SHORT-STORIES

EDITED BY L. A. PITTENGER, A. M. , CRITIC IN ENGLISH, INDIANA UNIVERSITY

New York: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 1914

Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1913. Reprinted January, 1914. 

Norwood Press, J. S. Cushing Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. , Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

A PREFATORY NOTE

This collection of short-stories does not illustrate the history ofshort-story writing, nor does it pretend that these are the ten beststories ever written, but it does attempt to present selections from alist of the greatest short-stories that have proved, in actual use, most beneficial to high school students. 

The introduction presents a concise statement of the essentials of thehistory, qualities, and composition of the short-story. A briefbiography of each author and a criticism covering the maincharacteristics of his writings serve as starting points for therecitation. The references following both the biography and criticismare given in order that the study of the short-story may be amplified, and that high school teachers may build a systematic and serviceablelibrary about their class work in the teaching of the story. Thecollateral readings, listed after each story, will aid in the creationof a suitable atmosphere for the story studied, and explain manyquestions developed in the recitation. Only such definitions as arenot easily found in school dictionaries are included in the notes. 

CONTENTS

PREFATORY NOTE

INTRODUCTION: History of the Short-story Qualities of the Short-story Composition of the Short-story Books for Reference Collections of Short-stories

THE FATHER. 1860. Björnstjerne Björnson. 

THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANON. 1887. Frank R. Stockton. 

THE PIECE OF STRING. 1884. Guy de Maupassant. 

THE MAN WHO WAS. 1889. Rudyard Kipling. 

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER. 1839. Edgar Allan Poe. 

THE GOLD-BUG. 1843. Edgar Allan Poe. 

THE BIRTHMARK. 1843. Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

ETHAN BRAND. 1848. Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

THE SIRE DE MALÉTROIT'S DOOR. 1878. Robert Louis Stevenson. 

MARKHEIM. 1884. Robert Louis Stevenson. 

INTRODUCTION

HISTORY OF THE SHORT-STORY

Just when, where, and by whom story-telling was begun no one can say. From the first use of speech, no doubt, our ancestors have toldstories of war, love, mysteries, and the miraculous performances oflower animals and inanimate objects. The ultimate source of allstories lies in a thorough democracy, unhampered by the restrictionsof a higher civilization. Many tales spring from a loathsome filththat is extremely obnoxious to our present day tastes. The remarkableand gratifying truth is, however, that the short-story, beginning inthe crude and brutal stages of man's development, has graduallyunfolded to greater and more useful possibilities, until in our owntime it is a most flexible and moral literary form. 

The first historical evidence in the development of the story shows noconception of a short-story other than that it is not so long as othernarratives. This judgment of the short-story obtained until thebeginning of the nineteenth century, when a new version of its meaningwas given, and an enlarged vision of its possibilities was experiencedby a number of writers almost simultaneously. In the early centuriesof story-telling there was only one purpose in mind--that of narratingfor the joy of the telling and hearing. The story-tellers sacrificedunity and totality of effect as well as originality for anentertaining method of reciting their incidents. 

The story of _Ruth_ and the _Prodigal Son_ are excellent short tales, but they do not fulfill the requirements of our modern short-story forthe reason that they are not constructed for one single impression, but are in reality parts of possible longer stories. They are, as itwere, parts of stories not unlike _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ and _ALear of the Steppes_, and lack those complete and concise artisticeffects found in the short-stories, _Markheim_ and _Mumu_, by the sameauthors. Both _Ruth_ and the _Prodigal Son_ are exceptionally welltold, possess a splendid moral tone, and are excellent prophecies ofwhat the nineteenth century has developed for us in the art ofshort-story writing. 

The Greeks did very little writing in prose until the era of theirdecadence, and showed little instinct to use the concise and unifiedform of the short-story. The conquering Romans followed closely in thepaths of their predecessors and did little work in the shorternarratives. The myths of Greece and Rome were not bound by facts, andopened a wonderland where writers were free to roam. The epics wereslow in movement, and presented a list of loosely organized storiesarranged about some character like Ulysses or AEneas. 

During the mediaeval period story-tellers and stories appearedeverywhere. The more ignorant of these story-tellers produced thefable, and the educated monks produced the simple, crude anddisjointed tales. The _Gesta Romanorum_ is a wonderful storehouse ofthese mediaeval stories. In the _Decameron_ Boccaccio deals withtraditional and contemporary materials. He is a born story-teller andpresents many interesting and well-told narratives, but as ProfessorBaldwin[1] has said, more than half are merely anecdotes, and theremaining stories are bare plots, ingeniously done in a kind ofscenario form. Three approach our modern idea of the short-story, andtwo, the second story of the second day and the sixth story of theninth day, actually attain to our standard. Boccaccio was notconscious of a standard in short-story telling, for he had none in thesense that Poe and Maupassant defined and practiced it. Chaucer inEngland told his stories in verse and added the charm of humor andwell defined characters to the development of story-telling. 

In the seventeenth century Cervantes gave the world its first greatnovel, _Don Quixote_. Cervantes was careless in his work and did notwrite short-stories, but tales that are fairly brief. Spain added tothe story a high sense of chivalry and a richness of character thatthe Greek romance and the Italian novella did not possess. Francefollowed this loose composition and lack of beauty in form. Scarronand Le Sage, the two French fiction writers of this period, contributed little or nothing to the advancement of story-telling. Cervantes' _The Liberal Lover_ is as near as this period came toproducing a real short-story. 

The story-telling of the seventeenth century was largely shaped by thepopularity of the drama. In the eighteenth century the drama gaveplace to the essay, and it is to the sketch and essay that we must goto trace the evolution of the story during this period. Voltaire inFrance had a burning message in every essay, and he paid far greaterattention to the development of the thought of his message than to thestory he was telling. Addison and Steele in the _Spectator_ developedsome real characters of the fiction type and told some good stories, but even their best, like _Theodosius and Constantia_, fall far shortof developing all the dramatic possibilities, and lack the focusing ofinterest found in the nineteenth century stories. Some of Lamb's_Essays of Elia_, especially the _Dream Children_, introduce adelicate fancy and an essayist's clearness of thought and statementinto the story. At the close of this century German romanticism beganto seep into English thought and prepare the way for things new inliterary thought and treatment. 

The nineteenth century opened with a decided preference for fiction. Washington Irving, reverting to the _Spectator_, produced hissketches, and, following the trend of his time, looked forward to anew form and wrote _The Spectre Bridegroom_ and _Rip Van Winkle_. Itis only by a precise definition of short-story that Irving is robbedof the honor of being the founder of the modern short-story. He lovedto meander and to fit his materials to his story scheme in a leisurelymanner. He did not quite see what Hawthorne instinctively followed andPoe consciously defined and practiced, and he did not realize thatterseness of statement and totality of impression were the chiefqualities he needed to make him the father of a new literary form. Poeand Maupassant have reduced the form of the short-story to an exactscience; Hawthorne and Harte have done successfully in the field ofromanticism what the Germans, Tieck and Hoffman, did not do so well;Bjornson and Henry James have analyzed character psychologically intheir short-stories; Kipling has used the short-story as a vehicle forthe conveyance of specific knowledge; Stevenson has gathered most, ifnot all, of the literary possibilities adaptable to short-story use, and has incorporated them in his _Markheim_. 

France with her literary newspapers and artistic tendencies, and theUnited States with magazines calling incessantly for goodshort-stories, and with every section of its conglomerate lifeclamoring to express itself, lead in the production and rank ofshort-stories. Maupassant and Stevenson and Hawthorne and Poe are thegreat names in the ranks of short-story writers. The list of presentday writers is interminable, and high school students can best acquirea reasonable appreciation of the great work these writers are doing byreading regularly some of the better grade literary magazines. 

For a comprehensive view of specimens representing the history anddevelopment of the short-story, students should have access to BranderMatthews' _The Short Story_, Jessup and Canby's _The Book of theShort-Story_, and Waite and Taylor's _Modern Masterpieces of ShortProse Fiction_. 

NOTE: [1] _American Short-Stories_, by Charles Sears Baldwin, NewYork: Longmans, Green, & Company, 1904. 

QUALITIES OF THE SHORT-STORY

It was not until well along in the nineteenth century that any oneattempted to define the short-story. The three quotations given hereare among the best things that have been spoken on this subject. 

"The right novella is never a novel cropped back from the size of atree to a bush, or the branch of a tree stuck into the ground and madeto serve for a bush. It is another species, destined by the agenciesat work in the realm of unconsciousness to be brought into being ofits own kind, and not of another, "--W. D. Howells, _North AmericanReview_, 173:429. 

"A true short-story is something other and something more than a merestory which is short. A true short-story differs from the novelchiefly in its essential unity of impression. In a far more exact andprecise use of the word, a short-story has unity as a novel cannothave it.... A short-story deals with a single character, a singleevent, a single emotion, or the series of emotions called forth by asingle situation. --Brander Matthews, _The Philosophy of theShort-Story_. 

"The aim of a short-story is to produce a single narrative effect withthe greatest economy of means that is consistent with the utmostemphasis. "--Clayton Hamilton, _Materials and Methods of Fiction_. 

The short-story must always have a compact unity and a directsimplicity. In such stories as Björnson's _The Father_ andMaupassant's _The Piece of String_ this simplicity is equal to that ofthe anecdote, but in no case can an anecdote possess the dramaticpossibilities of these simple short-stories; for a short-story mustalways have that tensity of emotion that comes only in the crucialtests of life. 

The short-story does not demand the consistency in treatment of thelong story, for there are not so many elements to marshal and directproperly, but the short-story must be original and varied in itsthemes, cleverly constructed, and lighted through and through with theglow of vivid imaginings. A single incident in daily life is caught asin a snap-shot exposure and held before the reader in such a mannerthat the impression of the whole is derived largely from suggestion. The single incident may be the turning-point in life history, as in_The Man Who Was_; it may be a mental surrender of habits fixedseemingly in indelible colors in the soul and a sudden, inflexibledecision to be a man, as in the case of _Markheim;_ or it may be agradual realization of the value of spiritual gifts, as Björnson hasconcisely presented it in his little story _The Father_. 

The aim of the short-story is always to present a cross-section oflife in such a vivid manner that the importance of the incidentbecomes universal. Some short-stories are told with the definite endin view of telling a story for the sake of exploiting a plot. _TheCask of Amontillado_ is all action in comparison with _The Masque ofthe Red Death. The Gold-Bug_ sets for itself the task of solving apuzzle and possesses action from first to last. Other stories teach amoral. _Ethan Brand_ deals with the unpardonable sin, and _The GreatStone Face_ is our classic story in the field of ideals and theirdevelopment. Hawthorne, above all writers, is most interested inethical laws and moral development. Still other stories aim to portraycharacter. Miss Jewett and Mrs. Freeman veraciously picture thefaded-put womanhood in New England; Henry James and Björnson turn thex-rays of psychology and sociology on their characters; Stevensonfollows with the precision of the tick of a watch the steps inMarkheim's mental evolution. 

The types of the short-story are as varied as life itself. Addison, Lamb, Irving, Warner, and many others have used the story in theirsketches and essays with wonderful effect. _The Legend of SleepyHollow_ is as impressive as any of Scott's tales. The allegory in _TheGreat Stone Face_ loses little or nothing when compared with Bunyan's_Pilgrim's Progress_. No better type of detective story has beenwritten than the two short-stories, _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_and _The Purloined Letter_. Every emotion is subject to the call ofthe short-story. Humor with its expansive free air is not so welladapted to the short-story as is pathos. There is a sadness in thestories of Dickens, Garland, Page, Mrs. Freeman, Miss Jewett, Maupassant, Poe, and many others that runs the whole gamut frompleasing tenderness in _A Child's Dream of a Star_ to unutterablehorror in _The Fall of the House of Usher_. 

The short-story is stripped of all the incongruities that ledFielding, Scott, and Dickens far afield. All its parts harmonize inthe simplest manner to give unity and "totality" of impression throughstrict unity of form. It is a concentrated piece of life snatched fromthe ordinary and uneventful round of living and steeped in fancy untilit becomes the acme of literary art. 

COMPOSITION OF THE SHORT-STORY

Any student who wishes to express himself correctly and pleasingly, and desires a keener sense for the appreciation of literary work mustwrite. The way others have done the thing never appears in a forcefullight until one sets himself at a task of like nature. Just so in thestudy of this text. To find and appreciate the better points of theshort-story, students must write stories of their own, patterned in asmall way on the technique of the masterpieces. 

The process of short-story writing follows in a general way thefollowing program. In the first place the class must have somethinginteresting and suggestive to write about. Sometimes the class cansuggest a subject; newspapers almost every day give incidents worthyof story treatment; happenings in the community often give the verybest material for stories; and phases of the literature work may wellbe used in the development of students' themes. Change the type ofcharacter and place, reconstruct the plot, or require a differentending for the story, leaving the plot virtually as it is, and thenassign to the class. Boys and girls should invariably be taught to seestories in the life about them, in the newspapers and magazines ontheir library tables, and in the masterpieces they study in theirclass work. 

After the idea that the class wishes to develop has been definitelydetermined and the material for this development has been gathered andgrouped about the idea, the class should select a viewpoint andproceed to write. Sometimes the author should tell the story, sometimes a third person who may be of secondary importance in thestory should be given the rôle of the story-teller, sometimes thewhole may be in dialogue. The class should choose a fitting method. 

Young writers should be very careful about the beginning of a story. An action story should start with a striking incident that catches thereader's attention at once and forecasts subsequent happenings. Inevery case this first incident must have in it the essence of the endof the story and should be perfectly logical to the reader after hehas finished the reading. A story in which the setting is emphasizedcan well begin, with a description and contain a number ofdescriptions and expositions, distributed with a sense of proprietythroughout the theme. A good method to use in the opening of acharacter story is that of conversation. An excellent example of asharp use of this device is Mrs. Freeman's _Revolt of Mother_, wherethe first paragraph is a single spoken word. 

Every incident included in the story should be tested for its value inthe development of the theme. An incident that does not amplifycertain phases of the story has no right to be included, and greatcare should be used in an effort to incorporate just the materialnecessary for the proper evolution of the thought. The problem is notso much what can be secured to be included in the story, but rather, after making a thorough collection of the material, what of all thesepoints should be cast out. 

The ending must be a natural outgrowth of the development found in thebody of the composition. Even in a story with a surprise ending, ofwhich we are tempted to say that we have had no preparation for such aturn in the story, there must be hints--the subtler the better--thatpoint unerringly and always toward the end. The end is presupposed inthe beginning and the changing of one means the altering of the other. 

Young writers have trouble in stopping at the right place. They shouldlearn, as soon as possible, that to drag on after the logical endinghas been reached spoils the best of stories. It is just as bad to stopbefore arriving at the true end. In other words there is only oneplace for the ending of a story, and in no case can it be shiftedwithout ruining the idea that has obtained throughout the theme. 

There are certain steps in the development of story-writing thatshould be followed if the best results are to be obtained. The firstassignment should require only the writing of straight narrative. _TheArabian Nights Tales_ and children's stories represent this type ofwriting and will give the teacher valuable aid in the presentation ofthis work. After the students have produced simple stories resemblingthe Sinbad Voyages, they should next add descriptions of persons andplaces and explanations of situations to develop clearness andinterest in their original productions. Taking these themes in turnstudents should be required to introduce plot incidents thatcomplicate the simple happenings and divert the straightforward trendof the narrative. Now that the stories are well developed in theirdescriptions, expositions, and plot interests they should be testedfor their emotional effects. Students should go through their themes, and by making the proper changes give in some cases a humorous and inothers a pathetic or tragic effect. These few suggestions are given toemphasize the facts that no one conceives a story in all its detailsin a moment of inspiration, and that there is a way of proceeding thatpasses in logical gradations from the simplest to the most complexphases of story writing. 

Franklin and Stevenson knew no rules for writing other than topractice incessantly on some form they wished to imitate. Hard work isthe first lesson that boys and girls must learn in the art of writing, and a systematic gradation of assignments is what the teacher mustprovide for his students. Walter Besant gave the following rules fornovel writers. Some of them may be suggestive to writers of the highschool age, so the list is given in its complete form. "(1) Practicewriting something original every day. (2) Cultivate the habit ofobservation. (3) Work regularly at certain hours. (4) Read no rubbish. (5) Aim at the formation of style. (6) Endeavor to be dramatic. (7) Agreat element of dramatic skill is selection. (8) Avoid the sin ofwriting about a character. (9) Never attempt to describe any kind oflife except that with which you are familiar. (10) Learn as much asyou can about men and women. (11) For the sake of forming a goodnatural style, and acquiring command of language, write poetry. "

SHORT-STORY LIBRARY

_BOOKS FOR REFERENCE_:

_American Short-Stories_, Charles Baldwin, Longmans, Green, & Co. 

_A Study of Prose Fiction_, Chapter XII, Bliss Perry, Houghton, Mifflin Co. 

_Composition Rhetoric_, T. C. Blaisdell, American Book Co. 

_Forms of Prose Literature_, J. H. Gardiner, Charles Scribner's Sons. 

_Materials and Methods of Fiction_, Clayton Hamilton, The Baker andTaylor Co. 

_Principles of Literary Criticism_, C. T. Winchester, The Macmillan Co. 

_Short-Story Writing_, C. R. Barrett. The Baker and Taylor Co. 

_Specimens of the Short-Story_, G. H. Nettleton, H. Holt & Co. 

_Story-Writing and Journalism_, Sherwin Cody, Funk & Wagnalls Co. 

_Talks on Writing English_, Arlo Bates, Houghton Mifflin Co. 

_The Writing of the Short-Story_, L. W. Smith, D. C. Heath & Co. 

_The Philosophy of the Short-Story_, Brander Matthews, Longmans, Green, & Co. 

_The World's Greatest Short-Stories_, Sherwin Cody, A. C. McClurg & Co. 

_The Short-Story_, Henry Canby, Henry Holt & Co. 

_The Short-Story_, Evelyn May Albright, The Macmillan Co. 

_The Book of the Short-Story_, Jessup and Canby, D. Appleton & Co. 

_Modern Masterpieces of Short Prose Fiction_, Waite and Taylor, D. Appleton & Co. 

_The Short-Story_, Brander Matthews, American Book Co. 

_Writing the Short-Story_, Esenwein, Hinds, Noble & Eldredge. 

_A Study of the Short-Story in English_, Henry Seidel Canby, HenryHolt & Co. 

COLLECTIONS OF SHORT-STORIES:_

_American Short-Stories_, Charles S. Baldwin, Longmans, Green, & Co. 

_Great Short-Stories_, 3 vols. , William Patten, P. F. Collier & Son. 

_Little French Masterpieces_, 6 vols. Alexander Jessup, G. P. Putnam'sSons. 

_Short-Story Classics_ (American), 5 vols. , William Patten, P. F. Collier & Son. 

_Short-Story Classics_ (Foreign), 5 vols. , William Patten, P. F. Collier & Son. 

_Stories by American Authors_, 10 vols. , Charles Scribner's Sons. 

_Stories by English Authors_, 10 vols. , Charles Scribner's Sons. 

_Stories by Foreign Authors_, 10 vols. , Charles Scribner's Sons. 

_Stories New and Old_ (American and English), Hamilton W. Mabie, TheMacmillan Co. 

_World's Greatest Short-Stories_, Sherwin Cody, A. C. McClurg & Co. 

_The American Short-Story_, Elias Lieberman. 

THE FATHER[1]

_By Björnstjerne Björnson (1838-1910)_

The man whose story is here to be told was the wealthiest and mostinfluential person in his parish; his name was Thord Överaas. Heappeared in the priest's study one day, tall and earnest. 

"I have gotten a son, " said he, "and I wish to present him forbaptism. "

"What shall his name be?"

"Finn, --after my father. "

"And the sponsors?"

They were mentioned, and proved to be the best men and women ofThord's relations in the parish. 

"Is there anything else?" inquired the priest, and looked up. Thepeasant hesitated a little. 

"I should like very much to have him baptized by himself, " said he, finally. 

"That is to say on a week-day?"

"Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock noon. "

"Is there anything else?" inquired the priest, "There is nothing else;" and the peasant twirled his cap, as though hewere about to go. 

Then the priest rose. "There is yet this, however. " said he, andwalking toward Thord, he took him by the hand and looked gravely intohis eyes: "God grant that the child may become a blessing to you!"

One day sixteen years later, Thord stood once more in the priest'sstudy. 

"Really, you carry your age astonishingly well, Thord, " said thepriest; for he saw no change whatever in the man. 

"That is because I have no troubles, " replied Thord. To this thepriest said nothing, but after a while he asked: "What is yourpleasure this evening?"

"I have come this evening about that son of mine who is to beconfirmed to-morrow. "

"He is a bright boy. "

"I did not wish to pay the priest until I heard what number the boywould have when he takes his place in the church to-morrow. "

"He will stand number one. "

"So I have heard; and here are ten dollars for the priest. "

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" inquired the priest, fixinghis eyes on Thord. 

"There is nothing else. "

Thord went out. 

Eight years more rolled by, and then one day a noise was heard outsideof the priest's study, for many men were approaching, and at theirhead was Thord, who entered first. 

The priest looked up and recognized him. 

"You come well attended this evening, Thord, " said he. 

"I am here to request that the banns may be published for my son: heis about to marry Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who standshere beside me. "

"Why, that is the richest girl in the parish. "

"So they say, " replied the peasant, stroking back his hair with onehand. 

The priest sat a while as if in deep thought, then entered the namesin his book, without making any comments, and the men wrote theirsignatures underneath. Thord laid three dollars on the table. 

"One is all I am to have, " said the priest. 

"I know that very well; but he is my only child; I want to do ithandsomely. "

The priest took the money. 

"This is now the third time, Thord, that you have come here on yourson's account. "

"But now I am through with him, " said Thord, and folding up hispocket-book he said farewell and walked away. 

The men slowly followed him. 

A fortnight later, the father and son were rowing across the lake, onecalm, still day, to Storliden to make arrangements for the wedding. 

"This thwart[2] is not secure, " said the son, and stood up tostraighten the seat on which he was sitting. 

At the same moment the board he was standing on slipped from underhim; he threw out his arms, uttered a shriek, and fell overboard. 

"Take hold-of the oar!" shouted the father, springing to his feet, andholding out the oar. 

But when the son had made a couple of efforts he grew stiff. 

"Wait a moment!" cried the father, and began to row toward his son. 

Then the son rolled over on his back, gave his father one long look, and sank. 

Thord could scarcely believe it; he held the boat still, and stared atthe spot where his son had gone down, as though he must surely come tothe surface again. There rose some bubbles, then some more, andfinally one large one that burst; and the lake lay there as smooth andbright as a mirror again. 

For three days and three nights people saw the father rowing round andround the spot, without taking either food or sleep; he was draggingthe lake for the body of his son. And toward morning of the third dayhe found it, and carried it in his arms up over the hills to hisgard[3]. 

It might have been about a year from that day, when the priest, lateone autumn evening, heard some one in the passage outside of the door, carefully trying to find the latch. The priest opened the door, and inwalked a tall, thin man, with bowed form and white hair. The priestlooked long at him before he recognized him. It was Thord. 

"Are you out walking so late?" said the priest, and stood still infront of him. 

"Ah, yes! it is late, " said Thord, and took a seat. 

The priest sat down also, as though waiting. A long, long silencefollowed. At last Thord said, --

"I have something with me that I should like to give to the poor; Iwant it to be invested as a legacy in my son's name. "

He rose, laid some money on the table, and sat down again. The priestcounted it. 

"It is a great deal of money, " said he. 

"It is half the price of my gard. I sold it to-day. "

The priest sat long in silence. At last he asked, but gently, --

"What do you propose to do now, Thord?"

"Something better. "

They sat there for a while, Thord with downcast eyes, the priest withhis eyes fixed on Thord. Presently the priest said, slowly andsoftly, --

"I think your son has at last brought you a true blessing. "

"Yes, I think so myself, " said Thord, looking up, while two big tearscoursed slowly down his cheeks. 

NOTES

[1] This story was written in 1860. Translated from the Norwegian byProfessor Rasmus B. Anderson. It is printed by permission of andspecial arrangement with _Houghton Mifflin Co. _, publishers. 

[2] 3:28 thwart. A seat, across a boat, on which the oarsman, sits. 

[3] 4:21 gard. A Norwegian farm. 

BIOGRAPHY

Björnstjerne Björnson, Norse poet, novelist, dramatist, orator, andpolitical leader, was born December 8, 1832, and died in Paris, April26, 1910. From his strenuous father, a Lutheran priest who preachedwith tongue and fist, he inherited the physique of a Norse god. Hepossessed the mind of a poet and the arm of a warrior. At the age oftwelve he was sent to the Molde grammar school, where he provedhimself a very dull student. In 1852 ho entered the university inChristiana. Here he neglected his studies to write poetry andjournalistic articles. 

In politics Björnson was a tremendous force. Dr. Brandes has said; "Tospeak the name of Björnson is like hoisting the colors of Norway. " Hewas honored as a king in his native land. He won this recognition byno party affiliation, but by his natural gifts as a poet. His magneticeloquence, great message, and sterling character compelled hiscountrymen to follow and honor him. He says of his success in thisfield: "The secret with me is that in success as in failure, in theconsciousness of my doing as in my habits, I am myself. There are agreat many who dare not, or lack the ability, to be themselves. " Forhis views on political issues the following references may well beused: _Independent_. January 31, 1901, pp. 253-257; _CurrentLiterature_, November, 1906, p. 581; and _Independent_, July 13, 1905, pp. 92-94. 

Björnson and Ibsen, the two foremost men of Norway, were very closelyassociated throughout life. They were schoolmates, and both wereinterested in writing and producing plays. Ibsen's son, Dr. SigurdIbsen, married Björnson's daughter, Bergilot. These two great writerswere direct contrasts in nearly everything: Björnson lived among hispeople, Ibsen was reserved; Björnson played the rôle of an optimisticprophet, Ibsen, that of a pessimistic judge; the former was always aconciliatory spirit, the latter a revolutionist; and Björnson provedhimself a patriotic Norwegian, Ibsen, a man of the entire world. 

Lack of space forbids the inclusion of a list of Björnson's writing's. High school teachers will find suitable selections in the list ofcollateral readings that follows. Those who wish a completebibliography of his works will find it in _Bookman_, Volume II, p. 65. Translations of his works by Rasmus B. Anderson, Houghton Mifflin Co. , and Edmund Gosse, the Macmillan Co. , will furnish students extensiveand standard readings of this master story-teller. 

CRITICISMS

Björnson, in his masterly character delineations, seldom producesportraits. He gives the reader suggestive glimpses often enough and ofthe right quality and arrangement to produce a full and vigorousconception of his characters. His female parts are especially welldone. His characters present themselves to the reader by uniquethinking and choice expressions. Students should analyze _The Father_for this phase of character building. Note also the simplicity of thewords, sentences, paragraphs, and complete story arrangement, theauthor's originality of story conception and expression, his short, passionate, panting sentences, the poetic atmosphere that sweetens andenriches his virile writing, and the correct, religious pictures hepaints of his beloved northland. 

After having read a number of selections from Björnson, students willsee that he has a wonderful breadth of treatment for every imaginablesubject. He is so universal in his choice of subjects that Lemaître inhis _Impressions of the Theatre_ half-humorously and half-ironicallyputs these words in Björnson's mouth, "I am king in the spiritualkingdom, " and "there are two men in Europe who have genius, I andIbsen, granting that Ibsen has it. "

GENERAL REFERENCES

_Adventures in Criticism_, A. T. Q. Couch. 

_Essays on Modern Novelists_, William Lyon Phelps. 

"Björnsoniana, " _Dial_, January 16, 1903, pp. 37-38. 

"Prophet-Poet of Norway, " _Cosmopolitan_, April, 1903, pp. 621-631. 

"Three Score and Ten, " _Dial_, December, 1902, pp. 383-385. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_Lectures_, Volume I, John L. Stoddard. 

_The Making of an American_, Chapters 1, 7, and Jacob Riis. 

_Myths of Northern Lands_. Guerber. 

_Synnove Solbakken_, Björnson. 

_A Happy Boy_, Björnson. 

_The Fisher Maiden_, Björnson. 

_The Bridal March_, Björnson. 

_Magnhild_, Björnson. 

_A Dangerous Wooing_, Björnson. 

_The Eagle's Nest_, Björnson. 

_The Bear Hunter_, Björnson. 

_Master and Man_, Leo Tolstoi. 

_The Doll's House_, Henrik Ibsen. 

_The Minister's Black Veil_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Ambitious Guest_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Beeman of Orn_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_A Branch Road_, Hamlin Garland. 

_Mateo Falcone_, Prosper Mérimée. 

_The Death of the Dauphin_, Alphonse Dadoed. 

_The Birds' Christmas Carol_, Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

_Tennessee's Partner_, Bret Harte. 

THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANAAN[1]

_By Frank R. Stockton (1834-1902)_

Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet townof a far-away land there was carved in stone the figure of a largegriffin. The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, butthe image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had alarge head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its backarose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stoutlegs in front, with projecting claws; but there were no legsbehind, --the body running out into a long and powerful tail, finishedoff at the end with a barbed point. This tail was coiled up under him, the end sticking up just back of his wings. 

The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, hadevidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it, also in stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of thechurch, not very far from the ground, so that people could easily lookat them, and ponder on their curious forms. There were a great manyother sculptures on the outside of this church, --saints, martyrs, grotesque heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those of othercreatures which cannot be named, because nobody knows exactly whatthey were; but none were so curious and interesting as the greatgriffin over the door, and the little griffins on the sides of thechurch. 

A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wildsscarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had beenput up over the churchgoer. In some way or other, the old-timesculptor had seen him, and afterward, to the best of his memory, hadcopied his figure in stone. The Griffin had never known this, until, hundreds of years afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal, or in some manner which it is not now easy to find out, that there wasa likeness of him on the old church in the distant town. Now thisGriffin had no idea how he looked. He had never seen a mirror, and thestreams where he lived were so turbulent and violent that a quietpiece of water, which would reflect the image of anything looking intoit, could not be found. Being, as far as could be ascertained, thevery last of his race, he had never seen another griffin. Therefore itwas, that, when he heard of this stone image of himself, he becamevery anxious to know what he looked like, and at last he determined togo to the old church, and see for himself what manner of being he was. So he started off from the dreadful wilds, and flew on and on until hecame to the countries inhabited by men, where his appearance in theair created great consternation; but he alighted nowhere, keeping up asteady flight until he reached the suburbs of the town which had hisimage on its church. Here, late in the afternoon, he alighted in agreen meadow by the side of a brook, and stretched himself on thegrass to rest. His great wings were tired, for he had not made such along flight in a century, or more. 

The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the people, frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so extraordinarya visitor, fled into their houses, and shut themselves up. The Griffincalled loudly for some one to come to him, but the more he called, themore afraid the people were to show themselves. At length he saw twolaborers hurrying to their homes through the fields, and in a terriblevoice he commanded them to stop. Not daring to disobey, the men stood, trembling. 

"What is the matter with you all?" cried the Griffin. "Is there not aman in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?"

"I think, " said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that hiswords could hardly be understood, "that--perhaps--the MinorCanon--would come. "

"Go, call him, then!" said the Griffin; "I want to see him. "

The Minor Canon, who filled a subordinate position in the church, hadjust finished the afternoon services, and was coming out of a sidedoor, with three aged women who had formed the week-day congregation. He was a young man of a kind disposition, and very anxious to do goodto the people of the town. Apart from his duties in the church, wherehe conducted services every week-day, he visited the sick and thepoor, counseled and assisted persons who were in trouble, and taught aschool composed entirely of the bad children in the town with whomnobody else would have anything to do. Whenever the people wantedsomething difficult done for them, they always went to the MinorCanon. Thus it was that the laborer thought of the young priest whenhe found that some one must come and speak to the Griffin. 

The Minor Canon had not heard of the strange event, which was known tothe whole town except himself and the three old women, and when he wasinformed of it, and was told that the Griffin had asked to see him, hewas greatly amazed, and frightened. 

"Me!" he exclaimed. "He has never heard of me! What should he wantwith _me?_"

"Oh! you must go instantly!" cried the two men. 

"He is very angry now because he has been kept waiting so long; andnobody knows what may happen if you don't hurry to him. "

The poor Minor Canon would rather have had his hand cut off than goout to meet an angry griffin; but he felt that it was his duty to go, or it would be a woeful thing if injury should come to the people ofthe town because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of theGriffin. 

So, pale and frightened, he started off. 

"Well, " said the Griffin, as soon as the young man came near, "I amglad to see that there is some one who has the courage to come to me. "

The Minor Canon did not feel very courageous, but he bowed his head. 

"Is this the town, " said the Griffin, "where there is a church with alikeness of myself over one of the doors?"

The Minor Canon looked at the frightful creature before him and sawthat it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on thechurch. "Yes, " he said, "you are right. "

"Well, then, " said the Griffin, "will you take me to it? I wish verymuch to see it. "

The Minor Canon instantly thought that if the Griffin entered the townwithout the people knowing what he came for, some of them wouldprobably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time toprepare their minds. 

"It is growing dark, now, " he said, very much afraid, as he spoke, that his words might enrage the Griffin, "and objects on the front ofthe church cannot be seen clearly. It will be better to wait untilmorning, if you wish to get a good view of the stone image ofyourself. "

"That will suit me very well, " said the Griffin. "I see you are a manof good sense. I am tired, and I will take a nap here on this softgrass, while I cool my tail in the little stream that runs near me. The end of my tail gets red-hot when I am angry or excited, and it isquite warm now. So you may go, but be sure and come early to-morrowmorning, and show me the way to the church. "

The Minor Canon was glad enough to take his leave, and hurried intothe town. In front of the church he found a great many peopleassembled to hear his report of his interview with the Griffin. Whenthey found that he had not come to spread ruin and devastation, butsimply to see his stony likeness on the church, they showed neitherrelief nor gratification, but began to upbraid the Minor Canon forconsenting to conduct the creature into the town. 

