bags, while the old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed
and departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time. It is
a bye-street - very lonely.

"_William Bird_, tailor deposes that he was one of the party who
entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived in Paris two years.
Was one of the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in
contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could make out
several words, but cannot now remember all. Heard distinctly
'_sacrΘ_' and '_mon Dieu._' There was a sound at the moment as if of
several persons struggling - a scraping and scuffling sound. The
shrill voice was very loud - louder than the gruff one. Is sure that
it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a
German. Might have been a woman's voice. Does not understand German.

"Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, deposed that the
door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L.
was locked on the inside when the party reached it. Every thing was
perfectly silent - no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the
door no person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front
room, were down and firmly fastened from within. A door between the
two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the front
room into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small
room in the front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of
the passage was open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded with
old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed and
searched. There was not an inch of any portion of the house which was
not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys.
The house was a four story one, with garrets (_mansardes._) A
trap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely - did not appear
to have been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing
of the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room door,
was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as short as three
minutes - some as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.

"_Alfonzo Garcio_, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the Rue
Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party who entered the
house. Did not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive of
the consequences of agitation. Heard the voices in contention. The
gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was
said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman - is sure of this.
Does not understand the English language, but judges by the
intonation.

"_Alberto Montani_, confectioner, deposes that he was among the first
to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice
was that of a Frenchman. Distinguished several words. The speaker
appeared to be expostulating. Could not make out the words of the
shrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a
Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never
conversed with a native of Russia.

"Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all
the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow to admit the passage of
a human being. By 'sweeps' were meant cylindrical sweeping brushes,
such as are employed by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were
passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no back passage
by which any one could have descended while the party proceeded up
stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in
the chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the
party united their strength.

"_Paul Dumas_, physician, deposes that he was called to view the
bodies about day-break. They were both then lying on the sacking of
the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The
corpse of the young lady was much bruised and excoriated. The fact
that it had been thrust up the chimney would sufficiently account for
these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several
deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid
spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The face was
fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. The tongue had
been partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the
pit of the stomach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee.
In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been
throttled to death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of
the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and
arm were more or less shattered. The left _tibia_ much splintered, as
well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised
and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been
inflicted. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron - a chair -
any large, heavy, and obtuse weapon would have produced such results,
if wielded by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have
inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when
seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also
greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with some very
sharp instrument - probably with a razor.

"_Alexandre Etienne_, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the
bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.

"Nothing farther of importance was elicited, although several other
persons were examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in
all its particulars, was never before committed in Paris - if indeed
a murder has been committed at all. The police are entirely at fault
- an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not,
however, the shadow of a clew apparent."

The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement
still continued in the Quartier St. Roch - that the premises in
question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examinations of
witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, however,
mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned -
although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts already
detailed.

Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair --
at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was
only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he
asked me my opinion respecting the murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them an insoluble
mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to trace the
murderer.

"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this shell of an
examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled for _acumen_, are
cunning, but no more. There is no method in their proceedings, beyond
the method of the moment. They make a vast parade of measures; but,
not unfrequently, these are so ill adapted to the objects proposed,
as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his
_robe-de-chambre - pour mieux entendre la musique._ The results
attained by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most
part, are brought about by simple diligence and activity. When these
qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for example,
was a good guesser and a persevering man. But, without educated
thought, he erred continually by the very intensity of his
investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the object too
close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual
clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter
as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as being too profound. Truth
is not always in a well. In fact, as regards the more important
knowledge, I do believe that she is invariably superficial. The depth
lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops
where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error are
well typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at
a star by glances - to view it in a side-long way, by turning toward
it the exterior portions of the _retina_ (more susceptible of feeble
impressions of light than the interior), is to behold the star
distinctly - is to have the best appreciation of its lustre - a
lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our vision
_fully_ upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye
in the latter case, but, in the former, there is the more refined
capacity for comprehension. By undue profundity we perplex and
enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself
vanish from the firmanent by a scrutiny too sustained, too
concentrated, or too direct.

"As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations for
ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry
will afford us amusement," [I thought this an odd term, so applied,
but said nothing] "and, besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service
for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with
our own eyes. I know G----, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no
difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission."

The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue
Morgue. This is one of those miserable thoroughfares which intervene
between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was late in the
afternoon when we reached it; as this quarter is at a great distance
from that in which we resided. The house was readily found; for there
were still many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an
objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an
ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a
glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in the window, indicating a
_loge de concierge._ Before going in we walked up the street, turned
down an alley, and then, again turning, passed in the rear of the
building - Dupin, meanwhile examining the whole neighborhood, as well
as the house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see no
possible object.

Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling,
rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted by the agents
in charge. We went up stairs - into the chamber where the body of
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been found, and where both the deceased
still lay. The disorders of the room had, as usual, been suffered to
exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette des
Tribunaux." Dupin scrutinized every thing - not excepting the bodies
of the victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard;
a _gendarme_ accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied us
until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my companion
stepped in for a moment at the office of one of the daily papers.

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and that _Je
les mΘnagais_: - for this phrase there is no English equivalent. It
was his humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the
murder, until about noon the next day. He then asked me, suddenly, if
I had observed any thing _peculiar_ at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word "peculiar,"
which caused me to shudder, without knowing why.

"No, nothing _peculiar_," I said; "nothing more, at least, than we
both saw stated in the paper."

"The 'Gazette,' " he replied, "has not entered, I fear, into the
unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinions of this
print. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble,
for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of
solution - I mean for the _outrΘ_ character of its features. The
police are confounded by the seeming absence of motive - not for the
murder itself - but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled,
too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in
contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but
the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there were no
means of egress without the notice of the party ascending. The wild
disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up
the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady;
these considerations, with those just mentioned, and others which I
need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting
completely at fault the boasted _acumen_, of the government agents.
They have fallen into the gross but common error of confounding the
unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations from the
plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in its
search for the true. In investigations such as we are now pursuing,
it should not be so much asked 'what has occurred,' as 'what has
occurred that has never occurred before.' In fact, the facility with
which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this
mystery, is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the
eyes of the police."

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward the door of our
apartment - "I am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the
perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in some measure
implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of the crimes
committed, it is probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right
in this supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading
the entire riddle. I look for the man here - in this room - every
moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is
that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him.
Here are pistols; and we both know how to use them when occasion
demands their use."

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing what I
heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I have
already spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discourse
was addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud,
had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some
one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded
only the wall.

"That the voices heard in contention," he said, "by the party upon
the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully
proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the
question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter
and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly
for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would
have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's
corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds
upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction.
Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices
of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert
- not to the whole testimony respecting these voices - but to what
was _peculiar_ in that testimony. Did you observe any thing peculiar
about it?"

I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the
gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in
regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh
voice.

"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the
peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive.
Yet there _was_ something to be observed. The witnesses, as you
remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But
in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is - not that they
disagreed - but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a
Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke
of it as that _of a foreigner_. Each is sure that it was not the
voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it - not to the voice
of an individual of any nation with whose language he is conversant -
but the converse. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard,
and 'might have distinguished some words _had he been acquainted with
the Spanish._' The Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a
Frenchman; but we find it stated that '_not understanding French this
witness was examined through an interpreter._' The Englishman thinks
it the voice of a German, and '_does not understand German._' The
Spaniard 'is sure' that it was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by
the intonation' altogether, '_as he has no knowledge of the
English._' The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but '_has
never conversed with a native of Russia._' A second Frenchman
differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was
that of an Italian; but, _not being cognizant of that tongue_, is,
like the Spaniard, 'convinced by the intonation.' Now, how strangely
unusual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony
as this _could_ have been elicited! - in whose _tones_, even,
denizens of the five great divisions of Europe could recognise
nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of
an Asiatic - of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in
Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call
your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness
'harsh rather than shrill.' It is represented by two others to have
been 'quick and _unequal._' No words - no sounds resembling words -
were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so
far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that
legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony - the
portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices - are in themselves
sufficient to engender a suspicion which should give direction to all
farther progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said
'legitimate deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully expressed.
I designed to imply that the deductions are the _sole_ proper ones,
and that the suspicion arises _inevitably_ from them as the single
result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I
merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was
sufficiently forcible to give a definite form - a certain tendency -
to my inquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What
shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the
murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in
prµternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not
destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and
escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of
reasoning upon the point, and that mode _must_ lead us to a definite
decision. - Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of
egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining,
when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two
apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the
floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every
direction. No _secret_ issues could have escaped their vigilance.
But, not trusting to _their_ eyes, I examined with my own. There
were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into
the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn
to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or
ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent,
the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means
already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows.
Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without
notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers _must_ have
passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this
conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part,
as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It
is only left for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities'
are, in reality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by
furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is
hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust
close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from
within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise
it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left,
and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head.
Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly
fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also.
The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in
these directions. And, _therefore_, it was thought a matter of
supererogation to withdraw the nails and open the windows.

"My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the
reason I have just given - because here it was, I knew, that all
apparent impossibilities _must_ be proved to be not such in reality.

"I proceeded to think thus - _α posteriori_. The murderers did escape
from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have
refastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened; -
the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the
scrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes _were_
fastened. They _must_, then, have the power of fastening themselves.
There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the
unobstructed casement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty and
attempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had
anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now know, exist; and this
corroboration of my idea convinced me that my premises at least, were
correct, however mysterious still appeared the circumstances
attending the nails. A careful search soon brought to light the
hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery,
forbore to upraise the sash.

"I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person
passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the
spring would have caught - but the nail could not have been replaced.
The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my
investigations. The assassins _must_ have escaped through the other
window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same,
as was probable, there _must_ be found a difference between the
nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon
the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board minutely at
the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily
discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed,
identical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail.
It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same
manner - driven in nearly up to the head.

"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have
misunderstood the nature of the inductions. To use a sporting phrase,
I had not been once 'at fault.' The scent had never for an instant
been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced
the secret to its ultimate result, - and that result was _the nail._
It had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the
other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive us it
might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at
this point, terminated the clew. 'There _must_ be something wrong,' I
said, 'about the nail.' I touched it; and the head, with about a
quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of
the shank was in the gimlet-hole where it had been broken off. The
fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and
had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had
partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the head portion
of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head portion in the
indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect
nail was complete - the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I
gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head went up with it,
remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of
the whole nail was again perfect.

"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped
through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own
accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become
fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of this spring which
had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail, - farther
inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.

"The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I
had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About
five feet and a half from the casement in question there runs a
lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any
one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I
observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth story were of the
peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters _ferrades_ - a kind
rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old
mansions at Lyons and Bourdeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary
door, (a single, not a folding door) except that the lower half is
latticed or worked in open trellis - thus affording an excellent hold
for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three
feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house,
they were both about half open - that is to say, they stood off at
right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well
as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, in looking
at these _ferrades_ in the line of their breadth (as they must have
done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all
events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having
once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this
quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory examination.
It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the window
at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach
to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by
exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an
entrance into the window, from the rod, might have been thus
effected. - By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we
now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have
taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold
upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and
springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to
close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might even
have swung himself into the room.

"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a _very_
unusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardous
and so difficult a feat. It is my design to show you, first, that the
thing might possibly have been accomplished: - but, secondly and
_chiefly_, I wish to impress upon your understanding the _very
extraordinary_ - the almost prµternatural character of that agility
which could have accomplished it.

"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that 'to make
out my case,' I should rather undervalue, than insist upon a full
estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the
practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate
object is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to
place in juxta-position, that _very unusual_ activity of which I have
just spoken with that _very peculiar_ shrill (or harsh) and _unequal_
voice, about whose nationality no two persons could be found to
agree, and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected."

At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of
Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of
comprehension without power to comprehend - men, at times, find
themselves upon the brink of remembrance without being able, in the
end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.

"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the question from the
mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the
idea that both were effected in the same manner, at the same point.
Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the
appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been
rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them.
The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess - a very silly one
- and no more. How are we to know that the articles found in the
drawers were not all these drawers had originally contained? Madame
L'Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life - saw
no company - seldom went out - had little use for numerous changes of
habiliment. Those found were at least of as good quality as any
likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why
did he not take the best - why did he not take all? In a word, why
did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber himself with
a bundle of linen? The gold _was _abandoned. Nearly the whole sum
mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags,
upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts
the blundering idea of _motive_, engendered in the brains of the
police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money
delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as
remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed
within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us
every hour of our lives, without attracting even momentary notice.
Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of
that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the
theory of probabilities - that theory to which the most glorious
objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of
illustration. In the present instance, had the gold been gone, the
fact of its delivery three days before would have formed something
more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative of this
idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we
are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine
the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have abandoned his gold
and his motive together.

"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your
attention - that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that
startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as
this - let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman
strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head
downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this.
Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of
thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was
something _excessively outrΘ_ - something altogether irreconcilable
with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the
actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been
that strength which could have thrust the body _up_ such an aperture
so forcibly that the united vigor of several persons was found barely
sufficient to drag it _down!_

"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigor most
marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses - very thick tresses -
of grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are
aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even
twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as
well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with
fragments of the flesh of the scalp - sure token of the prodigious
power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of
hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but
the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere
razor. I wish you also to look at the _brutal_ ferocity of these
deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L'Espanaye I do not
speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor Monsieur Etienne,
have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument;
and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument
was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had
fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea,
however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same
reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them - because, by
the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically
sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened
at all.

"If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected
upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to
combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a
ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a _grotesquerie_ in
horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to
the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or
intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What
impression have I made upon your fancy?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. "A
madman," I said, "has done this deed - some raving maniac, escaped
from a neighboring _Maison de SantΘ._"

"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not irrelevant. But the
voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to
tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of
some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has
always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a
madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this
little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye.
Tell me what you can make of it."

"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most unusual -
this is no _human_ hair."

"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, before we decide
this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here
traced upon this paper. It is a _fac-simile_ drawing of what has been
described in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises, and deep
indentations of finger nails,' upon the throat of Mademoiselle
L'Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a
'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'

"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the paper
upon the table before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of a firm
and fixed hold. There is no _slipping_ apparent. Each finger has
retained - possibly until the death of the victim - the fearful grasp
by which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all
your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you
see them."

I made the attempt in vain.

"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial," he said. "The
paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat is
cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which is
about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the
experiment again."

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before.
"This," I said, "is the mark of no human hand."

"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from Cuvier."

It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the
large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic
stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and
the imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently well
known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.

"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of reading,
"is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no animal but
an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed
the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair,
too, is identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But
I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful
mystery. Besides, there were _two_ voices heard in contention, and
one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman."

"True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost
unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice, - the expression, '_mon
Dieu!_' This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized
by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an expression
of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I
have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A
Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible - indeed it is
far more than probable - that he was innocent of all participation in
the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have
escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under
the agitating circumstances which ensued, he could never have
re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses
- for I have no right to call them more - since the shades of
reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth
to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend
to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will
call them guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman
in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this
advertisement which I left last night, upon our return home, at the
office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and
much sought by sailors,) will bring him to our residence."

He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

CAUGHT - _In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the -
inst.,_ (the morning of the murder,) _a very large, tawny
Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained
to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal
again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges
arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. ---- , Rue ----,
Faubourg St. Germain - au troisiΩme._

"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should know the man to be a
sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?"

"I do _not_ know it," said Dupin. "I am not _sure_ of it. Here,
however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from
its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in
one of those long _queues_ of which sailors are so fond. Moreover,
this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar
to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the
lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased.
Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that
the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can
have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am
in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some
circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But
if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent
of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying
to the advertisement - about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will
reason thus: - 'I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of
great value - to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself - why
should I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is,
within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne - at a vast
distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be
suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police
are at fault - they have failed to procure the slightest clew. Should
they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me
cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of
that cognizance. Above all, _I am known._ The advertiser designates
me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his
knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great
value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the animal at
least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention
either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement,
get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown
over.' "

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.

"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them nor
show them until at a signal from myself."

The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter had
entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the
staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard
him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again
heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped
up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.

"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.

A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, - a tall, stout, and
muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of
countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly
sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and _mustachio._ He
had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise
unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French
accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still
sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.

"Sit down, my freind," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about
the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of
him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old
do you suppose him to be?"

The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some
intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:

"I have no way of telling - but he can't be more than four or five
years old. Have you got him here?"

"Oh no, we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a
livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the
morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?"

"To be sure I am, sir."

"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.

"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing,
sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a
reward for the finding of the animal - that is to say, any thing in
reason."

"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me
think! - what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be
this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these
murders in the Rue Morgue."

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just
as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key
in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it,
without the least flurry, upon the table.

The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with
suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the
next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with
the countenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him
from the bottom of my heart.

"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself
unnecessarily - you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I
pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we
intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of
the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny
that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what I have
already said, you must know that I have had means of information
about this matter - means of which you could never have dreamed. Now
the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have
avoided - nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable. You were
not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity.
You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On
the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess
all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that
crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure,
while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing
was all gone.

"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all
I know about this affair; - but I do not expect you to believe one
half I say - I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent,
and I will make a clean breast if I die for it."

What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage
to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at
Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure.
Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang- Outang. This
companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession.
After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his
captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it
safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward
himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it
carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound
in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate
design was to sell it.

Returning home from some sailors' frolic the night, or rather in the
morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room,
into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been,
as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered,
it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of
shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master
through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so
dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and
so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what
to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even
in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now
resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through
the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a
window, unfortunately open, into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand,
occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer,
until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off.
In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were
profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In
passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's
attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of
Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house.
Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning rod, clambered up
with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown
fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly
upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a
minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it
entered the room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had
strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely
escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod,
where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand,
there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house.
This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A
lightning rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor;
but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his
left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was
to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room.
At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of
horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night,
which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame
L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had
apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest
already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the
room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The
victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window;
and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the
screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The
flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to
the wind.

