The Raven Edition

THE WORKS OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE

IN FIVE VOLUMES




VOLUME I  Contents

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




EDGAR ALLAN POE 

AN APPRECIATION 


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

                                     W. H. R. 

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

========== 

EDGAR ALLAN POE{*1} 

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 


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

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

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

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

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

the drowning pertinacity of Watts; neither have they the interest of 
his occasional simple, lucky beauty. Bums 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 lie 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 bad 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, tip to the day of his death, that we knew 
of any other development of manner or character. We heard, from one 
who knew him well (what should be stated in all mention of his 
lamentable irregularities), that, with a single glass of wine, his 
whole nature was reversed, the demon became uppermost, and, though 
none of the usual signs of intoxication were visible, his will was 
palpably insane. Possessing his reasoning faculties in excited 
activity, at such times, and seeking his acquaintances with his 
wonted look and memory, he easily seemed personating only another 
phase of his natural character, and was accused, accordingly, of 
insulting arrogance and bad-heartedness. In this reversed character, 
we repeat, it was never our chance to see him. We know it from 
hearsay, and we mention it in connection with this sad infirmity of 
physical constitution; which puts it upon very nearly the ground of a 
temporary and almost irresponsible insanity. 

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

                                  "FORDHAM, April 20, 1849 


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

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

                      "Truly yours ever, 

                        "EDGAR A. POE." 


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

                          "FORDHAM, January 22, 1848. 


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

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

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

                         _"Your friend always, 

                             "EDGAR A. POE.'' 


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

========== 


              The Unparalleled Adventures of

                   One Hans Pfaal {*1}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HANS PFAALL."

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

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

Don't understand at all.

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

Well -- what of that?

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

He was mistaken -- undoubtedly -- mistaken.

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

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

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

~~~ End of Text ~~~ 

Notes to Hans Pfaal 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


====== 


                        THE GOLD-BUG

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

          He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.

               _--All in the Wrong._

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "What? - sunrise?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a 
very passable skull - indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent 
skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of 
physiology - and your scarabæus must be the queerest scarabæus in the 
world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit of 
superstition upon this hint. I presume you will call the bug 
scarabæus caput hominis, or something of that kind - there are many 
similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennæ 
you spoke of?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

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

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

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

    "How? what do you mean?"

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

    "The what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "What de matter, massa?"

    "Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand "

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

        MY DEAR --

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

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

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

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

            Ever yours,                     WILLIAM LEGRAND.

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

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

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

    "Him syfe, massa, and spade."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug - you 
mus git him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand arose, with a grave 
and stately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which 
it was enclosed. It was a beautiful scarabæus, and, at that time, 
unknown to naturalists - of course a great prize in a scientific 
point of view. There were two round, black spots near one extremity 
of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were 
exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished 
gold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all 
things into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his 
opinion respecting it; but what to make of Legrand's concordance with 
that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell.

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

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

    "Feel my pulse," said he.

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

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

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

    "And how is this to be done?"

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

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

    "It has."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "How much fudder is got for go?"

    "How high up are you?" asked Legrand.

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

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

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

    "Then go one limb higher."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "By yourself! - what do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Yes, massa."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "That will do - must try it again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "But proceed - I am all impatience."

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

    "Never."

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

    "But how did you proceed?"

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

"53‡‡†305))6*;4826)4‡)4‡;806*;48‡8¶60))85;1-(;:*8-83(88)5*‡

;46(;88*96*?;8)*‡(;485);5*†2:*‡(;4956*2(5*- 4)8¶8*;40692

85);)6†8)4;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡1;48†85;4)485†528806*81(‡9;48;

(88;4(‡?34;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?;"

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

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

    "And you really solved it?"

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

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

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

    Of the character          8 there are    33.

                              ;        "     26.

                              4        "     19.

                            ‡ )        "     16.

                              *        "     13.

                              5        "     12.

                              6        "     11.

                            † 1        "      8.

                              0        "      6.

                           9 2         "      5.

                            : 3        "      4.

                              ?        "      3.

                              ¶        "      2.

                              -.       "      1.

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

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

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

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

t eeth.

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

t ee,

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

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

the tree ;4(‡?34 the,

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

the tree thr‡?3h the.

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

the tree thr...h the,

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

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

83(88, or egree,

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

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

;46(;88.

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

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

53‡‡†.

    "Translating, as before, we obtain

good,

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

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

                    5 represents      a

                    †       "         d

                    8       "         e

                    3       "         g

                    4       "         h

                    6       "         i

                    *       "         n

                    ‡       "         o

                    (        "         r

                    ;        "         t

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

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

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

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

    "You mean, to punctuate it?"

    "Something of that kind."

    "But how was it possible to effect this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

_

~~~ End of Text ~~~

==========

 
                          FOUR BEASTS IN ONE 

                        THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD 

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

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

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

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

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

-satisfying your eyes

With the memorials and the things of fame

That most renown this city.-

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

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

Very true.