"What could I do?" cried the young man, "If I should not bring him hewould come himself and, perhaps, end by setting fire to the town withhis red-hot tail. "

Still the people were not satisfied, and a great many plans wereproposed to prevent the Griffin from coming into the town. Someelderly persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him;but the young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. Then some onesaid that it would be a good thing to destroy the stone image so thatthe Griffin would have no excuse for entering the town; and thisproposal was received with such favor that many of the people ran forhammers, chisels, and crowbars, with which to tear down and break upthe stone griffin. But the Minor Canon resisted this plan with all thestrength of his mind and body. He assured the people that this actionwould enrage the Griffin beyond measure, for it would be impossible toconceal from him that his image had been destroyed during the night. But the people were so determined to break up the stone griffin thatthe Minor Canon saw that there was nothing for him to do but to staythere and protect it. All night he walked up and down in front of thechurch-door, keeping away the men who brought ladders, by which theymight mount to the great stone griffin, and knock it to pieces withtheir hammers and crowbars. After many hours the people were obligedto give up their attempts, and went home to sleep; but the Minor Canonremained at his post till early morning, and then he hurried away tothe field where he had left the Griffin. 

The monster had just awakened, and rising to his fore-legs and shakinghimself, he said that he was ready to go into the town. The MinorCanon, therefore, walked back, the Griffin flying slowly through theair, at a short distance above the head of his guide. Not a person wasto be seen in the streets, and they proceeded directly to the front ofthe church, where the Minor Canon pointed out the stone griffin. 

The real Griffin settled down in the little square before the churchand gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. For a long time helooked at it. First he put his head on one side, and then he put it onthe other; then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left, afterwhich he shut his left eye and gazed with his right. Then he moved alittle to one side and looked at the image, then he moved the otherway. After a while he said to the Minor Canon, who had been standingby all this time:

"It is, it must be, an excellent likeness! That breadth between theeyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! I feel that it mustresemble me. If there is any fault to find with it, it is that theneck seems a little stiff. But that is nothing. It is an admirablelikeness, --admirable!"

The Griffin sat looking at his image all the morning and all theafternoon. The Minor Canon had been afraid to go away and leave him, and had hoped all through the day that he would soon be satisfied withhis inspection and fly away home. But by evening the poor young manwas utterly exhausted, and felt that he must eat and sleep. He franklyadmitted this fact to the Griffin, and asked him if he would not likesomething to eat. He said this because he felt obliged in politenessto do so, but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was seized withdread lest the monster should demand half a dozen babies, or sometempting repast of that kind. 

"Oh, no, " said the Griffin, "I never eat between the equinoxes. At thevernal and at the autumnal equinox I take a good meal, and that lastsme for half a year. I am extremely regular in my habits, and do notthink it healthful to eat at odd times. But if you need food, go andget it, and I will return to the soft grass where I slept last nightand take another nap. "

The next day the Griffin came again to the little square before thechurch, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding thestone griffin over the door. The Minor Canon came once or twice tolook at him, and the Griffin seemed very glad to see him; but theyoung clergyman could not stay as he had done before, for he had manyduties to perform. Nobody went to the church, but the people came tothe Minor Canon's house, and anxiously asked him how long the Griffinwas going to stay. 

"I do not know, " he answered, "but I think he will soon be satisfiedwith regarding his stone likeness, and then he will go away. "

But the Griffin did not go away. Morning after morning he came to thechurch, but after a time he did not stay there all day. He seemed tohave taken a great fancy to the Minor Canon, and followed him about ashe pursued his various avocations. He would wait for him at the sidedoor of the church, for the Minor Canon held services every day, morning and evening, though nobody came now. "If any one should come, "he said to himself, "I must be found at my post. " When the young mancame out, the Griffin would accompany him in his visits to the sickand the poor, and would often look into the windows of the schoolhousewhere the Minor Canon was teaching his unruly scholars. All the otherschools were closed, but the parents of the Minor Canon's scholarsforced them to go to school, because they were so bad they could notendure them all day at home, --griffin or no griffin. But it must besaid they generally behaved very well when that great monster sat upon his tail and looked in at the schoolroom window. 

When it was perceived that the Griffin showed no signs of going away, all the people who were able to do so left the town. The canons andthe higher officers of the church had fled away during the first dayof the Griffin's visit, leaving behind only the Minor Canon and someof the men who opened the doors and swept the church. All the citizenswho could afford it shut up their houses and travelled to distantparts, and only the working people and the poor were left behind. After some days these ventured to go about and attend to theirbusiness, for if they did not work they would starve. They weregetting a little used to seeing the Griffin, and having been told thathe did not eat between equinoxes, they did not feel so much afraid ofhim as before. Day by day the Griffin became more and more attached tothe Minor Canon, He kept near him a great part of the time, and oftenspent the night in front of the little house where the young clergymanlived alone. This strange companionship was often burdensome to theMinor Canon; but, on the other hand, he could not deny that he deriveda great deal of benefit and instruction from it. The Griffin had livedfor hundreds of years, and had seen much; and he told the Minor Canonmany wonderful things. 

"It is like reading an old book, " said the young clergyman to himself;"but how many books I would have had to read before I would have foundout what the Griffin has told me about the earth, the air, the water, about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all the wonders ofthe world!"

Thus the summer went on, and drew toward its close. And now the peopleof the town began to be very much troubled again. 

"It will not be long, " they said, "before the autumnal equinox ishere, and then that monster will want to eat. He will be dreadfullyhungry, for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. He willdevour our children. Without doubt, he will eat them all. What is tobe done?"

To this question no one could give an answer, but all agreed that theGriffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox. After talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people wentto the Minor Canon, at a time when the Griffin was not with him. 

"It is all your fault, " they said, "that that monster is among us. Youbrought him here, and you ought to see that he goes away. It is onlyon your account that he stays here at all, for, although he visits hisimage every day, he is with you the greater part of the time. If youwere not here, he would not stay. It is your duty to go away and thenhe will follow you, and we shall be free from the dreadful dangerwhich hangs over us. "

"Go away!" cried the Minor Canon, greatly grieved at being spoken toin such a way. "Where shall I go? If I go to some other town, shall Inot take this trouble there? Have I a right to do that?"

"No, " said the people, "you must not go to any other town. There is notown far enough away. You must go to the dreadful wilds where theGriffin lives; and then he will follow you and stay there. "

They did not say whether or not they expected the Minor Canon to staythere also, and he did not ask them any thing about it. He bowed hishead, and went into his house, to think. The more he thought, the moreclear it became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and thusfree the town from the presence of the Griffin. 

That evening he packed a leathern bag full of bread and meat, andearly the next morning he set out on his journey to the dreadfulwilds. It was a long, weary, and doleful journey, especially after hehad gone beyond the habitations of men, but the Minor Canon kept onbravely, and never faltered. The way was longer than he had expected, and his provisions soon grew so scanty that he was obliged to eat buta little every day, but he kept up his courage, and pressed on, and, after many days of toilsome travel, he reached the dreadful wilds. 

When the Griffin found that the Minor Canon had left the town heseemed sorry, but showed no disposition to go and look for him. Aftera few days had passed, he became much annoyed, and asked some of thepeople where the Minor Canon had gone. But, although the citizens hadbeen anxious that the young clergyman should go to the dreadful wilds, thinking that the Griffin would immediately follow him, they were nowafraid to mention the Minor Canon's destination, for the monsterseemed angry already, and, if he should suspect their trick, he woulddoubtless become very much enraged. So every one said he did not know, and the Griffin wandered about disconsolate. One morning he lookedinto the Minor Canon's schoolhouse, which was always empty now, andthought that it was a shame that every thing should suffer on accountof the young man's absence. 

"It does not matter so much about the church, " he said, "for nobodywent there; but it is a pity about the school. I think I will teach itmyself until he returns. "

It was the hour for opening the school, and the Griffin went insideand pulled the rope which rang the schoolbell. Some of the childrenwho heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it tobe a joke of one of their companions; but when they saw the Griffinthey stood astonished, and scared. 

"Go tell the other scholars, " said the monster, "that school is aboutto open, and that if they are not all here in ten minutes, I shallcome after them. " In seven minutes every scholar was in place. 

Never was seen such an orderly school. Not a boy or girl moved, oruttered a whisper. The Griffin climbed into the master's seat, hiswide wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean backin his chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiledaround, in front of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to tapany boy or girl who might misbehave. The Griffin now addressed thescholars, telling them that he intended to teach them while theirmaster was away. In speaking he endeavored to imitate, as far aspossible, the mild and gentle tones of the Minor Canon, but it must beadmitted that in this he was not very successful. He had paid a gooddeal of attention to the studies of the school, and he determined notto attempt to teach them anything new, but to review them in what theyhad been studying; so he called up the various classes, and questionedthem upon their previous lessons. The children racked their brains toremember what they had learned. They were so afraid of the Griffin'sdispleasure that they recited as they had never recited before. One ofthe boys far down in his class answered so well that the Griffin wasastonished. 

"I should think you would be at the head, " said he. "I am sure youhave never been in the habit of reciting so well. Why is this?"

"Because I did not choose to take the trouble, " said the boy, trembling in his boots. He felt obliged to speak the truth, for allthe children thought that the great eyes of the Griffin could seeright through them, and that he would know when they told a falsehood. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, " said the Griffin. "Go down tothe very tail of the class, and if you are not at the head in twodays, I shall know the reason why. "

The next afternoon the boy was number one. 

It was astonishing how much these children now learned of what theyhad been studying. It was as if they had been educated over again. TheGriffin used no severity toward them, but there was a look about himwhich made them unwilling to go to bed until they were sure they knewtheir lessons for the next day. 

The Griffin now thought that he ought to visit the sick and the poor;and he began to go about the town for this purpose. The effect uponthe sick was miraculous. All, except those who were very ill indeed, jumped from their beds when they heard he was coming, and declaredthemselves quite well. To those who could not get up, he gave herbsand roots, which none of them had ever before thought of as medicines, but which the Griffin had seen used in various parts of the world; andmost of them recovered. But, for all that, they afterward said that nomatter what happened to them, they hoped that they should never againhave such a doctor coming to their bedsides, feeling their pulses andlooking at their tongues. 

As for the poor, they seemed to have utterly disappeared. All thosewho had depended upon charity for their daily bread were now at workin some way or other; many of them offering to do odd jobs for theirneighbors just for the sake of their meals, --a thing which before hadbeen seldom heard of in the town. The Griffin could find no one whoneeded his assistance. 

The summer had now passed, and the autumnal equinox was rapidlyapproaching. The citizens were in a state of great alarm and anxiety. The Griffin showed no signs of going away, but seemed to have settledhimself permanently among them. In a short time, the day for hissemi-annual meal would arrive, and then what would happen? The monsterwould certainly be very hungry, and would devour all their children. 

Now they greatly regretted and lamented that they had sent away theMinor Canon; he was the only one on whom they could have depended inthis trouble, for he could talk freely with the Griffin, and so findout what could be done. But it would not do to be inactive. Some stepmust be taken immediately. A meeting of the citizens was called, andtwo old men were appointed to go and talk to the Griffin. They wereinstructed to offer to prepare a splendid dinner for him on equinoxday, --one which would entirely satisfy his hunger. They would offerhim the fattest mutton, the most tender beef, fish, and game ofvarious sorts, and any thing of the kind that he might fancy. If noneof these suited, they were to mention that there was an orphan asylumin the next town. 

"Any thing would be better, " said the citizens, "than to have our dearchildren devoured. "

The old men went to the Griffin, but their propositions were notreceived with favor. 

"From what I have seen of the people of this town, " said the monster, "I do not think I could relish any thing which was prepared by them. They appear to be all cowards, and, therefore, mean and selfish. Asfor eating one of them, old or young, I could not think of it for amoment. In fact, there was only one creature in the whole place forwhom I could have had any appetite, and that is the Minor Canon, whohas gone away. He was brave, and good, and honest, and I think Ishould have relished him. "

"Ah!" said one of the old men very politely, "in that case I wish wehad not sent him to the dreadful wilds!"

"What!" cried the Griffin. "What do you mean? Explain instantly whatyou are talking about!"

The old man, terribly frightened at what he had said, was obliged totell how the Minor Canon had been sent away by the people, in the hopethat the Griffin might be induced to follow him. 

When the monster heard this, he became furiously angry. He dashed awayfrom the old men and, spreading his wings, flew backward and forwardover the town. He was so much excited that his tail became red-hot, and glowed like a meteor against the evening sky. When at last hesettled down in the little field where he usually rested, and thrusthis tail into the brook, the steam arose like a cloud, and the waterof the stream ran hot through the town. The citizens were greatlyfrightened, and bitterly blamed the old man for telling about theMinor Canon. 

"It is plain, " they said, "that the Griffin intended at last to go andlook for him, and we should have been saved. Now who can tell whatmisery you have brought upon us. "

The Griffin did not remain long in the little field. As soon as histail was cool he flew to the town-hall and rang the bell. The citizensknew that they were expected to come there, and although they wereafraid to go, they were still more afraid to stay away; and theycrowded into the hall. The Griffin was on the platform at one end, flapping his wings and walking up and down, and the end of his tailwas still so warm that it slightly scorched the boards as he draggedit after him. 

When everybody who was able to come was there the Griffin stood stilland addressed the meeting. 

"I have had a contemptible opinion of you, " he said, "ever since Idiscovered what cowards you are, but I had no idea that you were soungrateful, selfish, and cruel as I now find you to be. Here was yourMinor Canon, who labored day and night for your good, and thought ofnothing else but how he might benefit you and make you happy; and assoon as you imagine yourselves threatened with a danger, --for well Iknow you are dreadfully afraid of me, --you send him off, caring notwhether he returns or perishes, hoping thereby to save yourselves. Now, I had conceived a great liking for that young man, and hadintended, in a day or two, to go and look him up. But I have changedmy mind about him. I shall go and find him, but I shall send him backhere to live among you, and I intend that he shall enjoy the reward ofhis labor and his sacrifices. Go, some of you, to the officers of thechurch, who so cowardly ran away when I first came here, and tell themnever to return to this town under penalty of death. And if, when yourMinor Canon comes back to you, you do not bow yourselves before him, put him in the highest place among you, and serve and honor him allhis life, beware of my terrible vengeance! There were only two goodthings in this town: the Minor Canon and the stone image of myselfover your church-door. One of these you have sent away, and the otherI shall carry away myself. "

With these words he dismissed the meeting, and it was time, for theend of his tail had become so hot that there was danger of its settingfire to the building. 

The next morning, the Griffin came to the church, and tearing thestone image of himself from its fastenings over the great door, hegrasped it with his powerful fore-legs and flew up into the air. Then, after hovering over the town for a moment, he gave his tail an angryshake and took up his flight to the dreadful wilds. When he reachedthis desolate region, he set the stone Griffin upon a ledge of a rockwhich rose in front of the dismal cave he called his home. There theimage occupied a position somewhat similar to that it had had over thechurch-door; and the Griffin, panting with the exertion of carryingsuch an enormous load to so great a distance, lay down upon theground, and regarded it with much satisfaction. When he felt somewhatrested he went to look for the Minor Canon. He found the young man, weak and half-starved, lying under the shadow of a rock. After pickinghim up and carrying him to his cave, the Griffin flew away to adistant marsh, where he procured some roots and herbs which he wellknew were strengthening and beneficial to man, though he had nevertasted them himself. After eating these the Minor Canon was greatlyrevived, and sat up and listened while the Griffin told him what hadhappened in the town. 

"Do you know, " said the monster, when he had finished, "that I havehad, and still have, a great liking for you?"

"I am very glad to hear it, " said the Minor Canon, with his usualpoliteness. 

"I am not at all sure that you would be, " said the Griffin, "if youthoroughly understood the state of the case, but we will not considerthat now. If some things were different, other things would beotherwise. I have been so enraged by discovering the manner in whichyou have been treated that I have determined that you shall at lastenjoy the rewards and honors to which you are entitled. Lie down andhave a good sleep, and then I will take you back to the town. "

As he heard these words, a look of trouble came over the young man'sface. 

"You need not give yourself any anxiety, " said the Griffin, "about myreturn to the town. I shall not remain there. Now that I have thatadmirable likeness of myself in front of my cave, where I can sit atmy leisure, and gaze upon its noble features and magnificentproportions, I have no wish to see that abode of cowardly and selfishpeople. "

The Minor Canon, relieved from his fears, lay back, and dropped into adoze; and when he was sound asleep the Griffin took him up, andcarried him back to the town. He arrived just before daybreak, andputting the young man gently on the grass in the little field where hehimself used to rest, the monster, without having been seen by any ofthe people, flew back to his home. 

When the Minor Canon made his appearance in the morning among thecitizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was receivedwere truly wonderful. He was taken to a house which had been occupiedby one of the vanished high officers of the place, and every one wasanxious to do all that could be done for his health and comfort. Thepeople crowded into the church when he held services, so that thethree old women who used to be his week-day congregation could not getto the best seats, which they had always been in the habit of taking;and the parents of the bad children determined to reform them at home, in order that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up his formerschool. The Minor Canon was appointed to the highest office of the oldchurch, and before he died, he became a bishop. 

During the first years after his return from the dreadful wilds, thepeople of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were boundto do honor and reverence; but they often, also, looked up to the skyto see if there were any signs of the Griffin coming back. However, inthe course of time, they learned to honor and reverence their formerMinor Canon without the fear of being punished if they did not do so. 

But they need never have been afraid of the Griffin. The autumnalequinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. If he could nothave the Minor Canon, he did not care for any thing. So, lying down, with his eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he graduallydeclined, and died. It was a good thing for some people of the townthat they did not know this. 

If you should ever visit the old town, you would still see the littlegriffins on the sides of the church; but the great stone griffin thatwas over the door is gone. 

NOTE: [1] Written in 1887. This story is used by permission of andspecial arrangement with _Charles Scribner's Sons_, publishers. 

BIOGRAPHY

Frank Richard Stockton, one of America's foremost story-tellers andhumorists, was born in Philadelphia in 1834. His father was aPresbyterian minister who devoutly wished that his son might studymedicine. This wish was shattered early, for the son showed symptomsof being a writer while yet in the Central High School ofPhiladelphia. In competition with many of his schoolmates for a prizeoffered for the best story, young Stockton won easily. 

After finishing his high school course, he adopted the profession ofwood-engraver. Although he earned his living for several years bycarving wood, he never lost his desire to write, and practised, atevery spare moment, his favorite avocation. It was this careful andpatient training during his apprenticeship that finally made him theexpert story-teller that he is. It is very interesting to any one whocares for the acquirement of an excellent style to note how all theauthors contained in this text have had to work with almost asuperhuman force to reach the heights of successful short-storywriting. 

His first important publication, _Kate_, appeared in the _SouthernLiterary Messenger_ in 1859. He then joined the staff of the_Philadelphia Morning Post_, where he did regular newspaper work andcontributed to the _Riverside Magazine_ and _Hearth and Home_. In 1872his _Stephen Skarridge's Christmas_ appeared in _Scribner's Monthly_. Dr. J. G. Holland, editor of _Scribner's_, was so impressed with thestory that he made Mr. Stockton an assistant editor and persuaded himto move to New York. In 1873 he joined the staff of the _St. NicholasMagazine_. His publication of the _Rudder Grange_ series in_Scribner's_ _Monthly_ in 1878 made him famous. In 1882 he resignedall editorial work and spent his entire time in literary composition. 

Mr. Stockton possessed a frail body and very little physicalendurance. In spite of this physical handicap he was very vivaciousand gay. He was a genial and companionable man, loved by all who knewhim. He was very modest, even to the point of shyness, exceptionallysincere, and quaintly humorous. He established homes in New Jersey andWest Virginia, where he spent the greater part of his time from 1882until his death in 1902. 

BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_Famous Authors_ (107-122), B. F. Harkness. 

_American Authors_ (59-73), F. W. Halsey. 

"Character Sketch, " _Book-Buyer_, 24:355-357. 

"Home at Claymont, " _Current Literature_, 30:221. 

"Sketch, " _Outlook_, 70: 1000-1001, "Stockton and his Work, " _Atlantic Monthly_, 87:136-138. 

CRITICISMS

The writings of Frank R. Stockton are excellent representatives of theman himself. How closely allied writer and writings are is very wellstated by Hamilton W. Mabie in the _Book-Buyer_ for June, 1902, "Histalk had much of the quality of his writing; it was full of quaintconceits, whimsicalities, impossible suggestions offered with perfectgravity. He was always perfectly natural; he never attempted to liveup to his part; in talk, at least, he never forced the note. Hisattitude toward himself was slightly tinged with humor, and he knewhow to foil easily and pleasantly too great a pressure of praise. "

His tales are extravagantly impossible but extremely realistic ineffect, filled with humorous situations and singular plots, andpeopled with eccentric characters that afford amusement on every page. His most successful writing is done when he explains contrivances uponwhich his story depends. He is an original and inventive expertjuggler who moves with careless ease to the most effective ends. Hischaracters are little more than pieces of mechanism that act when hepulls the string. They have little emotion and even in theirlove-making they show their emotion mostly for the sake of thereader's amusement. His negro characters are exceptions to his generaltreatment and are true to life. He inveigles the reader into believingthe most extravagant incidents by having a reliable witness narratethem. 

Stockton never stoops to the burlesque, cynic, or vulgar phases oflife to secure amusement. He is grotesque and droll in his manner, andabove all always restrained. His literary life is full of sprites andgnomes that frolic before young children and once before maturepeople. _The Griffin and the Minor Canon_ is a beautiful fairy storylifted from childhood's thought and diction into a mature realm. Hishumor is plain and simple, cool and keenly calculating. A friendlycritic has said of one of his stories, "With a gentle, ceaselessmurmur of amusement, and a flickering twinkle of smiles, the storymoves steadily on in the calm triumph of its assured and unassailableabsurdity, to its logical and indisputable impossibility. " Thisobservation is very largely true of all his stories. 

GENERAL REFERENCES

_Frank R. Stockton_, A. T. Q. Couch. 

"Stockton's Method of Working, " _Current Literature_, 32:495. 

"Criticism, " _Atheneum_, 1:532. 

"Estimate, " _Harper's Weekly_, 46:555. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_The Beeman of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_The Lady or the Tiger_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_Rudder Grange_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_A Tale of Negative Gravity_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_The Remarkable Wreck of the Thomas Hyde_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_His Wife's Deceased Sister_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_Legend of Sleepy Hollow_, Washington Irving. 

_Monsieur du Miroir_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_At the End of the Passage_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_The Vacant Lot_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

_The Princess Pourquoi_, Margaret Sherwood. 

_What Was It? A Mystery_, Fitz-James O'Brien. 

_Wandering Willie's Tale_, Walter Scott. 

THE PIECE OF STRING[1]

_By Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893)_

On all the roads about Goderville the peasants and their wives werecoming toward the town, for it was market day. The men walked at aneasy gait, the whole body thrown forward with every movement of theirlong, crooked legs, misshapen by hard work, by the bearing down on theplough which at the same time causes the left shoulder to rise and thefigure to slant; by the mowing of the grain, which makes one hold hisknees apart in order to obtain a firm footing; by all the slow andlaborious tasks of the fields. Their starched blue blouses, glossy asif varnished, adorned at the neck and wrists with a bit of whitestitchwork, puffed out about their bony chests like balloons on thepoint of taking flight, from which protrude a head, two arms, and twofeet. 

Some of them led a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. And theirwives, walking behind the beast, lashed it with a branch still coveredwith leaves, to hasten its pace. They carried on their arms greatbaskets, from which heads of chickens or of ducks were thrust forth. And they walked with a shorter and quicker step than their men, theirstiff, lean figures wrapped in scanty shawls pinned over their flatbreasts, their heads enveloped in a white linen cloth close to thehair, with a cap over all. 

Then a _char-à-bancs[2]_ passed, drawn by a jerky-paced nag, with twomen seated side by side shaking like jelly, and a woman behind, whoclung to the side of the vehicle to lessen the rough jolting. 

On the square at Goderville there was a crowd, a medley of men andbeasts. The horns of the cattle, the high hats, with a long, hairynap, of the wealthy peasants, and the head dresses of the peasantwomen, appeared on the surface of the throng. And the sharp, shrill, high-pitched voices formed an incessant, uncivilized uproar, overwhich soared at times a roar of laughter from the powerful chest of asturdy yokel, or the prolonged bellow of a cow fastened to the wall ofa house. 

There was an all-pervading smell of the stable, of milk, of thedunghill, of hay, and of perspiration--that acrid, disgusting odor ofman and beast peculiar to country people. 

Master Hauchecorne, of Bréauté, had just arrived at Goderville, andwas walking toward the square, when he saw a bit of string on theground. Master Hauchecorne, economical like every true Norman, thoughtthat it was well to pick up everything that might be of use; and hestooped painfully, for he suffered with rheumatism. He took the pieceof slender cord from the ground, and was about to roll it upcarefully, when he saw Master Malandain, the harness-maker, standingin his doorway and looking at him. They had formerly had trouble onthe subject of a halter, and had remained at odds, being both inclinedto bear malice. Master Hauchecorne felt a sort of shame at being seenthus by his enemy, fumbling in the mud for a bit of string. Hehurriedly concealed his treasure in his blouse, then in his breechespocket; then he pretended to look on the ground for something else, which he did not find; and finally he went on toward the market, hishead thrust forward, bent double by his pains. 

He lost himself at once in the slow-moving, shouting crowd, kept in astate of excitement by the interminable bargaining. The peasants feltof the cows, went away, returned, sorely perplexed, always afraid ofbeing cheated, never daring to make up their minds, watching thevendor's eye, striving incessantly to detect the tricks of the man andthe defect in the beast. 

The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, took outtheir fowls, which lay on the ground, their legs tied together, withfrightened eyes and scarlet combs. 

They listened to offers, adhered to their prices, short of speech andimpassive of face; or else, suddenly deciding to accept the lowerprice offered, they would call out to the customer as he walked slowlyaway:--

"All right, Mast' Anthime. You can have it. "

Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when theAngelus[3] struck midday those who lived too far away to go homebetook themselves to the various inns. 

At Jourdain's the common room was full of customers, as the great yardwas full of vehicles of every sort--carts, cabriolets, [4]_char-à-bancs_, tilburys, [5] unnamable carriages, shapeless, patched, with, their shafts reaching heavenward like arms, or with their nosesin the ground and their tails in the air. 

The vast fireplace, full of clear flame, cast an intense heat againstthe backs of the row on the right of the table. Three spits wererevolving, laden with chickens, pigeons, and legs of mutton; and adelectable odor of roast meat, and of gravy dripping from the brownedskin, came forth from the hearth, stirred the guests to merriment, andmade their mouths water. 

All the aristocracy of the plough ate there, at Mast' Jourdain's, theinnkeeper and horse trader--a shrewd rascal who had money. 

The dishes passed and were soon emptied, like the jugs of yellowcider. Every one told of his affairs, his sales and his purchases. They inquired about the crops. The weather was good for green stuffs, but a little wet for wheat. 

Suddenly a drum rolled in the yard, in front of the house. In aninstant everybody was on his feet, save a few indifferent ones; andthey all ran to the door and windows with their mouths still full andnapkins in hand. 

Having finished his long tattoo, the public crier shouted in a jerkyvoice, making his pauses in the wrong places:--

"The people of Goderville, and all those present at the market areinformed that between--nine and ten o'clock this morning on theBeuzeville--road, a black leather wallet was lost, containing fivehundred--francs, and business papers. The finder is requested to carryit to--the mayor's at once, or to Master Fortuné Huelbrèque ofManneville. A reward of twenty francs will be paid. "

Then he went away. They heard once more in the distance the muffledroll of the drum and the indistinct voice of the crier. 

Then they began to talk about the incident, reckoning MasterHoulbrèque's chance of finding or not finding his wallet. 

And the meal went on. 

They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmesappeared in the doorway. 

He inquired:--

"Is Master Hauchecorne of Bréauté here?"

Master Hauchecorne, who was seated at the farther end of the table, answered:--

"Here I am. "

And the corporal added:--

"Master Hauchecorne, will you be kind enough to go to the mayor'soffice with me? Monsieur the mayor would like to speak to you. "

The peasant, surprised and disturbed, drank his _petit verre[6]_ atone swallow, rose, and even more bent than in the morning, for thefirst steps after each rest were particularly painful, he started off, repeating:--

"Here I am, here I am. "

And he followed the brigadier. 

The mayor was waiting for him, seated in his arm-chair. He was thelocal notary, a stout, solemn-faced man, given to pompous speeches. 

"Master Hauchecorne, " he said, "you were seen this morning, on theBeuzeville road, to pick up the wallet lost by Master Huelbrèque ofManneville. "

The rustic, dumfounded, stared at the mayor, already alarmed by thissuspicion which had fallen upon him, although he failed to understandit. 

"I, I--I picked up that wallet?"

"Yes, you. "

"On my word of honor, I didn't even so much as see it. "

"You were seen. "

"They saw me, me? Who was it saw me?"

"Monsieur Malandain, the harness-maker. "

Thereupon the old man remembered and understood; and flushing withanger, he cried:--

"Ah! he saw me, did he, that sneak? He saw me pick up this string, look, m'sieu' mayor. "

And fumbling in the depths of his pocket, he produced the little pieceof cord. 

But the mayor was incredulous and shook his head. 

"You won't make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that MonsieurMalandain, who is a man deserving of credit, mistook this string for awallet. "

The peasant, in a rage, raised his hand, spit to one side to pledgehis honor, and said:--

"It's God's own truth, the sacred truth, all the same, m'sieu' mayor. I say it again, by my soul and my salvation. "

"After picking it up, " rejoined the mayor, "you hunted a long while inthe mud, to see if some piece of money hadn't fallen out. "

The good man was suffocated with wrath and fear. 

"If any one can tell--if any one can tell lies like that to ruin anhonest man! If any one can say--"

To no purpose did he protest; he was not believed. 

He was confronted with Monsieur Malandain, who repeated and maintainedhis declaration. They insulted each other for a whole hour. At his ownrequest, Master Hauchecorne was searched. They found nothing on him. At last the mayor, being sorely perplexed, discharged him, but warnedhim that he proposed to inform the prosecuting attorney's office andto ask for orders. 

The news had spread. On leaving the mayor's office, the old man wassurrounded and questioned with serious or bantering curiosity, inwhich, however, there was no trace of indignation. And he began totell the story of the string. They did not believe him. They laughed. 

He went his way, stopping his acquaintances, repeating again and againhis story and his protestations, showing his pockets turned insideout, to prove that he had nothing. 

They said to him:--

"You old rogue, _va!_"

And he lost his temper, lashing himself into a rage, feverish withexcitement, desperate because he was not believed, at a loss what todo, and still telling his story. Night came. He must needs go home. Hestarted with three neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place wherehe had picked up the bit of string: and all the way he talked of hismisadventure. 

During the evening he made a circuit of the village of Bréauté, inorder to tell everybody about it. He found none but incredulouslisteners. 

He was ill over it all night. 

The next afternoon, about one o'clock, Marius Paumelle, a farmhandemployed by Master Breton, a farmer of Ymauville, restored the walletand its contents to Master Huelbrèque of Manneville. 

The man claimed that he had found it on the road; but, being unable toread, had carried it home and given it to his employer. 

The news soon became known in the neighborhood; Master Hauchecorne wasinformed of it. He started out again at once, and began to tell hisstory, now made complete by the dénouement. He was triumphant. 

"What made me feel bad, " he said, "wasn't so much the thing itself, you understand, but the lying. There's nothing hurts you so much asbeing blamed for lying. "

All day long he talked of his adventure; he told it on the roads topeople who passed; at the wine-shop to people who were drinking; andafter church on the following Sunday. He even stopped strangers totell them about it. His mind was at rest now, and yet somethingembarrassed him, although he could not say just what it was. Peopleseemed to laugh while they listened to him. They did not seemconvinced. He felt as if remarks were made behind his back. 

On Tuesday of the next week, he went to market at Goderville, impelledsolely by the longing to tell his story. 

Malandain, standing in his doorway, began to laugh when he saw himcoming. Why?

He accosted a farmer from Criquetot, who did not let him finish, butpoked him in the pit of his stomach, and shouted in his face: "Go on, you old fox!" Then he turned on his heel. 

Master Hauchecorne was speechless, and more and more disturbed. Whydid he call him "old fox"?

When he was seated at the table, in Jourdain's Inn, he set aboutexplaining the affair once more. 

A horse-trader from Montvilliers called out to him:--

"Nonsense, nonsense, you old dodger! I know all about your string!"

"But they've found the wallet!" faltered Hauchecorne. 

"None of that, old boy; there's one who finds it, and there's one whocarries it back. I don't know just how you did it, but I understandyou. "

The peasant was fairly stunned. He understood at last. He was accusedof having sent the wallet back by a confederate, an accomplice. 

He tried to protest. The whole table began to laugh. 

He could not finish his dinner, but left the inn amid a chorus ofjeers. 

He returned home, shamefaced and indignant, suffocated by wrath, byconfusion, and all the more cast down because, with his Normancunning, he was quite capable of doing the thing with which he wascharged, and even of boasting of it as a shrewd trick. He had aconfused idea that his innocence was impossible to establish, hiscraftiness being so well known. And he was cut to the heart by theinjustice of the suspicion. 