As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame
L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she had been combing
it,) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitation of
the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless;
she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during
which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the
probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath.
With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her
head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into
phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew
upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her
throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild
glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the
face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury
of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was
instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved
punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and
skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing
down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed
from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the
daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of
the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window
headlong.

As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the
sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering
down it, hurried at once home - dreading the consequences of the
butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about
the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the
staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright,
commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped
from the chamber, by the rod, just before the break of the door. It
must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was
subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very
large sum at the _Jardin des Plantes._ Le Don was instantly released,
upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from
Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary,
however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his
chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge
in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding his
own business.

"Let him talk," said Dupin,, who had not thought it necessary to
reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I am
satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless,
that he failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that
matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the
Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no
_stamen._ It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the
Goddess Laverna, -- or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a
codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially
for one master stroke of cant, by which he has attained his
reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has '_de nier ce qui est,
et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas._' " *

* Rousseau - Nouvelle Heloise.



~~~ End of Text ~~~

==========



                   THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.{*1}

             A SEQUEL TO "THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE."


Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklichkeit
parallel lauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen. Menschen und zufalle
modifieiren gewohulich die idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie
unvollkommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen
sind. So bei der Reformation; statt des Protestantismus kam das
Lutherthum hervor.

There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real
ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify
the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its
consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Reformation;
instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism.

                   - Novalis. {*2} Moral Ansichten.

THERE are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not
occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence
in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a
character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable
to receive them. Such sentiments - for the half-credences of which I
speak have never the full force of thought - such sentiments are
seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the doctrine of
chance, or, as it is technically termed, the Calculus of
Probabilities. Now this Calculus is, in its essence, purely
mathematical; and thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact
in science applied to the shadow and spirituality of the most
intangible in speculation.

The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to make public,
will be found to form, as regards sequence of time, the primary
branch of a series of scarcely intelligible coincidences, whose
secondary or concluding branch will be recognized by all readers in
the late murder of Mary Cecila Rogers, at New York.

When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," I
endeavored, about a year ago, to depict some very remarkable features
in the mental character of my friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin,
it did not occur to me that I should ever resume the subject. This
depicting of character constituted my design; and this design was
thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances brought to
instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced other examples,
but I should have proven no more. Late events, however, in their
surprising development, have startled me into some farther details,
which will carry with them the air of extorted confession. Hearing
what I have lately heard, it would be indeed strange should I remain
silent in regard to what I both heard and saw so long ago.

Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deaths of Madame
L'Espanaye and her daughter, the Chevalier dismissed the affair at
once from his attention, and relapsed into his old habits of moody
reverie. Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I readily fell in with
his humor; and, continuing to occupy our chambers in the Faubourg
Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered
tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into
dreams.

But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. It may readily be
supposed that the part played by my friend, in the drama at the Rue
Morgue, had not failed of its impression upon the fancies of the
Parisian police. With its emissaries, the name of Dupin had grown
into a household word. The simple character of those inductions by
which he had disentangled the mystery never having been explained
even to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself, of
course it is not surprising that the affair was regarded as little
less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier's analytical abilities
acquired for him the credit of intuition. His frankness would have
led him to disabuse every inquirer of such prejudice; but his
indolent humor forbade all farther agitation of a topic whose
interest to himself had long ceased. It thus happened that he found
himself the cynosure of the policial eyes; and the cases were not few
in which attempt was made to engage his services at the Prefecture.
One of the most remarkable instances was that of the murder of a
young girl named Marie RogΩt.

This event occurred about two years after the atrocity in the Rue
Morgue. Marie, whose Christian and family name will at once arrest
attention from their resemblance to those of the unfortunate "cigar-
girl," was the only daughter of the widow Estelle RogΩt. The father
had died during the child's infancy, and from the period of his
death, until within eighteen months before the assassination which
forms the subject of our narrative, the mother and daughter had dwelt
together in the Rue PavΘe Saint AndrΘe; {*3} Madame there keeping a
pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the latter had
attained her twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted the
notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of the shops in the basement
of the Palais Royal, and whose custom lay chiefly among the desperate
adventurers infesting that neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanc {*4} was
not unaware of the advantages to be derived from the attendance of
the fair Marie in his perfumery; and his liberal proposals were
accepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more of
hesitation by Madame.

The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized, and his rooms soon
became notorious through the charms of the sprightly grisette. She
had been in his employ about a year, when her admirers were thrown
info confusion by her sudden disappearance from the shop. Monsieur Le
Blanc was unable to account for her absence, and Madame RogΩt was
distracted with anxiety and terror. The public papers immediately
took up the theme, and the police were upon the point of making
serious investigations, when, one fine morning, after the lapse of a
week, Marie, in good health, but with a somewhat saddened air, made
her re-appearance at her usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry,
except that of a private character, was of course immediately hushed.
Monsieur Le Blanc professed total ignorance, as before. Marie, with
Madame, replied to all questions, that the last week had been spent
at the house of a relation in the country. Thus the affair died away,
and was generally forgotten; for the girl, ostensibly to relieve
herself from the impertinence of curiosity, soon bade a final adieu
to the perfumer, and sought the shelter of her mother's residence in
the Rue PavΘe Saint AndrΘe.

It was about five months after this return home, that her friends
were alarmed by her sudden disappearance for the second time. Three
days elapsed, and nothing was heard of her. On the fourth her corpse
was found floating in the Seine, * near the shore which is opposite
the Quartier of the Rue Saint Andree, and at a point not very far
distant from the secluded neighborhood of the BarriΦre du Roule. {*6}

The atrocity of this murder, (for it was at once evident that murder
had been committed,) the youth and beauty of the victim, and, above
all, her previous notoriety, conspired to produce intense excitement
in the minds of the sensitive Parisians. I can call to mind no
similar occurrence producing so general and so intense an effect. For
several weeks, in the discussion of this one absorbing theme, even
the momentous political topics of the day were forgotten. The Prefect
made unusual exertions; and the powers of the whole Parisian police
were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.

Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not supposed that the
murderer would be able to elude, for more than a very brief period,
the inquisition which was immediately set on foot. It was not until
the expiration of a week that it was deemed necessary to offer a
reward; and even then this reward was limited to a thousand francs.
In the mean time the investigation proceeded with vigor, if not
always with judgment, and numerous individuals were examined to no
purpose; while, owing to the continual absence of all clue to the
mystery, the popular excitement greatly increased. At the end of the
tenth day it was thought advisable to double the sum originally
proposed; and, at length, the second week having elapsed without
leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice which always exists in
Paris against the Police having given vent to itself in several
serious Θmeutes, the Prefect took it upon himself to offer the sum of
twenty thousand francs "for the conviction of the assassin," or, if
more than one should prove to have been implicated, "for the
conviction of any one of the assassins." In the proclamation setting
forth this reward, a full pardon was promised to any accomplice who
should come forward in evidence against his fellow; and to the whole
was appended, wherever it appeared, the private placard of a
committee of citizens, offering ten thousand francs, in addition to
the amount proposed by the Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood
at no less than thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as an
extraordinary sum when we consider the humble condition of the girl,
and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocities as the
one described.

No one doubted now that the mystery of this murder would be
immediately brought to light. But although, in one or two instances,
arrests were made which promised elucidation, yet nothing was
elicited which could implicate the parties suspected; and they were
discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear, the third week from
the discovery of the body had passed, and passed without any light
being thrown upon the subject, before even a rumor of the events
which had so agitated the public mind, reached the ears of Dupin and
myself. Engaged in researches which absorbed our whole attention, it
had been nearly a month since either of us had gone abroad, or
received a visiter, or more than glanced at the leading political
articles in one of the daily papers. The first intelligence of the
murder was brought us by G ----, in person. He called upon us early
in the afternoon of the thirteenth of July, 18--, and remained with
us until late in the night. He had been piqued by the failure of all
his endeavors to ferret out the assassins. His reputation - so he
said with a peculiarly Parisian air - was at stake. Even his honor
was concerned. The eyes of the public were upon him; and there was
really no sacrifice which he would not be willing to make for the
development of the mystery. He concluded a somewhat droll speech with
a compliment upon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and
made him a direct, and certainly a liberal proposition, the precise
nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty to disclose, but
which has no bearing upon the proper subject of my narrative.

The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but the
proposition he accepted at once, although its advantages were
altogether provisional. This point being settled, the Prefect broke
forth at once into explanations of his own views, interspersing them
with long comments upon the evidence; of which latter we were not yet
in possession. He discoursed much, and beyond doubt, learnedly; while
I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsily away.
Dupin, sitting steadily in his accustomed arm-chair, was the
embodiment of respectful attention. He wore spectacles, during the
whole interview; and an occasional signal glance beneath their green
glasses, sufficed to convince me that he slept not the less soundly,
because silently, throughout the seven or eight leaden-footed hours
which immediately preceded the departure of the Prefect.

In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of all
the evidence elicited, and, at the various newspaper offices, a copy
of every paper in which, from first to last, had been published any
decisive information in regard to this sad affair. Freed from all
that was positively disproved, this mass of information stood thus:

Marie RogΩt left the residence of her mother, in the Rue PavΘe St.
AndrΘe, about nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday June the
twenty-second, 18--. In going out, she gave notice to a Monsieur
Jacques St. Eustache, {*7} and to him only, of her intent intention
to spend the day with an aunt who resided in the Rue des Dr⌠mes. The
Rue des Dr⌠mes is a short and narrow but populous thoroughfare, not
far from the banks of the river, and at a distance of some two miles,
in the most direct course possible, from the pension of Madame RogΩt.
St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Marie, and lodged, as well as
took his meals, at the pension. He was to have gone for his betrothed
at dusk, and to have escorted her home. In the afternoon, however, it
came on to rain heavily; and, supposing that she would remain all
night at her aunt's, (as she had done under similar circumstances
before,) he did not think it necessary to keep his promise. As night
drew on, Madame RogΩt (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of
age,) was heard to express a fear "that she should never see Marie
again;" but this observation attracted little attention at the time.

On Monday, it was ascertained that the girl had not been to the Rue
des Dr⌠mes; and when the day elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy
search was instituted at several points in the city, and its
environs. It was not, however until the fourth day from the period of
disappearance that any thing satisfactory was ascertained respecting
her. On this day, (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June,) a Monsieur
Beauvais, {*8} who, with a friend, had been making inquiries for
Marie near the BarriΦre du Roule, on the shore of the Seine which is
opposite the Rue PavΘe St. AndrΘe, was informed that a corpse had
just been towed ashore by some fishermen, who had found it floating
in the river. Upon seeing the body, Beauvais, after some hesitation,
identified it as that of the perfumery-girl. His friend recognized it
more promptly.

The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which issued from the
mouth. No foam was seen, as in the case of the merely drowned. There
was no discoloration in the cellular tissue. About the throat were
bruises and impressions of fingers. The arms were bent over on the
chest and were rigid. The right hand was clenched; the left partially
open. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations, apparently
the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one volution. A part
of the right wrist, also, was much chafed, as well as the back
throughout its extent, but more especially at the shoulder-blades. In
bringing the body to the shore the fishermen had attached to it a
rope; but none of the excoriations had been effected by this. The
flesh of the neck was much swollen. There were no cuts apparent, or
bruises which appeared the effect of blows. A piece of lace was found
tied so tightly around the neck as to be hidden from sight; it was
completely buried in the flesh, and was fasted by a knot which lay
just under the left ear. This alone would have sufficed to produce
death. The medical testimony spoke confidently of the virtuous
character of the deceased. She had been subjected, it said, to brutal
violence. The corpse was in such condition when found, that there
could have been no difficulty in its recognition by friends.

The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outer
garment, a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the
bottom hem to the waist, but not torn off. It was wound three times
around the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back. The
dress immediately beneath the frock was of fine muslin; and from this
a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely out - torn very
evenly and with great care. It was found around her neck, fitting
loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslin slip and the
slip of lace, the strings of a bonnet were attached; the bonnet being
appended. The knot by which the strings of the bonnet were fastened,
was not a lady's, but a slip or sailor's knot.

After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken to
the Morgue, (this formality being superfluous,) but hastily interred
not far front the spot at which it was brought ashore. Through the
exertions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously hushed up, as far
as possible; and several days had elapsed before any public emotion
resulted. A weekly paper, {*9} however, at length took up the theme;
the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination instituted; but
nothing was elicited beyond what has been already noted. The clothes,
however, were now submitted to the mother and friends of the
deceased, and fully identified as those worn by the girl upon leaving
home.

Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several individuals were
arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell especially under
suspicion; and he failed, at first, to give an intelligible account
of his whereabouts during the Sunday on which Marie left home.
Subsequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G----, affidavits,
accounting satisfactorily for every hour of the day in question. As
time passed and no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors
were circulated, and journalists busied themselves in suggestions.
Among these, the one which attracted the most notice, was the idea
that Marie RogΩt still lived - that the corpse found in the Seine was
that of some other unfortunate. It will be proper that I submit to
the reader some passages which embody the suggestion alluded to.
These passages are literal translations from L'Etoile, {*10} a paper
conducted, in general, with much ability.

"Mademoiselle RogΩt left her mother's house on Sunday morning, June
the twenty-second, 18--, with the ostensible purpose of going to see
her aunt, or some other connexion, in the Rue des Dr⌠mes. From that
hour, nobody is proved to have seen her. There is no trace or tidings
of her at all. . . . There has no person, whatever, come forward, so
far, who saw her at all, on that day, after she left her mother's
door. . . . Now, though we have no evidence that Marie RogΩt was in
the land of the living after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the
twenty-second, we have proof that, up to that hour, she was alive. On
Wednesday noon, at twelve, a female body was discovered afloat on the
shore of the BarriΦre de Roule. This was, even if we presume that
Marie RogΩt was thrown into the river within three hours after she
left her mother's house, only three days from the time she left her
home - three days to an hour. But it is folly to suppose that the
murder, if murder was committed on her body, could have been
consummated soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the
body into the river before midnight. Those who are guilty of such
horrid crimes, choose darkness rather the; light . . . . Thus we see
that if the body found in the river was that of Marie RogΩt, it could
only have been in the water two and a half days, or three at the
outside. All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies
thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require
from six to ten days for decomposition to take place to bring them to
the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a corpse, and
it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again,
if let alone. Now, we ask, what was there in this cave to cause a
departure from the ordinary course of nature? . . . If the body had
been kept in its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some
trace would be found on shore of the murderers. It is a doubtful
point, also, whether the body would be so soon afloat, even were it
thrown in after having been dead two days. And, furthermore, it is
exceedingly improbable that any villains who had committed such a
murder as is here supposed, would have throw the body in without
weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been
taken."

The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have been in the
water "not three days merely, but, at least, five times three days,"
because it was so far decomposed that Beauvais had great difficulty
in recognizing it. This latter point, however, was fully disproved. I
continue the translation:

"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he has no
doubt the body was that of Marie RogΩt? He ripped up the gown sleeve,
and says he found marks which satisfied him of the identity. The
public generally supposed those marks to have consisted of some
description of scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair upon it -
something as indefinite, we think, as can readily be imagined - as
little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais did
not return that night, but sent word to Madame RogΩt, at seven
o'clock, on Wednesday evening, that an investigation was still in
progress respecting her daughter. If we allow that Madame RogΩt, from
her age and grief, could not go over, (which is allowing a great
deal,) there certainly must have been some one who would have thought
it worth while to go over and attend the investigation, if they
thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went over. There was
nothing said or heard about the matter in the Rue PavΘe St. AndrΘe,
that reached even the occupants of the same building. M. St.
Eustache, the lover and intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her
mother's house, deposes that he did not hear of the discovery of the
body of his intended until the next morning, when M. Beauvais came
into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of news like this,
it strikes us it was very coolly received."

In this way the journal endeavored to create the impression of an
apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie, inconsistent with the
supposition that these relatives believed the corpse to be hers. Its
insinuations amount to this: - that Marie, with the connivance of her
friends, had absented herself from the city for reasons involving a
charge against her chastity; and that these friends, upon the
discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the
girl, had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress press the
public with the belief of her death. But L'Etoile was again
over-hasty. It was distinctly proved that no apathy, such as was
imagined, existed; that the old lady was exceedingly feeble, and so
agitated as to be unable to attend to any duty, that St. Eustache, so
far from receiving the news coolly, was distracted with grief, and
bore himself so frantically, that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend
and relative to take charge of him, and prevent his attending the
examination at the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated by
L'Etoile, that the corpse was re-interred at the public expense -
that an advantageous offer of private sculpture was absolutely
declined by the family - and that no member of the family attended
the ceremonial: - although, I say, all this was asserted by L'Etoile
in furtherance of the impression it designed to convey - yet all this
was satisfactorily disproved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an
attempt was made to throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor
says:

"Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are told that on one
occasion, while a Madame B---- was at Madame RogΩt's house, M.
Beauvais, who was going out, told her that a gendarme was expected
there, and she, Madame B., must not say anything to the gendarme
until he returned, but let the matter be for him. . . . In the
present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the whole
matter looked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken without
M. Beauvais; for, go which way you will, you run against him. . . .
For some reason, he determined that nobody shall have any thing to do
with the proceedings but himself, and he has elbowed the male
relatives out of the way, according to their representations, in a
very singular manner. He seems to have been very much averse to
permitting the relatives to see the body."

By the following fact, some color was given to the suspicion thus
thrown upon Beauvais. A visiter at his office, a few days prior to
the girl's disappearance, and during the absence of its occupant, had
observed a rose in the key-hole of the door, and the name "Marie"
inscribed upon a slate which hung near at hand.

The general impression, so far as we were enabled to glean it from
the newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie had been the victim of a
gang of desperadoes - that by these she had been borne across the
river, maltreated and murdered. Le Commerciel, {*11} however, a print
of extensive influence, was earnest in combating this popular idea. I
quote a passage or two from its columns:

"We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a false scent, so
far as it has been directed to the BarriΦre du Roule. It is
impossible that a person so well known to thousands as this young
woman was, should have passed three blocks without some one having
seen her; and any one who saw her would have remembered it, for she
interested all who knew her. It was when the streets were full of
people, when she went out. . . . It is impossible that she could have
gone to the BarriΦre du Roule, or to the Rue des Dr⌠mes, without
being recognized by a dozen persons; yet no one has come forward who
saw her outside of her mother's door, and there is no evidence,
except the testimony concerning her expressed intentions, that she
did go out at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her, and tied; and
by that the body was carried as a bundle. If the murder had been
committed at the BarriΦre du Roule, there would have been no
necessity for any such arrangement. The fact that the body was found