"There are a prodigious number of stately palaces."

There are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bless me! it is an ape!"

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

Mille, mille, mille,

Mille, mille, mille,

Decollavimus, unus homo!

Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!

Mille, mille, mille,

Vivat qui mille mille occidit!

Tantum vini habet nemo

Quantum sanguinis effudit!{*1}

Which may be thus paraphrased:

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

We, with one warrior, have slain!

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

Sing a thousand over again!

Soho! -- let us sing

Long life to our king,

Who knocked over a thousand so fine!

Soho! -- let us roar,

He has given us more

Red gallons of gore

Than all Syria can furnish of wine!

"Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"

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

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

Then you must be blind.

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

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

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Say -- do you know?

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Bravo! -- bravo!

There is none but Epiphanes,

No -- there is none:

So tear down the temples,

And put out the sun!

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

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

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

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

Come let us be off.

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

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

~~~ End of Text ~~~

Footnotes  -- Four Beasts

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

 
==========

 
                     THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

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

                      --_Sir Thomas Browne._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perdidit antiquum litera sonum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next day's paper had these additional particulars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I made the attempt in vain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

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

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

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

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To be sure I am, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Rousseau - Nouvelle Heloise.



~~~ End of Text ~~~

==========



                   THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.{*1} 

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

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

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

                   - Novalis. {*2} Moral Ansichten. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
~~~ End of Text ~~~ 

 
FOOTNOTES--Marie Rogêt 

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

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

{*3} Nassau Street. 

{*4} Anderson. 

{*5} The Hudson. 

{*6} Weehawken. 

{*7} Payne. 

{*8} Crommelin. 

{*9} The New York "Mercury." 

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

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

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

{*13} Adam 

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

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

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

{*17} New York "Express" 

{*18} NewYork "Herald." 

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

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

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

{*22} New York "Evening Post." 

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

 
========== 



                            THE BALLOON-HOAX

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

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

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

"THE BALLOON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"THE JOURNAL.

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

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

    "_Sunday, the seventh_.  [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morning the gale, 
by 10, had subsided to an eight or nine - knot breeze, (for a vessel 
at sea,) and bears us, perhaps, thirty miles per hour, or more. It 
has veered, however, very considerably to the north ;  and now, at 
sundown, we are holding our course due west, principally by the screw 
and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration.  I regard the 
project as thoroughly successful, and the easy navigation of the air 
in any direction (not exactly in the teeth of a gale) as no longer 
problematical.  We could not have made head against the strong wind 
of yesterday ;  but, by ascending, we might have got out of its 
influence, if requisite.  Against a pretty stiff breeze, I feel 
convinced, we can make our way with the propeller.  At noon, to-day, 
ascended to an elevation of nearly 25,000 feet, by discharging 
ballast.  Did this to search for a more direct current, but found 
none so favorable as the one we are now in.  We have an abundance of 
gas to take us across this small pond, even should the voyage last 
three weeks.  I have not the slightest fear for the result.  The 
difficulty has been strangely exaggerated and misapprehended.  I can 
choose my current, and should I find _all_ currents against me, I can 
make very tolerable headway with the propeller.  We have had no 
incidents worth recording.  The night promises fair. 
 
    P.S.  [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to record, except the 
fact (to me quite a surprising one) that, at an elevation equal to 
that of Cotopaxi, I experienced neither very intense cold, nor 
headache, nor difficulty of breathing ;  neither, I find, did Mr. 
Mason, nor Mr. Holland, nor Sir Everard.  Mr. Osborne complained of 
constriction of the chest - but this soon wore off.  We have flown at 
a great rate during the day, and we must be more than half way across 
the Atlantic.  We have passed over some twenty or thirty vessels of 
various kinds, and all seem to be delightfully astonished.  Crossing 
the ocean in a balloon is not so difficult a feat after all.  _Omne 
ignotum pro magnifico.  Mem :_  at 25,000 feet elevation the sky 
appears nearly black, and the stars are distinctly visible ;  while 
the sea does not seem convex (as one might suppose) but absolutely 
and most unequivocally _concave_.{*1}

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

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

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

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

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



~~~ End of Text ~~~

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



 
==========

                         MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE

                   Qui n'a plus qu'un moment a vivre

                   N'a plus rien a dissimuler.

                                 -- Quinault -- Atys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

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

 
~~~ End of Text ~~~

 
========

                       The Oval Portrait

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

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

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

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

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

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