Thereupon he began once more to tell of the adventure, making thestory longer each day, adding each time new arguments, more forcibleprotestations, more solemn oaths, which he devised and prepared in hishours of solitude, his mind being wholly engrossed by the story of thestring. The more complicated his defence and the more subtle hisreasoning, the less he was believed. 

"Those are a liar's reasons, " people said behind his back. 

He realized it: he gnawed his nails, and exhausted himself in vainefforts. 

He grew perceptibly thinner. 

Now the jokers asked him to tell the story of "The Piece of String"for their amusement, as a soldier who has seen service is asked totell about his battles. His mind, attacked at its source, grewfeebler. 

Late in December he took to his bed. 

In the first days of January he died, and in his delirium, of thedeath agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:

"A little piece of string--a little piece of string--see, here it is, m'sieu' mayor. "

NOTES

[1] _The Piece of String_ was written in 1884. Reprinted from _LittleFrench Masterpieces_, by permission of the publishers, _G. P. Putnam'sSons_. 

[2] 34:5 char-à-bancs. A pleasure car. 

[3] 35:26 Angelus. A bell tolled at morning, noon, and night, according to the Roman Catholic Church custom, to indicate the time ofthe service of song and recitation in memory of the Virgin Mary. Thename is taken from the first word of the recitation. 

[4] 35:30 cabriolet. A cab. Originally a light, one-horse pleasurecarriage with two seats. 

[5] 35:30 tilbury. An old form of gig, seating two persons. 

[6] 37:20 petit verre. Little glass. 

BIOGRAPHY

Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant, French novelist, dramatist, andshort-story writer, was born in 1850. Until he was thirteen years oldhe had no teacher except his mother, who personally superintended thetraining of her two sons. Life for the two boys, during these earlyyears, was free and happy, Guy was a strong and robust Norman, overflowing with animal spirits and exuberant with the joy of youthfullife. 

When thirteen years of age Maupassant attended the seminary at Yvetot, where he found school life irksome and a most distasteful contrast tohis former free life. Later he became a student in the Lycée in Rouen. His experience as a student here was very pleasant, and he easilyacquired his degree. In 1870 he was appointed to a clerkship in theNavy, and a little later to a more lucrative position in theDepartment of Public Instruction. His work in these two positionssuffered very materially because of his negligence and daily practicein writing verses and essays for Flaubert, the most careful literarytechnicist in the history of literature, to criticize. For seven yearsMaupassant served this severe task-master, always writing, receivingcriticisms, and publishing nothing. 

Immediately after the publication of his first story Maupassant washailed as a finished master artist. From 1880 to 1890 he published sixnovels, sixteen volumes of short-stories, three volumes of travels, and many newspaper articles. This gigantic task was performed onlybecause of his regular habits and splendid physique. He wroteregularly every morning from seven o'clock until noon, and at nightalways wrote out notes on the impressions from his experiences of theday. 

Maupassant was a natural artist deeply in love with the technique ofhis work. He did not write for money, although he believed that awriter should have plenty of this world's possessions, nor did hewrite for art's sake. In fact he avoided talking on the subject ofwriting and to all appearances seemed to despise his profession. Hewrote because the restless, immitigable force within him compelled himto work like a slave. He thought little of morals, or religion, butwas enamored with physical life and its insolvable problems. He was, above everything else, a truthful man. Sometimes his subjects areunclean and he treats them as such, but, if his subject is clean, histreatment is undefiled. 

In 1887 the shadows of insanity began to creep athwart his life. Evenin 1884 he seemed to feel a premonition of his coming catastrophe whenhe wrote: "I am afraid of the walls, of the furniture, of the familiarobjects which seem to me to assume a kind of animal life. Above all, Ifear the horrible confusion of my thought, of my reason escaping, entangled and scattered by an invisible and mysterious anguish. " Thedreaded disease developed until, in 1890, he had to suspend hiswriting. In 1892 he became wholly insane and had to be committed to aninsane asylum where he died in a padded cell one year later. 

BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_The New International Encyclopaedia_. 

_Encyclopaedia Britannica_. 

_Bookman_, 25:290-294_. 

CRITICISMS

Maupassant's short-stories are generally conceded to be the best inFrench literature. He handles his materials with great care, and hisdescriptions of scenes and characters are unequalled. In his firstwritings he seems impassive to the point of frigidity. He is arecorder who sets down exactly the life before him. This is one of thelessons he learned from Flaubert. He was not interested in what acharacter thought or felt, but he noted and fondled every action ofhis characters. 

He loved life, despite the lack of solutions. At times his fondnessfor mere physical life leads him to the brutal stage. In his story, _On the Water_, he gives a confession of a purely sensual man: "Howgladly, at times, I would think no more, feel no more, live the lifeof a brute, in a warm, bright country, in a yellow country, withoutcrude and brutal verdure, in one of those Eastern countries in whichone falls asleep without concern, is active and has no cares, lovesand has no distress, and is scarcely aware that one is going onliving!"

Maupassant was a keen observer, possessed an excellent but not loftyimagination, and never asserted a philosophy of life. His writings areall interesting, terse, precise, and truthful, but lack the glow thatcomes with a sympathetic and spiritual outlook on life. Zola says ofhim: ".... A Latin of good, clear, solid head, a maker of beautifulsentences shining like gold.... " He chooses a single incident, a fewcharacteristics and then moulds them into a compact story. Nine-tenthsof his stories deal with selfishness and hypocrisy. 

Tolstoi wrote: "Maupassant possessed genius, that gift of attentionrevealing in the objects and facts of life properties not perceived byothers; he possessed a beautiful form of expression, uttering clearly, simply, and with charm what he wished to say; and he possessed alsothe merit of sincerity, without which a work of art produces noeffect; that is he did not merely pretend to love or hate, but didindeed love or hate what he described. "

GENERAL REFERENCES

_Inquiries and Opinions_, Brander Matthews. 

"A Criticism, " _Outlook_, 88:973-976. 

"Greatest Short Story Writer that Ever Lived, " _Current Literature_, 42:636-638. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_Happiness_ (Odd Number), Guy de Maupassant. 

_The Wolf_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_La Mère Sauvage_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_The Confession_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_On the Journey_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_The Beggar_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_A Ghost_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_Little Soldier_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_The Wreck_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_The Necklace_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_A Note of Scarlet_, Ruth Stuart. 

_Expiation_, Octave Thanet. 

_Fagan_, Rowland Thomas. 

_La Grande Bretêche_ ("Jessup and Canby"), Honoré de Balzac. 

THE MAN WHO WAS[1]

_By Rudyard Kipling (1865- )_

Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a delightful persontill he tucks his shirt in. As an Oriental he is charming. It is onlywhen he insists upon being treated as the most easterly of Westernpeoples, instead of the most westerly of Easterns, that he becomes aracial anomaly[2] extremely difficult to handle. The host never knowswhich side of his nature is going to turn up next. 

Dirkovitch was a Russian--a Russian of the Russians, as he said--whoappeared to get his bread by serving the czar as an officer in aCossack regiment, and corresponding for a Russian newspaper with aname that was never twice the same. He was a handsome young Oriental, with a taste for wandering through unexplored portions of the earth, and he arrived in India from nowhere in particular. At least no livingman could ascertain whether it was by way of Balkh, Budukhshan, Chitral, Beloochistan, Nepaul, or anywhere else. The Indiangovernment, being in an unusually affable mood, gave orders that hewas to be civilly treated, and shown everything that was to be seen;so he drifted, talking bad English and worse French, from one city toanother till he forgathered with her Majesty's White Hussars[3] in thecity of Peshawur, [4] which stands at the mouth of that narrowsword-cut in the hills that men call the Khyber Pass. He wasundoubtedly an officer, and he was decorated, after the manner of theRussians, with little enameled crosses, and he could talk, and (thoughthis has nothing to do with his merits) he had been given up as ahopeless task or case by the Black Tyrones[5], who, individually andcollectively, with hot whisky and honey, mulled brandy and mixedspirits of all kinds, had striven in all hospitality to make himdrunk. And when the Black Tyrones, who are exclusively Irish, fail todisturb the peace of head of a foreigner, that foreigner is certain tobe a superior man. This was the argument of the Black Tyrones, butthey were ever an unruly and self-opinionated regiment, and theyallowed junior subalterns of four years' service to choose theirwines. The spirits were always purchased by the colonel and acommittee of majors. And a regiment that would so behave may berespected but cannot be loved. 

The White Hussars were as conscientious in choosing their wine as incharging the enemy. There was a brandy that had been purchased by acultured colonel a few years after the battle of Waterloo. It has beenmaturing ever since, and it was a marvelous brandy at the purchasing. The memory of that liquor would cause men to weep as they lay dying inthe teak forests of upper Burmah[6] or the slime of the Irrawaddy[7]. And there was a port which was notable; and there was a champagne ofan obscure brand, which always came to mess without any labels, because the White Hussars wished none to know where the source ofsupply might be found. The officer on whose head the champagnechoosing lay was forbidden the use of tobacco for six weeks previousto sampling. 

This particularity of detail is necessary to emphasize the fact thatthat champagne, that port, and above all, that brandy--the green andyellow and white liqueurs did not count--was placed at the absolutedisposition of Dirkovitch, and he enjoyed himself hugely--even morethan among the Black Tyrones. 

But he remained distressingly European through it all. The WhiteHussars were--"My dear true friends, " "Fellow-soldiers glorious, " and"Brothers inseparable. " He would unburden himself by the hour on theglorious future that awaited the combined arms of England and Russiawhen their hearts and their territories should run side by side, andthe great mission of civilizing Asia should begin. That wasunsatisfactory, because Asia is not going to be civilized after themethods of the West. There is too much Asia, and she is too old. Youcannot reform a lady of many lovers, and Asia has been insatiable inher flirtations aforetime. She will never attend Sunday school, orlearn to vote save with swords for tickets. 

Dirkovitch knew this as well as any one else, but it suited him totalk special-correspondently and to make himself as genial as hecould. Now and then he volunteered a little, a very little, information about his own Sotnia[8] of Cossacks, left apparently tolook after themselves somewhere at the back of beyond. He had donerough work in Central Asia, and had seen rather more help-yourselffighting than most men of his years. But he was careful never tobetray his superiority, and more than careful to praise on alloccasions the appearance, drill, uniform, and organization of herMajesty's White Hussars. And, indeed, they were a regiment to beadmired. When Mrs. Durgan, widow of the late Sir John Durgan, arrivedin their station, and after a short time had been proposed to by everysingle man at mess, she put the public sentiment very neatly when sheexplained that they were all so nice that unless she could marry themall, including the colonel and some majors who were already married, she was not going to content herself with one of them. Wherefore shewedded a little man in a rifle regiment--being by naturecontradictious--and the White Hussars were going to wear crape ontheir arms, but compromised by attending the wedding in full force, and lining the aisle with unutterable reproach. She had jilted themall--from Basset-Holmer, the senior captain, to Little Mildred, thelast subaltern, and he could have given her four thousand a year and atitle. He was a viscount, and on his arrival the mess had said he hadbetter go into the Guards, because they were all sons of large grocersand small clothiers in the Hussars, but Mildred begged very hard to beallowed to stay, and behaved so prettily that he was forgiven, andbecame a man, which is much more important than being any sort ofviscount. 

The only persons who did not share the general regard for the WhiteHussars were a few thousand gentlemen of Jewish extraction who livedacross the border, and answered to the name of Pathan. They had onlymet the regiment officially, and for something less than twentyminutes, but the interview, which was complicated with manycasualties, had filled them with prejudice. They even called the WhiteHussars "children of the devil, " and sons of persons whom it would beperfectly impossible to meet in decent society. Yet they were notabove making their aversion fill their money belts. The regimentpossessed carbines, beautiful Martini-Henri carbines, that would cob abullet into an enemy's camp at one thousand yards, and were evenhandier than the long rifle. Therefore they were coveted all along theborder, and since demand inevitably breeds supply, they were suppliedat the risk of life and limb for exactly their weight in coinedsilver--seven and one half pounds of rupees[9], or sixteen pounds anda few shillings each, reckoning the rupee at par. They were stolen atnight by snaky-haired thieves that crawled on their stomachs under thenose of the sentries; they disappeared mysteriously from armracks; andin the hot weather, when all the doors and windows were open, theyvanished like puffs of their own smoke. The border people desired themfirst for their own family vendettas[10] and then for contingencies. But in the long cold nights of the Northern Indian winter they werestolen most extensively. The traffic of murder was liveliest among thehills at that season, and prices ruled high. The regimental guardswere first doubled and then trebled. A trooper does not much care ifhe loses a weapon--government must make it good--but he deeply resentsthe loss of his sleep. The regiment grew very angry, and onenight-thief who managed to limp away bears the visible marks of theiranger upon him to this hour. That incident stopped the burglaries fora time, and the guards were reduced accordingly, and the regimentdevoted itself to polo with unexpected results, for it beat by twogoals to one that very terrible polo corps the Lushkar Light Horse, though the latter had four ponies apiece for a short hour's fight, aswell as a native officer who played like a lambent flame across theground. 

Then they gave a dinner to celebrate the event. The Lushkar team came, and Dirkovitch came, in the fullest full uniform of Cossack officer, which is as full as a dressing-gown, and was introduced to theLushkars, and opened his eyes as he regarded them. They were lightermen than the Hussars, and they carried themselves with the swing thatis the peculiar right of the Punjab[11] frontier force and allirregular horse. Like everything else in the service, it has to belearned; but unlike many things, it is never forgotten, and remains onthe body till death. 

The great beam-roofed mess room of the White Hussars was a sight to beremembered. All the mess plate was on the long table--the same tablethat had served up the bodies of five dead officers in a forgottenfight long and long ago--the dingy, battered standards faced the doorof entrance, clumps of winter roses lay between the silvercandlesticks, the portraits of eminent officers deceased looked downon their successors from between the heads of sambhur[12], nilghai[13], maikhor, and, pride of all the mess, two grinningsnow-leopards that had cost Basset-Holmer four months' leave that hemight have spent in England instead of on the road to Thibet, and thedaily risk of his life on ledge, snowslide, and glassy grass slope. 

The servants, in spotless white muslin and the crest of theirregiments on the brow of their turbans, waited behind their masters, who were clad in the scarlet and gold of the White Hussars and thecream and silver of the Lushkar Light Horse. Dirkovitch's dull greenuniform was the only dark spot at the board, but his big onyx eyesmade up for it. He was fraternizing effusively with the captain of theLushkar team, who was wondering how many of Dirkovitch's Cossacks hisown long, lathy down-countrymen could account for in a fair charge. But one does not speak of these things openly. 

The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band playedbetween the courses, as is the immemorial custom, till all tonguesceased for a moment with the removal of the dinner slips and the FirstToast of Obligation, when the colonel, rising, said, "Mr. Vice, theQueen, " and Little Mildred from the bottom of the table answered, "TheQueen, God bless her!" and the big spurs clanked as the big men heavedthemselves up and drank the Queen, upon whose pay they were falselysupposed to pay their mess bills. That sacrament of the mess nevergrows old, and never ceases to bring a lump into the throat of thelistener wherever he be, by land or by sea. Dirkovitch rose with his"brothers glorious, " but he could not understand. No one but anofficer can understand what the toast means; and the bulk have moresentiment than comprehension. It all comes to the same in the end, asthe enemy said when he was wriggling on a lance point. Immediatelyafter the little silence that follows on the ceremony there enteredthe native officer who had played for the Lushkar team. He could notof course eat with the alien, but he came in at dessert, all six feetof him, with the blue-and-silver turban atop, and the big blacktop-boots below. The mess rose joyously as he thrust forward the hiltof his saber, in token of fealty, for the colonel of the White Hussarsto touch, and dropped into a vacant chair amid shouts of "_Rung ho_!Hira Singh!" (which being translated means "Go in and win!"). "Did Iwhack you over the knee, old man?" "Ressaidar Sahib, what the devilmade you play that kicking pig of a pony in the last ten minutes?""Shabash, Ressaidar Sahib!" Then the voice of the colonel, "The healthof Ressaidar Hira Singh!"

After the shouting had died away, Hira Singh rose to reply, for he wasthe cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew what wasdue on these occasions. Thus he spoke in the vernacular:--

"Colonel Sahib and officers of this regiment, much honor have you doneme. This will I remember. We came down from afar to play you; but wewere beaten. " ("No fault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on our ownground, y' know. Your ponies were cramped from the railway. Don'tapologize. ") "Therefore perhaps we will come again if it be soordained. " ("Hear! Hear, hear, indeed! Bravo! Hsh!") "Then we willplay you afresh" ("Happy to meet you"), "till there are left no feetupon our ponies. Thus far for sport. " He dropped one hand on his swordhilt and his eye wandered to Dirkovitch lolling back in his chair. "But if by the will of God there arises any other game which is notthe polo game, then be assured, Colonel Sahib and officers, that weshall play it out side by side, though _they_"--again his eye soughtDirkovitch--"though _they_, I say, have fifty ponies to our onehorse. " And with a deep-mouthed _Rung ho_! that rang like a musketbutt on flagstones, he sat down amid shoutings. 

Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to the brandy--theterrible brandy aforementioned--did not understand, nor did theexpurgated[14] translations offered to him at all convey the point. Decidedly the native officer's was the speech of the evening, and theclamor might have continued to the dawn had it not been broken by thenoise of a shot without that sent every man feeling at his defenselessleft side. It is notable that Dirkovitch "reached back, " after theAmerican fashion--a gesture that set the captain of the Lushkar teamwondering how Cossack officers were armed at mess. Then there was ascuffle, and a yell of pain. 

"Carbine stealing again!" said the adjutant, calmly sinking back inhis chair. "This comes of reducing the guards. I hope the sentrieshave killed him. "

The feet of armed men pounded on the veranda flags, and it sounded asthough something was being dragged. 

"Why don't they put him in the cells till the morning?" said thecolonel, testily. "See if they've damaged him, sergeant. "

The mess-sergeant fled out into the darkness, and returned with twotroopers and a corporal, all very much perplexed. 

"Caught a man stealin' carbines, sir, " said the corporal. 

"Leastways 'e was crawling toward the barricks, sir, past themain-road sentries; an' the sentry 'e says, sir--"

The limp heap of rags upheld by the three men groaned. Never was seenso destitute and demoralized an Afghan. He was turbanless, shoeless, caked with dirt, and all but dead with rough handling. Hira Singhstarted slightly at the sound of the man's pain. Dirkovitch tookanother liqueur glass of brandy. 

"_What_ does the sentry say?" said the colonel. 

"Sez he speaks English, sir, " said the corporal. 

"So you brought him into mess instead of handing him over to thesergeant! If he spoke all the tongues of the Pentecost you've nobusiness--"

Again the bundle groaned and muttered. Little Mildred had risen fromhis place to inspect. He jumped back as though he had been shot. 

"Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send the men away, " said he tothe colonel, for he was a much-privileged subaltern. He put his armsround the rag-bound horror as he spoke, and dropped him into a chair. It may not have been explained that the littleness of Mildred lay inhis being six feet four, and big in proportion. The corporal, seeingthat an officer was disposed to look after the capture, and that thecolonel's eye was beginning to blaze, promptly removed himself and hismen. The mess was left alone with the carbine thief, who laid his headon the table and wept bitterly, hopelessly, and inconsolably, aslittle children weep. 

Hira Singh leaped to his feet with a long-drawn vernacular oath"Colonel Sahib, " said he, "that man is no Afghan, for they weep '_Ai!Ai_!' Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep, '_Oh! Ho_!' He weeps afterthe fashion of the white men, who say '_Ow! Ow_!'"

"Now where the dickens did you get that knowledge, Hira Singh?" saidthe captain of the Lushkar team. 

"Hear him!" said Hira Singh, simply, pointing at the crumpled figurethat wept as though it would never cease. 

"He said, 'My God!'" said Little Mildred, "I heard him say it. "

The colonel and the mess room looked at the man in silence. It is ahorrible thing to hear a man cry. A woman can sob from the top of herpalate, or her lips, or anywhere else, but a man cries from hisdiaphragm, and it rends him to pieces. Also, the exhibition causes thethroat of the on-looker to close at the top. 

"Poor devil!" said the colonel, coughing tremendously, "We ought tosend him to hospital. He's been manhandled. "

Now the adjutant loved his rifles. They were to him as hisgrandchildren--the men standing in the first place. He gruntedrebelliously: "I can understand an Afghan stealing, because he's madethat way. But I can't understand his crying. That makes it worse. "

The brandy must have affected Dirkovitch, for he lay back in his chairand stared at the ceiling. There was nothing special in the ceilingbeyond a shadow as of a huge black coffin. Owing to some peculiarityin the construction of the mess room this shadow was always thrownwhen the candles were lighted. It never disturbed the digestion of theWhite Hussars. They were, in rather proud of it. 

"Is he going to cry all night?" said the colonel, "or are we supposedto sit up with Little Mildred's guest until he feels better?"

The man in the chair threw up his head and stared at the mess. Outside, the wheels of the first of those bidden to the festivitiescrunched the roadway. 

"Oh, my God!" said the man in the chair, and every soul in the messrose to his feet. Then the Lushkar captain did a deed for which heought to have been given the Victoria Cross--distinguished gallantryin a fight against overwhelming curiosity. He picked up his team withhis eyes as the hostess picks up the ladies at the opportune moment, and pausing only by the colonel's chair to say, "This isn't _our_affair, you know, sir, " led the team into the veranda and the gardens. Hira Singh was the last, and he looked at Dirkovitch as he moved. ButDirkovitch had departed into a brandy paradise of his own. His lipsmoved without sound, and he was studying the coffin on the ceiling. 

"White--white all over, " said Basset-Holmer, the adjutant. "What apernicious renegade[15] he must be! I wonder where he came from?"

The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and "Who are you?" saidhe. 

There was no answer. The man stared round the mess room and smiled inthe colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was always more of a womanthan a man till "Boot and saddle" was sounded, repeated the questionin a voice that would have drawn confidences from a geyser. The manonly smiled. Dirkovitch, at the far end of the table, slid gently fromhis chair to the floor, No son of Adam, in this present imperfectworld, can mix the Hussars' champagne with the Hussars' brandy by fiveand eight glasses of each without remembering the pit whence he hasbeen digged and descending thither. The band began to play the tunewith which the White Hussars, from the date of their formation, preface all their functions. They would sooner be disbanded thanabandon that tune. It is a part of their system. The man straightenedhimself in his chair and drummed on the table with his fingers. 

"I don't see why we should entertain lunatics, " said the colonel;"call a guard and send him off to the cells. We'll look into thebusiness in the morning. Give him a glass of wine first, though. "

Little Mildred filled a sherry glass with the brandy and thrust itover to the man. He drank, and the tune rose louder, and hestraightened himself yet more. Then he put out his long-taloned handsto a piece of plate opposite and fingered it lovingly. There was amystery connected with that piece of plate in the shape of a spring, which converted what was a seven-branched candlestick, three springseach side and one on the middle, into a sort of wheel-spokecandelabrum[16]. He found the spring, pressed it, and laughed weakly. He rose from his chair and inspected a picture on the wall, then movedon to another picture, the mess watching him without a word. 

When he came to the mantelpiece he shook his head and seemeddistressed. A piece of plate representing a mounted hussar in fulluniform caught his eye. He pointed to it, and then to the mantelpiece, with inquiry in his eyes. 

"What is it--oh, what is it?" said Little Mildred. Then, as a mothermight speak to a child, "That is a horse--yes, a horse. "

Very slowly came the answer, in a thick, passionless guttural: "Yes, I--have seen. But--where is _the_ horse?"

You could have heard the hearts of the mess beating as the men drewback to give the stranger full room in his wanderings. There was noquestion of calling the guard. 

Again he spoke, very slowly, "Where is _our_ horse?"

There is no saying what happened after that. There is but one horse inthe White Hussars, and his portrait hangs outside the door of the messroom. He is the piebald drum-horse the king of the regimental band, that served the regiment for seven-and-thirty years, and in the endwas shot for old age. Half the mess tore the thing down from its placeand thrust it into the man's hands. He placed it above themantelpiece; it clattered on the ledge, as his poor hands dropped it, and he staggered toward the bottom of the table, falling intoMildred's chair. The band began to play the "River of Years" waltz, and the laughter from the gardens came into the tobacco-scented messroom. But nobody, even the youngest, was thinking of waltzes. They allspoke to one another something after this fashion: "The drum-horsehasn't hung over the mantelpiece since '67. " "How does he know?""Mildred, go and speak to him again. " "Colonel, what are you going todo?" "Oh, dry up, and give the poor devil a chance to pull himselftogether!" "It isn't possible, anyhow. The man's a lunatic. "

Little Mildred stood at the colonel's side talking into his ear. "Willyou be good enough to take your seats, please, gentlemen?" he said, and the mess dropped into the chairs. 

Only Dirkovitch's seat, next to Little Mildred's, was blank, andLittle Mildred himself had found Hira Singh's place. The wide-eyedmess sergeant filled the glasses in dead silence. Once more thecolonel rose, but his hand shook, and the port spilled on the table ashe looked straight at the man in Little Mildred's chair and said, hoarsely, "Mr. Vice, the Queen. " There was a little pause, but the mansprang to his feet and answered, without hesitation, "The Queen, Godbless her!" and as he emptied the thin glass he snapped the shankbetween his fingers. 

Long and long ago, when the Empress of India was a young woman, andthere were no unclean ideals in the land, it was the custom in a fewmesses to drink the Queen's toast in broken glass, to the huge delightof the mess contractors. The custom is now dead, because there isnothing to break anything for, except now and again the word of agovernment, and that has been broken already. 

"That settles it, " said the colonel, with a gasp. "He's not asergeant. What in the world is he?"

The entire mess echoed the word, and the volley of questions wouldhave scared any man. Small wonder that the ragged, filthy invadercould only smile and shake his head. 

From under the table, calm and smiling urbanely[17], rose Dirkovitch, who had been roused from healthful slumber by feet upon his body. Bythe side of the man he rose, and the man shrieked and groveled at hisfeet. It was a horrible sight, coming so swiftly upon the pride andglory of the toast that had brought the strayed wits together. 

Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but Little Mildred heaved himup in an instant. It is not good that a gentleman who can answer tothe Queen's toast should lie at the feet of a subaltern of Cossacks. 

The hasty action tore the wretch's upper clothing nearly to the waist, and his body was seamed with dry black scars. There is only one weaponin the world that cuts in parallel lines, and it is neither the canenor the cat. Dirkovitch saw the marks, and the pupils of his eyesdilated--also, his face changed. He said something that sounded like"Shto ve takete"; and the man, fawning, answered, "Chetyre. "

"What's that?" said everybody together. 

"His number. That is number four, you know. " Dirkovitch spoke verythickly. 

"What has a Queen's officer to do with a qualified number?" said thecolonel, and there rose an unpleasant growl round the table. 

"How can I tell?" said the affable Oriental, with a sweet smile. "Heis a--how you have it?--escape--runaway, from over there. "

He nodded toward the darkness of the night. 

"Speak to him, if he'll answer you, and speak to him gently, " saidLittle Mildred, settling the man in a chair. It seemed most improperto all present that Dirkovitch. Should sip brandy as he talked inpurring, spitting Russian to the creature who answered so feebly andwith such evident dread. But since Dirkovitch appeared to understand, no man said a word. They breathed heavily, leaning forward, in thelong gaps of the conversation. The next time that they have noengagements on hand the White Hussars intend to go to St. Petersburgand learn Russian. 

"He does not know how many years ago, " said Dirkovitch, facing themess, "but he says it was very long ago, in a war, I think that therewas an accident. He says he was of this glorious and distinguishedregiment in the war. "

"The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the rolls!" said Little Mildred, and the adjutant dashed off bareheaded to the orderly room where therolls of the regiment were kept. He returned just in time to hearDirkovitch conclude, "Therefore I am most sorry to say there was anaccident, which would have been, reparable if he had apologized to ourcolonel, whom he had insulted. "

Another growl, which the colonel tried to beat down. The mess was inno mood to weigh insults to Russian colonels just then. 

"He does not remember, but I think that there was an accident, and sohe was not exchanged among the prisoners, but he was sent to anotherplace--how do you say?--the country. _So_, he says, he came here. Hedoes not know how he came. Eh? He _was_ at Chepany[18]"--the mancaught the word, nodded, and shivered--"at Zhigansk[19] andIrkutsk[20]. I cannot understand how he escaped. He says, too, that hewas in the forests for many years, but how many years he hasforgotten--that with many things. It was an accident; done because hedid not apologise to our colonel. Ah!"

Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it is sad to recordthat the White Hussars livelily exhibited unchristian delight andother emotions, hardly restrained by their sense of hospitality. Holmer flung the frayed and yellow regimental rolls on the table, andthe men flung themselves atop of these. 

"Steady! Fifty-six--fifty-five--fifty-four, " said Holmer. "Here weare. 'Lieutenant Austin Limmason--_missing_. ' That was beforeSebastopol[21]. What an infernal shame! Insulted one of theircolonels, and was quietly shipped off. Thirty years of his life wipedout. "

"But he never apologized. Said he'd see him----first, " chorussed themess. 

"Poor devil! I suppose he never had the chance afterward. How did hecome here?" said the colonel. 

The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer. 

"Do you know who you are?"

It laughed weakly. 

"Do you know that you are Limmason--Lieutenant Limmason, of the WhiteHussars?"

Swift as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised tone, "Yes, I'm Limmason, of course. " The light died out in his eyes, and hecollapsed afresh, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with terror. Aflight from Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in the mind, but itdoes not lead to continuity of thought. The man could not explain how, like a homing pigeon, he had found his way to his own old mess again. Of what he had suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed beforeDirkovitch as instinctively as he had pressed the spring of thecandlestick, sought the picture of the drum-horse, and answered to theQueen's toast. The rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tonguecould only in part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and hegiggled and cowered alternately. 

The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at thisextremely inopportune moment to make a speech. He rose, swayingslightly, gripped the table edge, while his eyes glowed like opals, and began:--"Fellow-soldiers glorious--true friends and hospitables. It was an accident, and deplorable--most deplorable. " Here he smiledsweetly all round the mess. "But you will think of this little, littlething. So little, is it not? The czar! Posh! I slap my fingers--I snapmy fingers at him. Do I believe in him? No! But the Slav who has donenothing, _him_ I believe. Seventy--how much?--millions that have donenothing--not one thing. Napoleon was an episode. " He banged a hand onthe table. "Hear you, old peoples, we have done nothing in theworld--out here. All our work is to do: and it shall be done, oldpeoples. Get away!" He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to theman. "You see him. He is not good to see. He was just one little--oh, so little--accident, that no one remembered. Now he is _That_. So willyou be, brother-soldiers so brave--so will you be. But you will nevercome back. You will all go where he has gone, or"--he pointed to thegreat coffin shadow on the ceiling, and muttering, "Seventymillions--get away, you old people, " fell asleep. 

"Sweet, and to the point, " said Little Mildred. "What's the use ofgetting wroth? Let's make the poor devil comfortable. "

But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving handsof the White Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only to go awayagain three days later, when the wail of the "Dead March" and thetramp of the squadrons told the wondering station, that saw no gap inthe table, an officer of the regiment had resigned his new-foundcommission. 

And Dirkovitch--bland, supple, and always genial--went away too by anight train. Little Mildred and another saw him off, for he was theguest of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with the openhand the law of the mess allowed no relaxation of hospitality. 

"Good-by, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey, " said Little Mildred. 

"_Au revoir[22]_ my true friends, " said the Russian. 

"Indeed! But we thought you were going home?"

"Yes; but I will come again. My friends, is that road shut?" Hepointed to where the north star burned over the Khyber Pass. 

"By Jove! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet you, old man, any timeyou like. Got everything you want, --cheroots, ice, bedding? That's allright. Well, _au revoir_, Dirkovitch. "

"Um, " said the other man, as the tail-lights of the train grew small. "Of--all--the--unmitigated[23]--"

Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the north star, andhummed a selection from a recent burlesque that had much delighted theWhite Hussars. It ran:--

 "I'm sorry for Mister Bluebeard, I'm sorry to cause him pain; But a terrible spree there's sure to be When he comes back again. "

NOTES

[1] _The Man Who Was_ was written in 1889. 

[2] 46:6 anomaly. Deviation from type. 

[3] 47:1 Hussars. Light-horse troopers armed with sabre and carbine. 

[4] 47:1 Peshawur. City in British India. 

[5] 47:7 Tyrones. From a county in Ireland by this name. 

[6] 47:26 Burmah. In southeastern Asia. Part of the British Empire. 

[7] 47:27 Irrawaddy. Chief river of Burma. 

[8] 48:27 Sotnia. Company of the Cossacks. 

[9] 50:14 rupee. Indian coin worth about forty-eight cents. 

[10] 50:21 vendettas. Private blood-feuds. 

[11] 51:14 Punjab. Country of five rivers, tributaries of the Indus. 

[12] 81:26 Sambhur. A rusine deer found in India. 

[13] 51:26 nilghai. Antelope with hind legs shorter than itsfore-legs. 

[14] 54:9 expurgated. Purified. 

[15] 57:23 renegade. One who deserts his faith. 

[16] 58:26 candelabrum. Stand supporting several lamps. 

[17] 61:3 urbanely. Politely. 

[18] 63:2 Chepany. Town in Siberia. 

[19] 63:4 Zhigansk. Town in Siberia. 