floating near the BarriΦre, is no proof as to where it was thrown
into the water. . . . . A piece of one of the unfortunate girl's
petticoats, two feet long and one foot wide, was torn out and tied
under her chin around the back of her head, probably to prevent
screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchief."

A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, however, some
important information reached the police, which seemed to overthrow,
at least, the chief portion of Le Commerciel's argument. Two small
boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, while roaming among the woods near the
BarriΦre du Roule, chanced to penetrate a close thicket, within which
were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat, with a back
and footstool. On the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the
second a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief
were also here found. The handkerchief bore the name "Marie RogΩt."
Fragments of dress were discovered on the brambles around. The earth
was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of
a struggle. Between the thicket and the river, the fences were found
taken down, and the ground bore evidence of some heavy burthen having
been dragged along it.

A weekly paper, Le Soleil,{*12} had the following comments upon this
discovery -- comments which merely echoed the sentiment of the whole
Parisian press:

"The things had all evidently been there at least three or four
weeks; they were all mildewed down hard with the action of the rain
and stuck together from mildew. The grass had grown around and over
some of them. The silk on the parasol was strong, but the threads of
it were run together within. The upper part, where it had been
doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on its
being opened. . . . . The pieces of her frock torn out by the bushes
were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the
hem of the frock, and it had been mended; the other piece was part of
the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips torn off, and were on
the thorn bush, about a foot from the ground. . . . . There can be no
doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling outrage has been
discovered."

Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared. Madame Deluc
testified that she keeps a roadside inn not far from the bank of the
river, opposite the BarriΦre du Roule. The neighborhood is secluded
-- particularly so. It is the usual Sunday resort of blackguards from
the city, who cross the river in boats. About three o'clock, in the
afternoon of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at the inn,
accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. The two remained here
for some time. On their departure, they took the road to some thick
woods in the vicinity. Madame Deluc's attention was called to the
dress worn by the girl, on account of its resemblance to one worn by
a deceased relative. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after the
departure of the couple, a gang of miscreants made their appearance,
behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed
in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the inn about
dusk, and re-crossed the river as if in great haste.

It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that Madame Deluc, as
well as her eldest son, heard the screams of a female in the vicinity
of the inn. The screams were violent but brief. Madame D. recognized
not only the scarf which was found in the thicket, but the dress
which was discovered upon the corpse. An omnibus driver, Valence,
{*13} now also testified that he saw Marie RogΩt cross a ferry on the
Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a young man of dark
complexion. He, Valence, knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her
identity. The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by
the relatives of Marie.

The items of evidence and information thus collected by myself, from
the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin, embraced only one more
point -- but this was a point of seemingly vast consequence. It
appears that, immediately after the discovery of the clothes as above
described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless body of St. Eustache,
Marie's betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supposed
the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled "laudanum," and emptied,
was found near him. His breath gave evidence of the poison. He died
without speaking. Upon his person was found a letter, briefly stating
his love for Marie, with his design of self- destruction.

"I need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he finished the perusal of
my notes, "that this is a far more intricate case than that of the
Rue Morgue; from which it differs in one important respect. This is
an ordinary, although an atrocious instance of crime. There is
nothing peculiarly outrΘ about it. You will observe that, for this
reason, the mystery has been considered easy, when, for this reason,
it should have been considered difficult, of solution. Thus; at
first, it was thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The myrmidons of
G--- were able at once to comprehend how and why such an atrocity
might have been committed. They could picture to their imaginations a
mode - many modes - and a motive - many motives; and because it was
not impossible that either of these numerous modes and motives could
have been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that one of
them must. But the case with which these variable fancies were
entertained, and the very plausibility which each assumed, should
have been understood as indicative rather of the difficulties than of
the facilities which must attend elucidation. I have before observed
that it is by prominences above the plane of the ordinary, that
reason feels her way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that
the proper question in cases such as this, is not so much 'what has
occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred before?' In
the investigations at the house of Madame L'Espanaye, {*14} the
agents of G---- were discouraged and confounded by that very
unusualness which, to a properly regulated intellect, would have
afforded the surest omen of success; while this same intellect might
have been plunged in despair at the ordinary character of all that
met the eye in the case of the perfumery-girl, and yet told of
nothing but easy triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.

"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter there was, even at
the beginning of our investigation, no doubt that murder had been
committed. The idea of suicide was excluded at once. Here, too, we
are freed, at the commencement, from all supposition of self- murder.
The body found at the BarriΦre du Roule, was found under such
circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassment upon this
important point. But it has been suggested that the corpse
discovered, is not that of the Marie RogΩt for the conviction of
whose assassin, or assassins, the reward is offered, and respecting
whom, solely, our agreement has been arranged with the Prefect. We
both know this gentleman well. It will not do to trust him too far.
If, dating our inquiries from the body found, and thence tracing a
murderer, we yet discover this body to be that of some other
individual than Marie; or, if starting from the living Marie, we find
her, yet find her unassassinated -- in either case we lose our labor;
since it is Monsieur G---- with whom we have to deal. For our own
purpose, therefore, if not for the purpose of justice, it is
indispensable that our first step should be the determination of the
identity of the corpse with the Marie RogΩt who is missing.

"With the public the arguments of L'Etoile have had weight; and that
the journal itself is convinced of their importance would appear from
the manner in which it commences one of its essays upon the subject -
'Several of the morning papers of the day,' it says, 'speak of the
_conclusive_ article in Monday's Etoile.' To me, this article appears
conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We should bear
in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather
to create a sensation -- to make a point - than to further the cause
of truth. The latter end is only pursued when it seems coincident
with the former. The print which merely falls in with ordinary
opinion (however well founded this opinion may be) earns for itself
no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard as profound
only him who suggests _pungent contradictions_ of the general idea.
In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram
which is the most immediately and the most universally appreciated.
In both, it is of the lowest order of merit.

"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrame
of the idea, that Marie RogΩt still lives, rather than any true
plausibility in this idea, which have suggested it to L'Etoile, and
secured it a favorable reception with the public. Let us examine the
heads of this journal's argument; endeavoring to avoid the
incoherence with which it is originally set forth.

"The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the
interval between Marie's disappearance and the finding of the
floating corpse, that this corpse cannot be that of Marie. The
reduction of this interval to its smallest possible dimension,
becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In the rash
pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption at the outset.
'It is folly to suppose,' he says, 'that the murder, if murder was
committed on her body, could have been consummated soon enough to
have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river before
midnight.' We demand at once, and very naturally, why? Why is it
folly to suppose that the murder was committed _within five minutes_
after the girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is it folly to
suppose that the murder was committed at any given period of the day?
There have been assassinations at all hours. But, had the murder
taken place at any moment between nine o'clock in the morning of
Sunday, and a quarter before midnight, there would still have been
time enough ''to throw the body into the river before midnight.' This
assumption, then, amounts precisely to this - that the murder was not
committed on Sunday at all - and, if we allow L'Etoile to assume
this, we may permit it any liberties whatever. The paragraph
beginning 'It is folly to suppose that the murder, etc.,' however it
appears as printed in L'Etoile, may be imagined to have existed
actually thus in the brain of its inditer - 'It is folly to suppose
that the murder, if murder was committed on the body, could have been
committed soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body
into the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to suppose all
this, and to suppose at the same time, (as we are resolved to
suppose,) that the body was not thrown in until after midnight' -- a
sentence sufficiently inconsequential in itself, but not so utterly
preposterous as the one printed.

"Were it my purpose," continued Dupin, "merely to _make out a case_
against this passage of L'Etoile's argument, I might safely leave it
where it is. It is not, however, with L'Etoile that we have to do,
but with the truth. The sentence in question has but one meaning, as
it stands; and this meaning I have fairly stated: but it is material
that we go behind the mere words, for an idea which these words have
obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the design of the
journalist to say that, at whatever period of the day or night of
Sunday this murder was committed, it was improbable that the
assassins would have ventured to bear the corpse to the river before
midnight. And herein lies, really, the assumption of which I
complain. It is assumed that the murder was committed at such a
position, and under such circumstances, that the bearing it to the
river became necessary. Now, the assassination might have taken place
upon the river's brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, the
throwing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to, at any
period of the day or night, as the most obvious and most immediate
mode of disposal. You will understand that I suggest nothing here as
probable, or as c÷incident with my own opinion. My design, so far,
has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish merely to caution
you against the whole tone of L'Etoile's suggestion, by calling your
attention to its ex parte character at the outset.

"Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceived notions;
having assumed that, if this were the body of Marie, it could have
been in the water but a very brief time; the journal goes on to say:

'All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into
the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to
ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to
the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and
it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again
if let alone.'

"These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in Paris,
with the exception of Le Moniteur. {*15} This latter print endeavors
to combat that portion of the paragraph which has reference to
'drowned bodies' only, by citing some five or six instances in which
the bodies of individuals known to be drowned were found floating
after the lapse of less time than is insisted upon by L'Etoile. But
there is something excessively unphilosophical in the attempt on the
part of Le Moniteur, to rebut the general assertion of L'Etoile, by a
citation of particular instances militating against that assertion.
Had it been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of
bodies found floating at the end of two or three days, these fifty
examples could still have been properly regarded only as exceptions
to L'Etoile's rule, until such time as the rule itself should be
confuted. Admitting the rule, (and this Le Moniteur does not deny,
insisting merely upon its exceptions,) the argument of L'Etoile is
suffered to remain in full force; for this argument does not pretend
to involve more than a question of the probability of the body having
risen to the surface in less than three days; and this probability
will be in favor of L'Etoile's position until the instances so
childishly adduced shall be sufficient in number to establish an
antagonistical rule.

"You will see at once that all argument upon this head should be
urged, if at all, against the rule itself; and for this end we must
examine the rationale of the rule. Now the human body, in general, is
neither much lighter nor much heavier than the water of the Seine;
that is to say, the specific gravity of the human body, in its
natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water which it
displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones,
and of women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and
large-boned, and of men; and the specific gravity of the water of a
river is somewhat influenced by the presence of the tide from sea.
But, leaving this tide out of question, it may be said that very few
human bodies will sink at all, even in fresh water, of their own
accord. Almost any one, falling into a river, will be enabled to
float, if he suffer the specific gravity of the water fairly to be
adduced in comparison with his own - that is to say, if he suffer his
whole person to be immersed, with as little exception as possible.
The proper position for one who cannot swim, is the upright position
of the walker on land, with the head thrown fully back, and immersed;
the mouth and nostrils alone remaining above the surface. Thus
circumstanced, we shall find that we float without difficulty and
without exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of the
body, and of the bulk of water displaced, are very nicely balanced,
and that a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for
instance, uplifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support,
is an additional weight sufficient to immerse the whole head, while
the accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber will enable us to
elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in the struggles of one
unused to swimming, the arms are invariably thrown upwards, while an
attempt is made to keep the head in its usual perpendicular position.
The result is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the
inception, during efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, of
water into the lungs. Much is also received into the stomach, and the
whole body becomes heavier by the difference between the weight of
the air originally distending these cavities, and that of the fluid
which now fills them. This difference is sufficient to cause the body
to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the cases of
individuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or
fatty matter. Such individuals float even after drowning.

"The corpse, being. supposed at the bottom of the river, will there
remain until, by some means, its specific gravity again becomes less
than that of the bulk of water which it displaces. This effect is
brought about by decomposition, or otherwise. The result of
decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the cellular
tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffedappearance which
is to horrible. When this distension has so far progressed that the
bulk of the corpse is materially increased with. out a corresponding
increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than
that of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearance at
the surface. But decomposition is modified by innumerable
circumstances - is hastened or retarded by innumerable agencies; for
example, by the heat or cold of the season, by the mineral
impregnation or purity of the water, by its depth or shallowness, by
its currency or stagnation, by the temperament of the body, by its
infection or freedom from disease before death. Thus it is evident
that we can assign no period, with any thing like accuracy, at which
the corpse shall rise through decomposition. Under certain conditions
this result would be brought about within an hour; under others, it
might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by which
the animal frame can be preserved foreverfrom corruption; the
Bi-chloride of Mercury is one. But, apart from decomposition, there
may be, and very usually is, a generation of gas within the stomach,
from the acetous fermentation of vegetable matter (or within other
cavities from other causes) sufficient to induce a distension which
will bring the body to the surface. The effect produced by the firing
of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may either loosen the
corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is imbedded, thus
permitting it to rise when other agencies have already prepared it
for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacity of some putrescent
portions of the cellular tissue; allowing the cavities to distend
under the influence of the gas.

"Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject, we can
easily test by it the assertions of L'Etoile. 'All experience shows,'
says this paper, 'that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the
water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten
days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the
top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it
rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if
let alone.'

"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of
inconsequence and incoherence. All experience does not show that
'drowned bodies' require from six to ten days for sufficient
decomposition to take place to bring them to the surface. Both
science and experience show that the period of their rising is, and
necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen to
the surface through firing of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let
alone,' until decomposition has so far progressed as to permit the
escape of the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention to the
distinction which is made between 'drowned bodies,' and 'bodies
thrown into the water immediately after death by violence.' Although
the writer admits the distinction, he yet includes them all in the
same category. I have shown how it is that the body of a drowning man
becomes specifically heavier than its bulk of water, and that he
would not sink at all, except for the struggles by which he elevates
his arms above the surface, and his gasps for breath while beneath
the surface - gasps which supply by water the place of the original
air in the lungs. But these struggles and these gasps would not occur
in the body 'thrown into the water immediately after death by
violence.' Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rule,
would not sink at all - a fact of which L'Etoile is evidently
ignorant. When decomposition had proceeded to a very great extent -
when the flesh had in a great measure left the bones - then, indeed,
but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.

"And now what are we to make of the argument, that the body found
could not be that of Marie RogΩt, because, three days only having
elapsed, this body was found floating? If drowned, being a woman, she
might never have sunk; or having sunk, might have reappeared in
twenty-four hours, or less. But no one supposes her to have been
drowned; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she might
have been found floating at any period afterwards whatever.

" 'But,' says L'Etoile, 'if the body had been kept in its mangled
state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on
shore of the murderers.' Here it is at first difficult to perceive
the intention of the reasoner. He means to anticipate what he
imagines would be an objection to his theory - viz: that the body was
kept on shore two days, suffering rapid decomposition - morerapid
than if immersed in water. He supposes that, had this been the case,
it might have appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks
that only under such circumstances it could so have appeared. He is
accordingly in haste to show that it was not kept on shore; for, if
so, 'some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.' I presume
you smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how the mere
duration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply traces
of the assassins. Nor can I.

" 'And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,' continues our
journal, 'that any villains who had committed such a murder as is
here supposed, would have thrown the body in without weight to sink
it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken.' Observe,
here, the laughable confusion of thought! No one - not even L'Etoile
- disputes the murder committed _on the body found_. The marks of
violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to show
that this body is not Marie's. He wishes to prove that Marie is not
assassinated - not that the corpse was not. Yet his observation
proves only the latter point. Here is a corpse without weight
attached. Murderers, casting it in, would not have failed to attach a
weight. Therefore it was not thrown in by murderers. This is all
which is proved, if any thing is. The question of identity is not
even approached, and L'Etoile has been at great pains merely to
gainsay now what it has admitted only a moment before. 'We are
perfectly convinced,' it says, 'that the body found was that of a
murdered female.'

"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his subject,
where our reasoner unwittingly reasons against himself. His evident
object, I have already said, is to reduce, us much as possible, the
interval between Marie's disappearance and the finding of the corpse.
Yet we find him urging the point that no person saw the girl from the
moment of her leaving her mother's house. 'We have no evidence,' he
says, 'that Marie RogΩt was in the land of the living after nine
o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.' As his argument is
obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, have left this matter
out of sight; for had any one been known to see Marie, say on Monday,
or on Tuesday, the interval in question would have been much reduced,
and, by his own ratiocination, the probability much diminished of the
corpse being that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to
observe that L'Etoile insists upon its point in the full belief of
its furthering its general argument.

"Reperuse now that portion of this argument which has reference to
the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In regard to the hair
upon the arm, L'Etoile has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beauvais,
not being an idiot, could never have urged, in identification of the
corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is without hair. The
generality of the expression of L'Etoile is a mere perversion of the
witness' phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity in this
hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, of quantity, of
length, or of situation.

" 'Her foot,' says the journal, 'was small - so are thousands of
feet. Her garter is no proof whatever - nor is her shoe - for shoes
and garters are sold in packages. The same may be said of the flowers
in her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly insists is,
that the clasp on the garter found, had been set back to take it in.
This amounts to nothing; for most women find it proper to take a pair
of garters home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to
encircle, rather than to try them in the store where they purchase.'
Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest. Had M.
Beauvais, in his search for the body of Marie, discovered a corpse
corresponding in general size and appearance to the missing girl, he
would have been warranted (without reference to the question of
habiliment at all) in forming an opinion that his search had been
successful. If, in addition to the point of general size and contour,
he had found upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had
observed upon the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly
strengthened; and the increase of positiveness might well have been
in the ratio of the peculiarity, or unusualness, of the hairy mark.
If, the feet of Marie being small, those of the corpse were also
small, the increase of probability that the body was that of Marie
would not be an increase in a ratio merely arithmetical, but in one
highly geometrical, or accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as
she had been known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and,
although these shoes may be 'sold in packages,' you so far augment
the probability as to verge upon the certain. What, of itself, would
be no evidence of identity, becomes through its corroborative
position, proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat
corresponding to those worn by the missing girl, and we seek for
nothing farther. If only one flower, we seek for nothing farther -
what then if two or three, or more? Each successive one is multiple
evidence - proof not _added_ to proof, but multiplied by hundreds or
thousands. Let us now discover, upon the deceased, garters such as
the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed. But these garters
are found to be tightened, by the setting back of a clasp, in just
such a manner as her own had been tightened by Marie, shortly
previous to her leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to
doubt. What L'Etoile says in respect to this abbreviation of the
garter's being an usual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own
pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter is
self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What is
made to adjust itself, must of necessity require foreign adjustment
but rarely. It must have been by an accident, in its strictest sense,
that these garters of Marie needed the tightening described. They
alone would have amply established her identity. But it is not that
the corpse was found to have the garters of the missing girl, or
found to have her shoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet,
or her feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size and
appearance - it is that the corpse had each, and _all collectively_.
Could it be proved that the editor of L'Etoile _really_ entertained a
doubt, under the circumstances, there would be no need, in his case,
of a commission de lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious
to echo the small talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part,
content themselves with echoing the rectangular precepts of the
courts. I would here observe that very much of what is rejected as
evidence by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For
the court, guiding itself by the general principles of evidence - the
recognized and _booked_ principles - is averse from swerving at
particular instances. And this steadfast adherence to principle, with
rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception, is a sure mode of
attaining the maximum of attainable truth, in any long sequence of
time. The practice, in mass, is therefore philosophical; but it is
not the less certain that it engenders vast individual error. {*16}

"In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will be
willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomed the
true character of this good gentleman. He is a busy-body, with much
of romance and little of wit. Any one so constituted will readily so
conduct himself, upon occasion of real excitement, as to render
himself liable to suspicion on the part of the over acute, or the
ill- disposed. M. Beauvais (as it appears from your notes) had some
personal interviews with the editor of L'Etoile, and offended him by
venturing an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the theory of
the editor, was, in sober fact, that of Marie. 'He persists,' says
the paper, 'in asserting the corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot
give a circumstance, in addition to those which we have commented
upon, to make others believe.' Now, without re-adverting to the fact
that stronger evidence 'to make others believe,' could never have
been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very well be
understood to believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to
advance a single reason for the belief of a second party. Nothing is
more vague than impressions of individual identity. Each man
recognizes his neighbor, yet there are few instances in which any one
is prepared to give a reason for his recognition. The editor of
L'Etoile had no right to be offended at M. Beauvais' unreasoning
belief.

"The suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found to
tally much better with my hypothesis of romantic busy-bodyism, than
with the reasoner's suggestion of guilt. Once adopting the more
charitable interpretation, we shall find no difficulty in
comprehending the rose in the key-hole; the 'Marie' upon the slate;
the 'elbowing the male relatives out of the way;' the 'aversion to
permitting them to see the body;' the caution given to Madame B----,
that she must hold no conversation with the gendarmeuntil his return
(Beauvais'); and, lastly, his apparent determination 'that nobody
should have anything to do with the proceedings except himself.' It
seems to me unquestionable that Beauvais was a suitor of Marie's;
that she coquetted with him; and that he was ambitious of being
thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say
nothing more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the
assertion of L'Etoile, touching the matter of apathy on the part of
the mother and other relatives - an apathy inconsistent with the
supposition of their believing the corpse to be that of the
perfumery- girl - we shall now proceed as if the question of identity
were settled to our perfect satisfaction."

"And what," I here demanded, "do you think of the opinions of Le
Commerciel?"

"That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of attention than any
which have been promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from the
premises are philosophical and acute; but the premises, in two
instances, at least, are founded in imperfect observation. Le
Commerciel wishes to intimate that Marie was seized by some gang of
low ruffians not far from her mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it
urges, 'that a person so well known to thousands as this young woman
was, should have passed three blocks without some one having seen
her.' This is the idea of a man long resident in Paris - a public man
- and one whose walks to and fro in the city, have been mostly
limited to the vicinity of the public offices. He is aware that he
seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau, without
being recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent of his
personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him, he
compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery-girl, finds no
great difference between them, and reaches at once the conclusion
that she, in her walks, would be equally liable to recognition with
himself in his. This could only be the case were her walks of the
same unvarying, methodical character, and within the same species of
limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular
intervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals who
are led to observation of his person through interest in the kindred
nature of his occupation with their own. But the walks of Marie may,
in general, be supposed discursive. In this particular instance, it
will be understood as most probable, that she proceeded upon a route
of more than average diversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel
which we imagine to have existed in the mind of Le Commerciel would
only be sustained in the event of the two individuals' traversing the
whole city. In this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be
equal, the chances would be also equal that an equal number of
personal rencounters would be made. For my own part, I should hold it
not only as possible, but as very far more than probable, that Marie
might have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many
routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without
meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known.
In viewing this question in its full and proper light, we must hold
steadily in mind the great disproportion between the personal
acquaintances of even the most noted individual in Paris, and the
entire population of Paris itself.

"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of
Le Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take into
consideration the hour at which the girl went abroad. 'It was when
the streets were full of people,' says Le Commerciel, 'that she went
out.' But not so. It was at nine o'clock in the morning. Now at nine
o'clock of every morning in the week, _with the exception of Sunday_,
the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. At
nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors _preparing for
church_. No observing person can have failed to notice the peculiarly
deserted air of the town, from about eight until ten on the morning
of every Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged,
but not at so early a period as that designated.

"There is another point at which there seems a deficiency of
observation on the part of Le Commerciel. 'A piece,' it says, 'of one
of the unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feet long, and one foot
wide, was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back of
her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done, by fellows who
had no pocket-handkerchiefs.' Whether this idea is, or is not well
founded, we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by 'fellows who have
no pocket-handkerchiefs' the editor intends the lowest class of
ruffians. These, however, are the very description of people who will
always be found to have handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts.
You must have had occasion to observe how absolutely indispensable,
of late years, to the thorough blackguard, has become the
pocket-handkerchief."

"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the article in Le Soleil?"

"That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot - in which
case he would have been the most illustrious parrot of his race. He
has merely repeated the individual items of the already published
opinion; collecting them, with a laudable industry, from this paper
and from that. 'The things had all evidently been there,' he says,'at
least, three or four weeks, and there can be _no doubt_ that the spot
of this appalling outrage has been discovered.' The facts here
re-stated by Le Soleil, are very far indeed from removing my own
doubts upon this subject, and we will examine them more particularly
hereafter in connexion with another division of the theme.

"At present we must occupy ourselves with other investigations You
cannot fail to have remarked the extreme laxity of the examination of
the corpse. To be sure, the question of identity was readily
determined, or should have been; but there were other points to be
ascertained. Had the body been in any respect despoiled? Had the
deceased any articles of jewelry about her person upon leaving home?
if so, had she any when found? These are important questions utterly
untouched by the evidence; and there are others of equal moment,
which have met with no attention. We must endeavor to satisfy
ourselves by personal inquiry. The case of St. Eustache must be
re-examined. I have no suspicion of this person; but let us proceed
methodically. We will ascertain beyond a doubt the validity of the
affidavits in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits of
this character are readily made matter of mystification. Should there
be nothing wrong here, however, we will dismiss St. Eustache from our
investigations. His suicide, however corroborative of suspicion, were
there found to be deceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit,
in no respect an unaccountable circumstance, or one which need cause
us to deflect from the line of ordinary analysis.

"In that which I now propose, we will discard the interior points of
this tragedy, and concentrate our attention upon its outskirts. Not
the least usual error, in investigations such as this, is the
limiting of inquiry to the immediate, with total disregard of the
collateral or circumstantial events. It is the mal-practice of the
courts to confine evidence and discussion to the bounds of apparent
relevancy. Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will
always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises
from the seemingly irrelevant. It is through the spirit of this
principle, if not precisely through its letter, that modern science
has resolved to calculate upon the unforeseen. But perhaps you do not
comprehend me. The history of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly
shown that to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events we are
indebted for the most numerous and most valuable discoveries, that it
has at length become necessary, in any prospective view of
improvement, to make not only large, but the largest allowances for
inventions that shall arise by chance, and quite out of the range of
ordinary expectation. It is no longer philosophical to base, upon
what has been, a vision of what is to be. Accident is admitted as a
portion of the substructure. We make chance a matter of absolute
calculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined, to the
mathematical _formulae_ of the schools.

"I repeat that it is no more than fact, that the larger portion of
all truth has sprung from the collateral; and it is but in accordance
with the spirit of the principle involved in this fact, that I would
divert inquiry, in the present case, from the trodden and hitherto
unfruitful ground of the event itself, to the contemporary
circumstances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity of
the affidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than you
have as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the field of
investigation; but it will be strange indeed if a comprehensive
survey, such as I propose, of the public prints, will not afford us
some minute points which shall establish a direction for inquiry."

In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupulous examination of
the affair of the affidavits. The result was a firm conviction of
their validity, and of the consequent innocence of St. Eustache. In
the mean time my friend occupied himself, with what seemed to me a
minuteness altogether objectless, in a scrutiny of the various
newspaper files. At the end of a week he placed before me the
following extracts:

"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very similar to the
present, was caused by the disappearance of this same Marie RogΩt,
from the parfumerie of Monsieur Le Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the
end of a week, however, she re-appeared at her customary comptoir, as
well as ever, with the exception of a slight paleness not altogether
usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc and her mother, that she
had merely been on a visit to some friend in the country; and the
affair was speedily hushed up. We presume that the present absence is
a freak of the same nature, and that, at the expiration of a week, or
perhaps of a month, we shall have her among us again." - Evening
Paper - Monday June 23. {*17}

"An evening journal of yesterday, refers to a former mysterious
disappearance of Mademoiselle RogΩt. It is well known that, during
the week of her absence from Le Blanc's parfumerie, she was in the
company of a young naval officer, much noted for his debaucheries. A
quarrel, it is supposed, providentially led to her return home. We
have the name of the Lothario in question, who is, at present,
stationed in Paris, but, for obvious reasons, forbear to make it
public." - Le Mercurie - Tuesday Morning, June 24. {*18}

"An outrage of the most atrocious character was perpetrated near this
city the day before yesterday. A gentleman, with his wife and
daughter, engaged, about dusk, the services of six young men, who
were idly rowing a boat to and fro near the banks of the Seine, to
convey him across the river. Upon reaching the opposite shore, the
three passengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to be
beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered that she
had left in it her parasol. She returned for it, was seized by the
gang, carried out into the stream, gagged, brutally treated, and
finally taken to the shore at a point not far from that at which she
had originally entered the boat with her parents. The villains have
escaped for the time, but the police are upon their trail, and some
of them will soon be taken." - Morning Paper - June 25. {*19}

"We have received one or two communications, the object of which is
to fasten the crime of the late atrocity upon Mennais; {*20} but as
this gentleman has been fully exonerated by a loyal inquiry, and as
the arguments of our several correspondents appear to be more zealous
than profound, we do not think it advisable to make them public." -
Morning Paper - June 28. {*21}

"We have received several forcibly written communications, apparently
from various sources, and which go far to render it a matter of
certainty that the unfortunate Marie RogΩt has become a victim of one
of the numerous bands of blackguards which infest the vicinity of the
city upon Sunday. Our own opinion is decidedly in favor of this
supposition. We shall endeavor to make room for some of these
arguments hereafter." - Evening Paper - Tuesday, June 31. {*22}

"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the revenue service,
saw a empty boat floating down the Seine. Sails were lying in the
bottom of the boat. The bargeman towed it under the barge office. The
next morning it was taken from thence, without the knowledge of any
of the officers. The rudder is now at the barge office." - Le
Diligence - Thursday, June 26. §

Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemed to me
irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which any one of them
could be brought to bear upon the matter in hand. I waited for some
explanation from Dupin.

"It is not my present design," he said, "to dwell upon the first and
second of those extracts. I have copied them chiefly to show you the
extreme remissness of the police, who, as far as I can understand
from the Prefect, have not troubled themselves, in any respect, with
an examination of the naval officer alluded to. Yet it is mere folly
to say that between the first and second disappearance of Marie,
there is no _supposable_ connection. Let us admit the first elopement
to have resulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the return home
of the betrayed. We are now prepared to view a second elopement (if
we know that an elopement has again taken place) as indicating a
renewal of the betrayer's advances, rather than as the result of new
proposals by a second individual - we are prepared to regard it as a
'making up' of the old amour, rather than as the commencement of a
new one. The chances are ten to one, that he who had once eloped with
Marie, would again propose an elopement, rather than that she to whom
proposals of elopement had been made by one individual, should have
them made to her by another. And here let me call your attention to
the fact, that the time elapsing between the first ascertained, and
the second supposed elopement, is a few months more than the general
period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the lover been
interrupted in his first villany by the necessity of departure to
sea, and had he seized the first moment of his return to renew the
base designs not yet altogether accomplished - or not yet altogether
accomplished by _him?_ Of all these things we know nothing.

"You will say, however, that, in the second instance, there was no
elopement as imagined. Certainly not - but are we prepared to say
that there was not the frustrated design? Beyond St. Eustache, and
perhaps Beauvais, we find no recognized, no open, no honorable
suitors of Marie. Of none other is there any thing said. Who, then,
is the secret lover, of whom the relatives (at least most of them)
know nothing, but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, and
who is so deeply in her confidence, that she hesitates not to remain
with him until the shades of the evening descend, amid the solitary
groves of the BarriΦre du Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of
whom, at least, most of the relatives know nothing? And what means
the singular prophecy of Madame RogΩt on the morning of Marie's
departure? -- 'I fear that I shall never see Marie again.'

"But if we cannot imagine Madame RogΩt privy to the design of
elopement, may we not at least suppose this design entertained by the
girl? Upon quitting home, she gave it to be understood that she was
about to visit her aunt in the Rue des Dr⌠mes and St. Eustache was
requested to call for her at dark. Now, at first glance, this fact
strongly militates against my suggestion; - but let us reflect. That
she did meet some companion, and proceed with him across the river,
reaching the BarriΦre du Roule at so late an hour as three o'clock in
the afternoon, is known. But in consenting so to accompany this
individual, (_for whatever purpose -- to her mother known or
unknown,_) she must have thought of her expressed intention when
leaving home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused in the bosom
of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her, at the
hour appointed, in the Rue des Dr⌠mes, he should find that she had
not been there, and when, moreover, upon returning to the pension
with this alarming intelligence, he should become aware of her
continued absence from home. She must have thought of these things, I
say. She must have foreseen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the
suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returning to brave
this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial
importance to her, if we suppose her not intending to return.

"We may imagine her thinking thus - 'I am to meet a certain person
for the purpose of elopement, or for certain other purposes known
only to myself. It is necessary that there be no chance of
interruption - there must be sufficient time given us to elude
pursuit - I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and
spend the day with my aunt at the Rue des Dr⌠mes - I well tell St.
Eustache not to call for me until dark - in this way, my absence from
home for the longest possible period, without causing suspicion or
anxiety, will be accounted for, and I shall gain more time than in
any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call for me at dark, he will
be sure not to call before; but, if I wholly neglect to bid him call,
my time for escape will be diminished, since it will be expected that
I return the earlier, and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety.
Now, if it were my design to return at all - if I had in
contemplation merely a stroll with the individual in question - it
would not be my policy to bid St. Eustache call; for, calling, he
will be sure to ascertain that I have played him false - a fact of
which I might keep him for ever in ignorance, by leaving home without
notifying him of my intention, by returning before dark, and by then
stating that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Dr⌠mes. But,
as it is my design never to return - or not for some weeks - or not
until certain concealments are effected - the gaining of time is the
only point about which I need give myself any concern.'

"You have observed, in your notes, that the most general opinion in
relation to this sad affair is, and was from the first, that the girl
had been the victim of a gang of blackguards. Now, the popular
opinion, under certain conditions, is not to be disregarded. When
arising of itself -- when manifesting itself in a strictly
spontaneous manner -- we should look upon it as analogous with that
_intuition_ which is the idiosyncrasy of the individual man of
genius. In ninety-nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its
decision. But it is important that we find no palpable traces of
_suggestion_. The opinion must be rigorously _the public's own_; and
the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceive and to
maintain. In the present instance, it appears to me that this 'public
opinion' in respect to a gang, has been superinduced by the
collateral event which is detailed in the third of my extracts. All
Paris is excited by the discovered corpse of Marie, a girl young,
beautiful and notorious. This corpse is found, bearing marks of
violence, and floating in the river. But it is now made known that,
at the very period, or about the very period, in which it is supposed
that the girl was assassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that
endured by the deceased, although less in extent, was perpetuated, by
a gang of young ruffians, upon the person of a second young female.
Is it wonderful that the one known atrocity should influence the
popular judgment in regard to the other unknown? This judgment
awaited direction, and the known outrage seemed so opportunely to
afford it! Marie, too, was found in the river; and upon this very
river was this known outrage committed. The connexion of the two
events had about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder
would have been a failure of the populace to appreciate and to seize
it. But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so committed, is, if
any thing, evidence that the other, committed at a time nearly
coincident, was not so committed. It would have been a miracle
indeed, if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given
locality, a most unheard-of wrong, there should have been another
similar gang, in a similar locality, in the same city, under the same
circumstances, with the same means and appliances, engaged in a wrong
of precisely the same aspect, at precisely the same period of time!
Yet in what, if not in this marvellous train of coincidence, does the
accidentally suggested opinion of the populace call upon us to
believe?

"Before proceeding farther, let us consider the supposed scene of the
assassination, in the thicket at the BarriΦre du Roule. This thicket,
although dense, was in the close vicinity of a public road. Within
were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat with a back
and footstool. On the upper stone was discovered a white petticoat;
on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a
pocket-handkerchief, were also here found. The handkerchief bore the
name, 'Marie RogΩt.' Fragments of dress were seen on the branches
around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was
every evidence of a violent struggle.

"Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the discovery of this
thicket was received by the press, and the unanimity with which it
was supposed to indicate the precise scene of the outrage, it must be
admitted that there was some very good reason for doubt. That it was
the scene, I may or I may not believe - but there was excellent
reason for doubt. Had the true scene been, as Le Commerciel
suggested, in the neighborhood of the Rue PavΘe St. AndrΘe, the
perpetrators of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris,
would naturally have been stricken with terror at the public
attention thus acutely directed into the proper channel; and, in
certain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at once, a sense
of the necessity of some exertion to redivert this attention. And
thus, the thicket of the BarriΦre du Roule having been already
suspected, the idea of placing the articles where they were found,
might have been naturally entertained. There is no real evidence,
although Le Soleil so supposes, that the articles discovered had been
more than a very few days in the thicket; while there is much
circumstantial proof that they could not have remained there, without
attracting attention, during the twenty days elapsing between the
fatal Sunday and the afternoon upon which they were found by the
boys. 'They were all _mildewed_down hard,' says Le Soleil, adopting
the opinions of its predecessors, 'with the action of the rain, and
stuck together from _mildew_. The grass had grown around and over
some of them. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threads of
it were run together within. The upper part, where it bad been
doubled and folded, was all _mildewed_ and rotten, and tore on being
opened.' In respect to the grass having '.grown around and over some
of them,' it is obvious that the fact could only have been
ascertained from the words, and thus from the recollections, of two
small boys; for these boys removed the articles and took them home
before they had been seen by a third party. But grass will grow,
especially in warm and damp weather, (such as was that of the period
of the murder,) as much as two or three inches in a single day. A
parasol lying upon a newly turfed ground, might, in a single week, be
entirely concealed from sight by the upspringing grass. And touching
that mildew upon which the editor of Le Soleil so pertinaciously
insists, that he employs the word no less than three times in the
brief paragraph just quoted, is be really unaware of the nature of
this mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the many classes of
fungus, of which the most ordinary feature is its upspringing and
decadence within twenty-four hours?

"Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been most triumphantly
adduced in support of the idea that the articles bad been 'for at
least three or four weeks' in the thicket, is most absurdly null as
regards any evidence of that fact. On the other hand, it is
exceedingly difficult to believe that these articles could have
remained in the thicket specified, for a longer period than a single
week - for a longer period than from one Sunday to the next. Those
who know any thing of the vicinity of Paris, know the extreme
difficulty of finding seclusion unless at a great distance from its
suburbs. Such a thing as an unexplored, or even an unfrequently
visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not for a moment to be
imagined. Let any one who, being at heart a lover of nature, is yet
chained by duty to the dust and heat of this great metropolis - let
any such one attempt, even during the weekdays, to slake his thirst
for solitude amid the scenes of natural loveliness which immediately
surround us. At every second step, he will find the growing charm
dispelled by the voice and personal intrusion of some ruffian or
party of carousing blackguards. He will seek privacy amid the densest
foliage, all in vain. Here are the very nooks where the unwashed most
abound - here are the temples most desecrate. With sickness of the
heart the wanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a less
odious because less incongruous sink of pollution. But if the
vicinity of the city is so beset during the working days of the week,
how much more so on the Sabbath! It is now especially that, released
from the claims of labor, or deprived of the customary opportunities
of crime, the town blackguard seeks the precincts of the town, not
through love of the rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way
of escape from the restraints and conventionalities of society. He
desires less the fresh air and the green trees, than the utter
license of the country. Here, at the road-side inn, or beneath the
foliage of the woods, he indulges, unchecked by any eye except those
of his boon companions, in all the mad excess of a counterfeit
hilarity - the joint offspring of liberty and of rum. I say nothing
more than what must be obvious to every dispassionate observer, when
I repeat that the circumstance of the articles in question having
remained undiscovered, for a longer period - than from one Sunday to
another, in any thicket in the immediate neighborhood of Paris, is to
be looked upon as little less than miraculous.