[20] 63:4 Irkutsk. Province and city in Siberia. 

[21] 63:17 Sebastopol. Seaport in Russia. 

[22] 65:26 Au revoir. Till we meet again. 

[23] 66:6 unmitigated. As bad as can be. 

BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_Essays on Modern Novelists_, William Lyon Phelps. 

_A Kipling Primer_, Knowles. 

_Rudyard Kipling_, Richard Le Galliene. 

"Kipling to French Eyes, " _Bookman_, 26: 584. 

"Life of Kipling, " _Encyclopaedia Britannica. 

"Life of Kipling, " _The Universal Encyclopedia_. 

BIOGRAPHY

Rudyard Kipling, the most vigorous, versatile, and highly endowed ofthe present-day writers of fiction, was born in Bombay, India, December 30, 1865. His place of birth and extensive travelling makehim more Anglo-Saxon than British. His father was for many yearsconnected with the schools of art at Bombay and Lahore in India. Hismother, Alice MacDonald, was the daughter of a Methodist clergyman. 

Kipling was brought to England when he was five years old to beeducated. While in college at Westward Ho he edited the _CollegeChronicle_. For this paper he contributed regularly, poetry andstories. After his school days and on his return to India, he servedon the editorial staff of the Lahore _Civil and Military Gazette_ from1882 to 1887, and was assistant editor of the _Pioneer_ at Allahabadfrom 1887 to 1889. 

Kipling has travelled extensively. He is at home in India, China, Japan, Africa, Australia, England, and America. The odd part about hisrealistic observations, however, is that his notes, whether writtenabout California or India, are often repudiated by the people whom hehas visited. After visiting England and the United States in a vaineffort to find a publisher for his writings, he returned to India andpublished in the _Pioneer_ his _American Notes_, which wereimmediately reproduced in book form in New York in 1891. 

He married Miss Balestier of New York in 1892. They settled atBrattleboro, Vermont, immediately after their marriage and lived thereuntil 1896. Kipling revisited the United States in 1899. While on thistrip he suffered a severe attack of pneumonia which brought out ademonstration of interest from the American people that clearly showedtheir appreciation of him as a man and a writer. 

CRITICISMS

Kipling is journalistic in all his writings. Oftentimes his materialis very thin, flippant, and sensational, but he always is interesting, for he possesses the expert reporter's unerring judgment for choosingthe essentials of his situation, character, or description, that catchand hold the reader's attention. In his earlier writings, like _PlainTales from the Hills_ or _The Jungle Books_, the radical racialdifferences between his characters and readers, and the background ofprimitive, mysterious India caught the reading world and instantlyestablished Kipling's fame. 

His technique is brilliant, his wit keen, and his energy of the boldand dashing military type. This audacious energy leads him very ofteninto sprawling situations, a worship of imperialism, and recklessstatements concerning moral and spiritual laws. Unlike Bret Harte, whowas in many respects one of Kipling's ideals, he leaves his bad andcoarse characters disreputable to the end. This is due in a largemeasure to the lack of warmth and light in his writings. Incontradiction to this type of his works his _William the Conqueror_and _An Habitation Enforced_ are filled with a gentle-human sympathythat causes us to forget and forgive any vulgarity he may have used inhis more primitive and coarse characters. Even Kipling partisans mustsometimes wish that Kipling's vision were not so dimmed by the Britishflag and that he might forget for a time the British soldier he lovesso ardently. 

His writings since 1899 are much more mechanical than his earlierworks. He seems, at times, to resort to the orator's superficialtricks in his attempts to attract readers. The _Athenaeum_, a friendlyorgan, says of his later work: "In his new part--the missionary ofEmpire--Mr. Kipling is living the strenuous life. He has franklyabandoned story telling, and is using his complete and powerful armoryin the interests of patriotic zeal. "

Whatever may be the final judgment of the world concerning Kipling'sclaim to literary genius, the young student may rest assured thatthere is no one in England who can compare with this strenuous andversatile writer. He is original and powerful, interesting andrealistic. He is a lover of the men who earn their bread by the sweatof their faces and a despiser of "flannelled fools. " He lacks theday-dreams of Stevenson and preaches from every housetop the gospel ofvirile, acting morality. Many of his readers have criticised adverselyhis spiritual teachings, because of the furious energy with which hedenounces an apathetic religion and eulogizes the person who workswith all his might, day after day, for the highest he knows and neverfears the day of death and judgment. 

GENERAL REFERENCES

_The Book of the Short Story_, Alexander Jessup. 

_The Short Story in English_, Henry Seidel Canby. 

_Bibliography of Kipling's Works_, Eugene P, Saxton. 

"Contradictory Elements in Rudyard Kipling, " _Current Literature_, 44:274. 

"Where Kipling Stands, " _Bookman_, 29: 120-122. 

"Are there two Kiplings?" _Cosmopolitan_, 31: 653-660. 

"Literary Style of Kipling, " _Lippincott_, 73: 99-103. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_The Man Who Would be King_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_William the Conqueror_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Phantom Rickshaw_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_The Finest Story in the World_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Under the Deodars_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_An Habitation Enforced_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Plain Tales from the Hills_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_The Light that Failed_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Wee Willie Winkie_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Baa Baa Black Sheep_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Captains Courageous_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_The Jungle Books_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_They_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_The Brushwood Boy_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Christ in Flanders_, Honoré de Balzac. 

_The Old Gentleman of the Black Stock_, Thomas Nelson Page. 

_A New England Nun_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

_Outcasts of Poker Flat_, Bret Harte. 

_The Siege of Berlin_, Alphonse Dadoed. 

_The Prisoner of Assiout_, Grant Allen. 

_A Terribly Strange Bed_, Wilkie Collins. 

_The Prisoners_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_Mr. Isaacs_, F. Marion Crawford. 

_Where Love Is, There God Is Also_, Leo Tolstoi. 

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER [1]

_By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)_

 Son coeur est un luth suspendu; Sitôt qu'on le touche il résonne. --De Béranger. [2]

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn ofthe year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I hadbeen passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract ofcountry; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drewon, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how itwas; but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense ofinsufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for thefeeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, becausepoetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even thesternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon thescene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscapefeatures of the domain--upon the bleak walls--upon the vacant eye-likewindows--a few rank sedges--and upon a few white trunks of decayedtrees--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to noearthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of thereveller upon opium--the bitter lapse into every-day life--the hideousdropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickeningof the heart--an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading ofthe imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What wasit--I paused to think--what was it that so unnerved me in thecontemplation of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble;nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as Ipondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusionthat while, beyond doubt, there _are_ combinations of very simplenatural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still theanalysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. Itwas possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of theparticulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would besufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity forsorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse tothe precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn[3] that lay inunruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down--but with a shuddereven more thrilling than before--upon the remodelled and invertedimages of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree stems, and the vacantand eye-like windows. 

Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to myself asojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one ofmy boon companions in boyhood; but many years had elapsed since ourlast meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a distantpart of the country--a letter from him--which, in its wildlyimportunate nature, had admitted of no other than a personal reply. The Ms. Gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acutebodily illness, of a mental disorder which oppressed him, and of anearnest desire to see me, as his best, and indeed his only, personalfriend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation of his malady. It was the manner in which all this, and much more, was said--it was the apparent _heart_ that went withhis request--which allowed me no room for hesitation; and Iaccordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very singularsummons. 

Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet I reallyknew little of my friend. His reserve had been always excessive andhabitual. I was aware, however, that his very ancient family had beennoted, time out of mind, for a peculiar sensibility of temperament, displaying itself, through long ages, in many works of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in repeated deeds of munificent, yetunobtrusive, charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to theintricacies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easilyrecognizable beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, thevery remarkable fact that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honoredas it was, had put forth, at no period, any enduring branch; in otherwords, that the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, andhad always, with very trifling and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over in thoughtthe perfect keeping of the character of the premises with theaccredited character of the people, and while speculating upon thepossible influence which the one, in the long lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the other--it was this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent undeviating transmission, fromsire to son, of the patrimony with the name, which had, at length, soidentified the two as to merge the original title of the estate in thequaint and equivocal appellation of the _House of Usher_--anappellation which seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry whoused it, both the family and the family mansion. 

I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish experiment oflooking down within the tarn had been to deepen the first singularimpression. There can be no doubt that the consciousness of the rapidincrease of my superstition--for why should I not so term it?--servedmainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long known, isthe paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis. And itmight have been for this reason only, that, when I again uplifted myeyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, there grew in mymind a strange fancy--a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I butmention it to show the vivid force of the sensations which oppressedme. I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe thatabout the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiarto themselves and their immediate vicinity--an atmosphere which had noaffinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from thedecayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn--a pestilent andmystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued. 

Shaking off from my spirit what _must_ have been a dream, I scannedmore narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal featureseemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ageshad been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging ina fine, tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart fromany extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen;and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its stillperfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of theindividual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of thespecious totality of old woodwork which has rotted for years in someneglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the externalair. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabricgave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizingobserver might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way downthe wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullenwaters of the tarn. 

Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. Aservant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway ofthe hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the_studio_ of his master. Much that I encountered on the waycontributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of whichI have already spoken. While the objects around me--while the carvingsof the ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebonblackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophieswhich rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such aswhich, I had been accustomed from my infancy--while I hesitated not toacknowledge how familiar was all this--I still wondered to find howunfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. Onone of the staircases I met the physician of the family. Hiscountenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning andperplexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. The valetnow threw open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master. 

The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The windowswere long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a distance from theblack oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeblegleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellisedpanes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominentobjects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach theremoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the vaulted andfretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The generalfurniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many booksand musical instruments lay scattered about, but failed to give anyvitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervadedall. 

Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa on which he had been lyingat full length, and greeted me with, a vivacious warmth which had muchin it, I at first thought, of an overdone cordiality--of theconstrained effort of the _ennuyé_[4] man of the world. A glance, however, at his countenance convinced me of his perfect sincerity. Wesat down; and for some moments, while he spoke not. I gazed upon himwith a feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely, man had never beforeso terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! Itwas with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identity ofthe wan being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. Yetthe character of his face had been at all times remarkable. Acadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminousbeyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of asurpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, butwith a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations; a finelymoulded chin, speaking, in its want of prominence, of a want of moralenergy; hair of a more than web-like softness and tenuity; thesefeatures, with an inordinate expansion above the regions of thetemple, made up altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten. And now in the mere exaggeration of the prevailing character of thesefeatures, and of the expression they were wont to convey, lay so muchof change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor ofthe skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye, above all thingsstartled, and even awed me. The silken hair, too, had been suffered togrow all unheeded, and as, in its wild gossamer texture, it floatedrather than fell about the face, I could not, even with effort, connect its arabesque expression with any idea of simple humanity. 

In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with anincoherence--an inconsistency; and I soon found this to arise from aseries of feeble and futile struggles to overcome an habitualtrepidancy, an excessive nervous agitation. For something of thisnature I had indeed been prepared, no less by his letter than byreminiscences of certain boyish traits, and by conclusions deducedfrom his peculiar physical conformation and temperament. His actionwas alternately vivacious and sullen. His voice varied rapidly from atremulous indecision (when the animal spirits seemed utterly inabeyance) to that species of energetic concision--that abrupt, weighty, unhurried, and hollow-sounding enunciation--that leaden, self-balanced, and perfectly modulated guttural utterance, which maybe observed in the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater of opium, during the periods of his most intense excitement. 

It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his earnestdesire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to afford him. Heentered, at some length, into what he conceived to be the nature ofhis malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, andone for which he despaired to find a remedy--a mere nervous affection, he immediately added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. Itdisplayed itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, ashe detailed them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, theterms and the general manner of the narration had their weight. Hesuffered much from a morbid acuteness of the senses. The most insipidfood was alone endurable; he could wear only garments of certaintexture; the odors of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes weretortured by even a faint light; and there were but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed instruments, which did not inspire him withhorror. 

To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden[5] slave. "Ishall perish, " said he, "I _must_ perish, in this deplorable folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I dread the events ofthe future, not in themselves, but in their results. I shudder at thethought of any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operateupon this intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrenceof danger, except in its absolute effect--in terror. In thisunnerved--in this pitiable condition--I feel that the period willsooner or later arrive when I must abandon life and reason together, in some struggle with the grim phantasm, FEAR. "

I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and equivocalhints, another singular feature of his mental condition. He wasenchained by certain superstitious impressions in regard to thedwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for many years, he had neverventured forth--in regard to an influence whose supposititious forcewas conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be restated--an influencewhich some peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his familymansion, had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained over hisspirit--an effect which the _physique_ of the gray walls and turrets, and of the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had, at length, brought about upon the _morale_ of his existence. 

He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of thepeculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a morenatural and far more palpable origin--to the severe and long-continuedillness--indeed to the evidently approaching dissolution--of atenderly beloved sister, his sole companion for long years, his lastand only relative on earth. "Her decease, " he said, with a bitternesswhich I can never forget, "would leave him (him the hopeless and thefrail) the last of the ancient race of the Ushers. " While he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through aremote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed mypresence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter astonishment notunmingled with dread[6]; and yet I found it impossible to account forsuch feelings. A sensation of stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followedher retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed upon her, myglance sought instinctively and eagerly the countenance of thebrother; but he had buried his face in his hands, and I could onlyperceive that a far more than ordinary wanness had overspread theemaciated fingers through which trickled many passionate tears. 

The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of herphysicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of the person, and frequent although transient affections of a partially catalepticalcharacter, were the unusual diagnosis. Hitherto she had steadily borneup against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken herselffinally to bed; but on the closing in of the evening of my arrival atthe house, she succumbed (as her brother told me at night withinexpressible agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer;and I learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thusprobably be the last I should obtain--that the lady, at least whileliving, would be seen by me no more. 

For several days ensuing her name was unmentioned by either Usher ormyself; and during this period I was busied in earnest endeavors toalleviate the melancholy of my friend. We painted and read together;or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations[7] of hisspeaking guitar. And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacyadmitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, themore bitterly did I perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering amind from which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, pouredforth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, in oneunceasing radiation of gloom. 

I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours I thusspent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I should failin any attempt to convey an idea of the exact character of thestudies, or of the occupations in which he involved me, or led me theway. An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphurousluster over all. His long, improvised dirges will ring forever in myears. Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singularperversion and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of vonWeber[8]. From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which I shudderedthe more thrillingly because I shuddered knowing not why, --from thesepaintings (vivid as their images now are before, me) I would in vainendeavor to educe more than a small portion which should lie withinthe compass of merely written words. By the utter simplicity, by thenakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed attention. If evermortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me, atleast, in the circumstances then surrounding me, there arose out ofthe pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw, uponhis canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt Iever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet tooconcrete reveries of Fuseli. [9]

One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partaking not sorigidly of the spirit of abstraction may be shadowed forth, althoughfeebly, in words. A small picture presented the interior of animmensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption or device. Certain accessorypoints of the design served well to convey the idea that thisexcavation lay at an exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torchor other artificial source of light was discernible; yet a flood ofintense rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly andinappropriate splendor. 

I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory nervewhich rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with theexception of certain effects of stringed, instruments. It was, perhaps, the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon theguitar, which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic characterof his performances. But the fervid _facility_ of his _impromptus_could not be so accounted for. They must have been, and were, in thenotes, as well as in the words of his wild fantasias (for he notunfrequently accompanied himself with rimed verbal improvisations), the result of that intense mental collectedness and concentration towhich I have previously alluded as observable only in particularmoments of the highest artificial excitement. The words of one ofthese rhapsodies I have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the moreforcibly impressed with it, as he gave it, because, in the under ormystic current of its meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and for thefirst time, a full consciousness on the part of Usher, of thetottering of his lofty reason upon her throne. The verses, which wereentitled "The Haunted Palace, "[10] ran very nearly, if not accurately, thus:--

I

 In the greenest of our valleys, By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace-- Radiant palace--reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion-- It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair. 

II

 Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow; (This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A wingèd odor went away. 

III

 Wanderers in that happy valley Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically To a lute's well-tunèd law, Round about a throne, where sitting (Porphyrogene!)[11] In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. 

IV

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

V

 But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him, desolate!); And, round about his home, the glory That blushed and bloomed Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. 

VI

 And travelers now within that valley, Through the red-litten windows, see Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody; While, like a rapid ghastly river, Through the pale door, A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh--but smile no more. 

I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad led us intoa train of thought wherein there became manifest an opinion of Usher'swhich I mention not so much on account of its novelty (for othermen[12] have thought thus) as on account of the pertinacity with whichhe maintained it. This opinion, in its general form, was that of thesentience of all vegetable things. But, in his disordered fancy, theidea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, undercertain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack wordsto express the full extent or the earnest _abandon_ of his persuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) withthe gray stones of the home of his forefathers. The conditions of thesentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method ofcollocation of these stones--in the order of their arrangement, aswell as in that of the many _fungi_ which overspread them, and of thedecayed trees which stood around--above all, in the long-undisturbedendurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in the stillwaters of the tarn. Its evidence--the evidence of the sentience--wasto be seen, he said (and I here started as he spoke), in the gradualyet certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about thewaters and the walls. The result was discoverable, he added, in thatsilent, yet importunate and terrible influence which for centuries hadmolded the destinies of his family, and which made _him_ what I nowsaw him--what he was. Such opinions need no comment, and I will makenone. 

Our books--the books which, for years, had formed no small portion ofthe mental existence of the invalid--were, as might be supposed, instrict keeping with this character of phantasm. We pored together oversuch works as the _Ververt et Chartreuse_[13] of Gresset; the_Belphegor_[14] of Machiavelli; the _Heaven and Hell_[15] ofSwedenborg; the _Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm_[16] byHolberg; the _Chiromancy_[17] of Robert Flud, of Jean D'lndaginé, andof De la Chambre[18]; the _Journey into the Blue Distance_ ofTieck[19]; and the _City of the Sun_[20] of Campanella. One favoritevolume was a small octavo edition of the _DirectoriumInquisitorium_[21] by the Dominican Eymeric de Cironne; and there werepassages in _Pomponius Mela_, [22] about the old African Satyrs andOegipans, [23] over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chiefdelight, however, was found in the perusal of an exceedingly rare andcurious book in quarto Gothic--the manual of a forgotten church--the_Vigiliae Mortuorum secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Maguntinae_. [24]

I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and of itsprobable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, one evening, havinginformed me abruptly that the lady Madeline was no more, he stated hisintention of preserving her corpse for a fortnight (previously to itsfinal interment) in one of the numerous vaults within the main wallsof the building. The worldly reason, however, assigned for thissingular proceeding, was one which I did not feel at liberty todispute. The brother had been led to his resolution, so he told me, byconsideration of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medicalmen, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial ground ofthe family, I will not deny that when I called to mind the sinistercountenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on the day ofmy arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose what I regarded asat best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural precaution. 

At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangementsfor the temporary entombment. The body having been encoffined, we twoalone bore it to its rest. The vault in which we placed it (and whichhad been so long unopened that our torches, half smothered in itsoppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation)was small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for light;lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that portion of thebuilding in which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently, in remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of adonjon-keep, and in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, orsome other highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reached it, were carefully sheathed with copper. The door, of massive iron, hadbeen also similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an unusuallysharp grating sound as it moved upon its hinges. 

Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within this regionof horror, we partially turned aside the yet unscrewed lid of thecoffin, and looked upon the face of the tenant. A striking similitudebetween the brother and sister now first arrested my attention; andUsher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some few wordsfrom which I learned that the deceased and himself had been twins, andthat sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always existedbetween them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the dead--forwe could not regard her unawed. The disease which had thus entombedthe lady in the maturity of youth, had left, as usual in all maladiesof a strictly cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint blushupon the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering smileupon the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced and screweddown the lid, and having secured the door of iron, made our way, withtoil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper portion ofthe house. 

And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observablechange came over the features of the mental disorder of my friend. Hisordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary occupations were neglectedor forgotten. He roamed from chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallor of his countenance had assumed, ifpossible, a more ghastly line--but the luminousness of his eye hadutterly gone out. The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heardno more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habituallycharacterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when I thoughthis unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with some oppressivesecret, to divulge which he struggled for the necessary courage. Attimes, again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicablevagaries of madness; for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy for longhours, in an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening tosome imaginary sound. It was no wonder that his conditionterrified--that it infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yetcertain degrees, the wild influence of his own fantastic yetimpressive superstitions. 

It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of theseventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline withinthe donjon, that I experienced the full power of such feelings. Sleepcame not near my couch, while the hours waned and waned away, Istruggled to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over me. Iendeavored to believe that much, if not all of what I felt, was due tothe bewildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room--of thedark and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breathof a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, andrustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts werefruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame; and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterlycauseless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle, Iuplifted myself upon the pillows, and peering earnestly within theintense darkness of the chamber, hearkened--I know not why, exceptthat an instinctive spirit prompted me--to certain low and indefinitesounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. Overpowered by an intense sentiment of horror, unaccountable yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste (for Ifelt that I should sleep no more during the night), and endeavored toarouse myself from the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, bypacing rapidly to and fro through the apartment. 

I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step on anadjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently recognized itas that of Usher. In an instant afterward he rapped, with a gentletouch, at my door, and entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan--but, moreover, there was a species of madhilarity in his eyes--and evidently restrained hysteria in his wholedemeanor. His air appalled me--but anything was preferable to thesolitude which I had so long endured, and I even welcomed his presenceas a relief. 

"And you have not seen it?" he said abruptly, after having staredabout him for some moments in silence--"you have not then seenit?--but stay! you shall. " Thus speaking, and having carefully shadedhis lamp, he hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely opento the storm. 

The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from ourfeet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful night, andone wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A whirlwind hadapparently collected its force in our vicinity; for there werefrequent and violent alterations in the direction of the wind; and theexceeding density of the clouds (which hung so low as to press uponthe turrets of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the lifelikevelocity with which they flew careering from all points against eachother, without passing away into the distance. I say that even theirexceeding density did not prevent our perceiving this--yet we had noglimpse of the moon or stars--nor was there any flashing forth of thelightning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitatedvapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately around us, wereglowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctlyvisible gaseous exhalation which hung about and enshrouded themansion. 

"You must not--you shall not behold this!" said I, shudderingly, toUsher, as I led him, with a gentle violence, from the window to aseat. "These appearances, which bewilder you, are merely electricalphenomena not uncommon--or it may be that they have their ghastlyorigin in the rank miasma of the tarn. Let us close this casement--theair is chilling and dangerous to your frame. Here is one of yourfavorite romances. I will read and you shall listen; and so we willpass away this terrible night together. "

The antique volume which I had taken up was the _Mad Trist_ of SirLauncelot Canning[25]; but I had called it a favorite of Usher's morein sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, there is little in itsuncouth and unimaginative prolixity which could have had interest forthe lofty and spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, theonly book immediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that theexcitement which now agitated the hypochondriac, might find relief(for the history of mental disorder is full of similar anomalies) evenin the extremeness of the folly which I should read. Could I havejudged, indeed, by the wild, overstrained air of vivacity with whichhe hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the words of the tale, Imight well have congratulated myself upon the success of my design. 

I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where Ethelred, the hero of the "Trist, " having sought in vain for peaceable admissioninto the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds to make good an entrance byforce. Here, it will be remembered, the words of the narrative runthus:--

"And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and who was nowmighty withal, on account of the powerfulness of the wine which he haddrunken, waited no longer to hold parley with the hermit, who, insooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful turn; but, feeling the rainupon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of the tempest, upliftedhis mace outright, and, with blows, made quickly room in the plankingsof the door for his gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewithsturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that thenoise of the dry and hollow-sounding wood alarummed[26] andreverberated throughout the forest. "

At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a momentpaused; for it appeared to me (although I at once concluded that myexcited fancy had deceived me)--it appeared to me that, from some veryremote portion of the mansion, there came, indistinctly, to my earswhat might have been, in its exact similarity of character, the echo(but a stifled and dull one certainly) of the very cracking andripping sound which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. Itwas, beyond doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested myattention; for, amid the rattling of the sashes of the casements, andthe ordinary commingled noises of the still increasing storm, thesound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should have interested ordisturbed, me. I continued the story:--

"But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, wassore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the maliceful hermit;but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly and prodigiousdemeanor, and of a fiery tongue, which sate in guard before a palaceof gold, with a floor of silver; and upon the wall there hung a shieldof shining brass with this legend enwritten:--

 Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath been; Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. 

"And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of thedragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with ashriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred hadfain[27] to close his ears with his hands against the dreadful noiseof it, the like whereof was never before heard. "

Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of wildamazement--for there could be no doubt whatever that, in thisinstance, I did actually hear (although from what direction itproceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and apparently distant, but harsh, protracted, and most unusual screaming or gratingsound--the exact counterpart of what my fancy had already conjured upfor the dragon's unnatural shriek as described by the romancer. 

Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this second andmost extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand conflicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror were predominant, I still retainedsufficient presence of mind to avoid exciting, by any observation, thesensitive nervousness of my companion. I was by no means certain thathe had noticed the sounds in question; although, assuredly, a strangealteration had, during the last few minutes, taken place in hisdemeanor. From a position fronting my own, he had gradually broughtround his chair, so as to sit with his face to the door of thechamber; and thus I could but partially perceive his features, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were murmuringinaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast--yet I knew that hewas not asleep, from the wide and rigid opening of the eye as I caughta glance of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was atvariance with this idea--for he rocked from side to side with a gentleyet constant and uniform sway. Having rapidly taken notice of allthis, I resumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thusproceeded:--

"And now the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury of thedragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and of the breakingup of the enchantment which was upon it, removed the carcass from outof the way before him, and approached valorously over the silverpavement of the castle to where the shield was upon the wall; which insooth tarried not for his full coming, but fell down at his feet uponthe silver floor, with a mighty, great and terrible ringing sound. "

No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than--as if a shield ofbrass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon a floor ofsilver--I became aware of a distinct, hollow, metallic and clangorous, yet apparently muffled reverberation. Completely unnerved, I leaped tomy feet; but the measured rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. Irushed to the chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly beforehim, and throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stonyrigidity. But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came astrong shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered abouthis lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibberingmurmur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over him, Iat length drank in the hideous import of his words. 

"Not hear it?--yes, I hear it, and _have_ heard it. Long--long--long--many minutes, many hours, many days, have I heardit--yet I dared not--oh, pity me, miserable wretch that I am!--I darednot--I _dared_ not speak! _We have put her living in the tomb!_ Said Inot that my senses were acute? I _now_ tell you that I heard her firstfeeble movements in the hollow coffin. I heard them--many, many daysago--yet I dared not--_I dared not speak!_ Andnow--to-night--Ethelred--ha! ha!---the breaking of the hermit's door, and the death-cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield!--say, rather, the rending of her coffin, and the grating of the iron hingesof her prison, and her struggles within the coppered archway of thevault! Oh, whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she nothurrying to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her footstep onthe stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of herheart? Madman!"--here he sprang furiously to his feet, and shriekedout his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up hissoul--"_Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the door!_"

As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had been foundthe potency of a spell--the huge antique panels to which the speakerpointed threw slowly back, upon the instant, their ponderous and ebonyjaws. It was the work of the rushing gust--but then without thosedoors there _did_ stand the lofty and enshrouded figure of the ladyMadeline of Usher. There was blood upon her white robes, and theevidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciatedframe. For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro uponthe threshold--then, with a low, moaning cry, fell heavily inward uponthe person of her brother, and in her violent and now finaldeath-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to theterrors he had anticipated. 

From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. The storm wasstill abroad in all its wrath as I found myself crossing the oldcauseway. Suddenly there shot along the path a wild light, and Iturned to see whence a gleam so unusual could have issued; for thevast house and its shadows were alone behind me. The radiance was thatof the full, setting, and blood-red moon, which now shone vividlythrough that once barely discernible fissure, of which I have beforespoken as extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzagdirection, to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidlywidened--there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind--the entire orbof the satellite burst at once upon my sight--my brain reeled as I sawthe mighty walls rushing asunder--there was a long tumultuous shoutingsound like the voice of a thousand waters--and the deep and dank tarnat my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the"_House of Usher_. "

NOTES

[1] _The Fall of the House of Usher_ was written in 1839 and publishedat the end of the same year in his Tales of the Grotesque and of theArabesque. 

[2] 70: Motto de Béranger. Popular French lyric poet (1780-1857). "Hisheart is a suspended lute; as soon as it is touched it resounds. "

[3] 71:23 tarn. A small mountain lake. 

[4] 76:7 ennuyé. Mentally wearied or bored. 

[5] 78:11 bounden. An archaic word. 

[6] 79:19 Dread. Reading of the first edition, "Her figure, her air, her features, --all, in their very minutest development, werethose--were identically (I can use no other sufficient term), wereidentically those of the Roderick Usher who sat beside me. A feelingof stupor, " etc. 

[7] 80:16 Improvisations. Extemporaneous composition of poetry ormusic. 

[8] 81:4 von Weber. The celebrated German composer (1786-1826). 

[9] 81:20 Fuseli. An artist and professor of painting at the RoyalAcademy in London (1741-1825). 

[10] 82:24 "The Haunted Palace. " First published in the _BaltimoreMuseum_ for April, 1839. 

[11] 83:18 Porphyrogene. Of royal birth. 

[12] 84:16 for other men. Watson, Dr. Percival, and especially theBishop of Llandaff. See "Chemical Essays, " Vol. V. 

[13] 85:16 Ververt et Chartreuse. Two poems by Jean Baptiste Cresset(1709-1777). 

[Footenote 14] 85:17 Belphegor. Satire on Marriage by Machiavelli(1469-1527). 

[15] 85:17 Heaven and Hell. Extracts from "Arcana Coelestia" bySwedenborg (1688-1772). 

[16] 85:18 Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm. A celebrated poem byLudwig Holberg (1684-1754). 

[17] 85:19 Chiromancy. Palmistry applied to the future. Poe refersrather to physiognomy. The book was written by the English mystic, Robert Fludd (1574-1637). 

[18] 85:19 Jean d'Indaginé and De la Chambre. Two continental writersof the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries respectively. 

[19] 85:21 Tieck. A great German romanticist (1773-1853). 

[20] 85:21 City of the Sun. A sketch of an ideal state by Campanella(1568-1639). 

[21] 85:23 Directorium Inquisitorium. A detailed account of themethods of the Inquisition by Cironne, inquisitor-general for Castile, in 1356. 

[22] 85:24 Pomponius Mela. Spanish geographer in the first centuryA. D. Author of "De Chorographia, " the earliest extant account of thegeography of the ancient world. 

[23] 85:25 Oegipans. An epithet applied to Pan. 

[24] 85:30 Vigiliae Mortuorum. No such book is known. 

[25] 90:30 Mad Trist. No such book is known. 

[26] 91:29 alarummed. Alarmed. 

[27] 92:25 had fain. In the sense of was glad. 

BIOGRAPHY

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, January 19, 1809. His parents, whowere actors, died before their son was three years old. Mr. Allan, awealthy Richmond merchant, adopted the child and gave him a splendidhome. How scantily Poe appreciated and improved the advantages of thiskindness he himself confesses in a letter to Lowell in 1844. "I havebeen too deeply conscious of the mutability and evanescence oftemporal things to give any continuous effort to anything--to beconsistent in anything. My life has been _whim_--impulse--passion--alonging for solitude--a scorn of all things present in an earnestdesire for the future. " He was a dreamer who had a fair chance to behappy, but he flung the opportunity away. He was a spoiled child whoremained ignorant of life even unto his death. 

He entered the University of Virginia in 1826, where his conduct wasso bad that he was, after a year, removed from the college. Thisaction broke the strong friendship Mr. Allan had long held for hisadopted son. Poe, urged by a hot temper or possibly by a remorse forhis actions, ran away and enlisted in the regular army. In 1829 Mr. Allan became partially reconciled with Poe, and again came to hisassistance. In 1830 Poe entered West Point, but was there only a shorttime when he was dismissed for wilful neglect of duty. 

Following this dismissal Poe went to Baltimore, where he did hack workfor newspapers. This was the beginning of a process of writing thathas brought him high rank and an imperishable honor. His narrative isclear, compressed, and powerful, and throughout his writings choicesymbols abound. He was fond of themes of death, insanity, and terror. The wonder of it all is that this struggling, poverty-strickencraftsman, irregular in his habits of living, using only negative lifeand shadowy abstractions, should, from out his disordered fancies, weave stories and poems of such undying beauty and force. 

Poe married his thirteen-year-old cousin, Virginia Clemm. Her healthwas always delicate and her death confirmed Poe's tendency towarddissipation. His life was filled with dire poverty and a hard strugglefor a livelihood. His home relations were happy. The last years of hislife were spent at Fordham, a suburb of New York. He died in aBaltimore hospital, October 7, 1849. 

BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_Introduction to American Literature_, Brander Matthews. 

_Studies in American Literature_, Charles Noble. 

_Introduction to American Literature_, F. V. N. Painter. 

_Life of Poe_, Richard Henry Stoddard. 

_Edgar Allan Poe_, G. E. Woodberry. 

_Makers of English Fiction_, W. J. Dawson. 

"Art of Poe, _Independent_, 66: 157-8. January 21, 1909. 

"Dual Personality, " _Current Literature_, 43: 287-8. 

CRITICISMS

Some critics have maintained that Poe is our only original genius inAmerican Literature. Lowell wrote in his _Fable for Critics_:--

"There comes Poe with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge, Three-fifths ofhim genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge. "

Whatever judgments the various critics may give of Poe and hiswritings, they must all agree that he is original. He is a cleverwriter in a limited field. His writings have a glow and burnish thathave their origin in his fondness for sensations, color, and vividnessof details. He loves mystery and terror, --not the fancies and fears ofa child, but overwrought nerves. His material is unreal, and remotefrom ordinary life. His characters are abnormal, and the world theylive in is exceptional. He is inventive, original in arranging hismaterial, and shallow but keen in his thinking. 

He believed that art and life have little in common, and in hiswritings seemed to be unmoved by friendship, loyalty, patriotism, courage, self-sacrifice or any of the great positive attributes oflife that make living worth while. His writings lack the human touch, tenderness, and the buoyancy of sympathy. He is an artist who does hiswork with a clear-cut, hard finish. His choice of words, vividpictures, and clearly evolved plots make his writings excellentstudies for any one who wishes to develop literary appreciation and tolearn to write. 

GENERAL REFERENCES

_Studies and Appreciations_, L. E. Gates. 

_American Prose Masters_, William Crary Brownwell. 

_The Short Story in English_, Henry Seidel Canby. 

_Edgar Poe_, R. H. Button. 

_Inquiries and Opinions_, Brander Matthews. 

"Life of Edgar Allan Poe, " _Nation_, 89: 100-110. 

"Weird Genius, " _Cosmopolitan_, 46:243-252. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_Ligeia_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Cask of Amontillado_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Assignation_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_Ms. Pound in Bottle_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Black Cat_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_Berenice_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Tell-Tale Heart_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The White Old Maid_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Moonlight_ ("Odd Number"), Guy de Maupassant. 

_A Journey_, Edith Wharton. 

_The Brushwood Boy_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_At the Pit's Mouth_, Rudyard Kipling. 

The Gold Bug[1]

_By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)_

 What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad! He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. --_All in the Wrong_. [2]

Many years ago I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. Hewas of an ancient Huguenot[3] family, and had once been wealthy; but aseries of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid themortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, thecity of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan'sIsland, near Charleston, South Carolina. 

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else thanthe sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no pointexceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by ascarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness ofreeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of anymagnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where FortMoultrie[4] stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust andfever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the wholeisland, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth ofthe sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, andforms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with itsfragrance. 

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern ormore remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made hisacquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship, for there was much inthe recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, andsubject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. Hehad with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chiefamusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach andthrough the myrtles, in quest of shells or entomologicalspecimens--his collection of the latter might have been envied by aSwammerdam. [5] In these excursions he was usually accompanied by anold negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted[6] before thereverses of the family, but who could be induced, neither by threatsnor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attendanceupon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will. " It is not improbablethat the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettledin 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 verysevere, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when afire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, thereoccurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunsetI scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks--my residence being at thattime in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, whilethe facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those ofthe present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, andgetting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon thehearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threwoff an over-coat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaitedpatiently 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 somemarsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else shallI term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forminga new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, withJupiter's assistance, a _scarabaeus_[7] which he believed to betotally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion onthe morrow. 

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

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's solong since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me avisit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I metLieutenant G----, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him thebug; 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 isthe loveliest thing in creation!"

"What!--sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no!--the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color--about thesize of a large hickory-nut--with two jet-black spots near oneextremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The_antennae[8]_ are--"

"Dey ain't _no_ tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin' on you, " hereinterrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goolebug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, 'sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a bug in mylife. "

"Well, suppose it is, Jup, " replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded; "is that any reason for yourletting the birds burn? The color"--here he turned to me--"is reallyalmost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a morebrilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit--but of this you cannotjudge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of theshape. " Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which werea pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but foundnone. 

"Never mind, " said he at length, "this will answer;" and he drew fromhis 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 Iretained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the designwas complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received, it, aloud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiteropened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shownhim much attention during previous visits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not alittle puzzled at what my friend had depicted. 

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this _is_ astrange _scarabaeus_, I must confess: new to me: never saw anythinglike it before--unless it was a skull, or a death's-head--which, itmore nearly resembles than, anything else that has come under _my_observation. "

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

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

"Well, I don't know, " said he, a little nettled, "I drawtolerably--_should_ do it at least--have had good masters, and flattermyself that I am not quite a blockhead. "

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then, " said I; "this is a verypassable _skull_--indeed, I may say that it is a very _excellent_skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens ofphysiology--and your _scarabaeus_ must be the queerest _scarabaeus_ inthe world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bitof superstition upon this hint. I presume, you will call the bug_scarabaeus caput hominis_, [9] or something of that kind--there aremany similar titles in the natural histories. But where are the_antennae_ you spoke of?"

"The _antennae_!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountablywarm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the _antennae_. I madethem as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presumethat is sufficient. "

"Well, well, " I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them;" andI handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing toruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs hadtaken; his ill-humor puzzled me--and, as for the drawing of thebeetle, there were positively _no antennae_ visible, and the whole_did_ bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of adeath'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 designseemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face grewviolently red--in another as excessively pale. For some minutes hecontinued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At lengthhe arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himselfupon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again hemade an anxious examination of the paper, turning it in alldirections. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatlyastonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the growingmoodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he took from, hiscoat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and depositedboth in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed inhis demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quitedisappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As theevening wore away he became more and more absorbed in reverie, fromwhich no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention topass 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 didnot press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with evenmore than his usual cordiality. 

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seennothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from hisman 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 nebber 'plain of notin'--but him berry sick forall dat. "

"_Very_ sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confinedto bed?"

"No, dat he ain't!--he ain't 'find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoepinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby 'bout poor Massa Will. "

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

"Why, massa, 'tain't worf while for to git mad 'bout de matter--MassaWill say noffin' at all ain't de matter wid him--but den what make himgo 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 Iebber did see. Ise gittin' to be skeered I tell you. Hab for to keepmighty tight eye pon him noovers. [10] Todder day he gib me slip forede sun up, and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stickready cut for to gib him d----d good beating when he did come--but Isesich a fool dat I hadn't de heart after all--he look so berry poorly. "

"Eh?--what? Ah, yes!--upon the whole, I think you had better not betoo severe with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter, he can'tvery well stand it--but can you form an idea of what has occasionedthis illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anythingunpleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey ain't bin noffin' onpleasant _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 dehead by dat goole-bug. "

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

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff, too. I nebber did see sich a d----dbug--he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Willcotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 'gin mighty quick, I tellyou--den was de time he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like de look obde bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid myfinger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I wrap himup 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 thebeetle, and that the bite made him sick?" "I don't t'ink noffin' 'boutit--I nose it. What make him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'tain'tcause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd 'bout dem goole-bugs 'foredis. "

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

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

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate circumstancesam 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 anote, which ran thus:

My dear ------:

Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you have not beenso foolish as to take offence at any little _brusquerie_[11] of mine;but no, that is improbable. 

Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have somethingto tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I shouldtell it at all. 

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoysme, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. Would youbelieve it?--he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with whichto chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day, _solus_, among the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill looksalone 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 greatuneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed hisexcitable brain? What "business of the highest importance" could _he_possibly have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. Idreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment'shesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro. 

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, allapparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were toembark. 

"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 himin de town, and de debbil's 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 b'lieve 'tismore dan he know, too. But it's all come ob de bug. "

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whosewhole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug, " I now stepped intothe boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran intothe little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of sometwo miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoonwhen we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. Hegrasped my hand with a nervous _empressement_[12] which alarmed me andstrengthened the suspicions already entertained. His countenance waspale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnaturallustre. After some inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, notknowing what better to say, if he had yet obtained the _scarabaeus_from Lieutenant G----. 

"Oh, yes, " he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the nextmorning. Nothing could tempt me to part with that _scarabaeus_. Do youknow 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 airof profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked. 

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

"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 andstately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which itwas enclosed. It was a beautiful _scarabaeus_, and, at that time, unknown to naturalists--of course a great prize in a scientific pointof view. There were two round black spots near one extremity of theback, and a long one near the other. The scales were exceedingly hardand glossy, with all the appearance of burnished gold. The weight ofthe insect was very remarkable, and, taking all things intoconsideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respectingit; but what to make of Legrand's agreement with that opinion, I couldnot, for the life of me, tell. 

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

"My dear Legrand, " I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainlyunwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go tobed, 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 indicationof fever. 

"But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once toprescribe 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 beunder the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me well, youwill relieve this excitement. "

"And how is this to be done?"

"Very easily, Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into thehills, upon the mainland, and, in this expedition, we shall need theaid of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only one we cantrust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you nowperceive in me will be equally allayed. "

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way, " I replied; "but do you meanto say that this infernal beetle has any connection with yourexpedition 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 doyou propose to be absent?"

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

"And will you promise me upon your honor, that when this freak ofyours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to yoursatisfaction, you will then return home and follow my adviceimplicitly, 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 fouro'clock--Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with himthe scythe and spades, the whole of which he insisted upon carrying, more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of theimplements within reach of his master, than from any excess ofindustry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and"dat d----d bug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during thejourney. For my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with the _scarabaeus_, which hecarried attached to the end of a bit of whipcord, twirling it to andfro, with the air of a conjurer, as he went. When I observed this lastplain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcelyrefrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, atleast for the present, or until I could adopt some more energeticmeasures with a chance of success. In the meantime I endeavored, butall in vain, to sound him in regard to the object of the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he seemed unwillingto hold conversation upon any topic of minor importance, and to all myquestions 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 mainland, proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a tract of countryexcessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a human footstep wasto be seen. Legrand led the way with decision, pausing only for aninstant, here and there, to consult what appeared is to be certainlandmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion. 

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was justsetting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any yetseen. It was a species of table-land, near the summit of an almostinaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, andinterspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon thesoil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselvesinto the valleys below, merely by the support of the trees againstwhich they reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an airof still sterner solemnity to the scene. 

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly overgrownwith brambles, through which we soon discovered that it would havebeen impossible to force our way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, bydirection of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the footof an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, with some eight or tenoaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and all other treeswhich I had ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in thewide spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of itsappearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, andasked him if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a littlestaggered by the question, and for some moments made no reply. Atlength he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, andexamined 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 tosee 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 togo--and here--stop! take this beetle with you. "

"De bug, Massa Will! de goole-bug!" cried the negro, drawing back indismay, "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 aharmless 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 underthe necessity of breaking your head with this shovel. "

"'What de matter, now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed intocompliance; "always want fur to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was onlyfunnin' anyhow. _Me_ feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here hetook cautiously hold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the insect as far from his person as circumstances wouldpermit, prepared to ascend the tree. 

In youth the tulip-tree, or _Liriodendron tulipifera_, the mostmagnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, andoften rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in itsriper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short limbsmake their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, in the present case, lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracingthe huge cylinder as closely as possible with his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and resting his naked toesupon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, atlength wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed toconsider the whole business as virtually accomplished. The _risk_ ofthe achievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber was somesixty 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. Thenegro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but little trouble;ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his squat figurecould be obtained through the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of halloo. 

"How much fudder I's got for go?"

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand. 

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

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

"One, two, three, four, fibe--I done pass fibe big limb, massa, 'pondis side. "

"Then go one limb higher. "

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

"Now, Jup, " cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to workyour way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see anythingstrange, let me know. "

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of my poorfriend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no alternative but toconclude him stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxiousabout getting him home. While I was pondering upon what was best to bedone, Jupiter's voice was again heard. 

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

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

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

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly inthe greatest distress. 

"Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, "why, comehome and go to bed. Come now!--that's a fine fellow. It's gettinglate, and, besides, you remember your promise. "

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

"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. S'pose I drop him downfust, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight of one nigger. "

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

"Yes, massa, needn' hollo at poor nigger dat style. "

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

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

"_Out to the end_!" here fairly screamed Legrand; "do you say you areout to the end of that limb?"

"Soon be to de eend, massa--o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what _is_ dishere 'pon de tree?"

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

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

"A skull, you say! Very well; how is it fastened to the limb? Whatholds it on?"

"Shure 'nuff, massa; mus' look. Why, dis berry curous sarcumstance, 'pon my word--dare's a great big nail in do skull, what fastens ob iton 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 ain't 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 chopsde wood wid. "

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

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

"Is de lef' eye ob de skull 'pon de same side as de lef' hand ob deskull, too?--'cause the skull ain't got not a bit ob a hand atall--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, butbe careful and not let go your hold of the string. "

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

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

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

To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amusement at anytime, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly havedeclined it; for the night was coming on, and I felt much fatiguedwith the exercise already taken; but I saw no mode of escape, and wasfearful of disturbing my poor friend's equanimity by a refusal. CouldI have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would have had nohesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home by force; but I wastoo well assured of the old negro's disposition, to hope that he wouldassist me, under any circumstances, in a personal contest with hismaster. I made no doubt that the latter had been infected with some ofthe innumerable Southern superstitions about money buried, and thathis fantasy had received confirmation by the finding of the_scarabaeus_, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it tobe "a bug of real gold. " A mind disposed to lunacy would readily beled away by such suggestions--especially if chiming in with favoritepreconceived ideas--and then I called to mind the poor fellow's speechabout the beetle's being "the index of his fortune. " Upon the whole, Iwas sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at length, I concluded to make avirtue of necessity--to dig with a good will, and thus the sooner toconvince the visionary, by ocular demonstration, of the fallacy of theopinions he entertained. 

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

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chiefembarrassment lay in the yelping of the dog, who took exceedinginterest in our proceedings. He at length became so obstreperous, thatwe grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some stragglers in thevicinity---or, rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand; formyself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption which might haveenabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, veryeffectually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole with adogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of hissuspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task. 

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of fivefeet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A generalpause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his browthoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle offour feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and wentto the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The goldseeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every feature, andproceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he hadthrown off at the beginning of his labor. In the meantime I made noremark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather up histools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned inprofound silence towards home. 

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, with aloud 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 betweenhis clenched teeth, "you infernal black villain! speak, I tell you!answer me this instant, without prevarication! which--which is yourleft eye?"

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! ain't dis here my lef' eye for sartain?"roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his _right_ organof vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if inimmediate dread of his master's attempt at a gouge. 

"I thought so! I knew it! hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting thenegro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracoles[13], much tothe astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, lookedmutely 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;" andhe again led the way to the tulip-tree. 

"Jupiter, " said he, when he reached its foot, "come here! was theskull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face tothe 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 thebeetle?"--here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes. 

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

"That will do--we 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 spotwhere the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the westward ofits former position, Taking now the tape-measure from the nearestpoint of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing the extensionin a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot wasindicated, removed by several yards from the point at which we hadbeen digging. 

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the formerinstance, was now described, and we again set to work with the spades, I was dreadfully weary, but scarcely understanding what had occasionedthe change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion fromthe labor imposed, I had become most unaccountably interested--nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagantdemeanor of Legrand--some air of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myselfactually looking, with something that very much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of which had demented myunfortunate companion. At a period when such vagaries of thought mostfully possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and ahalf, we were again interrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness in the first instance had been, evidently, but theresult of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter andserious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to muzzle him, he madefurious resistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the mouldfrantically with his claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a massof human bones, forming two complete skeletons, intermingled withseveral buttons of metal, and what appeared to be the dust of decayedwoolen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a largeSpanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four pieces of goldand silver coin came to light. 

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

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of moreintense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed anoblong chest of wood which, from its perfect preservation andwonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizingprocess--perhaps that of the bichloride of mercury. This box was threefeet 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 akind of trellis-work over the whole. On each side of the chest, nearthe top, were three rings of iron--six in all--by means of which afirm hold could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost unitedendeavors 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 slidingbolts. These we drew back--trembling and panting with anxiety. In aninstant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. Asthe rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed upwards aglow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, thatabsolutely dazzled our eyes. 

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted withexcitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's countenance wore, forsome minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature ofthings, for any negro's visage to assume. He seemedstupefied---thunder-stricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in thepit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let themthere remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, with adeep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy:

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! de poor littlegoole-bug, what I 'boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Ain't you'shamed ofa yourself, nigger?--answer me dat!"

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master andvalet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might get everythinghoused before daylight. It was difficult to say what should be done, and much time was spent in deliberation--so confused were the ideas ofall. We, finally, lightened the box by removing two-thirds of itscontents, when we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it fromthe hole. The articles taken out were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiterneither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open hismouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for home with thechest, reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive toil, at oneo'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it was not in humannature to do more just now. We rested until two, and had supper, starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed with three stoutsacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. A little beforefour we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty asequally as might be among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, againset out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited ourgolden burdens, just as the first streaks of dawn gleamed from overthe treetops in the east. 

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

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day, andthe greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its contents. There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Everything had beenheaped in promiscuously. 

Having assorted all with care, we found ourselves possessed of evenvaster wealth than we had at first supposed. In coin there was rathermore than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars--estimating thevalue of the pieces, as accurately as we could, by the tables of theperiod. There was not a particle of silver. All was gold of antiquedate and of great variety--French, Spanish, and German money, with afew English guineas, and some counters[14] of which we had never seenspecimens before. There were several very large and heavy coins, soworn that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. There was noAmerican money. The value of the jewels we found more difficulty inestimating. There were diamonds--some of them exceedingly large andfine--a hundred and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteenrubies of remarkable brilliancy; three hundred and ten emeralds, allvery beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal. These stoneshad all been broken from their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings themselves, which we picked out from among the othergold, appeared to have been beaten up with hammers, as if to preventindentification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solidgold ornaments--nearly two hundred massive finger and ear rings; richchains--thirty of these, if I remember; eighty-three very large andheavy crucifixes; five gold censers of great value; a prodigiousgolden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-leaves andBacchanalian[15] figures; with two sword handles exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller articles which I cannot recollect. The weightof these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty poundsavoirdupois; and in this estimate I have not included one hundred andninety-seven superb gold watches, three of the number being worth eachfive hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and astime-keepers valueless, the works having suffered, more or less, fromcorrosion; but all were richly jewelled and in cases of great worth. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at amillion and a half of dollars; and, upon the subsequent disposal ofthe trinkets and jewels (a few being retained for our own use), it wasfound we had greatly undervalued the treasure. 

When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and the intenseexcitement of the time had in some measure subsided, Legrand, who sawthat I was dying with impatience for a solution of this mostextraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all thecircumstances connected with it. 

"You remember, " said he, "the night when I handed you the rough sketchI had made of the _scarabaeus_. You recollect, also, that I becamequite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembled adeath's-head. When you first made this assertion I thought you werejesting; but afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots on theback of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had some, little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powersirritated me--for I am considered a good artist--and, therefore, whenyou handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it up andthrow 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 supposedit to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I discovered it atonce to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, youremember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it up, my glancefell upon the sketch at which you had been looking, and you mayimagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure of adeath's-head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing ofthe 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, althoughthere was a certain similarity in general outline. Presently I took acandle, and seating myself at the other end of the room, proceeded toscrutinize the parchment more closely. Upon turning it over, I saw myown sketch upon, the reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really remarkable similarity ofoutline--at the singular coincidence involved in the fact that, unknown to me, there should have been a skull upon the other side ofthe parchment, immediately beneath my figure of the _scarabaeus_, andthat this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closelyresemble my drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidenceabsolutely stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of suchcoincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connection--a sequenceof cause and effect--and being unable to do so, suffers a species oftemporary paralysis. But when I recovered from this stupor, theredawned upon me gradually a conviction which startled me even far morethan the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember thatthere had been _no_ drawing upon the parchment when I made my sketchof the _scarabaeus_. I became perfectly certain of this; for Irecollected turning up first one side and then the other, in search ofthe cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of course, I couldnot have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I feltit impossible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there seemedto glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of myintellect, a glowworm-like conception of that truth which last night'sadventure brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all furtherreflection until I should be alone. 

"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook myselfto a more methodical investigation of the affair. In the first place Iconsidered the manner in which the parchment had come into mypossession. The spot where we discovered the _scarabaeus_ was on thecoast of the mainland, about a mile eastward of the island, and but ashort distance above high water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, itgave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, withhis accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had flowntowards 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, andmine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then supposed tobe 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 hullof what appeared to have been a ship's long-boat. The wreck seemed tohave been there for a very great while; for the resemblance to boattimbers could scarcely be traced. 

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

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

"No doubt you will think me fanciful, but I had already established akind of _connection_. I had put together two links of a great chain. There was a boat lying upon a seacoast, and not far from the boat wasa parchment--_not a paper_--with a skull depicted upon it. You will, of course, ask, 'Where is the connection?' I reply that the skull, ordeath's-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of thedeath's-head is hoisted in all engagements. 

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parchment isdurable--almost imperishable. Matters of little moment are rarelyconsigned to parchment, since, for the mere ordinary purposes ofdrawing or writing, it is not nearly so well adapted as paper. Thisreflection suggested some meaning--some relevancy--in thedeath's-head. I did not fail to observe, also, the _form_ of theparchment. Although one of its corners had been, by some accident, destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong. It wasjust such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for amemorandum--for a record of something to be long remembered andcarefully preserved. "

"But, " I interposed, "you say that the skull was _not_ upon theparchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How, then, do youtrace any connection between the boat and the skull--since thislatter, according to your own admission, must have been designed (Godonly knows how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your sketchingthe _scarabaeus_?"

"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the secret, at thispoint, I had comparatively little difficulty in solving. My steps weresure, and could afford but a single result. I reasoned, for example, thus: When I drew the _scarabaeus_, there was no skull apparent uponthe parchment. When I had completed the drawing I gave it to you, andobserved you narrowly until you returned it, _You_, therefore, did notdesign the skull, and no one else was present to do it. Then it wasnot 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 occurredabout the period in question. The weather was chilly (oh, rare andhappy accident!), and a fire was blazing upon the hearth. I was heatedwith exercise, and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn a chairclose to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, andas you were in the act of inspecting it, Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With, your left hand youcaressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding theparchment, was permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and inclose proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze hadcaught it, and was about to caution you, but before I could speak youhad withdrawn it, and were engaged in its examination. When Iconsidered 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 thatchemical preparations exist, and have existed time out of mind, bymeans of which it is possible to write upon either paper or vellum, sothat the characters shall become visible only when subjected to theaction of fire. Zaffre[16], digested in _aqua regia_[17], and dilutedwith four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed; a greentint results. The regulus[18] of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervalsafter the material written upon cools, but again become apparent uponthe re-application of heat. 

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

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

"But I have 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[19]. I at once looked on thefigure of the animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say signature because its position upon the vellum suggested thisidea. The death's-head at the corner diagonally opposite had, in thesame manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out bythe absence of all else--of the body to my imagined instrument--of thetext for my context. "

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

"Something of the kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly impressedwith a presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I canscarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than anactual belief; but do you know that Jupiter's silly words, about thebug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect upon my fancy? Andthen the series of accidents and coincidences--these were so _very_extraordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident it was that theseevents should have occurred upon the _sole_ day of all the year inwhich it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, and thatwithout the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at theprecise moment in which he appeared, I should, never have become awareof 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--thethousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, somewhere, upon theAtlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumors must have hadsome foundation in fact. And that the rumors have existed so long andso continuously could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from thecircumstance of the buried treasure still _remaining_ entombed. HadKidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their present unvaryingform. You will observe that the stories told are all aboutmoney-seekers, not about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered hismoney, there the affair would have dropped. It seemed to me that someaccident--say the loss of a memorandum indicating its locality--haddeprived him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident hadbecome known to his followers who otherwise might never have heardthat treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying themselvesin 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 alongthe coast?"

"Never. "

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

"But how did you proceed?"

"I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat; butnothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating of dirtmight have something to do with the failure; so I carefully rinsed theparchment by pouring warm water over it, and, having done this, Iplaced it in a tin pan, with the skull downwards, and put the pan upona furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan having becomethoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and to my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what appeared to be figuresarranged in lines. Again I placed it in the pan, and suffered it toremain another minute. Upon taking it off, the whole was just as yousee it now. "

Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, submitted it to myinspection, The following characters were rudely traced, in a red tintbetween the death's-head and the goat:

 "53‡‡†305))6*;4826)4‡. );806*;48†8 ¶60))85;1‡(;:‡*8†83(88)5*†;46(;88*96 ?;8)*‡(;485);5*†2:*‡(;4956*2(5*--4)8 ¶8*;4069285);)6†8)4‡‡;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡ 1;48†85;4)485†528806*81(‡9;48;(88;4 (‡?34;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?;"

"But, " said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark asever. Were all the jewels of Golconda[20] awaiting me on my solutionof 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 asyou might be led to imagine from the first hasty inspection of thecharacters. These characters, as any one might readily guess, form acipher, that is to say, they convey a meaning; but then, from what isknown of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of constructing any ofthe more abstruse cryptographs[21]. I made up my mind, at once, thatthis was of a simple species--such, however, as would appear, to thecrude intellect of the sailor, absolutely insoluble without the key. "

"And you really solved it?"

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

"In the present case--indeed, in all cases of secret writing--thefirst question regards the _language_ of the cipher; for theprinciples of solution, so far especially as the more simple ciphersare concerned, depend upon, and are varied by, the genius of theparticular idiom. In general, there is no alternative but experiment(directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to him who attemptsthe solution, until the true one be attained. But, with the cipher nowbefore us, all difficulty was removed by the signature. The pun uponthe word 'Kidd' is appreciable in no other language than the English. But for this consideration I should have begun my attempts with theSpanish and French, as the tongues in which a secret of this kindwould most naturally have been written by a pirate of the Spanishmain[22]. As it was, I assume the cryptograph to be English. 

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there beendivisions, the task would have been comparatively easy. In such case Iwould have commenced with a collation and analysis of the shorterwords; and had a word of a single letter occurred, as is most likely(_a_ or _I_, for example), I should have considered the solution asassured. But there being no divisions, my first step was to ascertainthe 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. 92 " 5. :3 " 4. ? " 3. ¶ " 2. --. " 1. 

"Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is _e_. Afterwards, the succession runs thus: _a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l mw b k p q x z_. E predominates, however, so remarkably that anindividual sentence of any length is rarely seen in which it is notthe prevailing character. 

"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the groundwork forsomething more than a mere guess. The general use which may be made ofthe table is obvious--but in this particular cipher we shall only verypartially require its aid. As our predominant character is 8, we willcommence by assuming it as the _e_ of the natural alphabet. To verifythe supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in couples--for_e_ is doubled with great frequency in English--in such words, forexample, as 'meet, ' 'fleet, ' 'speed, ' 'seen, ' 'been, ' 'agree, ' etc. Inthe 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 notrepetitions 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. ' Uponinspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements, thecharacters being ;48. We may, therefore, assume that the semicolonrepresents _t_, that 4 represents _h_, and that 8 represents _e_--thelast being now well confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken. 

"But, having established a single word, we are enabled to establish avastly important point; that is to say, several commencements andterminations of other words. Let us refer, for example, to the lastinstance but one, in which the combination ;48 occurs--not far fromthe end of the cipher. We know that the semicolon immediately ensuingis the commencement of a word, and, of the six characters succeedingthis 'the, ' we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us set thesecharacters 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 noportion of the word commencing with the first _t_; since by experimentof the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy, weperceive 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 atthe word 'tree, ' as the sole possible reading. We thus gain anotherletter, _r_, represented by (, with the words 'the tree" injuxtaposition. 

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

 the tree ;4 (‡?34 the, or, substituting the natural letters, whereknown, 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 thediscovery 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, thisarrangement. 

 83(88, or, egree, which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree' and gives usanother letter, _d_, represented by †. 

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

 ;46(;88*. 

"Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown bydots, as before, we read thus:

 th. Rtee, an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 'thirteen, ' andagain furnishing us with two new characters, _i_, and _n_, representedby 6 and *. 

"Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find thecombination, 53 ‡‡†. 

"Translating, as before, we obtain

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

"To avoid confusion, it is now time that we arrange our key, as far asdiscovered, in a tabular form. 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 lettersrepresented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with the details ofthe solution. I have said enough to convince you that ciphers of thisnature are readily soluble, and to give you some insight into therationale[23] of their development. But be assured that the specimenbefore us appertains to the very simplest species of cryptograph. Itnow only remains to give you the full translation of the charactersupon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:

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

"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 seriousaspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavor was todivide the sentence into the natural divisions intended by thecryptographist. "

"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 hiswords together without divisions, so as to increase the difficulty ofsolution. Now, a not over acute man, in pursuing such, an object, would be nearly certain to overdo the matter. When, in the course ofhis composition, he arrived at a break in his subject which wouldnaturally require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt torun his characters, at this place, more than usually close together. If you will observe the Ms. In the present instance, you will easilydetect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting on this hint, Imade the division thus:

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

"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 ofSullivan'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 extendingmy 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 thename of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held possession of anancient manor-house, about four miles to the northward of the island. I accordingly went over to the plantation, and reinstituted myinquiries among the older negroes of the place. At length one of themost 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 thatit was not a castle, nor tavern, but a high rock. 

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

"While I was buried in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrow ledge inthe eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the summit uponwhich I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen inches, and was notmore than a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff just above it gaveit a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed chairs used by ourancestors. I made no doubt that here was the 'devil's seat' alluded toin 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 atelescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed in any other senseby seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, and adefinite point of view, _admitting no variation_, from which to useit. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrase 'twenty-one degreesand thirteen minutes' and 'northeast and by north, ' were intended asdirections for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by thesediscoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to therock. 

"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible toretain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This factconfirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Ofcourse the 'twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could allude tonothing but elevation above the visible horizon, since the horizontaldirection was clearly indicated by the words 'northeast and by north. 'This latter direction I at once established by means of apocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle oftwenty-one degrees of elevation as I could do it by guess, I moved itcautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a circularrift or opening in the foliage of a large tree that over-topped itsfellows in the distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived awhite spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked, and now made itout to be a human skull. 

"On this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the enigma solved;for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, east side' could refer onlyto the position of the skull on the tree, while 'shoot from the lefteye of the death's-head' admitted also of but one interpretation, inregard to a search for buried treasure. I perceived that the designwas to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that abee-line, or in other words, a straight line, drawn from the nearestpoint of the trunk through 'the shot' (or the spot where the bulletfell) and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, would indicatea 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, whatthen?"

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

"In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had been attended byJupiter, who had no doubt observed for some weeks past the abstractionof my demeanor, and took especial care not to leave me alone. But, onthe 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 foundit. 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 asmyself. "

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

"Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two inches and ahalf in the 'shot'--that is to say, in the position of the peg nearestthe tree--and had the treasure been _beneath_ the 'shot, ' the errorwould have been of little moment; but the 'shot, ' together with thenearest point of the tree, were merely two points for theestablishment of a line of direction; of course the error, howevertrivial in the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, andby the time we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent. Butfor my deep-seated convictions that treasure was here somewhereactually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain. "

"I presume the fancy of _the skull_--of letting fall a bullet throughthe skull's eye--was suggested to Kidd by the piratical flag. No doubthe felt a kind of poetical consistency in recovering his money throughthis ominous insignium[24]. "

"Perhaps so; still, I cannot help thinking that common-sense had quiteas much to do with the matter as poetical consistency. To be visiblefrom the Devil's seat, it was necessary that the object, if small, should be _white_: and there is nothing like your human skull forretaining and even increasing its whiteness under exposure to allvicissitudes of weather. "

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

"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident suspicionstouching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly, in my ownway, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this reason I swungthe beetle, and for this reason I let it fall from the tree. Anobservation of yours about its great weight suggested the latteridea. "

"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. Thereseems, however, only one plausible way of accounting for them--and yetit is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my suggestion wouldimply. 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 thelabor. But this labor concluded, he may have thought it expedient toremove all participants in his secret. Perhaps a couple of blows witha mattock were sufficient, while his coadjutors were busy in the pit;perhaps it required a dozen--who shall tell?"

NOTES

[1] _The Gold-Bug_ was first published in _The Dollar Magazine_ in1843. The story won a prize of one hundred dollars. 

[2] 100:3 All in the Wrong. The title of an amusing comedy by ArthurMurphy (1730-1805). 

[3] 100:4 Huguenot. French Protestants, many of whom settled in SouthCarolina. 

[4] 100: 18 Fort Moultrie. Erected in. 1776. Defended against theBritish by Colonel William Moultrie. 

[5] 101:23 Swammerdam. A famous Dutch naturalist (1637-1680). 

[6] 101:25 manumitted. Freed from slavery. 

[7] 102:27 scarabaeus. The Latin for beetle. 

[8] 103:15 antennae. The feelers. 

[9] 105:8 scarabaeus caput hominis. Man's-head beetle. 

[10] 107:20 noovers. Manoeuvres. 

[11] 109:10 brusquerie. Lack of cordiality. 

[12] 110:26 empressement. Demonstrativeness. 

[13] 123:20 curvets and caracoles. Leaping and prancing of a horse. 

[14] 128:9 counters. Various coins. 

[15] 128:28 Bacchanalian. Revelling like the worshippers of Bacchus, the god of wine. 

[16] 134:28 Zaffre. An oxide of cobalt. See dictionary. 

[17] 134:28 aqua regia. Royal water--a mixture of nitric andhydrochloric acids. 

[18] 134:30 regulus. An old chemical term. 

[19] 135: 28 Captain Kidd. A Scottish sea captain who lived in NewYork in the seventeenth century. 

[20] 138:19 Golconda. A town in India noted for its diamond market. 

[21] 138:28 cryptographs. Secret forms of writing. 

[22] 139:27 Spanish main. The northeastern portion of South America, the Caribbean Sea, and the coast of North America to the Carolinaswere harassed by the Spaniards. 