"But there are not wanting other grounds for the suspicion that the
articles were placed in the thicket with the view of diverting
attention from the real scene of the outrage. And, first, let me
direct your notice to the date of the discovery of the articles.
Collate this with the date of the fifth extract made by myself from
the newspapers. You will find that the discovery followed, almost
immediately, the urgent communications sent to the evening paper.
These communications, although various and apparently from various
sources, tended all to the same point - viz., the directing of
attention to a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, and to the
neighborhood of the BarriΦre du Roule as its scene. Now here, of
course, the suspicion is not that, in consequence of these
communications, or of the public attention by them directed, the
articles were found by the boys; but the suspicion might and may well
have been, that the articles were not before found by the boys, for
the reason that the articles had not before been in the thicket;
having been deposited there only at so late a period as at the date,
or shortly prior to the date of the communications by the guilty
authors of these communications themselves.

"This thicket was a singular - an exceedingly singular one. It was
unusually dense. Within its naturally walled enclosure were three
extraordinary stones, forming a seat with a back and footstool. And
this thicket, so full of a natural art, was in the immediate
vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of Madame Deluc, whose
boys were in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies about
them in search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager
- a wager of one thousand to one -- that a day never passed over the
heads of these boys without finding at least one of them ensconced in
the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its natural throne? Those who
would hesitate at such a wager, have either never been boys
themselves, or have forgotten the boyish nature. I repeat -- it is
exceedingly hard to comprehend how the articles could have remained
in this thicket undiscovered, for a longer period than one or two
days; and that thus there is good ground for suspicion, in spite of
the dogmatic ignorance of Le Soleil, that they were, at a
comparatively late date, deposited where found.

"But there are still other and stronger reasons for believing them so
deposited, than any which I have as yet urged. And, now, let me beg
your notice to the highly artificial arrangement of the articles. On
the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf;
scattered around, were a parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief
bearing the name, 'Marie RogΩt.' Here is just such an arrangement as
would naturally be made by a not over-acute person wishing to dispose
the articles naturally. But it is by no means a really natural
arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the things all lying
on the ground and trampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that
bower, it would have been scarcely possible that the petticoat and
scarf should have retained a position upon the stones, when subjected
to the brushing to and fro of many struggling persons. 'There was
evidence,' it is said, 'of a struggle; and the earth was trampled,
the bushes were broken,' - but the petticoat and the scarf are found
deposited as if upon shelves. 'The pieces of the frock torn out by
the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part
was the hem of the frock and it had been mended. They looked like
strips torn off.' Here, inadvertently, Le Soleil has employed an
exceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces, as described, do indeed
'look like strips torn off;' but purposely and by hand. It is one of
the rarest of accidents that a piece is 'torn off,' from any garment
such as is now in question, by the agency of a thorn. From the very
nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becoming entangled in them,
tears them rectangularly - divides them into two longitudinal rents,
at right angles with each other, and meeting at an apex where the
thorn enters - but it is scarcely possible to conceive the piece
'torn off.' I never so knew it, nor did you. To tear a piece off from
such fabric, two distinct forces, in different directions, will be,
in almost every case, required. If there be two edges to the fabric -
if, for example, it be a pocket- handkerchief, and it is desired to
tear from it a slip, then, and then only, will the one force serve
the purpose. But in the present case the question is of a dress,
presenting but one edge. To tear a piece from the interior, where no
edge is presented, could only be effected by a miracle through the
agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish it. But, even
where an edge is presented, two thorns will be necessary, operating,
the one in two distinct directions, and the other in one. And this in
the supposition that the edge is unhemmed. If hemmed, the matter is
nearly out of the question. We thus see the numerous and great
obstacles in the way of pieces being 'torn off' through the simple
agency of 'thorns;' yet we are required to believe not only that one
piece but that many have been so torn. 'And one part,' too, 'was the
hem of the frock!' Another piece was 'part of the skirt, not the
hem,' - that is to say, was torn completely out through the agency of
thorns, from the uncaged interior of the dress! These, I say, are
things which one may well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken
collectedly, they form, perhaps, less of reasonable ground for
suspicion, than the one startling circumstance of the articles'
having been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who had
enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You will not have
apprehended me rightly, however, if you suppose it my design to deny
this thicket as the scene of the outrage. There might have been a
wrong here, or, more possibly, an accident at Madame Deluc's. But, in
fact, this is a point of minor importance. We are not engaged in an
attempt to discover the scene, but to produce the perpetrators of the
murder. What I have adduced, notwithstanding the minuteness with
which I have adduced it, has been with the view, first, to show the
folly of the positive and headlong assertions of Le Soleil, but
secondly and chiefly, to bring you, by the most natural route, to a
further contemplation of the doubt whether this assassination has, or
has not been, the work of a gang.

"We will resume this question by mere allusion to the revolting
details of the surgeon examined at the inquest. It is only necessary
to say that is published inferences, in regard to the number of
ruffians, have been properly ridiculed as unjust and totally
baseless, by all the reputable anatomists of Paris. Not that the
matter might not have been as inferred, but that there was no ground
for the inference: - was there not much for another?

"Let us reflect now upon 'the traces of a struggle;' and let me ask
what these traces have been supposed to demonstrate. A gang. But do
they not rather demonstrate the absence of a gang? What struggle
could have taken place - what struggle so violent and so enduring as
to have left its 'traces' in all directions - between a weak and
defenceless girl and the gang of ruffians imagined? The silent grasp
of a few rough arms and all would have been over. The victim must
have been absolutely passive at their will. You will here bear in
mind that the arguments urged against the thicket as the scene, are
applicable in chief part, only against it as the scene of an outrage
committed by more than a single individual. If we imagine but one
violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the struggle of so
violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the 'traces'
apparent.

"And again. I have already mentioned the suspicion to be excited by
the fact that the articles in question were suffered to remain at all
in the thicket where discovered. It seems almost impossible that
these evidences of guilt should have been accidentally left where
found. There was sufficient presence of mind (it is supposed) to
remove the corpse; and yet a more positive evidence than the corpse
itself (whose features might have been quickly obliterated by decay,)
is allowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage - I
allude to the handkerchief with the name of the deceased. If this was
accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We can imagine it only
the accident of an individual. Let us see. An individual has
committed the murder. He is alone with the ghost of the departed. He
is appalled by what lies motionless before him. The fury of his
passion is over, and there is abundant room in his heart for the
natural awe of the deed. His is none of that confidence which the
presence of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with the dead.
He trembles and is bewildered. Yet there is a necessity for disposing
of the corpse. He bears it to the river, but leaves behind him the
other evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if not impossible to
carry all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to return for what
is left. But in his toilsome journey to the water his fears redouble
within him. The sounds of life encompass his path. A dozen times he
hears or fancies the step of an observer. Even the very lights from
the city bewilder him. Yet, in time and by long and frequent pauses
of deep agony, he reaches the river's brink, and disposes of his
ghastly charge - perhaps through the medium of a boat. But now what
treasure does the world hold - what threat of vengeance could it hold
out - which would have power to urge the return of that lonely
murderer over that toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its
blood chilling recollections? He returns not, let the consequences be
what they may. He could not return if he would. His sole thought is
immediate escape. He turns his back forever upon those dreadful
shrubberies and flees as from the wrath to come.

"But how with a gang? Their number would have inspired them with
confidence; if, indeed confidence is ever wanting in the breast of
the arrant blackguard; and of arrant blackguards alone are the
supposed gangs ever constituted. Their number, I say, would have
prevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror which I have
imagined to paralyze the single man. Could we suppose an oversight in
one, or two, or three, this oversight would have been remedied by a
fourth. They would have left nothing behind them; for their number
would have enabled them to carry all at once. There would have been
no need of return.

"Consider now the circumstance that in the outer garment of the
corpse when found, 'a slip, about a foot wide had been torn upward
from the bottom hem to the waist wound three times round the waist,
and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.' This was done with the
obvious design of affording a handle by which to carry the body. But
would any number of men hare dreamed of resorting to such an
expedient? To three or four, the limbs of the corpse would have
afforded not only a sufficient, but the best possible hold. The
device is that of a single individual; and this brings us to the fact
that 'between the thicket and the river, the rails of the fences were
found taken down, and the ground bore evident traces of some heavy
burden having been dragged along it!' But would a number of men have
put themselves to the superfluous trouble of taking down a fence, for
the purpose of dragging through it a corpse which they might have
lifted over any fence in an instant? Would a number of men have so
dragged a corpse at all as to have left evident traces of the
dragging?

"And here we must refer to an observation of Le Commerciel; an
observation upon which I have already, in some measure, commented. 'A
piece,' says this journal, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's
petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back
of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows
who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.'

"I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never without a
pocket-handkerchief. But it is not to this fact that I now especially
advert. That it was not through want of a handkerchief for the
purpose imagined by Le Commerciel, that this bandage was employed, is
rendered apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and that
the object was not 'to prevent screams' appears, also, from the
bandage having been employed in preference to what would so much
better have answered the purpose. But the language of the evidence
speaks of the strip in question as 'found around the neck, fitting
loosely, and secured with a hard knot.' These words are sufficiently
vague, but differ materially from those of Le Commerciel. The slip
was eighteen inches wide, and therefore, although of muslin, would
form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudinally. And thus
rumpled it was discovered. My inference is this. The solitary
murderer, having borne the corpse, for some distance, (whether from
the thicket or elsewhere) by means of the bandage hitched around its
middle, found the weight, in this mode of procedure, too much for his
strength. He resolved to drag the burthen - the evidence goes to show
that it wasdragged. With this object in view, it became necessary to
attach something like a rope to one of the extremities. It could be
best attached about the neck, where the head would prevent its
slipping off. And, now, the murderer bethought him, unquestionably,
of the bandage about the loins. He would have used this, but for its
volution about the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the
reflection that it had not been 'torn off' from the garment. It was
easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it, made it
fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the
river. That this 'bandage,' only attainable with trouble and delay,
and but imperfectly answering its purpose - that this bandage was
employed at all, demonstrates that the necessity for its employment
sprang from circumstances arising at a period when the handkerchief
was no longer attainable -- that is to say, arising, as we have
imagined, after quitting the thicket, (if the thicket it was), and on
the road between the thicket and the river.

"But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc, (!) points
especially to the presence of a gang, in the vicinity of the thicket,
at or about the epoch of the murder. This I grant. I doubt if there
were not a dozen gangs, such as described by Madame Deluc, in and
about the vicinity of the BarriΦre du Roule at or about the period of
this tragedy. But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointed
animadversion, although the somewhat tardy and very suspicious
evidence of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is represented by
that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eaten her cakes and
swallowed her brandy, without putting themselves to the trouble of
making her payment. Et hinc illµ irµ?

"But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? 'A gang of
miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank
without making payment, followed in the route of the young man and
girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed the river as if
in great haste.'

"Now this 'great haste' very possibly seemed greater haste in the
eyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt lingeringly and lamentingly
upon her violated cakes and ale - cakes and ale for which she might
still have entertained a faint hope of compensation. Why, otherwise,
since it was about dusk, should she make a point of the haste? It is
no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards should
make haste to get home, when a wide river is to be crossed in small
boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches.

"I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It was only
about dusk that the indecent haste of these 'miscreants' offended the
sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we are told that it was upon this
very evening that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, 'heard the
screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.' And in what words
does Madame Deluc designate the period of the evening at which these
screams were heard? 'It was soon after dark,' she says. But 'soon
after dark,' is, at least, dark; and'about dusk' is as certainly
daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that the gang quitted the
BarriΦre du Roule prior to the screams overheard (?) by Madame Deluc.
And although, in all the many reports of the evidence, the relative
expressions in question are distinctly and invariably employed just
as I have employed them in this conversation with yourself, no notice
whatever of the gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any of
the public journals, or by any of the Myrmidons of police.

"I shall add but one to the arguments against a gang; but this one
has, to my own understanding at least, a weight altogether
irresistible. Under the circumstances of large reward offered, and
full pardon to any King's evidence, it is not to be imagined, for a
moment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians, or of any body of
men, would not long ago have betrayed his accomplices. Each one of a
gang so placed, is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for
escape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and early that he
may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has not been divulged,
is the very best of proof that it is, in fact, a secret. The horrors
of this dark deed are known only to one, or two, living human beings,
and to God.

"Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of our long
analysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatal accident under
the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murder perpetrated, in the thicket
at the BarriΦre du Roule, by a lover, or at least by an intimate and
secret associate of the deceased. This associate is of swarthy
complexion. This complexion, the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the
'sailor's knot,' with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a
seaman. His companionship with the deceased, a gay, but not an abject
young girl, designates him as above the grade of the common sailor.
Here the well written and urgent communications to the journals are
much in the way of corroboration. The circumstance of the first
elopement, as mentioned by Le Mercurie, tends to blend the idea of
this seaman with that of the 'naval officer' who is first known to
have led the unfortunate into crime.

"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of the continued
absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause to observe that
the complexion of this man is dark and swarthy; it was no common
swarthiness which constituted the sole point of remembrance, both as
regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he
murdered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the
assassinated girl? The scene of the two outrages will naturally be
supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The assassins would most
probably have disposed of both in the same way. But it may be said
that this man lives, and is deterred from making himself known,
through dread of being charged with the murder. This consideration
might be supposed to operate upon him now - at this late period -
since it has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie - but
it would have had no force at the period of the deed. The first
impulse of an innocent man would have been to announce the outrage,
and to aid in identifying the ruffians. This policy would have
suggested. He had been seen with the girl. He had crossed the river
with her in an open ferry-boat. The denouncing of the assassins would
have appeared, even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of
relieving himself from suspicion. We cannot suppose him, on the night
of the fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and incognizant of an
outrage committed. Yet only under such circumstances is it possible
to imagine that he would have failed, if alive, in the denouncement
of the assassins.

"And what means are ours, of attaining the truth? We shall find these
means multiplying and gathering distinctness as we proceed. Let us
sift to the bottom this affair of the first elopement. Let us know
the full history of 'the officer,' with his present circumstances,
and his whereabouts at the precise period of the murder. Let us
carefully compare with each other the various communications sent to
the evening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang. This
done, let us compare these communications, both as regards style and
MS., with those sent to the morning paper, at a previous period, and
insisting so vehemently upon the guilt of Mennais. And, all this
done, let us again compare these various communications with the
known MSS. of the officer. Let us endeavor to ascertain, by repeated
questionings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omnibus
driver, Valence, something more of the personal appearance and
bearing of the 'man of dark complexion.' Queries, skilfully directed,
will not fail to elicit, from some of these parties, information on
this particular point (or upon others) - information which the
parties themselves may not even be aware of possessing. And let us
now trace the boatpicked up by the bargeman on the morning of Monday
the twenty-third of June, and which was removed from the
barge-office, without the cognizance of the officer in attendance,
and without the rudder, at some period prior to the discovery of the
corpse. With a proper caution and perseverance we shall infallibly
trace this boat; for not only can the bargeman who picked it up
identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rudder of a sail-boat
would not have been abandoned, without inquiry, by one altogether at
ease in heart. And here let me pause to insinuate a question. There
was no advertisement of the picking up of this boat. It was silently
taken to the barge-office, and as silently removed. But its owner or
employer - how happened he, at so early a period as Tuesday morning,
to be informed, without the agency of advertisement, of the locality
of the boat taken up on Monday, unless we imagine some connexion with
the navy - some personal permanent connexion leading to cognizance of
its minute in interests - its petty local news?

"In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his burden to the shore,
I have already suggested the probability of his availing himself of a
boat. Now we are to understand that Marie RogΩt was precipitated from
a boat. This would naturally have been the case. The corpse could not
have been trusted to the shallow waters of the shore. The peculiar
marks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the bottom ribs
of a boat. That the body was found without weight is also
corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight would
have been attached. We can only account for its absence by supposing
the murderer to have neglected the precaution of supplying himself
with it before pushing off. In the act of consigning the corpse to
the water, he would unquestionably have noticed his oversight; but
then no remedy would have been at hand. Any risk would have been
preferred to a return to that accursed shore. Having rid himself of
his ghastly charge, the murderer would have hastened to the city.
There, at some obscure wharf, he would have leaped on land. But the
boat - would he have secured it? He would have been in too great
haste for such things as securing a boat. Moreover, in fastening it
to the wharf, he would have felt as if securing evidence against
himself. His natural thought would have been to cast from him, as far
as possible, all that had held connection with his crime. He would
not only have fled from the wharf, but he would not have permitted
the boat to remain. Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. Let us
pursue our fancies. - In the morning, the wretch is stricken with
unutterable horror at finding that the boat has been picked up and
detained at a locality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting
- at a locality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to frequent. The
next night, without daring to ask for the rudder, he removes it. Now
where is that rudderless boat? Let it be one of our first purposes to
discover. With the first glimpse we obtain of it, the dawn of our
success shall begin. This boat shall guide us, with a rapidity which
will surprise even ourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight
of the fatal Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration, and
the murderer will be traced."

[For reasons which we shall not specify, but which to many readers
will appear obvious, we have taken the liberty of here omitting, from
the MSS. placed in our hands, such portion as details the following
up of the apparently slight clew obtained by Dupin. We feel it
advisable only to state, in brief, that the result desired was
brought to pass; and that the Prefect fulfilled punctually, although
with reluctance, the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr.
Poe's article concludes with the following words. - Eds. {*23}]

It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and no more. What
I have said above upon this topic must suffice. In my own heart there
dwells no faith in prµter-nature. That Nature and its God are two, no
man who thinks, will deny. That the latter, creating the former, can,
at will, control or modify it, is also unquestionable. I say "at
will;" for the question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic
has assumed, of power. It is not that the Deity cannot modify his
laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible necessity for
modification. In their origin these laws were fashioned to embrace
all contingencies which could lie in the Future. With God all is Now.

I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as of coincidences.
And farther: in what I relate it will be seen that between the fate
of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers, so far as that fate is known, and
the fate of one Marie RogΩt up to a certain epoch in her history,
there has existed a parallel in the contemplation of whose wonderful
exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be
seen. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceeding
with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just mentioned, and in
tracing to its dΘnouement the mystery which enshrouded her, it is my
covert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, or even to
suggest that the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the
assassin of a grisette, or measures founded in any similar
ratiocination, would produce any similar result.

For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition, it should be
considered that the most trifling variation in the facts of the two
cases might give rise to the most important miscalculations, by
diverting thoroughly the two courses of events; very much as, in
arithmetic, an error which, in its own individuality, may be
inappreciable, produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all
points of the process, a result enormously at variance with truth.
And, in regard to the former branch, we must not fail to hold in view
that the very Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred,
forbids all idea of the extension of the parallel: - forbids it with
a positiveness strong and decided just in proportion as this parallel
has already been long-drawn and exact. This is one of those anomalous
propositions which, seemingly appealing to thought altogether apart
from the mathematical, is yet one which only the mathematician can
fully entertain. Nothing, for example, is more difficult than to
convince the merely general reader that the fact of sixes having been
thrown twice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient cause
for betting the largest odds that sixes will not be thrown in the
third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usually rejected by the
intellect at once. It does not appear that the two throws which have
been completed, and which lie now absolutely in the Past, can have
influence upon the throw which exists only in the Future. The chance
for throwing sixes seems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary
time - that is to say, subject only to the influence of the various
other throws which may be made by the dice. And this is a reflection
which appears so exceedingly obvious that attempts to controvert it
are received more frequently with a derisive smile than with anything
like respectful attention. The error here involved - a gross error
redolent of mischief - I cannot pretend to expose within the limits
assigned me at present; and with the philosophical it needs no
exposure. It may be sufficient here to say that it forms one of an
infinite series of mistakes which arise in the path or Reason through
her propensity for seeking truth in detail.


~~~ End of Text ~~~


FOOTNOTES--Marie RogΩt

{*1} Upon the original publication of "Marie Roget," the foot-notes
now appended were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several
years since the tragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it
expedient to give them, and also to say a few words in explanation of
the general design. A young girl, Mary Cecilia Rogers, was murdered
in the vicinity of New York; and, although her death occasioned an
intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery attending it had
remained unsolved at the period when the present paper was written
and published (November, 1842). Herein, under pretence of relating
the fate of a Parisian grisette, the author has followed in minute
detail, the essential, while merely paralleling the inessential facts
of the real murder of Mary Rogers. Thus all argument founded upon the
fiction is applicable to the truth: and the investigation of the
truth was the object. The "Mystery of Marie Roget" was composed at a
distance from the scene of the atrocity, and with no other means of
investigation than the newspapers afforded. Thus much escaped the
writer of which he could have availed himself had he been upon the
spot, and visited the localities. It may not be improper to record,
nevertheless, that the confessions of two persons, (one of them the
Madame Deluc of the narrative) made, at different periods, long
subsequent to the publication, confirmed, in full, not only the
general conclusion, but absolutely all the chief hypothetical details
by which that conclusion was attained.

{*2} The nom de plume of Von Hardenburg.

{*3} Nassau Street.

{*4} Anderson.

{*5} The Hudson.

{*6} Weehawken.

{*7} Payne.

{*8} Crommelin.

{*9} The New York "Mercury."

(*10} The New York "Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hastings Weld,
Esq.

{*11} New York "Journal of Commerce."

(*12} Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I. Peterson,
Esq.

{*13} Adam

{*14} See "Murders in the Rue Morgue."

{*15} The New York "Commercial Advertiser," edited by Col. Stone.

{*16} "A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its
being unfolded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics
in reference to their causes, will cease to value them according to
their results. Thus the jurisprudence of every nation will show that,
when law becomes a science and a system, it ceases to be justice. The
errors into which a blind devotion to principles of classification
has led the common law, will be seen by observing how often the
legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity
its scheme had lost." - Landor.

{*17} New York "Express"

{*18} NewYork "Herald."

{*19} New York "Courier and Inquirer."

{*20} Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and
arrested, but discharged through total lack of evidence.

{*21} New York "Courier and Inquirer."

{*22} New York "Evening Post."

{*23} Of the Magazine in which the article was originally published.


==========



                            THE BALLOON-HOAX

    [Astounding News by Express, _via_ Norfolk !  - The Atlantic
crossed in Three Days !  Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason's Flying
Machine ! - Arrival at Sullivan's Island, near Charlestown, S.C., of
Mr. Mason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth,
and four others, in the Steering Balloon, "Victoria," after a passage
of Seventy-five Hours from Land to Land !  Full Particulars of the
Voyage!

    The subjoined _jeu d'esprit_ with the preceding heading in
magnificent capitals, well interspersed with notes of admiration, was
originally published, as matter of fact, in the "New York Sun," a
daily newspaper, and therein fully subserved the purpose of creating
indigestible aliment for the _quidnuncs_ during the few hours
intervening between a couple of the Charleston mails.  The rush for
the "sole paper which had the news," was something beyond even the
prodigious ;  and, in fact, if (as some assert) the "Victoria" _did_
not absolutely accomplish the voyage recorded, it will be difficult
to assign a reason why she _should_ not have accomplished it.]

    THE great problem is at length solved !  The air, as well as the
earth and the ocean, has been subdued by science, and will become a
common and convenient highway for mankind.  _The Atlantic has been
actually crossed in a Balloon!_ and this too without difficulty -
without any great apparent danger - with thorough control of the
machine - and in the inconceivably brief period of seventy-five hours
from shore to shore !  By the energy of an agent at Charleston, S.C.,
we are enabled to be the first to furnish the public with a detailed
account of this most extraordinary voyage, which was performed
between Saturday, the 6th instant, at 11, A.M.,  and 2, P.M., on
Tuesday, the 9th instant, by Sir Everard Bringhurst ;  Mr. Osborne, a
nephew of Lord Bentinck's ;  Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Robert Holland,
the well-known µronauts ;  Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, author of "Jack
Sheppard," &c. ;  and Mr. Henson, the projector of the late
unsuccessful flying machine - with two seamen from Woolwich - in all,
eight persons.  The particulars furnished below may be relied on as
authentic and accurate in every respect, as, with a slight exception,
they are copied _verbatim_ from the joint diaries of Mr. Monck Mason
and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, to whose politeness our agent is also
indebted for much verbal information respecting the balloon itself,
its construction, and other matters of interest.  The only alteration
in the MS. received, has been made for the purpose of throwing the
hurried account of our agent, Mr. Forsyth, into a connected and
intelligible form.

"THE BALLOON.

    "Two very decided failures, of late - those of Mr. Henson and Sir
George Cayley - had much weakened the public interest in the subject
of aerial navigation.  Mr. Henson's scheme (which at first was
considered very feasible even by men of science,) was founded upon
the principle of an inclined plane, started from an eminence by an
extrinsic force, applied and continued by the revolution of impinging
vanes, in form and number resembling the vanes of a windmill.  But,
in all the experiments made with models at the Adelaide Gallery, it
was found that the operation of these fans not only did not propel
the machine, but actually impeded its flight. The only propelling
force it ever exhibited, was the mere _impetus_ acquired from the
descent of the inclined plane ;  and this _impetus_ carried the
machine farther when the vanes were at rest, than when they were in
motion - a fact which sufficiently demonstrates their inutility ;
and in the absence of the propelling, which was also the _sustaining_
power, the whole fabric would necessarily descend.  This
consideration led Sir George Cayley to think only of adapting a
propeller to some machine having of itself an independent power of
support - in a word, to a balloon ;  the idea, however, being novel,
or original, with Sir George, only so far as regards the mode of its
application to practice.  He exhibited a model of his invention at
the Polytechnic Institution.  The propelling principle, or power, was
here, also, applied to interrupted surfaces, or vanes, put in
revolution.  These vanes were four in number, but were found entirely
ineffectual in moving the balloon, or in aiding its ascending power.
The whole project was thus a complete failure.

    "It was at this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason (whose voyage from
Dover to Weilburg in the balloon, "Nassau," occasioned so much
excitement in 1837,) conceived the idea of employing the principle of
the Archimedean screw for the purpose of propulsion through the air -
rightly attributing the failure of Mr. Henson's scheme, and of Sir
George Cayley's, to the interruption of surface in the independent
vanes.  He made the first public experiment at Willis's Rooms, but
afterward removed his model to the Adelaide Gallery.

    "Like Sir George Cayley's balloon, his own was an ellipsoid.  Its
length was thirteen feet six inches - height, six feet eight inches.
It contained about three hundred and twenty cubic feet of gas, which,
if pure hydrogen, would support twenty-one pounds upon its first
inflation, before the gas has time to deteriorate or escape.  The
weight of the whole machine and apparatus was seventeen pounds -
leaving about four pounds to spare.  Beneath the centre of the
balloon, was a frame of light wood, about nine feet long, and rigged
on to the balloon itself with a network in the customary manner.
From this framework was suspended a wicker basket or car.

    "The screw consists of an axis of hollow brass tube, eighteen
inches in length, through which, upon a semi-spiral inclined at
fifteen degrees, pass a series of steel wire radii, two feet long,
and thus projecting a foot on either side.  These radii are connected
at the outer extremities by two bands of flattened wire - the whole
in this manner forming the framework of the screw, which is completed
by a covering of oiled silk cut into gores, and tightened so as to
present a tolerably uniform surface.  At each end of its axis this
screw is supported by pillars of hollow brass tube descending from
the hoop.  In the lower ends of these tubes are holes in which the
pivots of the axis revolve.  From the end of the axis which is next
the car, proceeds a shaft of steel, connecting the screw with the
pinion of a piece of spring machinery fixed in the car.  By the
operation of this spring, the screw is made to revolve with great
rapidity, communicating a progressive motion to the whole.  By means
of the rudder, the machine was readily turned in any direction.  The
spring was of great power, compared with its dimensions, being
capable of raising forty-five pounds upon a barrel of four inches
diameter, after the first turn, and gradually increasing as it was
wound up.  It weighed, altogether, eight pounds six ounces.  The
rudder was a light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped somewhat
like a battledoor, and was about three feet long, and at the widest,
one foot.  Its weight was about two ounces.  It could be turned
_flat_, and directed upwards or downwards, as well as to the right or
left ;  and thus enabled the µronaut to transfer the resistance of
the air which in an inclined position it must generate in its
passage, to any side upon which he might desire to act ;  thus
determining the balloon in the opposite direction.

    "This model (which, through want of time, we have necessarily
described in an imperfect manner,) was put in action at the Adelaide
Gallery, where it accomplished a velocity of five miles per hour;
although, strange to say, it excited very little interest in
comparison with the previous complex machine of Mr. Henson - so
resolute is the world to despise anything which carries with it an
air of simplicity.  To accomplish the great desideratum of µrial
navigation, it was very generally supposed that some exceedingly
complicated application must be made of some unusually profound
principle in dynamics.

    "So well satisfied, however, was Mr. Mason of the ultimate
success of his invention, that he determined to construct
immediately, if possible, a balloon of sufficient capacity to test
the question by a voyage of some extent - the original design being
to cross the British Channel, as before, in the Nassau balloon.  To
carry out his views, he solicited and obtained the patronage of Sir
Everard Bringhurst and Mr. Osborne, two gentlemen well known for
scientific acquirement, and especially for the interest they have
exhibited in the progress of µrostation.  The project, at the desire
of Mr. Osborne, was kept a profound secret from the public - the only
persons entrusted with the design being those actually engaged in the
construction of the machine, which was built (under the
superintendence of Mr. Mason, Mr. Holland, Sir Everard Bringhurst,
and Mr. Osborne,) at the seat of the latter gentleman near
Penstruthal, in Wales.  Mr. Henson, accompanied by his friend Mr.
Ainsworth, was admitted to a private view of the balloon, on Saturday
last - when the two gentlemen made final arrangements to be included
in the adventure.  We are not informed for what reason the two seamen
were also included in the party - but, in the course of a day or two,
we shall put our readers in possession of the minutest particulars
respecting this extraordinary voyage.

    "The balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the liquid gum
caoutchouc.  It is of vast dimensions, containing more than 40,000
cubic feet of gas ;  but as coal gas was employed in place of the
more expensive and inconvenient hydrogen, the supporting power of the
machine, when fully inflated, and immediately after inflation, is not
more than about 2500 pounds.  The coal gas is not only much less
costly, but is easily procured and managed.

    "For its introduction into common use for purposes of
aerostation, we are indebted to Mr. Charles Green.  Up to his
discovery, the process of inflation was not only exceedingly
expensive, but uncertain. Two, and even three days, have frequently
been wasted in futile attempts to procure a sufficiency of hydrogen
to fill a balloon, from which it had great tendency to escape, owing
to its extreme subtlety, and its affinity for the surrounding
atmosphere.  In a balloon sufficiently perfect to retain its contents
of coal-gas unaltered, in quantity or amount, for six months, an
equal quantity of hydrogen could not be maintained in equal purity
for six weeks.

    "The supporting power being estimated at 2500 pounds, and the
united weights of the party amounting only to about 1200, there was
left a surplus of 1300, of which again 1200 was exhausted by ballast,
arranged in bags of different sizes, with their respective weights
marked upon them - by cordage, barometers, telescopes, barrels
containing provision for a fortnight, water-casks, cloaks,
carpet-bags, and various other indispensable matters, including a
coffee-warmer, contrived for warming coffee by means of slack-lime,
so as to dispense altogether with fire, if it should be judged
prudent to do so.  All these articles, with the exception of the
ballast, and a few trifles, were suspended from the hoop overhead.
The car is much smaller and lighter, in proportion, than the one
appended to the model.  It is formed of a light wicker, and is
wonderfully strong, for so frail looking a machine.  Its rim is about
four feet deep.  The rudder is also very much larger, in proportion,
than that of the model ;  and the screw is considerably smaller.  The
balloon is furnished besides with a grapnel, and a guide-rope ;
which latter is of the most indispensable importance. A few words, in
explanation, will here be necessary for such of our readers as are
not conversant with the details of aerostation.