[23] 144:6 rationale. Reasonable basis. 

[24] 149:19 insignium. Sign. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_The Murders in the Rue Morgue_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Mystery of Marie Rogêt_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Purloined Letter_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Sign of the Four_, A. Conan Doyle. 

_A Scandal in Bohemia_, A. Conan Doyle. 

_The Chronicles of Addington_, B. Fletcher Robinson. 

_The Mystery of the Steel Disk_, Broughton Brandenburg. 

_The Rajah's Diamond_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock_, Anna Katharine Green. 

_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, A. Conan Doyle. 

_The Hound of the Baskervilles_, A. Conan Doyle. 

_A Double-Barrelled Detective Story_, Mark Twain. 

_Gallegher_, Richard Harding Davis. 

THE BIRTHMARK[1]

_By Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1862)_. 

In the latter part of the last century there lived a man of science, an eminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy, who notlong before our story opens had made experience of a spiritualaffinity more attractive than any chemical one. He had left hislaboratory to the care of an assistant, cleared his fine countenancefrom the furnace-smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingers, and persuaded a beautiful woman to become his wife. In those days, when the comparatively recent discovery of electricity and otherkindred mysteries of Nature seemed to open paths into the region ofmiracle, it was not unusual for the love of science to rival the loveof woman in its depth and absorbing energy. The higher intellect, theimagination, the spirit, and even the heart might all find theircongenial aliment in pursuits which, as some of their ardent votariesbelieved, would ascend from one step of powerful intelligence toanother, until the philosopher should lay his hand on the secret ofcreative force and perhaps make new worlds for himself. We know notwhether Aylmer possessed this degree of faith in man's ultimatecontrol over nature. He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedlyto scientific studies ever to be weakened from them by any secondpassion. His love for his young wife might prove the stronger of thetwo; but it could only be by intertwining itself with his love ofscience and uniting the strength of the latter to his own. 

Such a union accordingly took place, and was attended with trulyremarkable consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day, verysoon after their marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife with atrouble in his countenance that grew stronger until he spoke. 

"Georgiana, " said he, "has it never occurred to you that the mark uponyour cheek might be removed?"

"No, indeed, " said she, smiling; but, perceiving the seriousness ofhis manner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth, it has been sooften called a charm, that I was simple enough to imagine it might beso. "

"Ah, upon another face perhaps it might, " replied her husband; "butnever on yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect fromthe hand of Nature that this slightest possible defect, which wehesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty, shocks me, as being thevisible mark of earthly imperfection. "

"Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at firstreddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Thenwhy did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocksyou!"

To explain this conversation, it must be mentioned that in the centreof Georgiana's left cheek there was a singular mark, deeplyinterwoven, as it were, with the texture and substance of her face. Inthe usual state of her complexion--a healthy though delicatebloom--the mark wore a tint of deeper crimson, which imperfectlydefined its shape amid the surrounding rosiness. When she blushed itgradually became more indistinct, and finally vanished amid thetriumphant rush of blood that bathed the whole cheek with itsbrilliant glow. But if any shifting emotion caused her to turn pale, there was the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in whatAylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful distinctness. Its shape borenot a little similarity to the human hand, though of the smallestpygmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to say that some fairy at herbirth-hour had laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, and leftthis impress there in token of the magic endowments that were to giveher such sway over all hearts. Many a desperate swain would haverisked life for the privilege of pressing his lips to the mysterioushand. It must not be concealed, however, that the impression wroughtby this fairy sign-manual varied exceedingly according to thedifference of temperament in the beholders. Some fastidiouspersons--but they were exclusively of her own sex--affirmed that thebloody hand, as they chose to call it, quite destroyed the effect ofGeorgiana's beauty and rendered her countenance even hideous. But itwould be as reasonable to say that one of those small blue stainswhich sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble would convert theEve of Powers[2] to a monster. Masculine observers, if the birthmarkdid not heighten their admiration, contented themselves with wishingit away, that the world might possess one living specimen of idealloveliness without the semblance of a flaw. After his marriage, --forhe thought little or nothing of the matter before, --Aylmer discoveredthat this was the case with himself. 

Had she been less beautiful, --if Envy's self could have found aughtelse to sneer at, --he might have felt his affection heightened by theprettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost, nowstealing forth again and glimmering to and fro with every pulse ofemotion that throbbed within her heart; but, seeing her otherwise soperfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable withevery moment of their united lives. It was the fatal flaw of humanitywhich Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably on all herproductions, either to imply that they are temporary and finite, orthat their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The crimsonhand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches thehighest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them into kindred withthe lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visibleframes return to dust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol ofhis wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer's sombreimagination was not long in rendering the birthmark a frightfulobject, causing him more trouble and horror than ever Georgiana'sbeauty, whether of soul or sense, had given him delight. 

At all the seasons which should have been their happiest heinvariably, and without intending it, nay, in spite of a purpose tothe contrary, reverted to this one disastrous topic. Trifling as it atfirst appeared, it so connected itself with innumerable trains ofthought and modes of feeling that it became the central point of all. With the morning twilight Aylmer opened his eyes upon his wife's faceand recognized the symbol of imperfection, and when they sat togetherat the evening hearth his eyes wandered stealthily to her cheek, andbeheld, flickering with the blaze of the wood-fire, the spectral handthat wrote mortality where he would fain have worshipped, Georgianasoon learned to shudder at his gaze. It needed but a glance with thepeculiar expression that his face often wore to change the roses ofher cheek into a deathlike paleness, amid which the crimson hand wasbrought strongly out, like a bas-relief of ruby on the whitest marble. 

Late one night, when the lights were growing dim so as hardly tobetray the stain on the poor wife's cheek, she herself, for the firsttime, voluntarily took up the subject. 

"Do you remember, my dear Aylmer, " said she, with a feeble attempt ata smile, "have you any recollection of a dream last night about thisodious hand?"

"None! none whatever!" replied Aylmer, starting: but then he added, ina dry, cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing the real depthof his emotion, "I might well dream of it; for, before I fell asleep, it had taken a pretty firm hold of my fancy. "

"And you did dream of it?" continued Georgiana, hastily; for shedreaded lest a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say. "Aterrible dream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possible toforget this one expression?--'It is in her heart now; we must have itout!' Reflect, my husband; for by all means I would have you recallthat dream. "

The mind is in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannotconfine her spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffersthem to break forth, affrighting this actual life with secrets thatperchance belong to a deeper one. Aylmer now remembered his dream. Hehad fancied himself with his servant Aminadab attempting an operationfor the removal of the birthmark; but the deeper went the knife, thedeeper sank the hand, until at length its tiny grasp appeared to havecaught hold of Georgiana's heart; whence, however, her husband wasinexorably resolved to cut or wrench it away. 

When the dream had shaped itself perfectly in his memory, Aylmer satin his wife's presence with a guilty feeling. Truth often finds itsway to the mind close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks withuncompromising directness of matters in regard to which we practice anunconscious self-deception during our waking moments. Until now he hadnot been aware of the tyrannizing influence acquired by one idea overhis mind, and of the lengths which he might find in his heart to gofor the sake of giving himself peace. 

"Aylmer, " resumed Georgiana, solemnly, "I know not what may be thecost to both of us to rid me of this fatal birthmark. Perhaps itsremoval may cause cureless deformity; or it may be the stain goes asdeep as life itself. Again; do we know that there is a possibility, onany terms, of unclasping the firm gripe of this little hand which waslaid upon me before I came into the world?"

"Dearest Georgiana, I have spent much thought upon the subject, "hastily interrupted Aylmer. "I am convinced of the perfectpracticability of its removal. "

"If there be the remotest possibility of it, " continued Georgiana, "let the attempt be made, at whatever risk. Danger is nothing to rue;for life, while this hateful mark makes me the object of your horrorand disgust, --life is a burden which I would fling down with joy. Either remove this dreadful hand, or take my wretched life! You havedeep science. All the world bears witness of it. You have achievedgreat wonders. Cannot you remove this little, little mark, which Icover with the tips of two small fingers? Is this beyond your power, for the sake of your own peace, and to save your poor wife frommadness?"

"Noblest, dearest, tenderest wife, " cried Aylmer, rapturously, "doubtnot my power. I have already given this matter the deepestthought, --thought which might almost have enlightened me to create abeing less perfect than yourself. Georgiana, you have led me deeperthan ever into the heart of science. I feel myself fully competent torender this dear cheek as faultless as its fellow; and then, mostbeloved, what will be my triumph when I shall have corrected whatNature left imperfect in her fairest work! Even Pygmalion[3], when hissculptured woman assumed life, felt not greater ecstasy than mine willbe. "

"It is resolved, then, " said Georgiana, faintly smiling. "And, Aylmer, spare me not, though you should find the birthmark take refuge in myheart at last. "

Her husband tenderly kissed her cheek, --her right cheek, --not thatwhich bore the impress of the crimson hand. 

The next day Aylmer apprised his wife of a plan that he had formedwhereby he might have opportunity for the intense thought and constantwatchfulness which the proposed operation would require, whileGeorgiana, likewise, would enjoy the perfect repose essential to itssuccess. They were to seclude themselves in the extensive apartmentsoccupied by Aylmer as a laboratory, and where, during his toilsomeyouth, he had made discoveries in the elemental powers of nature thathad roused the admiration of all the learned societies in Europe. Seated calmly in this laboratory, the pale philosopher hadinvestigated the secrets of the highest cloud-region and of theprofoundest mines; he had satisfied himself of the causes that kindledand kept alive the fires of the volcano; and had explained the mysteryof fountains, and how it is that they gush forth, some so bright andpure, and others with such rich medicinal virtues, from the dark bosomof the earth. Here, too, at an earlier period, he had studied thewonders of the human frame, and attempted to fathom the very processby which Nature assimilates all her precious influences from earth andair, and from the spiritual world, to create and foster man, hermasterpiece. The latter pursuit, however, Aylmer had long laid asidein unwilling recognition of the truth--against which all seekerssooner or later stumble--that our great creative Mother, while sheamuses us with apparently working in the broadest sunshine, is yetseverely careful to keep her own secrets, and, in spite of herpretended openness, shows us nothing but results. She permits us, indeed, to mar, but seldom to mend, and, like a jealous patentee, onno account to make. Now, however, Aylmer resumed these half-forgotteninvestigations; not, of course, with such hopes or wishes as firstsuggested them; but because they involved much physiological truth andlay in the path of his proposed scheme for the treatment of Georgiana. 

As he led her over the threshold of the laboratory Georgiana was coldand tremulous. Aylmer looked cheerfully into her face, with intent toreassure her, but was so startled with the intense glow of thebirthmark upon the whiteness of her cheek that he could not restrain astrong convulsive shudder. His wife fainted. 

"Aminadab! Aminadab!" shouted Aylmer, stamping violently on the floor. 

Forthwith there issued from an inner apartment a man of low stature, but bulky frame, with shaggy hair hanging about his visage, which wasgrimed with the vapors of the furnace. This personage had beenAylmer's under-worker during his whole scientific career, and wasadmirably fitted for that office by his great mechanical readiness, and the skill with which, while incapable of comprehending a singleprinciple, he executed all the details of his master's experiments. With his vast strength, his shaggy hair, his smoky aspect, and theindescribable earthiness that incrusted him, he seemed to representman's physical nature; while Aylmer's slender figure, and pale, intellectual face, were no less apt a type of the spiritual element. 

"Throw open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab, " said Aylmer, "and burna pastil. "

"Yes, master, " answered Aminadab, looking intently at the lifelessform of Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, "If she were mywife, I'd never part with that birthmark. "

When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing anatmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentle potency of which hadrecalled her from her deathlike faintness. The scene around her lookedlike enchantment. Aylmer had converted those smoky, dingy, sombrerooms, where he had spent his brightest years in recondite[4]pursuits, into a series of beautiful apartments not unfit to be thesecluded abode of a lovely woman. The walls were hung with gorgeouscurtains, which imparted the combination of grandeur and grace that noother species of adornment can achieve; and, as they fell from theceiling to the floor, their rich and ponderous folds, concealing allangles and straight lines, appeared to shut in the scene from infinitespace. For aught Georgiana knew, it might be a pavilion among theclouds. And Alymer, excluding the sunshine, which would haveinterfered with his chemical processes, had supplied its place withperfumed lamps, emitting flames of various hue, but all uniting in asoft, impurpled radiance. He now knelt by his wife's side, watchingher earnestly, but without alarm; for he was confident in his science, and felt that he could draw a magic circle round her within which noevil might intrude. 

"Where am I? Ah, I remember, " said Georgiana, faintly; and she placedher hand over her cheek to hide the terrible mark from her husband'seyes. 

"Fear not, dearest!" exclaimed he. "Do not shrink from me! Believe me, Georgiana, I even rejoice in this single imperfection, since it willbe such a rapture to remove it. "

"O, spare me!" sadly replied his wife. "Pray do not look at it again. I never can forget that convulsive shudder. "

In order to soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release her mindfrom the burden of actual things, Aylmer now put in practice some ofthe light and playful secrets which science had taught him among itsprofounder lore. Airy figures, absolutely bodiless ideas, and forms ofunsubstantial beauty came and danced before her, imprinting theirmomentary footsteps on beams of light. Though she had some indistinctidea of the method of these optical phenomena, still the illusion wasalmost perfect enough to warrant the belief that her husband possessedsway over the spiritual world. Then again, when she felt a wish tolook forth from her seclusion, immediately, as if her thoughts wereanswered, the procession of external existence flitted across ascreen. The scenery and the figures of actual life were perfectlyrepresented, but with that bewitching yet indescribable differencewhich always makes a picture, an image, or a shadow so much moreattractive than the original. When wearied of this, Aylmer bade hercast her eyes upon a vessel containing a quantity of earth. She did sowith little interest at first; but was soon startled to perceive thegerm of a plant shooting upward from the soil: Then came the slenderstalk; the leaves gradually unfolded themselves; and amid them was aperfect and lovely flower. 

"It is magical!" cried Georgiana. "I dare not touch it. "

"Nay, pluck it, " answered Aylmer, --"pluck it, and inhale its briefperfume while you may. The flower will wither in a few moments andleave nothing save its brown seed-vessels; but thence may beperpetuated a race as ephemeral as itself. "

But Georgiana had no sooner touched the flower than the whole plantsuffered a blight, its leaves turning coal black as if by the agencyof fire. 

"There was too powerful a stimulus, " said Aylmer, thoughtfully. 

To make up for this abortive experiment, he proposed to take herportrait by a scientific process of his own invention. It was to beeffected by rays of light striking upon a polished plate of metal. Georgiana assented; but, on looking at the result, was affrighted tofind the features of the portrait blurred and indefinable; while theminute figure of a hand appeared where the cheek should have been. Alymer snatched the metallic plate and threw it into a jar ofcorrosive[5] acid. 

Soon, however, he forgot these mortifying failures. In the intervalsof study and chemical experiment he came to her flushed and exhausted, but seemed invigorated by her presence, and spoke in glowing languageof the resources of his art. He gave a history of the long dynasty ofthe alchemists, who spent so many ages in quest of the universalsolvent by which the golden principle might be elicited from allthings vile and base, Aylmer appeared to believe that, by the plainestscientific logic, it was altogether within the limits of possibilityto discover this long-sought medium. "But, " he added, "a philosopherwho should go deep enough to acquire the power would attain too loftya wisdom to stoop to the exercise of it. " Not less singular were hisopinions in regard to the elixir vitae[6]. He more than intimated thatit was at his option to concoct a liquid that should prolong life foryears, perhaps interminably; but that it would produce a discord innature which all the world, and chiefly the quaffer of the immortalnostrum, would find cause to curse. 

"Aylmer, are you in earnest?" asked Georgiana, looking at him withamazement and fear. "It is terrible to possess such power, or even todream of possessing it. "

"O, do not tremble, my love, " said her husband. "I would not wrongeither you or myself by working such inharmonious effects upon ourlives; but I would have you consider how trifling, in comparison, isthe skill requisite to remove this little hand. "

At the mention of the birthmark, Georgiana, as usual, shrank as if ared-hot iron had touched her cheek. 

Again Aylmer applied himself to his labors. She could hear his voicein the distant furnace-room giving directions to Aminadab, whoseharsh, uncouth, misshapen tones were audible in response, more likethe grunt or growl of a brute than human speech. After hours ofabsence, Aylmer reappeared and proposed that she should now examinehis cabinet of chemical products and natural treasures of the earth. Among the former he showed her a small vial, in which, he remarked, was contained a gentle yet most powerful fragrance, capable ofimpregnating all the breezes that blow across a kingdom. They were ofinestimable value, the contents of that little vial; and, as he saidso, he threw some of the perfume into the air and filled the room withpiercing and invigorating delight. 

"And what is this?" asked Georgiana, pointing to a small crystal globecontaining a gold-colored liquid. "It is so beautiful to the eye thatI could imagine it the elixir of life. "

"In one sense it is, " replied Aylmer; "or rather, the elixir ofimmortality. It is the most precious poison that ever was concocted inthis world. By its aid I could apportion the lifetime of any mortal atwhom you might point your finger. The strength of the dose woulddetermine whether he were to linger out years, or drop dead in themidst of a breath. No king on his guarded throne could keep his lifeif I, in my private station, should deem that the welfare of millionsjustified me in depriving him of it. "

"Why do you keep such a terrific drug?" inquired Georgiana, in horror. 

"Do not mistrust me, dearest, " said her husband, smiling; "itsvirtuous potency is yet greater than its harmful one. But see! here isa powerful cosmetic. With a few drops of this in a vase of water, freckles may be washed away as easily as the hands are cleansed. Astronger infusion[7] would take the blood out of the cheek, and leavethe rosiest beauty a pale ghost. "

"Is it with this lotion that you intend to bathe my cheek?" askedGeorgiana, anxiously. 

"O no, " hastily replied her husband; "this is merely superficial. Yourcase demands a remedy that shall go deeper. "

In his interviews with Georgiana, Aylmer generally made minuteinquiries as to her sensations, and whether the confinement of therooms and the temperature of the atmosphere agreed with her. Thesequestions had such a particular drift that Georgiana began toconjecture that she was already subjected to certain physicalinfluences, either breathed in with the fragrant air or taken with herfood. She fancied likewise, but it might be altogether fancy, thatthere was a stirring up of her system, --a strange, indefinitesensation creeping through her veins, and tingling, half painfully, half pleasurably, at her heart. Still, whenever she dared to look intothe mirror, there she beheld herself pale as a white rose and with thecrimson birthmark stamped upon her cheek. Not even Aylmer now hated itso much as she. 

To dispel the tedium of the hours which her husband found it necessaryto devote to the processes of combination and analysis, Georgianaturned over the volumes of his scientific library. In many dark oldtomes she met with chapters full of romance and poetry. They were theworks of the philosophers of the Middle Ages, such as AlbertusMagnus[8], Cornelius Agrippa[9], Paracelsus[10], and the famous friarwho created the prophetic Brazen Head. All these antique naturalistsstood in advance of their centuries, yet were imbued with some oftheir credulity, and therefore were believed, and perhaps imaginedthemselves to have acquired from the investigation of nature a powerabove nature, and from physics a sway over the spiritual world. Hardlyless curious and imaginative were the early volumes of theTransactions of the Royal Society[11], in which the members, knowinglittle of the limits of natural possibility, were continuallyrecording wonders or proposing methods whereby wonders might bewrought. 

But, to Georgiana, the most engrossing volume was a large folio fromher husband's own hand, in which he had recorded every experiment ofhis scientific career, its original aim, the methods adopted for itsdevelopment, and its final success or failure, with the circumstancesto which either event was attributable. The book, in truth; was boththe history and emblem of his ardent, ambitious, imaginative, yetpractical and laborious life. He handled physical details as if therewere nothing beyond them; yet spiritualized them all, and redeemedhimself from materialism by his strong and eager aspiration towardsthe infinite. In his grasp the veriest clod of earth assumed a soul. Georgiana, as she read, reverenced Aylmer and loved him moreprofoundly than ever, but with a less entire dependence on hisjudgment than heretofore. Much as he had accomplished, she could notbut observe that his most splendid successes were almost invariablyfailures, if compared with the ideal at which he aimed. His brightestdiamonds were the merest pebbles, and felt to be so by himself, incomparison with the inestimable gems which lay hidden beyond hisreach. The volume, rich with achievements that had won renown for itsauthor, was yet as melancholy a record as over mortal hand had penned. It was the sad confession and continual exemplification of theshortcomings of the composite man, the spirit burdened with clay andworking in matter, and of the despair that assails the higher natureat finding itself so miserably thwarted by the earthly part. Perhapsevery man of genius, in whatever sphere, might recognize the image ofhis own experience in Aylmer's journal. 

So deeply did these reflections affect Georgiana that she laid herface upon the open volume and burst into tears. In this situation shewas found by her husband. 

"It is dangerous to read in a sorcerer's books, " said he with a smile, though his countenance was uneasy and displeased. "Georgiana, thereare pages in that volume which I can scarcely glance over and keep mysenses. Take heed lest it prove as detrimental to you. "

"It has made me worship you more than ever. " said she. 

"Ah, wait for this one success, " rejoined he, "then worship me if youwill. I shall deem myself hardly unworthy of it. But come. I havesought you for the luxury of your voice. Sing to me, dearest. "

So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirstof his spirit. He then took his leave with a boyish exuberance ofgayety, assuring her that her seclusion would endure but a littlelonger, and that the result was already certain. Scarcely had hedeparted when Georgiana felt irresistibly impelled to follow him. Shehad forgotten to inform Aylmer of a symptom which for two or threehours past had begun to excite her attention. It was a sensation inthe fatal birthmark, not painful, but which induced a restlessnessthroughout her system. Hastening after her husband, she intruded forthe first time into the laboratory. 

The first thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hot andfeverish worker, with the intense glow of its fire, which by thequantities of soot clustered above it seemed to have been burning forages. There was a distilling-apparatus in full operation. Around theroom were retorts, tubes, cylinders, crucibles, and other apparatus ofchemical research. An electrical machine stood ready for immediateuse. The atmosphere felt oppressively close, and was tainted withgaseous odors which had been tormented forth by the processes ofscience. The severe and homely simplicity of the apartment, with itsnaked walls and brick pavement, looked strange, accustomed asGeorgiana had become to the fantastic elegance of her boudoir. Butwhat chiefly, indeed almost solely, drew her attention, was the aspectof Aylmer himself. 

He was pale as death, anxious and absorbed, and hung over the furnaceas if it depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether the liquidwhich it was distilling should be the draught of immortal happiness ormisery. How different from the sanguine and joyous mien that he hadassumed for Georgiana's encouragement!

"Carefully now, Aminadab; carefully, thou human machine; carefully, thou man of clay, " muttered Aylmer, more to himself than hisassistant. "Now, If there be a thought too much or too little, it isall over. "

"Ho! ho!" mumbled Aminadab. "Look, master! look!"

Aylmer raised his eyes hastily, and at first reddened, then grew palerthan ever, on beholding Georgiana. He rushed towards her and seizedher arm with a gripe that left the print of his fingers upon it. 

"Why do you come thither? Have you no trust in your husband?" criedhe, impetuously. "Would you throw the blight of that fatal birthmarkover my labors? It is not well done. Go, prying woman! go!"

"Nay, Aylmer, " said Georgiana with the firmness of which she possessedno stinted endowment, "it is not you that have a right to complain. You mistrust your wife; you have concealed the anxiety with which youwatch the development of this experiment. Think not so unworthily ofme, my husband. Tell me all the risk we run, and fear not that I shallshrink: for my share in it is far less than your own. "

"No, no, Georgiana!" said Aylmer, impatiently; "it must not be. "

"I submit, " replied she, calmly. "And, Aylmer, I shall quaff whateverdraught you bring me; but it will be on the same principle that wouldinduce me to take a dose of poison if offered by your hand. "

"My noble wife, " said Aylmer, deeply moved, "I knew not the height anddepth of your nature until now. Nothing shall be concealed. Know, then, that this crimson hand, superficial as it seems, has clutchedits grasp into your being with a strength of which I had no previousconception. I have already administered agents powerful enough to doaught except to change your entire physical system. Only one thingremains to be tried. If that fail us we are ruined. "

"Why did you hesitate to tell me this?" asked she. 

"Because, Georgiana, " said Aylmer, in a low voice, "there is danger. "

"Danger? There is but one danger, --that this horrible stigma shall beleft upon my cheek!" cried Georgiana. "Remove it, remove it, whateverbe the cost, or we shall both go mad!"

"Heaven knows your words are too true, " said Aylmer, sadly. "And now, dearest, return to your boudoir. In a little while all will betested. "

He conducted her back and took leave of her with a solemn tendernesswhich spoke far more than his words how much was now at stake. Afterhis departure Georgiana became rapt in musings. She considered thecharacter of Aylmer, and did it completer justice than at any previousmoment. Her heart exulted, while it trembled, at his honorablelove, --so pure and lofty that it would accept nothing less thanperfection, nor miserably make itself contented with an earthliernature than he had dreamed of. She felt how much more precious wassuch a sentiment than that meaner kind which would have borne with theimperfection for her sake, and have been guilty of treason to holylove by degrading its perfect idea to the level of the actual; andwith her whole spirit she prayed that, for a single moment, she mightsatisfy his highest and deepest conception. Longer than one moment shewell knew it could not be; for his spirit was ever on the march, everascending, and each instant required something that was beyond thescope of the instant before. 

The sound of her husband's footsteps aroused her. He bore a crystalgoblet containing a liquor colorless as water, but bright enough to bethe draught of immortality. Aylmer was pale; but it seemed rather theconsequence of a highly wrought state of mind and tension of spiritthan of fear or doubt. 

"The concoction of the draught has been perfect, " said he, in answerto Georgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceived me, itcannot fail. "

"Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer, " observed his wife, "I mightwish to put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishing mortalityitself in preference to any other mode. Life is but a sad possessionto those who have attained precisely the degree of moral advancementat which I stand. Were I weaker and blinder, it might be happiness. Were I stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I findmyself, methinks I am of all mortals the most fit to die. "

"You are fit for heaven without tasting death!" replied her husband. "But why do we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail. Behold itseffect upon this plant. "

On the window-seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellowblotches, which had overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured a smallquantity of the liquid upon the soil in which it grew. In a littletime, when the roots of the plant had taken up the moisture, theunsightly blotches began to be extinguished in a living verdure. 

"There needed no proof, " said Georgiana, quietly. "Give me the goblet. I joyfully stake all upon your word. "

"Drink, then, thou lofty creature!" exclaimed Aylmer, with fervidadmiration. "There is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. Thysensible frame, too, shall soon be all perfect. "

She quaffed the liquid and returned the goblet to his hand. 

"It is grateful, " said she, with a placid smile. "Methinks it is likewater from a heavenly fountain; for it contains I know not what ofunobtrusive fragrance and deliciousness. It allays a feverish thirstthat had parched me for many days. Now, dearest, let me sleep. Myearthly senses are closing over my spirit like the leaves around theheart of a rose at sunset. "

She spoke the last words with a gentle reluctance, as if it requiredalmost more energy than she could command to pronounce the faint andlingering syllables. Scarcely had they loitered through her lips ereshe was lost in slumber. Aylmer sat by her side, watching her aspectwith the emotions proper to a man, the whole value of whose existencewas involved in the process now to be tested. Mingled with this mood, however, was the philosophic investigation characteristic of the manof science. Not the minutest symptom escaped him. A heightened flushof the cheek, a slight irregularity of breath, a quiver of the eyelid, a hardly perceptible tremor through the frame, --such were the detailswhich, as the moments passed, he wrote down, in his folio volume. Intense thought had set its stamp upon every previous page of thatvolume; but the thoughts of years were all concentrated upon the last. 

While thus employed, he failed not to gaze often at the fatal hand, and not without a shudder. Yet once, by a strange and unaccountableimpulse, he pressed it with his lips. His spirit recoiled, however, inthe very act; and Georgiana, out of the midst of her deep sleep, moveduneasily, and murmured, as if in remonstrance. Again Aylmer resumed, his watch. Nor was it without avail. The crimson hand, which at firsthad been strongly visible upon the marble paleness of Georgiana'scheek, now grew more faintly outlined. She remained not less pale thanever; but the birthmark, with every breath that came and went, lostsomewhat of its former distinctness. Its presence had been awful; itsdeparture was more awful still. Watch the stain of the rainbow fadingout of the sky, and you will know how that mysterious symbol passedaway. 

"By Heaven! it is well-nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, in almostirrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now. Success! success!And now it is like the faintest rose color. The lightest flush ofblood across her cheek would overcome it. But she is so pale!"

He drew aside the window-curtain and suffered the light of natural dayto fall into the room and rest upon her cheek. At the same time heheard a gross, hoarse chuckle, which he had long known as his servantAminadab's expression of delight. 

"Ah, clod! ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort offrenzy, "you have served me well! Matter and spirit--earth andheaven--have both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses!You have earned the right to laugh. "

These exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosed hereyes and gazed into the mirror which her husband had arranged for thatpurpose. A faint smile flitted over her lips when she recognized howbarely perceptible was now that crimson hand which had once blazedforth with such disastrous brilliancy as to scare away all theirhappiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer's face with a trouble andanxiety that he could by no means account for. 

"My poor Aylmer!" murmured she. 

"Poor? Nay, richest, happiest, most favored!" exclaimed he. "Mypeerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!"

"My poor Aylmer, " she repeated, with a more than human tenderness, "you have aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that, withso high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the best the earth couldoffer. Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I am dying!"

Alas! it was too true! The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery oflife, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in unionwith a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark--thatsole token of human imperfection--faded from her cheek, the partingbreath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere, and hersoul, lingering a moment, near her husband, took its heavenwardflight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh was heard again! Thus ever doesthe gross fatality of earth exult in its invariable triumph over theimmortal essence which, in this dim sphere of half-development, demands the completeness of a higher state. Yet, had Aylmer reached aprofounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happinesswhich would have woven his mortal life of the selfsame texture withthe celestial. The momentary circumstance was too strong for him; hefailed to look beyond the shadowy scope of time, and, living once forall in eternity, to find the perfect future in the present. 

NOTES

[1] Published in the March, 1843, number of _The Pioneer_, edited byJ. R. Lowell. Republished in _Mosses from an Old Manse_ in 1846. 

[2] 154:29 "Eve, " of Powers. A noted American sculptor (1805-1873). "Eve, " "The Fisher Boy, " and "America" are some of his chief works. 

[3] 168:28 Pygmalion. A sculptor and king of Cyprus. 

[4] 181:16 recondite. Abstruse or secret. 

[5] 168:27 corrosive. Destructive of tissue. 

[6] 184:12 vitae. Of life. 

[7] 166:3 infusion. The act of pouring in. 

[8] 167:1 Albertus Magnus. A famous scholastic philosopher and memberof the Dominican order (1193-1280). 

[9] 167:1 Cornelius Agrippa. A German philosopher and student ofalchemy and magic (1486-1535). 

[10] 167:1 Paracelsus. A German-Swiss physician, and alchemist(1492-1541). 

[11] 167:10 Royal Society. An association for the advancement ofscience, founded in London a little before 1660. 

BIOGRAPHY

Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in Salem, Massachusetts, July 4, 1804. His ancestors were prominent in the affairs of the colony: JohnHawthorne was one of the judges who tried the witches in 1620; andanother John Hawthorne was a member of the dignified school committeeof Salem in 1796. Hawthorne's father, a ship captain, died in aforeign land when his son was only four years old; his mother livedfor forty years after the death of her husband the life of a reclusein her own house. The family's star was in the decline and the peopleof Salem looked on Nathaniel as a lazy and very queer boy. He grew upin a unique solitude. During these years of seclusion Hawthorneacquired the habit of keeping silent on all occasions, and reading afew books frequently and thoroughly. The _Newgate Calendar_ must havesupplied him with many subtle suggestions for his later writings onsin and crime, for in almost all of his productions his imagination istinged with, this old Puritanic philosophy and theology. 

He entered Bowdoin College in 1821 and graduated from this institutionin 1825. He had as classmates Longfellow, and Franklin Pierce, whoafterward became president of the United States. After his graduationHawthorne returned to Salem, where he lived with his mother andsisters in almost absolute seclusion for fourteen years. During thisperiod he wrote daily, and spent his nights in burning what he hadwritten in the daytime. 

He was clerk of the Boston Custom House from 1839 to 1841, when theWhig party removed him for being ultra-partisan in behalf of theDemocrats. At this time Hawthorne wrote: "As to the Salem people, Ireally thought I had been exceedingly good-natured in my treatment ofthem. They certainly do not deserve good usage at my hands, afterpermitting me to be deliberately lied down, not merely once, but attwo separate attacks, and on two false indictments, without hardly avoice being raised in my behalf. " He married Sophia Peabody, July 9, 1842. From 1842 until 1846 they lived in Concord in the house formerlyoccupied by Emerson. These were the happiest years of his life. In1846 he returned to Salem as surveyor in the Salem Custom House. Heretired from this office in 1850 and lived in Lenox, Massachusetts, for two years. In 1852 he settled in Concord. President Pierceappointed him consul at Liverpool in 1853, and he served in thisposition until 1857. 

After leaving Liverpool he travelled three years in England and on thecontinent. He returned to Concord in 1860. He died in the WhiteMountains, May 18, 1864. Although a silent man and a seeker ofsolitude during his life, few writers have ever experienced such widepublicity of their inmost lives as has Hawthorne since his death. Thepublication of his _Notes_ has opened his desk and work-shop to everyone, and has revealed to us a magnanimous, sympathetic, and pure man, who realized his responsibilities as a writer and improved all hisliterary opportunities. 

BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_History of American Literature_, Moses Coit Tyler. 

_Introduction to American Literature_, Henry S. Pancoast. 

_Studies in American Literature_, Charles Noble. 

_Introduction to American Literature_, Brander Matthews. 

"Gloom and Cheer in Hawthorne, " _Critic_, 45: 28-36. 

"Hawthorne and his Circle, " _Nation_, 77: 410-411. 

"Hawthorne as seen by his Publisher, " _Critic_, 45: 51-55. 

"Hawthorne from an English Point of View. " _Critic_, 45: 60-66. 

"Hawthorne's Last Years, " _Critic_, 45: 67-71. 

"Life of Hawthorne, " _Atlantic Monthly_, 90: 563-567, CRITICISMS

Many influences in Hawthorne's environment served to condition andmold him as a writer. Salem had reached its highest prosperity in alllines and was just beginning its retrogression in Hawthorne's time;the primeval forests of Maine produced a subtle and lasting influenceon him during his sojourn in Maine for his health; transcendentalismwas the ruling thought at the time when Hawthorne was in his mostplastic and solitary age; his interest in _Brook Farm_ brought him incontact with all the good and bad points of that social movement; hislife in the _Old Manse_ in Concord and in the Berkshire Hillscontributed largely to the deepening of his convictions andsympathies; and over all, like a sombre cloud, hung his ancestralPuritanic training which penetrated and suffused all his writings. Heis the most native and the least imitative of all our fiction writers. 

Hawthorne did not write on the common subjects and facts of his day, but chose to have his readers go with him, away from prosaic life, outinto a world of mysteries where we may revel in all kinds of imaginarysports. By this process he succeeded in producing poetic effects fromthe most unpromising materials. His writings are fanciful. He enjoyedsubjects that deal with the occult, such as mesmerism, hypnotism, andsubtle suggestions. He harked back to the rigid beliefs and laws ofthe Puritans, but he and his subjects are spiritually advanced farabove the crude, ponderous, and highly theological tenets of hisforefathers. 

Hawthorne is very provincial. He travelled little until he was fiftyyears old. He naturally loved the antique and poetic countries, but healways qualified his admiration of these foreign lands by praisingsomething in his own New England. He conceded that there was little ornothing in this prosperous and crude country to inspire a writer toproduce poetry, but his patriotism was so strong that he could neverfree himself wholly from its provincial effects. All his works wereproduced in the stress created by this pull of opposing forces--hishigh poetic ideals and his love of country. 

In form he tends toward the polish of a classicist; in quality andfreedom of thought he is very responsive to the mysteries ofromanticism. He is introspective in his thinking and symbolical in hiswriting. Naturally he thinks abstractly, but is compelled to constructconcrete methods of presenting his ideas. He never describes a strongemotion in detail, but delights in using suggestions and sidelights. His pure and refined manhood, his delicate fancy and deep interest inmoral and religious questions, his conscience in its most artisticform, all are presented to the reader in the choicest garb of wellchosen words and attuned to a subtle rhythm that adds beauty andattractiveness to his style. 

GENERAL REFERENCES

_Hours in a Library_, Leslie Stephen. 

_A Literary History of America_, Barrett Wendell. 

_American Literature_, William P. Trent. 

_Makers of English Fiction_, W. J. Dawson. 

_Leading American Novelists_, J. Erskine. 

_Studies and Appreciations_, L. E. Gates. 

"An Estimate, " _Scribner's Magazine_, 43: 69-84. 

"Unknown Quantity in Hawthorne's Personality, " _Current Literature_, 42: 517-518. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_Biographical Stories for Children_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Mosses from an Old Manse_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Wonder Boot_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Blithedale Romance_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Tanglewood Tales_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Lady Eleanore's Mantle_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Great Stone Face_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Prophetic Pictures_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Necklace_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_A Solitary_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

_The Lady or the Tiger_, Frank R. Stockton. 

_The Strange Ride_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_Rikki-Tikki-Tavi_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_They_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_The Twelfth Guest_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

_The Shadows on the Wall_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

ETHAN BRAND[1]

A Chapter From An Abortive Romance

_By Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864)_

Bartram the lime-burner, a rough, heavy-looking man, begrimed withcharcoal, sat watching his kiln, at nightfall, while his little sonplayed at building houses with the scattered fragments of marble, when, on the hillside below them, they heard a roar of laughter, notmirthful, but slow, and even solemn, like a wind shaking the boughs ofthe forest. 

"Father, what is that?" asked the little boy, leaving his play, andpressing betwixt his father's knees. 

"O, some drunken man, I suppose, " answered the lime-burner; "somemerry fellow from the bar-room in the village, who dared not laughloud enough within doors lest he should blow the roof of the houseoff. So here he is, shaking his jolly sides at the foot of Graylock. "

"But, father, " said the child, more sensitive than the obtuse, middle-aged clown, "he does not laugh like a man that is glad. So thenoise frightens me!"

"Don't be a fool, child!" cried his father, gruffly. "You will nevermake a man, I do believe; there is too much of your mother in you. Ihave known the rustling of a leaf startle you. Hark! Here comes themerry fellow now. You shall see that there is no harm in him. "

Bartram and his little son, while they were talking thus, sat watchingthe same lime-kiln that had been the scene of Ethan Brand's solitaryand meditative life, before he began his search for the UnpardonableSin. Many years, as we have seen, had now elapsed, since thatportentous night when the IDEA was first developed. The kiln, however, on the mountain-side stood unimpaired, and was in nothing changedsince he had thrown his dark thoughts into the intense glow of itsfurnace, and melted them, as it were, into the one thought that tookpossession of his life. It was a rude, round, towerlike structure, about twenty feet high, heavily built of rough stones, and with ahillock of earth heaped about the larger part of its circumference; sothat the blocks and fragments of marble might be drawn by cart-loads, and thrown in at the top. There was an opening at the bottom of thetower, like an oven-mouth, but large enough to admit a man in astooping posture, and provided with a massive iron door. With thesmoke and jets of flame issuing from the chinks and crevices of thisdoor, which seemed to give admittance into the hillside, it resemblednothing so much as the private entrance to the infernal regions, whichthe shepherds of the Delectable Mountains[2] were accustomed to showto pilgrims. 

There are many such lime-kilns in that tract of country, for thepurpose of burning the white marble which composes a large part of thesubstance of the hills. Some of them, built years ago, and longdeserted, with weeds growing in the vacant round of the interior, which is open to the sky, and grass and wild flowers rootingthemselves into the chinks of the stones, look already like relics ofantiquity, and may yet be overspread with the lichens of centuries tocome. Others, where the lime-burner still feeds his daily andnight-long fire, afford points of interest to the wanderer among thehills, who seats himself on a log of wood or a fragment of marble, tohold a chat with the solitary man. It is a lonesome, and, when thecharacter is inclined to thought, may be an intensely thoughtful, occupation; as it proved in the case of Ethan Brand, who had mused tosuch strange purpose, in days gone by, while the fire in this verykiln was burning. 

The man who now watched the fire was of a different order, andtroubled himself with no thoughts save the very few that wererequisite to his business. At frequent intervals he flung back theclashing weight of the iron door, and, turning his face from theinsufferable glare, thrust in huge logs of oak, or stirred the immensebrands with a long pole. Within the furnace were seen the curling andriotous flames, and the burning marble, almost molten with theintensity of heat; while without, the reflection of the fire quiveredon the dark intricacy of the surrounding forest, and showed in theforeground a bright and ruddy little picture of the hut, the springbeside its door, the athletic and coal-begrimed figure of thelime-burner, and the half-frightened child, shrinking into theprotection of his father's shadow. And when again the iron door wasclosed, then reappeared the tender light of the half-full moon, whichvainly strove to trace out the indistinct shapes of the neighboringmountains; and, in the upper sky, there was a flitting congregation ofclouds, still faintly tinged with the rosy sunset, though thus fardown into the valley the sunshine had vanished long and long ago. 

The little boy now crept still closer to his father, as footsteps wereheard ascending the hillside, and a human form thrust aside the bushesthat clustered beneath the trees. 

"Halloo! who is it?" cried the lime-burner, vexed at his son'stimidity, yet half infected by it, "Come forward, and show yourself, like a man, or I'll fling this chunk of marble at your head !"

"You offer me a rough welcome, " said a gloomy voice, as the unknownman drew nigh. "Yet I neither claim nor desire a kinder one, even atmy own fireside. "

To obtain a distincter view, Bartram threw open the iron door of thekiln, whence immediately issued a gush of fierce light, that smotefull upon the stranger's face and figure. To a careless eye thereappeared nothing very remarkable in his aspect, which was that of aman in a coarse, brown, country-made suit of clothes, tall and thin, with the staff and heavy shoes of a wayfarer. As he advanced, he fixedhis eyes--which were very bright--intently upon the brightness of thefurnace, as if he beheld, or expected to behold, some object worthy ofnote within it. 

"Good evening, stranger, " said the lime-burner; "whence come you, solate in the day?"

"I come from my search, " answered the wayfarer; "for, at last, it isfinished. "

"Drunk!--or crazy!" muttered Bartram to himself. "I shall have troublewith the fellow. The sooner I drive him away, the better. "

The little boy, all in a tremble, whispered to his father, and beggedhim to shut the door of the kiln, so that there might not be so muchlight; for that there was something in the man's face which he wasafraid to look at, yet could not look away from. And, indeed, even thelime-burner's dull and torpid sense began to be impressed by anindescribable something in that thin, rugged, thoughtful visage, withthe grizzled hair hanging wildly about it, and those deeply sunkeneyes, which gleamed like fires within the entrance of a mysteriouscavern. But, as he closed the door, the stranger turned towards him, and spoke in a quiet, familiar way, that made Bartram feel as if hewere a sane and sensible man, after all. 

"Your task draws to an end, I see, " said he. "This marble has alreadybeen burning three days. A few hours more will convert the stone tolime. "

"Why, who are you?" exclaimed the lime-burner. "You seem as wellacquainted with my business as I am myself. "

"And well I may be, " said the stranger; "for I followed the same craftmany a long year, and here, too, on this very spot. But you are anewcomer in these parts. Did you never hear of Ethan Brand?"

"The man that went in search of the Unpardonable Sin?" asked Bartram, with a laugh. 

"The same, " answered the stranger. "He has found what he sought, andtherefore he comes back again, "

"What! then you are Ethan Brand himself?" cried the lime-burner, inamazement. "I am a newcomer here, as you say, and they call iteighteen years since you left the foot of Graylock, But, I can tellyou, the good folks still talk about Ethan Brand, in the villageyonder, and what a strange errand took him away from his lime-kiln. Well and so you have found the Unpardonable Sin?"

"Even so!" said the stranger, calmly. 

"If the 'question is a fair one. " proceeded Bartrarn, "where might itbe?"

Ethan Brand laid his finger on his own heart. '

"Here!" replied he. 

And then, without mirth in his countenance, but as if moved by aninvoluntary recognition of the infinite absurdity of seekingthroughout the world for what was the closest of all things tohimself, and looking into every heart, save his own, for what washidden in no other breast, he broke into a laugh of scorn. It was thesame slow, heavy laugh that had almost appalled the lime-burner whenit heralded the wayfarer's approach. 

The solitary mountain side was made dismal by it. Laughter, when outof place, mistimed, or bursting forth from a disordered state offeeling, may be the most terrible modulation of the human voice. Thelaughter of one asleep, even if it be a little child, --the madman'slaugh, --the wild, screaming laugh of a born idiot, --are sounds that wesometimes tremble to hear, and would always willingly forget. Poetshave imagined no utterance of fiends Or hobgoblins so fearfullyappropriate as a laugh. And even the obtuse lime-burner felt hisnerves shaken, as this strange man looked inward at his own heart, andburst into laughter that rolled away into the night, and wasindistinctly reverberated among the hills. 

"Joe, " said he to his little son, "scamper down to the tavern in thevillage, and tell the jolly fellows there that Ethan Brand has comeback, and that he has found the Unpardonable Sin!"

The boy darted away on his errand, to which Ethan Brand made noobjection, nor seemed hardly to notice it. He sat on a log of wood, looking steadfastly at the iron door of the kiln. When the child wasout of sight, and his swift and light footsteps ceased to be heardtreading first on the fallen leaves and then on the rocky mountainpath, the lime-burner began to regret his departure. He felt that thelittle fellow's presence had been a barrier between his guest andhimself, and that he must now deal, heart to heart, with a man who, onhis own confession, had committed the one only crime for which Heavencould afford no mercy. That crime, in its indistinct blackness, seemedto overshadow him. The lime-burner's own sins rose up within him, andmade his memory riotous with a throng of evil shapes that assertedtheir kindred with the Master Sin, whatever it might be, which it waswithin the scope of man's corrupted nature to conceive and cherish. They were all of one family; they went to and fro between his breastand Ethan Brand's, and carried dark greetings from one to the other. 

Then Bartram remembered the stories which had grown traditionary inreference to this strange man, who had come upon him like a shadow ofthe night, and was making himself at home in his old place, after solong absence that the dead people, dead and buried for years, wouldhave had more right to be at home, in any familiar spot, than he. Ethan Brand, it was said, had conversed with Satan himself in thelurid blaze of this very kiln. The legend had been matter of mirthheretofore, but looked grisly now. According to this tale, beforeEthan Brand departed on his search, he had been accustomed to evoke afiend from the hot furnace of the lime-kiln, night after night, inorder to confer with him about the Unpardonable Sin; the man and thefiend each laboring to frame the image of some mode of guilt whichcould neither be atoned for nor forgiven. And, with the first gleam oflight upon the mountain-top, the fiend crept in at the iron door, there to abide the intensest element of fire, until again summonedforth to share in the dreadful task of extending man's possible guiltbeyond the scope of Heaven's else infinite mercy. 

While the lime-burner was struggling with the horror of thesethoughts, Ethan Brand rose from the log, and flung open the door ofthe kiln. The action was in such accordance with the idea in Bartram'smind, that he almost expected to see the Evil One issue forth, red-hotfrom the raging furnace. 

"Hold! hold!" cried he, with a tremulous attempt to laugh; for he wasashamed of his fears, although they overmastered him. "Don't, formercy's sake, bring out your Devil now!"

"Man!" sternly replied Ethan Brand, "what need have I of the Devil? Ihave left him behind me, on my track. It is with such halfway sinnersas you that he busies himself. Fear not, because I open the door. I dobut act by old custom, and am going to trim your fire, like alime-burner, as I was once. "

He stirred the vast coals, thrust in more wood, and bent forward togaze into the hollow prison-house of the fire, regardless of thefierce glow that reddened upon his face. The lime-burner sat watchinghim, and half suspected his strange guest of a purpose, if not toevoke a fiend, at least to plunge bodily into the flames, and thusvanish from the sight of man. Ethan Brand, however, drew quietly back, and closed the door of the kiln. 

"I have looked, " said he, "into many a human heart that was seventimes hotter with sinful passions than yonder furnace is with fire. But I found not there what I sought. No, not the Unpardonable Sin!"

"What is the Unpardonable Sin?" asked the lime-burner; and then heshrank farther from his companion, trembling lest his question shouldbe answered. 

"It is a sin that grew within my own breast, " replied Ethan Brand, standing erect, with a pride that distinguishes all enthusiasts of hisstamp. "A sin that grew nowhere else! The sin of an intellect thattriumphed over the sense of brotherhood with man and reverence forGod, and sacrificed everything to its own mighty claims! the only sinthat deserves a recompense of immortal agony! Freely, were it to doagain, would I incur the guilt. Unshrinkingly I accept theretribution!"

"The man's head is turned, " muttered the lime-burner to himself. "Hemay be a sinner, like the rest of us, --nothing more likely, --but, I'llbe sworn, he is a madman too. "

Nevertheless, he felt uncomfortable at his situation, alone with EthanBrand on the wild mountain side, and was right glad to hear the roughmurmur of tongues, and the footsteps of what seemed a pretty numerousparty, stumbling over the stones and rustling through the under-brush. Soon appeared the whole lazy regiment that was wont to infest thevillage tavern, comprehending three or four individuals who had drunkflip beside the bar-room fire through all the winters, and smokedtheir pipes beneath the stoop through all the summers, since EthanBrand's departure. Laughing boisterously, and mingling all theirvoices together in unceremonious talk, they now burst into themoonshine and narrow streaks of firelight that illuminated the openspace before the lime-kiln. Bartram set the door ajar again, floodingthe spot with light, that the whole company might get a fair view ofEthan Brand, and he of them. 

There, among other old acquaintances, was a once ubiquitous[3] man, now almost extinct, but whom we were formerly sure to encounter at thehotel of every thriving village throughout the country. It was thestage-agent. The present specimen of the genus was a wilted andsmoke-dried man, wrinkled and red-nosed, in a smartly cut, brown, bob-tailed coat, with brass buttons, who, for a length of timeunknown, had kept his desk and corner in the bar-room, and was stillpuffing what seemed to be the same cigar that he had lighted twentyyears before. He had great fame as a dry joker, though, perhaps, lesson account of any intrinsic humor than from a certain flavor of brandytoddy and tobacco smoke, which impregnated all his ideas andexpressions, as well as his person. Another well-remembered thoughstrangely altered face was that of Lawyer Giles, as people stillcalled him in courtesy; an elderly ragamuffin, in his soiledshirt-sleeves and tow-cloth trousers. This poor fellow had been anattorney, in what he called his better days, a sharp practitioner, andin great vogue among the village litigants; but flip, and sling, andtoddy, and cocktails, imbibed at all hours, morning, noon, and night, had caused him to slide from intellectual to various kinds and degreesof bodily labor, till, at last, to adopt his own phrase, he slid intoa soap vat. In other words, Giles was now a soap boiler, in a smallway. He had come to be but the fragment of a human being, a part ofone foot having been chopped off by an axe, and an entire hand tornaway by the devilish grip of a steam engine. Yet, though the corporealhand was gone, a spiritual member remained; for, stretching forth thestump, Giles steadfastly averred that he felt an invisible thumb andfingers with as vivid a sensation as before the real ones wereamputated. A maimed and miserable wretch he was; but one, nevertheless, whom the world could not trample on, and had no right toscorn, either in this or any previous stage of his misfortunes, sincehe had still kept up the courage and spirit of a man, asked nothing incharity, and with his one hand--and that the left one--fought a sternbattle against want and hostile circumstances. 

Among the throng, too, came another personage, who, with certainpoints of similarity to Lawyer Giles, had many more of difference. Itwas the village doctor; a man of some fifty years, whom, at an earlierperiod of his life, we introduced as paying a professional visit toEthan Brand during the latter's supposed insanity. He was now apurple-visaged, rude, and brutal, yet half-gentlemanly figure, withsomething wild, ruined, and desperate in his talk, and in all thedetails of his gesture and manners. Brandy possessed this man like anevil spirit, and made him as surly and savage as a wild beast, and asmiserable as a lost soul; but there was supposed to be in him suchwonderful skill, such native gifts of healing, beyond any whichmedical science could impart, that society caught hold of him, andwould not let him sink out of its reach. So, swaying to and fro uponhis horse, and grumbling thick accents at the bedside, he visited allthe sick chambers for miles about among the mountain towns, andsometimes raised a dying man, as it were, by miracle, or quite asoften, no doubt, sent his patient to a grave that was dug many a yeartoo soon. The doctor had an everlasting pipe in his mouth, and, assomebody said, in allusion to his habit of swearing, it was alwaysalight with hell-fire. 

These three worthies pressed forward, and greeted Ethan Brand eachafter his own fashion, earnestly inviting him to partake of thecontents of a certain black bottle, in which, as they averred, hewould find something far better worth seeking for than theUnpardonable Sin. No mind, which has wrought itself by intense andsolitary meditation into a high state of enthusiasm, can endure thekind of contact with low and vulgar modes of thought and feeling towhich Ethan Brand was now subjected. It made him doubt--and, strangeto say, it was a painful doubt, --whether he had indeed found theUnpardonable Sin and found it within himself. The whole question onwhich he had exhausted life, and more than life, looked like adelusion. 

"Leave me, " he said bitterly, "ye brute beasts, that have madeyourselves so, shrivelling up your souls with fiery liquors! I havedone with you. Years and years ago, I groped into your hearts, andfound nothing there for my purpose. Get ye gone!"

"Why, you uncivil scoundrel, " cried the fierce doctor, "is that theway you respond to the kindness of your best friends? Then let me tellyou the truth. You have no more found the Unpardonable Sin than yonderboy Joe has. You are but a crazy fellow, --I told you so twenty yearsago, --neither better nor worse than a crazy fellow, and a fitcompanion of old Humphrey, here!"

He pointed to an old man, shabbily dressed, with long white hair, thinvisage, and unsteady eyes. For some years past this aged person hadbeen wandering about among the hills, inquiring of all travellers whomhe met for his daughter. The girl, it seemed, had gone off with acompany of circus performers; and occasionally tidings of her came tothe village, and fine stories were told of her glittering appearanceas she rode on horseback in the ring, or performed marvellous feats onthe tight rope. 

The white-haired father now approached Ethan Brand, and gazedunsteadily into his face. 

"They tell me you have been all over the earth, " said he, wringing hishands with earnestness. "You must have seen my daughter, for she makesa grand figure in the world, and everybody goes to see her. Did shesend any word to her old father, or say when she was coming back?"

Ethan Brand's eye quailed beneath the old man's. That daughter, fromwhom he so earnestly desired a word of greeting, was the Esther of ourtale, the very girl whom, with such cold and remorseless purpose, Ethan Brand had made the subject of a psychological experiment, andwasted, absorbed, and perhaps annihilated her soul, in the process. 

"Yes, " murmured he, turning away from the hoary wanderer; "it is nodelusion. There is an Unpardonable Sin!"

While these things were passing, a merry scene was going forward inthe area of cheerful light, beside the spring and before the door ofthe hut. A number of the youth of the village, young men and girls, had hurried up the hillside, impelled by curiosity to see Ethan Brand, the hero of so many a legend familiar to their childhood. Findingnothing, however, very remarkable in his aspect, --nothing but asunburnt wayfarer, in plain garb and dusty shoes, who sat looking intothe fire, as if he fancied pictures among the coals, --these youngpeople speedily grew tired of observing him. As it happened, there wasother amusement at hand. An old German Jew, travelling with adiorama[4] on his back, was passing down, the mountain road towardsthe village just as the party turned aside from it, and, in hopes ofeking out the profits of the day, the showman had kept them company tothe lime-kiln. 

"Come, old Dutchman, " cried one of the young men, "let us see yourpictures, if you can swear they are worth looking at!"

"O yes, Captain, " answered the Jew, --whether as a matter of courtesyor craft, he styled everybody Captain, --"I shall show you, indeed, some very superb pictures!"

So, placing his box in a proper position, he invited the young men andgirls to look through the glass orifices of the machine, and proceededto exhibit a series of the most outrageous scratchings and daubings, as specimens of the fine arts, that ever an itinerant showman had theface to impose upon his circle of spectators. The pictures were wornout, moreover, tattered, full of cracks and wrinkles, dingy withtobacco smoke, and otherwise in a most pitiable condition. Somepurported to be cities, public edifices, and ruined castles in Europe;others represented Napoleon's battles and Nelson's sea fights; and inthe midst of these would be seen a gigantic, brown, hairy hand, --whichmight have been mistaken for the Hand of Destiny, though, in truth, itwas only the showman's, --pointing its forefinger to various scenes ofthe conflict, while its owner gave historical illustrations. When, with much merriment at its abominable deficiency of merit, theexhibition was concluded, the German bade little Joe put his head intothe box. Viewed through the magnifying glasses, the boy's round, rosyvisage assumed the strangest imaginable aspect of an immenseTitanic[5] child, the mouth grinning broadly, and the eyes and everyother feature overflowing with fun at the joke. Suddenly, however, that merry face turned pale, and its expression changed to horror, forthis easily impressed and excitable child had become sensible that theeye of Ethan Brand was fixed upon him through the glass. 

"You make the little man to be afraid. Captain. " said the German Jew, turning up the dark and strong outline of his visage, from hisstooping posture, "But look again, and, by chance, I shall cause youto see somewhat that is very fine, upon my word!"

Ethan Brand gazed into the box for an instant, and then starting back, looked fixedly at the German. What had he seen? Nothing, apparently;for a curious youth, who had peeped in almost at the same moment, beheld only a vacant space of canvas. 

"I remember you now, " muttered Ethan Brand to the showman. 

"Ah, Captain, " whispered the Jew of Nuremburg, with a dark smile, "Ifind it to be a heavy matter in my show-box, --this Unpardonable Sin!By my faith, Captain, it has wearied my shoulders, this long day, tocarry it over the mountain. "

"Peace, " answered Ethan Brand, sternly, "or get thee into the furnaceyonder!"

The Jew's exhibition had scarcely concluded, when a great, elderlydog--who seemed to be his own master, as no person in the company laidclaim to him--saw fit to render himself the object of public notice. Hitherto, he had shown himself a very quiet, well-disposed old dog, going round from one to another, and, by way of being sociable, offering his rough head to be patted by any kindly hand that wouldtake so much trouble. But now, all of a sudden, this grave andvenerable quadruped, of his own mere motion, and without the slightestsuggestion from anybody else, began to run round after his tail, which, to heighten the absurdity of the proceeding, was a great dealshorter than it should have been. Never was seen such headlongeagerness in pursuit of an object that could not possibly be attained;never was heard such a tremendous outbreak of growling, snarling, barking, and snapping, --as if one end of the ridiculous brute's bodywere at deadly and most unforgivable enmity with the other. Faster andfaster, round about went the cur; and faster and still faster fled theunapproachable brevity of his tail; and louder and fiercer grew hisyells of rage and animosity; until, utterly exhausted, and as far fromthe goal as ever, the foolish old dog ceased his performance assuddenly as he had begun it. The next moment he was as mild, quiet, sensible, and respectable in his deportment, as when he first scrapedacquaintance with the company. 

As may be supposed, the exhibition was greeted with universallaughter, clapping of hands, and shouts of encore, to which the canineperformer responded by wagging all that there was to wag of his tail, but appeared totally unable to repeat his very successful effort toamuse the spectators. 

Meanwhile, Ethan Brand had resumed his seat upon the log, and moved, it might be, by a perception of some remote analogy between his owncase and that of this self-pursuing cur, he broke into the awfullaugh, which, more than any other token, expressed the condition ofhis inward being. From that moment, the merriment of the party was atan end; they stood aghast, dreading lest the inauspicious sound shouldbe reverberated around the horizon, and that mountain would thunder itto mountain, and so the horror be prolonged upon their ears. Then, whispering one to another that it was late, --that the moon was almostdown, --that the August night was growing chill, --they hurriedhomewards, leaving the lime-burner and little Joe to deal as theymight with their unwelcome guest. Save for these three human beings, the open space on the hillside was a solitude, set in a vast gloom offorest. Beyond that darksome verge, the firelight glimmered on thestately trunks and almost black foliage of pines, intermixed with thelighter verdure of sapling oaks, maples, and poplars, while here andthere lay the gigantic corpses of dead trees, decaying on theleaf-strewn soil. And it seemed to little Joe--a timorous andimaginative child--that the silent forest was holding, its breath, until some fearful thing should happen. 

Ethan Brand thrust more wood into the fire, and closed the door of thekiln; then looking over his shoulder at the lime-burner and his son, he bade, rather than advised, them to retire to rest. 

"For myself, I cannot sleep. " said he, "I have matters that itconcerns me to meditate upon. I will watch the fire, as I used to doin the old time. "

"And call the Devil out of the furnace to keep you company, Isuppose, " muttered Bartram, who had been making intimate acquaintancewith the black bottle above mentioned. "But watch, if you like, andcall as many devils as you like! For my part, I shall be all thebetter for a snooze. Come, Joe!"

As the boy followed his father into the hut, he looked back at thewayfarer, and the tears came into his eyes, for his tender spirit hadan intuition of the bleak and terrible loneliness in which this manhad enveloped himself. 

When they had gone, Ethan Brand sat listening to the crackling of thekindled wood, and looking at the little spirits of fire that issuedthrough the chinks of the door. These trifles, however, once sofamiliar, had but the slightest hold of his attention, while deepwithin his mind he was reviewing the gradual but marvellous changethat had been wrought upon him by the search to which he had devotedhimself. He remembered how the night dew had fallen upon him, --how thedark forest had whispered to him, --how the stars had gleamed uponhim, --a simple and loving man, watching his fire in the years gone by, and ever musing as it burned. He remembered with what tenderness, withwhat love and sympathy for mankind, and what pity for human guilt andwoe, he had first begun to contemplate those ideas which afterwardsbecame the inspiration of his life; with what reverence he had thenlooked into the heart of man, viewing it as a temple originallydivine, and, however desecrated, still to be held sacred by a brother;with what awful fear he had deprecated the success of his pursuit, andprayed that the Unpardonable Sin might never be revealed to him. Thenensued that vast intellectual development, which, in its progress, disturbed the counterpoise between his mind and heart. The Idea thatpossessed his life had operated as a means of education; it had goneon cultivating his powers to the highest point of which they weresusceptible; it had raised him from the level of an unlettered laborerto stand on a starlit eminence, whither the philosophers of the earth, laden with the lore of universities, might vainly strive to clamberafter him. So much for the intellect! But where was the heart? That, indeed, had withered, --had contracted. --had hardened, --had perished!It had ceased to partake of the universal throb, He had lost his holdof the magnetic chain of humanity. He was no longer a brother-man, opening the chambers of the dungeons of our common nature by the keyof holy sympathy, which gave him a right to share in all its secrets;he was now a cold observer, looking on mankind as the subject of hisexperiment, and, at length, converting man and woman to be hispuppets, and pulling the wires that moved them to such degrees ofcrime as were demanded for his study. 

Thus Ethan Brand became a fiend. He began to be so from the momentthat his moral nature had ceased to keep the pace of improvement withhis intellect. And now, as his highest effort and inevitabledevelopment, --as the bright and gorgeous flower, and rich, deliciousfruit of his life's labor, --he had produced the Unpardonable Sin!

"What more have I to seek? what more to achieve?" said Ethan Brand tohimself, "My task Is done, and well done!"

Starting from the log with a certain alacrity in his gait andascending the hillock of earth that was raised against the stonecircumference of the lime-kiln, he thus reached the top of thestructure. It was a space of perhaps ten feet across, from edge toedge, presenting a view of the upper surface of the immense mass ofbroken marble with which the kiln was heaped. All these innumerableblocks and fragments of marble were red-hot and vividly on fire, sending up great spouts of blue flame, which quivered aloft and dancedmadly, as within a magic circle, and sank and rose again, withcontinual and multitudinous activity. As the lonely man bent forwardover this terrible body of fire, the blasting heat smote up againsthis person with a breath that, it might be supposed, would havescorched and shrivelled him up in a moment. 

Ethan Brand stood erect, and raised his arms on high. The blue flamesplayed upon his face, and imparted the wild and ghastly light whichalone could have suited its expression; it was that of a fiend on theverge of plunging into his gulf of intensest torment. 

"O Mother Earth, " cried he, "who art no more my Mother, and into whosebosom this frame shall never be resolved! O mankind, whose brotherhoodI have cast off, and trampled thy great heart beneath my feet! O starsof heaven, that shone on me of old, as if to light me onward andupward!--farewell all, and forever. Come, deadly element ofFire, --henceforth my familiar frame! Embrace me, as I do thee!"

That night the sound of a fearful peal of laughter rolled heavilythrough the sleep of the lime-burner and his little son; dim shapes ofhorror and anguish haunted their dreams, and seemed still present inthe rude hovel, when they opened their eyes to the daylight. 

"Up, boy, up!" cried the lime-burner, staring about him. "ThankHeaven, the night is gone, at last; and rather than pass such another, I would watch, my lime-kiln, wide awake, for a twelvemonth. This EthanBrand, with his humbug of an Unpardonable Sin, has done me no suchmighty favor, in taking my place!"

He issued from the hut, followed by little Joe, who kept fast hold, ofhis father's hand. The early sunshine was already pouring its goldupon the mountain tops; and though the valleys were still in shadow, they smiled cheerfully in the promise of the bright day that washastening onward. The village, completely shut in by hills, whichswelled away gently about it, looked as if it had rested peacefully inthe hollow of the great hand of Providence. Every dwelling wasdistinctly visible; the little spires of the two churches pointedupwards, and caught a fore-glimmering of brightness from the sun-giltskies upon their gilded weathercocks. The tavern was astir, and thefigure of the old, smoke-dried stage-agent, cigar in mouth, was seenbeneath the stoop. Old Graylock was glorified with a golden cloud uponhis head. Scattered likewise over the breasts of the surroundingmountains, there were heaps of hoary mist, in fantastic shapes, someof them far down into the valley, others high up towards the summits, and still others, of the same family of mist or cloud, hovering in thegold radiance of the upper atmosphere. Stepping from one to another ofthe clouds that rested on the hills, and thence to the loftierbrotherhood that sailed in air, it seemed almost as if a mortal manmight thus ascend into the heavenly regions. Earth was so mingled withsky that it was a day-dream to look at it. 

To supply that charm of the familiar and homely, which Nature soreadily adopts into a scene like this, the stage-coach was rattlingdown the mountain road, and the driver sounded his horn, while echocaught up the notes, and intertwined them into a rich and varied andelaborate harmony, of which the original performer could lay claim tolittle share. The great hills played a concert among themselves, eachcontributing a strain of airy sweetness. 