    "As soon as the balloon quits the earth, it is subjected to the
influence of many circumstances tending to create a difference in its
weight ;  augmenting or diminishing its ascending power.  For
example, there may be a deposition of dew upon the silk, to the
extent, even, of several hundred pounds ;  ballast has then to be
thrown out, or the machine may descend.  This ballast being
discarded, and a clear sunshine evaporating the dew, and at the same
time expanding the gas in the silk, the whole will again rapidly
ascend.  To check this ascent, the only recourse is, (or rather
_was_, until Mr. Green's invention of the guide-rope,) the permission
of the escape of gas from the valve ;  but, in the loss of gas, is a
proportionate general loss of ascending power ;  so that, in a
comparatively brief period, the best-constructed balloon must
necessarily exhaust all its resources, and come to the earth.  This
was the great obstacle to voyages of length.

    "The guide-rope remedies the difficulty in the simplest manner
conceivable.  It is merely a very long rope which is suffered to
trail from the car, and the effect of which is to prevent the balloon
from changing its level in any material degree.  If, for example,
there should be a deposition of moisture upon the silk, and the
machine begins to descend in consequence, there will be no necessity
for discharging ballast to remedy the increase of weight, for it is
remedied, or counteracted, in an exactly just proportion, by the
deposit on the ground of just so much of the end of the rope as is
necessary.  If, on the other hand, any circumstances should cause
undue levity, and consequent ascent, this levity is immediately
counteracted by the additional weight of rope upraised from the
earth.  Thus, the balloon can neither ascend or descend, except
within very narrow limits, and its resources, either in gas or
ballast, remain comparatively unimpaired. When passing over an
expanse of water, it becomes necessary to employ small kegs of copper
or wood, filled with liquid ballast of a lighter nature than water.
These float, and serve all the purposes of a mere rope on land.
Another most important office of the guide-rope, is to point out the
_direction_ of the balloon.  The rope _drags_, either on land or sea,
while the balloon is free ;  the latter, consequently, is always in
advance, when any progress whatever is made :  a comparison,
therefore, by means of the compass, of the relative positions of the
two objects, will always indicate the _course_.  In the same way, the
angle formed by the rope with the vertical axis of the machine,
indicates the _velocity_.  When there is _no_ angle - in other words,
when the rope hangs perpendicularly, the whole apparatus is
stationary ;  but the larger the angle, that is to say, the farther
the balloon precedes the end of the rope, the greater the velocity ;
and the converse.

    "As the original design was to cross the British Channel, and
alight as near Paris as possible, the voyagers had taken the
precaution to prepare themselves with passports directed to all parts
of the Continent, specifying the nature of the expedition, as in the
case of the Nassau voyage, and entitling the adventurers to exemption
from the usual formalities of office :  unexpected events, however,
rendered these passports superfluous.

    "The inflation was commenced very quietly at daybreak, on
Saturday morning, the 6th instant, in the Court-Yard of Weal-Vor
House, Mr. Osborne's seat, about a mile from Penstruthal, in North
Wales ;  and at 7 minutes past 11, every thing being ready for
departure, the balloon was set free, rising gently but steadily, in a
direction nearly South ;  no use being made, for the first half hour,
of either the screw or the rudder.  We proceed now with the journal,
as transcribed by Mr. Forsyth from the joint MSS.  Of Mr. Monck
Mason, and Mr. Ainsworth.  The body of the journal, as given, is in
the hand-writing of Mr. Mason, and a P.  S.  is appended, each day,
by Mr. Ainsworth, who has in preparation, and will shortly give the
public a more minute, and no doubt, a thrillingly interesting account
of the voyage.

"THE JOURNAL.

    "_Saturday, April the 6th_.  - Every preparation likely to
embarrass us, having been made over night, we commenced the inflation
this morning at daybreak ;  but owing to a thick fog, which
encumbered the folds of the silk and rendered it unmanageable, we did
not get through before nearly eleven o'clock.  Cut loose, then, in
high spirits, and rose gently but steadily, with a light breeze at
North, which bore us in the direction of the British Channel.  Found
the ascending force greater than we had expected ;  and as we arose
higher and so got clear of the cliffs, and more in the sun's rays,
our ascent became very rapid.  I did not wish, however, to lose gas
at so early a period of the adventure, and so concluded to ascend for
the present.  We soon ran out our guide-rope ;  but even when we had
raised it clear of the earth, we still went up very rapidly.  The
balloon was unusually steady, and looked beautifully.  In about ten
minutes after starting, the barometer indicated an altitude of 15,000
feet.  The weather was remarkably fine, and the view of the subjacent
country - a most romantic one when seen from any point, - was now
especially sublime. The numerous deep gorges presented the appearance
of lakes, on account of the dense vapors with which they were filled,
and the pinnacles and crags to the South East, piled in inextricable
confusion, resembling nothing so much as the giant cities of eastern
fable.  We were rapidly approaching the mountains in the South ;  but
our elevation was more than sufficient to enable us to pass them in
safety.  In a few minutes we soared over them in fine style ;  and
Mr. Ainsworth, with the seamen, was surprised at their apparent want
of altitude when viewed from the car, the tendency of great elevation
in a balloon being to reduce inequalities of the surface below, to
nearly a dead level.  At half-past eleven still proceeding nearly
South, we obtained our first view of the Bristol Channel ;  and, in
fifteen minutes afterward, the line of breakers on the coast appeared
immediately beneath us, and we were fairly out at sea.  We now
resolved to let off enough gas to bring our guide-rope, with the
buoys affixed, into the water.  This was immediately done, and we
commenced a gradual descent.  In about twenty minutes our first buoy
dipped, and at the touch of the second soon afterwards, we remained
stationary as to elevation.  We were all now anxious to test the
efficiency of the rudder and screw, and we put them both into
requisition forthwith, for the purpose of altering our direction more
to the eastward, and in a line for Paris.  By means of the rudder we
instantly effected the necessary change of direction, and our course
was brought nearly at right angles to that of the wind ;  when we set
in motion the spring of the screw, and were rejoiced to find it
propel us readily as desired.  Upon this we gave nine hearty cheers,
and dropped in the sea a bottle, enclosing a slip of parchment with a
brief account of the principle of the invention.  Hardly, however,
had we done with our rejoicings, when an unforeseen accident occurred
which discouraged us in no little degree.  The steel rod connecting
the spring with the propeller was suddenly jerked out of place, at
the car end, (by a swaying of the car through some movement of one of
the two seamen we had taken up,) and in an instant hung dangling out
of reach, from the pivot of the axis of the screw.  While we were
endeavoring to regain it, our attention being completely absorbed, we
became involved in a strong current of wind from the East, which bore
us, with rapidly increasing force, towards the Atlantic.  We soon
found ourselves driving out to sea at the rate of not less,
certainly, than fifty or sixty miles an hour, so that we came up with
Cape Clear, at some forty miles to our North, before we had secured
the rod, and had time to think what we were about.  It was now that
Mr. Ainsworth made an extraordinary, but to my fancy, a by no means
unreasonable or chimerical proposition, in which he was instantly
seconded by Mr. Holland - viz.:  that we should take advantage of the
strong gale which bore us on, and in place of beating back to Paris,
make an attempt to reach the coast of North America.  After slight
reflection I gave a willing assent to this bold proposition, which
(strange to say) met with objection from the two seamen only.  As the
stronger party, however, we overruled their fears, and kept
resolutely upon our course.  We steered due West ;  but as the
trailing of the buoys materially impeded our progress, and we had the
balloon abundantly at command, either for ascent or descent, we first
threw out fifty pounds of ballast, and then wound up (by means of a
windlass) so much of the rope as brought it quite clear of the sea.
We perceived the effect of this man£uvre immediately, in a vastly
increased rate of progress ;  and, as the gale freshened, we flew
with a velocity nearly inconceivable ;  the guide-rope flying out
behind the car, like a streamer from a vessel.  It is needless to say
that a very short time sufficed us to lose sight of the coast.  We
passed over innumerable vessels of all kinds, a few of which were
endeavoring to beat up, but the most of them lying to.  We occasioned
the greatest excitement on board all - an excitement greatly relished
by ourselves, and especially by our two men, who, now under the
influence of a dram of Geneva, seemed resolved to give all scruple,
or fear, to the wind.  Many of the vessels fired signal guns ;  and
in all we were saluted with loud cheers (which we heard with
surprising distinctness) and the waving of caps and handkerchiefs. We
kept on in this manner throughout the day, with no material incident,
and, as the shades of night closed around us, we made a rough
estimate of the distance traversed.  It could not have been less than
five hundred miles, and was probably much more.  The propeller was
kept in constant operation, and, no doubt, aided our progress
materially.  As the sun went down, the gale freshened into an
absolute hurricane, and the ocean beneath was clearly visible on
account of its phosphorescence.  The wind was from the East all
night, and gave us the brightest omen of success.  We suffered no
little from cold, and the dampness of the atmosphere was most
unpleasant ;  but the ample space in the car enabled us to lie down,
and by means of cloaks and a few blankets, we did sufficiently well.

    "P.S.  (by Mr. Ainsworth.) The last nine hours have been
unquestionably the most exciting of my life.  I can conceive nothing
more sublimating than the strange peril and novelty of an adventure
such as this.  May God grant that we succeed !  I ask not success for
mere safety to my insignificant person, but for the sake of human
knowledge and - for the vastness of the triumph.  And yet the feat is
only so evidently feasible that the sole wonder is why men have
scrupled to attempt it before.  One single gale such as now befriends
us - let such a tempest whirl forward a balloon for four or five days
(these gales often last longer) and the voyager will be easily borne,
in that period, from coast to coast.  In view of such a gale the
broad Atlantic becomes a mere lake.  I am more struck, just now, with
the supreme silence which reigns in the sea beneath us,
notwithstanding its agitation, than with any other phenomenon
presenting itself.  The waters give up no voice to the heavens.  The
immense flaming ocean writhes and is tortured uncomplainingly.  The
mountainous surges suggest the idea of innumerable dumb gigantic
fiends struggling in impotent agony.  In a night such as is this to
me, a man _lives_ - lives a whole century of ordinary life - nor
would I forego this rapturous delight for that of a whole century of
ordinary existence.

    "_Sunday, the seventh_.  [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning the gale,
by 10, had subsided to an eight or nine - knot breeze, (for a vessel
at sea,) and bears us, perhaps, thirty miles per hour, or more. It
has veered, however, very considerably to the north ;  and now, at
sundown, we are holding our course due west, principally by the screw
and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration.  I regard the
project as thoroughly successful, and the easy navigation of the air
in any direction (not exactly in the teeth of a gale) as no longer
problematical.  We could not have made head against the strong wind
of yesterday ;  but, by ascending, we might have got out of its
influence, if requisite.  Against a pretty stiff breeze, I feel
convinced, we can make our way with the propeller.  At noon, to-day,
ascended to an elevation of nearly 25,000 feet, by discharging
ballast.  Did this to search for a more direct current, but found
none so favorable as the one we are now in.  We have an abundance of
gas to take us across this small pond, even should the voyage last
three weeks.  I have not the slightest fear for the result.  The
difficulty has been strangely exaggerated and misapprehended.  I can
choose my current, and should I find _all_ currents against me, I can
make very tolerable headway with the propeller.  We have had no
incidents worth recording.  The night promises fair.

    P.S.  [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to record, except the
fact (to me quite a surprising one) that, at an elevation equal to
that of Cotopaxi, I experienced neither very intense cold, nor
headache, nor difficulty of breathing ;  neither, I find, did Mr.
Mason, nor Mr. Holland, nor Sir Everard.  Mr. Osborne complained of
constriction of the chest - but this soon wore off.  We have flown at
a great rate during the day, and we must be more than half way across
the Atlantic.  We have passed over some twenty or thirty vessels of
various kinds, and all seem to be delightfully astonished.  Crossing
the ocean in a balloon is not so difficult a feat after all.  _Omne
ignotum pro magnifico.  Mem :_  at 25,000 feet elevation the sky
appears nearly black, and the stars are distinctly visible ;  while
the sea does not seem convex (as one might suppose) but absolutely
and most unequivocally _concave_.{*1}

    "_Monday, the 8th_.  [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning we had again
some little trouble with the rod of the propeller, which must be
entirely remodelled, for fear of serious accident - I mean the steel
rod - not the vanes.  The latter could not be improved.  The wind has
been blowing steadily and strongly from the north-east all day  and
so far fortune seems bent upon favoring us.  Just before day, we were
all somewhat alarmed at some odd noises and concussions in the
balloon, accompanied with the apparent rapid subsidence of the whole
machine.  These phenomena were occasioned by the expansion of the
gas, through increase of heat in the atmosphere, and the consequent
disruption of the minute particles of ice with which the network had
become encrusted during the night.  Threw down several bottles to the
vessels below. Saw one of them picked up by a large ship - seemingly
one of the New York line packets.  Endeavored to make out her name,
but could not be sure of it.  Mr. Osbornes telescope made it out
something like "Atalanta." It is now 12 ,at night, and we are still
going nearly west, at a rapid pace.  The sea is peculiarly
phosphorescent.

    "P.S.  [By Mr. Ainsworth.] It is now 2, A.M., and nearly calm, as
well as I can judge - but it is very difficult to determine this
point, since we move _with_ the air so completely.  I have not slept
since quitting Wheal-Vor, but can stand it no longer, and must take a
nap.  We cannot be far from the American coast.

    "_Tuesday, the _9_th_.  [Mr. Ainsworth's MS.] _One, P.M.  We are
in full view of the low coast of South Carolina_.  The great problem
is accomplished.  We have crossed the Atlantic - fairly and _easily_
crossed it in a balloon !  God be praised !  Who shall say that
anything is impossible hereafter? "

    The Journal here ceases.  Some particulars of the descent were
communicated, however, by Mr. Ainsworth to Mr. Forsyth.  It was
nearly dead calm when the voyagers first came in view of the coast,
which was immediately recognized by both the seamen, and by Mr.
Osborne. The latter gentleman having acquaintances at Fort Moultrie,
it was immediately resolved to descend in its vicinity.  The balloon
was brought over the beach (the tide being out and the sand hard,
smooth, and admirably adapted for a descent,) and the grapnel let go,
which took firm hold at once.  The inhabitants of the island, and of
the fort, thronged out, of course, to see the balloon ;  but it was
with the greatest difficulty that any one could be made to credit the
actual voyage - _the crossing of the Atlantic_.  The grapnel caught
at 2, P.M.,  precisely ;  and thus the whole voyage was completed in
seventy-five hours ;  or rather less, counting from shore to shore.
No serious accident occurred. No real danger was at any time
apprehended.  The balloon was exhausted and secured without trouble ;
 and when the MS.  from which this narrative is compiled was
despatched from Charleston, the party were still at Fort Moultrie.
Their farther intentions were not ascertained ;  but we can safely
promise our readers some additional information either on Monday or
in the course of the next day, at farthest.

    This is unquestionably the most stupendous, the most interesting,
and the most important undertaking, ever accomplished or even
attempted by man.  What magnificent events may ensue, it would be
useless now to think of determining.



~~~ End of Text ~~~

{*1} _Note_. - Mr. Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this
phenomenon, which, however, is quite susceptible of explanation. A
line dropped from an elevation of 25,000 feet, perpendicularly to the
surface of the earth (or sea), would form the perpendicular of a
right-angled triangle, of which the base would extend from the right
angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon to the
balloon. But the 25,000 feet of altitude is little or nothing, in
comparison with the extent of the prospect. In other words, the base
and hypothenuse of the supposed triangle would be so long when
compared with the perpendicular, that the two former may be regarded
as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon of the µronaut would
appear to be _on a level_ with the car. But, as the point immediately
beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it seems,
of course, also, at a great distance below the horizon. Hence the
impression of _concavity_ ; and this impression must remain, until
the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to the extent of
prospect, that the apparent parallelism of the base and hypothenuse
disappears - when the earth's real convexity must become apparent.




==========

                         MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE

                   Qui n'a plus qu'un moment a vivre

                   N'a plus rien a dissimuler.

                                 -- Quinault -- Atys.

OF my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and
length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me from
the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common
order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me to methodize the
stores which early study very diligently garnered up. -- Beyond all
things, the study of the German moralists gave me great delight; not
from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquent madness, but from
the ease with which my habits of rigid thought enabled me to detect
their falsities. I have often been reproached with the aridity of my
genius; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed to me as a
crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions has at all times rendered me
notorious. Indeed, a strong relish for physical philosophy has, I
fear, tinctured my mind with a very common error of this age -- I
mean the habit of referring occurrences, even the least susceptible
of such reference, to the principles of that science. Upon the whole,
no person could be less liable than myself to be led away from the
severe precincts of truth by the ignes fatui of superstition. I have
thought proper to premise thus much, lest the incredible tale I have
to tell should be considered rather the raving of a crude
imagination, than the positive experience of a mind to which the
reveries of fancy have been a dead letter and a nullity.

After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18 --
, from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island of Java,
on a voyage to the Archipelago of the Sunda islands. I went as
passenger -- having no other inducement than a kind of nervous
restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.

Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hundred tons,
copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of Malabar teak. She was
freighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lachadive islands. We
had also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and a few cases
of opium. The stowage was clumsily done, and the vessel consequently
crank.

We got under way with a mere breath of wind, and for many days stood
along the eastern coast of Java, without any other incident to
beguile the monotony of our course than the occasional meeting with
some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which we were bound.

One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very singular,
isolated cloud, to the N.W. It was remarkable, as well for its color,
as from its being the first we had seen since our departure from
Batavia. I watched it attentively until sunset, when it spread all at
once to the eastward and westward, girting in the horizon with a
narrow strip of vapor, and looking like a long line of low beach. My
notice was soon afterwards attracted by the dusky-red appearance of
the moon, and the peculiar character of the sea. The latter was
undergoing a rapid change, and the water seemed more than usually
transparent. Although I could distinctly see the bottom, yet, heaving
the lead, I found the ship in fifteen fathoms. The air now became
intolerably hot, and was loaded with spiral exhalations similar to
those arising from heat iron. As night came on, every breath of wind
died away, an more entire calm it is impossible to conceive. The
flame of a candle burned upon the poop without the least perceptible
motion, and a long hair, held between the finger and thumb, hung
without the possibility of detecting a vibration. However, as the
captain said he could perceive no indication of danger, and as we
were drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered the sails to be furled,
and the anchor let go. No watch was set, and the crew, consisting
principally of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon deck. I
went below -- not without a full presentiment of evil. Indeed, every
appearance warranted me in apprehending a Simoom. I told the captain
my fears; but he paid no attention to what I said, and left me
without deigning to give a reply. My uneasiness, however, prevented
me from sleeping, and about midnight I went upon deck. -- As I placed
my foot upon the upper step of the companion-ladder, I was startled
by a loud, humming noise, like that occasioned by the rapid
revolution of a mill-wheel, and before I could ascertain its meaning,
I found the ship quivering to its centre. In the next instant, a
wilderness of foam hurled us upon our beam-ends, and, rushing over us
fore and aft, swept the entire decks from stem to stern.

The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great measure, the
salvation of the ship. Although completely water-logged, yet, as her
masts had gone by the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily from
the sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense pressure of the
tempest, finally righted.

By what miracle I escaped destruction, it is impossible to say.
Stunned by the shock of the water, I found myself, upon recovery,
jammed in between the stern-post and rudder. With great difficulty I
gained my feet, and looking dizzily around, was, at first, struck
with the idea of our being among breakers; so terrific, beyond the
wildest imagination, was the whirlpool of mountainous and foaming
ocean within which we were engulfed. After a while, I heard the voice
of an old Swede, who had shipped with us at the moment of our leaving
port. I hallooed to him with all my strength, and presently he came
reeling aft. We soon discovered that we were the sole survivors of
the accident. All on deck, with the exception of ourselves, had been
swept overboard; -- the captain and mates must have perished as they
slept, for the cabins were deluged with water. Without assistance, we
could expect to do little for the security of the ship, and our
exertions were at first paralyzed by the momentary expectation of
going down. Our cable had, of course, parted like pack-thread, at the
first breath of the hurricane, or we should have been instantaneously
overwhelmed. We scudded with frightful velocity before the sea, and
the water made clear breaches over us. The frame-work of our stern
was shattered excessively, and, in almost every respect, we had
received considerable injury; but to our extreme Joy we found the
pumps unchoked, and that we had made no great shifting of our
ballast. The main fury of the blast had already blown over, and we
apprehended little danger from the violence of the wind; but we
looked forward to its total cessation with dismay; well believing,
that, in our shattered condition, we should inevitably perish in the
tremendous swell which would ensue. But this very just apprehension
seemed by no means likely to be soon verified. For five entire days
and nights -- during which our only subsistence was a small quantity
of jaggeree, procured with great difficulty from the forecastle --
the hulk flew at a rate defying computation, before rapidly
succeeding flaws of wind, which, without equalling the first violence
of the Simoom, were still more terrific than any tempest I had before
encountered. Our course for the first four days was, with trifling
variations, S.E. and by S.; and we must have run down the coast of
New Holland. -- On the fifth day the cold became extreme, although
the wind had hauled round a point more to the northward. -- The sun
arose with a sickly yellow lustre, and clambered a very few degrees
above the horizon -- emitting no decisive light. -- There were no
clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the increase, and blew with a
fitful and unsteady fury. About noon, as nearly as we could guess,
our attention was again arrested by the appearance of the sun. It
gave out no light, properly so called, but a dull and sullen glow
without reflection, as if all its rays were polarized. Just before
sinking within the turgid sea, its central fires suddenly went out,
as if hurriedly extinguished by some unaccountable power. It was a
dim, sliver-like rim, alone, as it rushed down the unfathomable
ocean.

We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day -- that day to me
has not arrived -- to the Swede, never did arrive. Thenceforward we
were enshrouded in patchy darkness, so that we could not have seen an
object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternal night continued to
envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoric sea-brilliancy to which
we had been accustomed in the tropics. We observed too, that,
although the tempest continued to rage with unabated violence, there
was no longer to be discovered the usual appearance of surf, or foam,
which had hitherto attended us. All around were horror, and thick
gloom, and a black sweltering desert of ebony. -- Superstitious
terror crept by degrees into the spirit of the old Swede, and my own
soul was wrapped up in silent wonder. We neglected all care of the
ship, as worse than useless, and securing ourselves, as well as
possible, to the stump of the mizen-mast, looked out bitterly into
the world of ocean. We had no means of calculating time, nor could we
form any guess of our situation. We were, however, well aware of
having made farther to the southward than any previous navigators,
and felt great amazement at not meeting with the usual impediments of
ice. In the meantime every moment threatened to be our last -- every
mountainous billow hurried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed
anything I had imagined possible, and that we were not instantly
buried is a miracle. My companion spoke of the lightness of our
cargo, and reminded me of the excellent qualities of our ship; but I
could not help feeling the utter hopelessness of hope itself, and
prepared myself gloomily for that death which I thought nothing could
defer beyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship made, the
swelling of the black stupendous seas became more dismally appalling.
At times we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond the albatross --
at times became dizzy with the velocity of our descent into some
watery hell, where the air grew stagnant, and no sound disturbed the
slumbers of the kraken.

We were at the bottom of one of these abysses, when a quick scream
from my companion broke fearfully upon the night. "See! see!" cried
he, shrieking in my ears, "Almighty God! see! see!" As he spoke, I
became aware of a dull, sullen glare of red light which streamed down
the sides of the vast chasm where we lay, and threw a fitful
brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upwards, I beheld a
spectacle which froze the current of my blood. At a terrific height
directly above us, and upon the very verge of the precipitous
descent, hovered a gigantic ship of, perhaps, four thousand tons.
Although upreared upon the summit of a wave more than a hundred times
her own altitude, her apparent size exceeded that of any ship of the
line or East Indiaman in existence. Her huge hull was of a deep dingy
black, unrelieved by any of the customary carvings of a ship. A
single row of brass cannon protruded from her open ports, and dashed
from their polished surfaces the fires of innumerable
battle-lanterns, which swung to and fro about her rigging. But what
mainly inspired us with horror and astonishment, was that she bore up
under a press of sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea, and
of that ungovernable hurricane. When we first discovered her, her
bows were alone to be seen, as she rose slowly from the dim and
horrible gulf beyond her. For a moment of intense terror she paused
upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contemplation of her own sublimity,
then trembled and tottered, and -- came down.

At this instant, I know not what sudden self-possession came over my
spirit. Staggering as far aft as I could, I awaited fearlessly the
ruin that was to overwhelm. Our own vessel was at length ceasing from
her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea. The shock of the
descending mass struck her, consequently, in that portion of her
frame which was already under water, and the inevitable result was to
hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging of the
stranger.

As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about; and to the
confusion ensuing I attributed my escape from the notice of the crew.
With little difficulty I made my way unperceived to the main
hatchway, which was partially open, and soon found an opportunity of
secreting myself in the hold. Why I did so I can hardly tell. An
indefinite sense of awe, which at first sight of the navigators of
the ship had taken hold of my mind, was perhaps the principle of my
concealment. I was unwilling to trust myself with a race of people
who had offered, to the cursory glance I had taken, so many points of
vague novelty, doubt, and apprehension. I therefore thought proper to
contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This I did by removing a small
portion of the shifting-boards, in such a manner as to afford me a
convenient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship.

I had scarcely completed my work, when a footstep in the hold forced
me to make use of it. A man passed by my place of concealment with a
feeble and unsteady gait. I could not see his face, but had an
opportunity of observing his general appearance. There was about it
an evidence of great age and infirmity. His knees tottered beneath a
load of years, and his entire frame quivered under the burthen. He
muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, some words of a language
which I could not understand, and groped in a corner among a pile of
singular-looking instruments, and decayed charts of navigation. His
manner was a wild mixture of the peevishness of second childhood, and
the solemn dignity of a God. He at length went on deck, and I saw him
no more.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul
-- a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the lessons
of bygone times are inadequate, and for which I fear futurity itself
will offer me no key. To a mind constituted like my own, the latter
consideration is an evil. I shall never -- I know that I shall never
-- be satisfied with regard to the nature of my conceptions. Yet it
is not wonderful that these conceptions are indefinite, since they
have their origin in sources so utterly novel. A new sense -- a new
entity is added to my soul.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and the
rays of my destiny are, I think, gathering to a focus.
Incomprehensible men! Wrapped up in meditations of a kind which I
cannot divine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter folly
on my part, for the people will not see. It was but just now that I
passed directly before the eyes of the mate -- it was no long while
ago that I ventured into the captain's own private cabin, and took
thence the materials with which I write, and have written. I shall
from time to time continue this Journal. It is true that I may not
find an opportunity of transmitting it to the world, but I will not
fall to make the endeavour. At the last moment I will enclose the MS.
in a bottle, and cast it within the sea.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

An incident has occurred which has given me new room for meditation.
Are such things the operation of ungoverned Chance? I had ventured
upon deck and thrown myself down, without attracting any notice,
among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails in the bottom of the yawl.
While musing upon the singularity of my fate, I unwittingly daubed
with a tar-brush the edges of a neatly-folded studding-sail which lay
near me on a barrel. The studding-sail is now bent upon the ship, and
the thoughtless touches of the brush are spread out into the word
DISCOVERY.

I have made many observations lately upon the structure of the
vessel. Although well armed, she is not, I think, a ship of war. Her
rigging, build, and general equipment, all negative a supposition of
this kind. What she is not, I can easily perceive -- what she is I
fear it is impossible to say. I know not how it is, but in
scrutinizing her strange model and singular cast of spars, her huge
size and overgrown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and
antiquated stern, there will occasionally flash across my mind a
sensation of familiar things, and there is always mixed up with such
indistinct shadows of recollection, an unaccountable memory of old
foreign chronicles and ages long ago.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She is built of a
material to which I am a stranger. There is a peculiar character
about the wood which strikes me as rendering it unfit for the purpose
to which it has been applied. I mean its extreme porousness,
considered independently by the worm-eaten condition which is a
consequence of navigation in these seas, and apart from the
rottenness attendant upon age. It will appear perhaps an observation
somewhat over-curious, but this wood would have every, characteristic
of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any unnatural means.

In reading the above sentence a curious apothegm of an old
weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes full upon my recollection. "It
is as sure," he was wont to say, when any doubt was entertained of
his veracity, "as sure as there is a sea where the ship itself will
grow in bulk like the living body of the seaman."

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself among a group of the
crew. They paid me no manner of attention, and, although I stood in
the very midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious of my
presence. Like the one I had at first seen in the hold, they all bore
about them the marks of a hoary old age. Their knees trembled with
infirmity; their shoulders were bent double with decrepitude; their
shrivelled skins rattled in the wind; their voices were low,
tremulous and broken; their eyes glistened with the rheum of years;
and their gray hairs streamed terribly in the tempest. Around them,
on every part of the deck, lay scattered mathematical instruments of
the most quaint and obsolete construction.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I mentioned some time ago the bending of a studding-sail. From that
period the ship, being thrown dead off the wind, has continued her
terrific course due south, with every rag of canvas packed upon her,
from her trucks to her lower studding-sail booms, and rolling every
moment her top-gallant yard-arms into the most appalling hell of
water which it can enter into the mind of a man to imagine. I have
just left the deck, where I find it impossible to maintain a footing,
although the crew seem to experience little inconvenience. It appears
to me a miracle of miracles that our enormous bulk is not swallowed
up at once and forever. We are surely doomed to hover continually
upon the brink of Eternity, without taking a final plunge into the
abyss. From billows a thousand times more stupendous than any I have
ever seen, we glide away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull;
and the colossal waters rear their heads above us like demons of the
deep, but like demons confined to simple threats and forbidden to
destroy. I am led to attribute these frequent escapes to the only
natural cause which can account for such effect. -- I must suppose
the ship to be within the influence of some strong current, or
impetuous under-tow.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own cabin -- but, as
I expected, he paid me no attention. Although in his appearance there
is, to a casual observer, nothing which might bespeak him more or
less than man-still a feeling of irrepressible reverence and awe
mingled with the sensation of wonder with which I regarded him. In
stature he is nearly my own height; that is, about five feet eight
inches. He is of a well-knit and compact frame of body, neither
robust nor remarkably otherwise. But it is the singularity of the
expression which reigns upon the face -- it is the intense, the
wonderful, the thrilling evidence of old age, so utter, so extreme,
which excites within my spirit a sense -- a sentiment ineffable. His
forehead, although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the stamp
of a myriad of years. -- His gray hairs are records of the past, and
his grayer eyes are Sybils of the future. The cabin floor was thickly
strewn with strange, iron-clasped folios, and mouldering instruments
of science, and obsolete long-forgotten charts. His head was bowed
down upon his hands, and he pored, with a fiery unquiet eye, over a
paper which I took to be a commission, and which, at all events, bore
the signature of a monarch. He muttered to himself, as did the first
seaman whom I saw in the hold, some low peevish syllables of a
foreign tongue, and although the speaker was close at my elbow, his
voice seemed to reach my ears from the distance of a mile.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of Eld. The crew
glide to and fro like the ghosts of buried centuries; their eyes have
an eager and uneasy meaning; and when their fingers fall athwart my
path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I feel as I have never
felt before, although I have been all my life a dealer in
antiquities, and have imbibed the shadows of fallen columns at
Balbec, and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has become a
ruin.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

When I look around me I feel ashamed of my former apprehensions. If I
trembled at the blast which has hitherto attended us, shall I not
stand aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey any idea of
which the words tornado and simoom are trivial and ineffective? All
in the immediate vicinity of the ship is the blackness of eternal
night, and a chaos of foamless water; but, about a league on either
side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at intervals, stupendous
ramparts of ice, towering away into the desolate sky, and looking
like the walls of the universe.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current; if that
appellation can properly be given to a tide which, howling and
shrieking by the white ice, thunders on to the southward with a
velocity like the headlong dashing of a cataract.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I presume, utterly
impossible; yet a curiosity to penetrate the mysteries of these awful
regions, predominates even over my despair, and will reconcile me to
the most hideous aspect of death. It is evident that we are hurrying
onwards to some exciting knowledge -- some never-to-be-imparted
secret, whose attainment is destruction. Perhaps this current leads
us to the southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a
supposition apparently so wild has every probability in its favor.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous step; but there is
upon their countenances an expression more of the eagerness of hope
than of the apathy of despair.

In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and, as we carry a
crowd of canvas, the ship is at times lifted bodily from out the sea
-- Oh, horror upon horror! the ice opens suddenly to the right, and
to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense concentric
circles, round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre, the
summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance. But
little time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny -- the circles
rapidly grow small -- we are plunging madly within the grasp of the
whirlpool -- and amid a roaring, and bellowing, and thundering of
ocean and of tempest, the ship is quivering, oh God! and -- going
down.

NOTE. -- The "MS. Found in a Bottle," was originally published in
1831, and it was not until many years afterwards that I became
acquainted with the maps of Mercator, in which the ocean is
represented as rushing, by four mouths, into the (northern) Polar
Gulf, to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth; the Pole itself
being represented by a black rock, towering to a prodigious height.


~~~ End of Text ~~~


========

                       The Oval Portrait

THE chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible
entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition,
to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled
gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Appennines,
not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe. To all
appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We
established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously
furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its
decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung
with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial
trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited
modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque. In these
paintings, which depended from the walls not only in their main
surfaces, but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of
the chateau rendered necessary -- in these paintings my incipient
delirium, perhaps, had caused me to take deep interest; so that I
bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room -- since it was
already night -- to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which
stood by the head of my bed -- and to throw open far and wide the
fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I
wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at
least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and the
perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and
which purported to criticise and describe them.

Long -- long I read -- and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and
gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The position
of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand with
difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so
as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.

But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated. The rays
of the numerous candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche
of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of
the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed
before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into
womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then closed my
eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own
perception. But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in my
mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to
gain time for thought -- to make sure that my vision had not deceived
me -- to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain
gaze. In a very few moments I again looked fixedly at the painting.

That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first
flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the
dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at
once into waking life.

The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It was a
mere head and shoulders, done in what is technically termed a
vignette manner; much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully.
The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair melted
imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the
back-ground of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded and
filigreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more
admirable than the painting itself. But it could have been neither
the execution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the
countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least
of all, could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half
slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at
once that the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of
the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea -- must have
prevented even its momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon
these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half
reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At length,
satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the
bed. I had found the spell of the picture in an absolute
life-likeliness of expression, which, at first startling, finally
confounded, subdued, and appalled me. With deep and reverent awe I
replaced the candelabrum in its former position. The cause of my deep
agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume
which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning to the
number which designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and
quaint words which follow:

"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of
glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the
painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and having already a
bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely
than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young
fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating only the Art which was
her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward
instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It
was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of
his desire to portray even his young bride. But she was humble and
obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high
turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from
overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on
from hour to hour, and from day to day. And be was a passionate, and
wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would
not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret
withered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly
to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly,
because she saw that the painter (who had high renown) took a fervid
and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict
her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak.
And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in
low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power
of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so
surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew nearer to its
conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter
had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from
canvas merely, even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he
would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were
drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many weeks
bad passed, and but little remained to do, save one brush upon the
mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again
flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the
brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one moment,
the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought; but
in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid,
and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, 'This is indeed Life
itself!' turned suddenly to regard his beloved: -- She was dead!





End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Works of Edgar Allan Poe V. 1