Little Joe's face brightened at once. 

"Dear father, " cried he, skipping cheerily to and fro, "that strangeman is gone, and the sky and the mountains all seem glad of it!"

"Yes, " growled the lime-burner, with an oath, "but he has let the firego down, and no thanks to him if five hundred bushels of lime are notspoiled. If I catch the fellow hereabouts again, I shall feel liketossing him into the furnace!"

With his long pole in his hand, he ascended to the top of the kiln. After a moment's pause, he called to his son. 

"Come up here, Joe!" said he. 

So little Joe ran up the hillock, and stood by his father's side. Themarble was all burnt into perfect, snow-white lime. But on itssurface, in the midst of the circle, --snow-white too, and thoroughlyconverted into lime, --lay a human skeleton, in the attitude of aperson who, after long toil, lies down to long repose. Within theribs--strange to say--was the shape of a human heart. 

"Was the fellow's heart made of marble?" cried Bartram, in someperplexity at this phenomenon. "At any rate, it is burnt into whatlooks like special good lime; and, taking all the bones together, mykiln is half a bushel the richer for him. "

So saying, the rude lime-burner lifted his pole, and, letting it fallupon the skeleton, the relics of Ethan Brand were crumbled intofragments. 

NOTES

[1] Written in 1848; published in Holden's _Dollar Magazine_ in 1851. 

[2] 182:26 Delectable Mountains. A range of mountains referred to inBunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_. 

[3] 190:22 ubiquitous. Being present everywhere. 

[4] 194:29 diorama. A series of paintings arranged for exhibition. Seedictionary. 

[5] 195:30 Titanic. Characteristic of the Titans; therefore large. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_The Scarlet Letter_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The House of Seven Gables_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Marble Faun_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Gray Champion_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Wedding Knell_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Great Carbuncle_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Dr. Heidegger's Experiment_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_The Haunted Mind_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Feathertop_, Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

_Rip Van Winkle_, Washington Irving. 

_The Elixir of Life_, Honoré de Balzac. 

_The Leather Funnel_, A. Conan Doyle. 

_The Return of Imray's Ghost_, Rudyard Kipling. 

_A Gentle Ghost_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR[1]

_By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)_

Denis de Beaulieu was not yet two-and-twenty, but he counted himself agrown man, and a very accomplished cavalier into the bargain. Ladswere early formed in that rough, warfaring epoch; and when one hasbeen in a pitched battle and a dozen raids, has killed one's man in anhonorable fashion, and knows a thing or two of strategy and mankind, acertain swagger in the gait is surely to be pardoned. He had put uphis horse with due care, and supped with due deliberation; and then, in a very agreeable frame of mind, went out to pay a visit in the grayof the evening. It was not a very wise proceeding on the young man'spart. He would have done better to remain beside the fire or godecently to bed. For the town was full of the troops of Burgundy andEngland under a mixed command; and though Denis was there onsafe-conduct, his safe-conduct was like to serve him little on achance encounter. 

It was September, 1429; the weather had fallen sharp; a flighty pipingwind, laden with showers, beat about the township; and the dead leavesran riot along the streets. Here and there a window was alreadylighted up; and the noise of men-at-arms making merry over supperwithin came forth in fits and was swallowed up and carried away by thewind. The night fell swiftly: the flag of England, fluttering on thespire top, grew ever fainter and fainter against the flying clouds--ablack speck like a swallow in the tumultuous, leaden chaos of the sky. As the night fell the wind rose, and began to hoot under archways androar amid the tree-tops in the valley below the town. 

Denis de Beaulieu walked fast and was soon knocking at his friend'sdoor; but though he promised himself to stay only a little while andmake an early return, his welcome was so pleasant, and he found somuch to delay him, that it was already long past midnight before hesaid good-by upon the threshold. The wind had fallen again in themeanwhile; the night was as black as the grave; not a star, nor aglimmer of moonshine, slipped through the canopy of cloud. Denis wasill-acquainted with the intricate lanes of Chateau Landon; even bydaylight he had found some trouble in picking his way; and in thisabsolute darkness he soon lost it altogether. He was certain of onething only--to keep mounting the hill; for his friend's house lay atthe lower end, or tail, of Chateau Landon, while the inn was up at thehead, under the great church spire. With this clew to go upon hestumbled and groped forward, now breathing more freely in the openplaces where there was a good slice of sky overhead, now feeling alongthe wall in stifling closes. It is an eerie and mysterious position tobe thus submerged in opaque blackness in an almost unknown town. Thesilence is terrifying in its possibilities. The touch of cold windowbars to the exploring hand startles the man like the touch of a toad;the inequalities of the pavement shake his heart into his mouth; apiece of denser darkness threatens an ambuscade or a chasm in thepathway; and where the air is brighter, the houses put on strange andbewildering appearances, as if to lead him further from his way. ForDenis, who had to regain his inn without attracting notice, there wasreal danger as well as mere discomfort in the walk; and he went warilyand boldly at once, and at every corner paused to make an observation. 

He had been for some time threading a lane so narrow that he couldtouch a wall with either hand, when it began to open out and gosharply downward. Plainly this lay no longer in the direction of hisinn; but the hope of a little more light tempted him forward toreconnoitre. The lane ended in a terrace with a bartizan[2] wall, which gave an outlook between high houses, as out of an embrasure, into the valley lying dark and formless several hundred feet below. Denis looked down, and could discern a few tree-tops waving and asingle speck of brightness where the river ran across a weir. Theweather was clearing up, and the sky had lightened, so as to show theoutline of the heavier clouds and the dark margin of the hills. By theuncertain glimmer, the house on his left hand should be a place ofsome pretensions; it was surmounted by several pinnacles andturret-tops; the round stern of a chapel, with a fringe of flyingbuttresses, projected boldly from the main block; and the door wassheltered under a deep porch carved with figures and overhung by twolong gargoyles[3]. The windows of the chapel gleamed through theirintricate tracery with a light as of many tapers, and threw out thebuttresses and the peaked roof in a more intense blackness against thesky. It was plainly the hotel of some great family of theneighborhood; and as it reminded Denis of a town house of his own atBourges, he stood for some time gazing up at it and mentally gaugingthe skill of the architects and the consideration of the two families. 

There seemed to be no issue to the terrace but the lane by which hehad reached it; he could only retrace his steps, but he had gainedsome notion of his whereabouts, and hoped by this means to hit themain thoroughfare and speedily regain the inn. He was reckoningwithout that chapter of accidents which was to make this nightmemorable above all others in his career; for he had not gone backabove a hundred yards before he saw a light coming to meet him, andheard loud voices speaking together in the echoing narrows of thelane. It was a party of men-at-arms going the night round withtorches. Denis assured himself that they had all been making free withthe wine bowl, and were in no mood to be particular aboutsafe-conducts or the niceties of chivalrous war. It, was as like asnot that they would kill him like a dog and leave him where he fell. The situation was inspiriting but nervous. Their own torches wouldconceal him from sight, he reflected; and he hoped that they woulddrown the noise of his footsteps with their own empty voices. If hewere but fleet and silent, he might evade their notice altogether. 

Unfortunately, as he turned to beat a retreat, his foot rolled upon apebble; he fell against the wall with an ejaculation, and his swordrang loudly on the stones. Two or three voices demanded who wentthere--some in French, some in English; but Denis made no reply, andran the faster down the lane. Once upon the terrace, he paused to lookback. They still kept calling after him, and just then began to doublethe pace in pursuit, with a considerable clank of armor, and greattossing of the torchlight to and fro in the narrow jaws of thepassage. 

Denis cast a look around and darted into the porch. There he mightescape observation, or--if that were too much to expect--was in acapital posture whether for parley or defence. So thinking, he drewhis sword and tried to set his back against the door. To his surpriseit yielded behind his weight; and though he turned in a moment, continued to swing back on oiled and noiseless hinges until it stoodwide open on a black interior. When things fall out opportunely forthe person concerned, he is not apt to be critical about the how orwhy, his own immediate personal convenience seeming a sufficientreason for the strangest oddities and revolutions in our sublunarythings; and so Denis, without a moment's hesitation, stepped withinand partly closed the door behind him to conceal his place of refuge. Nothing was further from his thoughts than to close it altogether; butfor some inexplicable reason--perhaps by a spring or a weight--theponderous mass of oak whipped itself out of his fingers and clankedto, with a formidable rumble and a noise like the falling of anautomatic bar. 

The round, at that very moment, debouched[4] upon the terrace andproceeded to summon him with shouts and curses. He heard themferreting in the dark corners; the stock of a lance even rattled alongthe outer surface of the door behind which he stood; but thesegentlemen were in too high a humor to be long delayed, and soon madeoff down a corkscrew pathway which had escaped Denis' observation, andpassed out of sight and hearing along the battlements of the town. 

Denis breathed again. He gave them a few minutes' grace for fear ofaccidents, and then groped about for some means of opening the doorand slipping forth again. The inner surface was quite smooth, not ahandle, not a moulding, not a projection of any sort. He got hisfinger nails round the edges and pulled, but the mass was immovable. He shook it, it was as firm as a rock, Denis de Beaulieu frowned, andgave vent to a little noiseless whistle. What ailed the door? hewondered. Why was it open? How came it to shut so easily and soeffectually after him? There was something obscure and underhand aboutall this, that was little to the young man's fancy. It looked like asnare, and yet who could suppose a snare in such a quiet by-street andin a house of so prosperous and even noble an exterior? And yet--snareor no snare, intentionally or unintentionally--here he was, prettilytrapped; and for the life of him he could see no way out of it again. The darkness began to weigh upon him. He gave ear; all was silentwithout, but within and close by he seemed to catch a faint sighing, afaint sobbing rustle, a little stealthy creak--as though many personswere at his side, holding themselves quite still, and governing eventheir respiration with the extreme of slyness. The idea went to hisvitals with a shock, and he faced about suddenly as if to defend hislife. Then, for the first time, he became aware of a light about thelevel of his eyes and at some distance in the interior of the house--avertical thread of light, widening toward the bottom, such as mightescape between two wings of arras over a doorway. 

To see anything was a relief to Denis; it was like a piece of solidground to a man laboring in a morass; his mind seized upon it withavidity; and he stood staring at it and trying to piece together somelogical conception of his surroundings. Plainly there was a flight ofsteps ascending from his own level to that of this illuminateddoorway, and indeed he thought he could make out another thread oflight, as fine as a needle and as faint as phosphorescence, whichmight very well be reflected along the polished wood of a handrail. Since he had begun to suspect that he was not alone, his heart hadcontinued to beat with smothering violence, and an intolerable desirefor action of any sort had possessed itself of his spirit. He was indeadly peril, he believed. What could be more natural than to mountthe staircase, lift the curtain, and confront his difficulty at once?At least he would be dealing with something tangible; at least hewould be no longer in the dark. He stepped slowly forward withoutstretched hands, until his foot struck the bottom step; then herapidly scaled the stairs, stood for a moment to compose hisexpression, lifted the arras and went in. 

He found himself in a large apartment of polished stone. There werethree doors, one on each of three sides, all similarly curtained withtapestry. The fourth side was occupied by two large windows and agreat stone chimney-piece, carved with the arms of the Malétroits. Denis recognized the bearings, and was gratified to find himself insuch good hands. The room was strongly illuminated; but it containedlittle furniture except a heavy table and a chair or two; the hearthwas innocent of fire, and the pavement was but sparsely strewn withrushes clearly many days old. 

On a high chair beside the chimney, and directly facing Denis as heentered, sat a little old gentleman in a fur tippet. He sat with hislegs crossed and his hands folded, and a cup of spiced wine stood byhis elbow on a bracket on the wall. His countenance had a strongmasculine cast; not properly human, but such as we see in the bull, the goat, or the domestic boar; something equivocal and wheedling, something greedy, brutal and dangerous. The upper lip was inordinatelyfull, as though swollen by a blow or a toothache; and the smile, thepeaked eyebrows, and the small, strong eyes were quaintly and almostcomically evil in expression. Beautiful white hair hung straight allround his head, like a saint's, and fell in a single curl upon thetippet. His beard and mustache were the pink of venerable sweetness. Age, probably in consequence of inordinate precautions, had left nomark upon his hands; and the Malétroit hand was famous. It would bedifficult to imagine anything at once so fleshy and so delicate indesign; the taper, sensual fingers were like those of one ofLeonardo's[5] women; the fork of the thumb made a dimpled protuberancewhen closed; the nails were perfectly shaped, and of a dead, surprising whiteness. It rendered his aspect tenfold more redoubtable, that a man with hands like these should keep them devoutly folded likea virgin martyr--that a man with so intent and startling an expressionof face should sit patiently on his seat and contemplates people withan unwinking stare, like a god, or a god's statue. His quiescenceseemed ironical and treacherous, it fitted so poorly with his looks. 

Such was Alain, Sire de Malétroit. 

Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second or two. 

"Pray step in, " said the Sire de Malétroit. "I have been expecting youall the evening. "

He had not risen, but he accompanied his words with a smile and aslight but courteous inclination of the head. Partly from the smile, partly from the strange musical murmur with which the sire prefacedhis observation, Denis felt a strong shudder of disgust go through hismarrow. And what with disgust and honest confusion of mind, he couldscarcely get words together in reply. 

"I fear, " he said, "that this is a double accident. I am not theperson you suppose me. It seems you were looking for a visit; but formy part, nothing was further from my thoughts--nothing could be morecontrary to my wishes--than this intrusion. "

"Well, well, " replied the old gentleman indulgently, "here you are, which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put yourselfentirely at your ease. We shall arrange our little affairs presently. "

Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated with somemisconception, and he hastened to continue his explanation. 

"Your door, " he began. 

"About my door?" asked the other raising his peaked eyebrows. "Alittle piece of ingenuity. " And he shrugged his shoulders. "Ahospitable fancy! By your own account, you were not desirous of makingany acquaintance. We old people look for such reluctance now and then;when it touches our honor, we cast about until we find some way ofovercoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe me, very welcome. "

"You persist in error, sir, " said Denis. "There can be no questionbetween you and me. I am a stranger in this countryside. My name isDenis, damoiseau de Beaulieu. If you see me in your house it isonly--"

"My young friend, " interrupted the other, "you will permit me to havemy own ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours at thepresent moment, " he added with a leer, "but time will show which of usis in the right. "

Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He seated himselfwith a shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued, duringwhich he thought he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as of aprayer from behind the arras immediately opposite him. Sometimes thereseemed to be but one person engaged, sometimes two; and the vehemenceof the voice, low as it was, seemed to indicate either great haste oran agony of spirit. It occurred to him that this piece of tapestrycovered the entrance to the chapel he had noticed from without. 

The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head to foot with asmile, and from time to time emitted little noises like a bird or amouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction. Thisstate of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to put anend to it, remarked politely that the wind had gone down. 

The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so prolonged andviolent that he became quite red in the face. Denis got upon his feetat once, and put on his hat with a flourish. 

"Sir, " he said, "if you are in your wits, you have affronted megrossly. If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find betteremployment for my brains than to talk with lunatics. My conscience isclear; you have made a fool of me from the first moment; you haverefused to hear my explanations; and now there is no power under Godwill make me stay here any longer; and if I cannot make my way out ina more decent fashion, I will hack your door in pieces with my sword. "

The Sire de Malétroit raised his right hand and wagged it at Deniswith the fore and little fingers extended. 

"My dear nephew, " he said, "sit down. "

"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat;" and he snapped hisfingers in his face. 

"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old gentleman, in a sudden, harshvoice like the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy, " he went on, "thatwhen I had made my little contrivance for the door I had stopped shortwith that? If you prefer to be bound hand and foot till your bonesache, rise and try to go away. If you choose to remain a free youngbuck, agreeably conversing with an old gentleman--why, sit where youare in peace, and God be with you. "

"Do you mean, I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis. 

"I state the facts, " replied the other. "I would rather leave theconclusion to yourself. "

Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pretty calm, butwithin, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with apprehension. He no longer felt convinced that he was dealing with a madman. And ifthe old gentleman was sane, what, in God's name, had he to look for?What absurd or tragical adventure had befallen him? What countenancewas he to assume?

While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that overhung thechapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his robes came forth, and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in anundertone to Sire de Malétroit. 

"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter. 

"She is more resigned, messire, " replied the priest. 

"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to please!" sneered the oldgentleman. "A likely stripling--not ill-born--and of her own choosing, too? Why, what more would the jade have?"

"The situation is not usual for a young damsel, " said the other, "andsomewhat trying to her blushes. "

"She should have thought of that before she began the dance! It wasnone of my choosing, God knows that; but since she is in it, by ourLady, she shall carry it to the end. " And then addressing Denis, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, " he asked, "may I present you to my niece? Shehas been waiting your arrival, I may say, with even greater impatiencethan myself. "

Denis had resigned himself with a good grace--all he desired was toknow the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at once, andbowed in acquiescence. The Sire de Malétroit followed his example andlimped, with the assistance of the chaplain's arm, toward the chapeldoor. The priest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. Thebuilding had considerable architectural pretensions. A light groiningsprang from six stout columns, and hung down in two rich pendants fromthe centre of the vault. The place terminated behind the altar in around end, embossed and honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament inrelief, and pierced by many little windows shaped like stars, trefoils, or wheels. These windows were imperfectly is glazed, so thatthe night air circulated freely in the chapel. The tapers, of whichthere must have been half a hundred burning on the altar, wereunmercifully blown about; and the light went through many differentphases of brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On the steps in front of thealtar knelt a young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settledover Denis as he observed her costume; he fought with desperate energyagainst the conclusion that was being thrust upon his mind; it couldnot--it should not--be as he feared. 

"Blanche, " said the sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I havebrought a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give himyour pretty hand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary to bepolite, my niece. "

The girl rose to her feet and turned toward the newcomers. She movedall of a piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in every lineof her fresh young body; and she held her head down and kept her eyesupon the pavement, as she came slowly forward. In the course of heradvance her eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet--feet of which hewas justly vain, be it remarked, and wore in the most elegantaccoutrement even while travelling. She paused--started, as if hisyellow boots had conveyed some shocking meaning--and glanced, suddenlyup into the wearer's countenance. Their eyes met; shame gave place tohorror and terror in her looks; the blood left her lips, with apiercing scream she covered her face with her hands and sank upon, thechapel floor. 

"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is not the man!"

The Sire de Malétroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not, " he said; "Iexpected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember hisname. "

"Indeed, " she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till thismoment--I have never so much as set eyes upon him--I never wish to seehim again. Sir, " she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman, you will hear me out. Have I ever seen you--have you ever seenme--before this accursed hour?"

"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure, " answered theyoung man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with yourengaging niece. "

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. 

"I am distressed to hear it, " he said. "But it is never too late tobegin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere Imarried her; which proves, " he added, with a grimace, "that theseimpromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding inthe long run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, Iwill give him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceedwith the ceremony. " And he turned toward the door, followed by theclergyman. 

The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be inearnest, " she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself ratherthan be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbidssuch marriages; you dishonor your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me!There is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such anuptial. Is it possible, " she added, faltering--"is it possible thatyou do not believe me--that you still think this"--and she pointed atDenis with a tremor of anger and contempt--"that you still think_this_ to be the man?"

"Frankly, " said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do. But let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Malétroit, my wayof thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head todishonor my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, for more than threescore years, you forfeited, not only the right toquestion my designs, but that of looking me in the face. If yourfather had been alive, he would have spat on you and turned you out ofdoors. His was the hand of iron. You may bless your God you have onlyto deal with the hand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to getyou married without delay. Out of pure goodwill, I have tried to findyour own gallant for you. And I believe I have succeeded. But beforeGod and all the holy angels, Blanche de Malétroit, if I have not, Icare not one jack-straw. So let me recommend you to be polite to ouryoung friend; for, upon my word, your next groom may be lessappetizing. "

And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his heels; and thearras fell behind the pair. 

The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes. 

"And what, sir, " she demanded, "may be the meaning of all this?"

"God knows, " returned Denis, gloomily, "I am a prisoner in this house, which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and nothing do Iunderstand. "

"And pray how came you here?" she asked. 

He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest, " he added, "perhapsyou will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all theseriddles, and what, in God's name, is like to be the end of it. "

She stood silent for a little, and lie could see her lips tremble andher tearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she pressed herforehead in both hands. 

"Alas, how my head aches!" she said, wearily--"to say nothing of mypoor heart! But it is due to you to know my story, unmaidenly as itmust seem. I am called Blanche de Malétroit; I have been withoutfather or mother for--oh! for as long as I can recollect, and indeed Ihave been most unhappy all my life. Three months ago a young captainbegan to stand near me every day in church. I could see that I pleasedhim; I am much to blame, but I was so glad that any one should loveme; and when he passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read itwith great pleasure. Since that time he has written many. He was soanxious to speak with me, poor fellow! and kept asking me to leave thedoor open some evening that we might have two words upon the stair. For he knew how much my uncle trusted me. " She gave something like asob at that, and it was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle isa hard man, but he is very shrewd, " she said, at last. "He hasperformed many feats in war, and was a great person at court, and muchtrusted by Queen Isabeau in old days. How he came to suspect me Icannot tell; but it is hard to keep anything from his knowledge; andthis morning, as we came from mass, he took my hand into his, forcedit open, and read my little billet, walking by my side all the while. 

"When he finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. Itcontained another request to have the door left open; and this hasbeen the ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my room untilevening, and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me--a hardmockery for a young girl, do you not think so? I suppose, when hecould not prevail with me to tell him the young captain's name, hemust have laid a trap for him; into which, alas! you have fallen inthe anger of God. I looked for much confusion; for how could I tellwhether he was willing to take me for his wife on these sharp terms?He might have been trifling with me from the first; or I might havemade myself too cheap in his eyes. But truly I had not looked for sucha shameful punishment as this? I could not think that God would let agirl be so disgraced before a young man. And now I tell you all; and Ican scarcely hope that you will not despise me. "

Denis made her a respectful inclination. 

"Madam, " he said, "you have honored me by your confidence. It remainsfor me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honor. Is Messire deMalétroit at hand?"

"I believe he is writing in the _salle[6]_ without, " she answered. 

"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering his hand withhis most courtly bearing. 

She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in avery drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strutting andraffling in the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish certaintyof accomplishing it with honor. 

The Sire Malétroit rose to meet them with an ironical obeisance. 

"Sir, " said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I believe I am tohave some say in the matter of this marriage; and let me tell you atonce, I will be no party to forcing the inclination of this younglady. Had it been freely offered to me, I should have been proud toaccept her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful;but as things are, I have now the honor, messire, of refusing. "

Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but the oldgentleman only smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positivelysickening to Denis. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do notperfectly understand the choice I have offered you. Follow me, Ibeseech you, to this window. " And he led the way to one of the largewindows which stood open on the night. "You observe, " he went on, "there is an iron ring in the upper masonry, and reeved through that, a very efficacious rope. Now, mark my words: if you should find yourdisinclination to my niece's person insurmountable, I shall have youhanged out of this window before sunrise. I shall only proceed to suchan extremity with the greatest regret, you may believe me. For it isnot at all your death that I desire, but my niece's establishment inlife. At the same time, it must come to that if you prove obstinate. Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way; but if yousprung from Charlemagne[7], you should not refuse the hand of aMalétroit with impunity--not if she had been as common as the Parisroad--not if she was as hideous as the gargoyle over my door. Neithermy niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move me at all in thismatter. The honor of my house has been compromised; I believe you tobe the guilty person, at least you are now in the secret; and you canhardly wonder if I request you to wipe out the stain. If you will not, your blood be on your own head! It will be no great satisfaction to meto have your interesting relics kicking their heels in the breezebelow my windows, but half a loaf is better than no bread, and if Icannot cure the dishonor, I shall at least stop the scandal. "

There was a pause. 

"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbroglios amonggentlemen, " said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear you have used itwith distinction. "

The Sire de Malétroit made a signal to the chaplain, who crossed theroom with long silent strides and raised the arras over the third ofthe three doors. It was only a moment before he let it fall again; butDenis had time to see a dusky passage full of armed men. 

"When I was a little younger, I should have been delighted to honoryou, Monsieur de Beaulieu, " said Sire Alain: "but I am now too old. Faithful retainers are the sinews of age, and I must employ thestrength I have. This is one of the hardest things to swallow as a mangrows up in years; but with a little patience, even this becomeshabitual. You and the lady seem to prefer the _salle_ for what remainsof your two hours; and as I have no desire to cross your preference, Ishall resign it to your use with all the pleasure in the world. Nohaste!" he added, holding up his hand, as he saw a dangerous look comeinto Denis de Beaulieu's face. "If your mind revolt against hanging, it will be time enough two hours hence to throw yourself out of thewindow or upon the pikes of my retainers. Two hours of life are alwaystwo hours. A great many things may turn up in even as little a whileas that. And, besides. If I understand her appearance, my niece hassomething to say to you. You will not disfigure your last hours by awant of politeness to a lady?"

Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture. 

It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this symptomof an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added sweetly: "If youwill give me your word of honor, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await myreturn at the end of the two hours before attempting anythingdesperate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and let you speak in greaterprivacy with mademoiselle. "

Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech him to agree. 

"I give you my word of honor, " he said. 

Messire de Malétroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about the apartment, clearing his throat the while with that odd musical chirp which hadalready grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de Bealieu. He firstpossessed himself of some papers which lay upon the table; then hewent to the mouth of the passage and appeared to give an order to themen behind the arras; and lastly he hobbled out through the door bywhich Denis had come in, turning upon the threshold to address a lastsmiling bow to the young couple, and followed by the chaplain with ahand lamp. 

No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced toward Denis with herhands extended. Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes shonewith tears. 

"You shall not die!" she cried, "you shall marry me after all. "

"You seem to think, madam, " replied Denis, "that I stand much in fearof death. "

"Oh, no, no, " she said, "I see you are no poltroon[8]. It is for myown sake--I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple. "

"I am afraid, " returned Denis, "that you underrate the difficulty, madam. What you may be too generous to refuse, I may be too proud toaccept. In a moment of noble feeling toward me, you forget what youperhaps owe to others. "

He had the decency to keep his eyes on the floor as he said this, andafter he had finished, so as not to spy upon her confusion. She stoodsilent for a moment, then walked suddenly away, and falling on heruncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was in the acme ofembarrassment. He looked round, as if to seek for inspiration, and, seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something to do. There hesat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and wishing himself dead athousand times over, and buried in the nastiest kitchen-heap inFrance. His eyes wandered round the apartment, but found nothing toarrest them. There were such wide spaces between the furniture, thelight fell so badly and cheerlessly over all, the dark outside airlooked in so coldly through the windows, that he thought he had neverseen a church so vast, nor a tomb so melancholy. The regular sobs ofBlanche de Malétroit measured out the time like the ticking of aclock. He read the device upon the shield over and over again, untilhis eyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners until heimagined they were swarming with horrible animals; and every now andagain he awoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours wererunning, and death was on the march. 

Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance settle on thegirl herself. Her face was bowed forward and covered with her hands, and she was shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccough of grief. Even thus she was not an unpleasant object to dwell upon, so plump andyet so fine, with a warm brown skin, and the most beautiful hair, Denis thought, in the whole world of womankind. Her hands were likeher uncle's: but they were more in place at the end of her young arms, and looked infinitely soft and caressing. He remembered how her blueeyes had shone upon him, full of anger, pity, and innocence. And themore he dwelt on her perfections, the uglier death looked, and themore deeply was he smitten with penitence at her continued tears. Nowhe felt that no man could have the courage to leave a world whichcontained so beautiful a creature; and now he would have given fortyminutes of his last hour to have unsaid his cruel speech. 

Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to their ears fromthe dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise in thesilence of all around was like a light in a dark place, and shook themboth out of their reflections. 

"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, looking up. 

"Madam, " replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I have saidanything to wound you, believe me, it was for your own sake and notfor mine. "

She thanked him with a tearful look. 

"I feel your position cruelly, " he went on. "The world has beenbitter, hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe me, madam, there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad ofmy opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service. "

"I know already that you can be very brave and generous, " sheanswered. "What I _want_ to know is whether I can serve you--now orafterward, " she added, with a quaver. 

"Most certainly, " he answered, with a smile. "Let me sit beside you asif I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget howawkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments gopleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible. "

"You are very gallant, " she added, with a yet deeper sadness--"verygallant--and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if you please; andif you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of avery friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu, " she brokeforth--"ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" Andshe fell to weeping again with a renewed effusion. 

"Madam, " said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on thelittle time I have before me, and the great bitterness into which I amcast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, thespectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life. "

"I am very selfish, " answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur deBeaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness in thefuture--if you have no friends to whom I could carry your adieux. Charge me as heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by solittle, the invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to dosomething more for you than weep. "

"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. Mybrother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in error, thatwill content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapor thatpasseth away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is ina fair way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himselfto make a very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies tohim; the trumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he ridesinto town before his company; he receives many assurances of trust andregard--sometimes by express in a letter--sometimes face to face, withpersons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderfulif his head is turned for a time. But once he is dead, were he asbrave as Hercules[9] or as wise as Solomon[10], he is soon forgotten. It is not ten years since my father fell, with many other knightsaround him, in a very fierce encounter, and I do not think that anyone of them, nor so much as the name of the fight, is now remembered. No, no, madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a darkand dusty corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shutafter him till the judgment day. I have few friends just now, and onceI am dead I shall have none. "

"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget Blanche deMalétroit. "

"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased to estimate alittle service far beyond its worth. "

"It is not that, " she answered. "You mistake me if you think I ameasily touched by my own concerns. I say so because you are thenoblest man I have ever met; because I recognize in you a spirit thatwould have made even a common person famous in the land. "

"And yet here I die in a mousetrap--with no more noise about it thanmy own squeaking, " answered he. 

A look of pain crossed her face and she was silent for a little while. Then a light came into her eyes, and with a smile she spoke again. 

"I cannot have my champion think meanly of himself. Any one who giveshis life for another will be met in paradise by all the heralds andangels of the Lord God. And you have no such cause to hang your head. For--Pray, do you think me beautiful?" she asked, with a deep flush. 

"Indeed, madam, I do, " he said. 

"I am glad of that, " she answered heartily. "Do you think there aremany men in France who have been asked in marriage by a beautifulmaiden--with her own lips--and who have refused her to her face? Iknow you men would half despise such a triumph; but believe me, wewomen know more of what is precious in love. There is nothing thatshould set a person higher in his own esteem; and we women would prizenothing more dearly. "

"You are very good, " he said; "but you cannot make me forget that Iwas asked in pity and not for love. "

"I am not so sure of that, " she replied, holding down her head. "Hearme to an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know how you must despise me; Ifeel you are right to do so; I am too poor a creature to occupy onethought of your mind, although, alas! you must die for me thismorning. But when I asked you to marry me, indeed, and indeed, it wasbecause I respected and admired you, and loved you with my whole soul, from the very moment that you took my part against my uncle. If youhad seen yourself, and how noble you looked, you would pity ratherthan despise me. And now, " she went on, hurriedly checking him withher hand, "although I have laid aside all reserve and told you somuch, remember that I know your sentiments toward me already. I wouldnot, believe me, being nobly born, weary you with importunities intoconsent. I too have a pride of my own: and I declare before the holymother of God, if you should now go back from your word already given, I would no more marry you than I would marry my uncle's groom. "

Denis smiled a little bitterly. 

"It is a small love, " he said, "that shies at a little pride. "

She made no answer, although she probably had her own thoughts. 

"Come hither to the window, " he said with a sigh. "Here is the dawn. "

And indeed the dawn was already beginning. The hollow of the sky wasfull of essential daylight, colorless and clean; and the valleyunderneath was flooded with a gray reflection. A few thin vapors clungin the coves of the forest or lay along the winding course of theriver. The scene disengaged a surprising effect of stillness, whichwas hardly interrupted when the cocks began once more to crow amongthe steadings[11]. Perhaps the same fellow who had made so horrid aclangor in the darkness not half an hour before, now sent up themerriest cheer to greet the coming day. A little wind went bustlingand eddying among the tree-tops underneath the windows. And still thedaylight kept flooding insensibly out of the east, which was soon togrow incandescent and cast up that red-hot cannon-ball, the risingsun. 

Denis looked out over all this with a bit of a shiver. He had takenher hand, and retained it in his almost unconsciously. 

"Has the day begun already?" she said; and then illogically enough:"the night has been so long! Alas! what shall we say to my uncle whenhe returns?"

"What you will, " said Denis, and he pressed her fingers in his. 

She was silent. 

"Blanche, " he said, with a swift, uncertain, passionate utterance, "you have seen whether I fear death. You must know well enough that Iwould as gladly leap out of that window into the empty air as to lay afinger on you without your free and full consent. But if you care forme at all do not let me lose my life in a misapprehension; for I loveyou better than the whole world; and though I will die for youblithely, it would be like all the joys of Paradise to live on andspend my life in your service. "

As he stopped speaking, a bell began to ring loudly in the interior ofthe house; and a clatter of armor in the corridor showed that theretainers were returning to their post, and the two hours were at anend. 

"After all that you have heard?" she whispered, leaning toward himwith her lips and eyes. 

"I have heard nothing, " he replied. 

"The captain's name was Florimond de Champdivers, " she said in hisear. 

"I did not hear it, " he answered, taking her supple body in his arms, and covered her wet face with kisses. 

A melodious chirping was audible behind, followed by a beautifulchuckle, and the voice of Messire de Malétroit wished his new nephew agood morning. 

NOTES

[1] Published in 1878. Acknowledgment is due to the Charles Scribner'sSons Company, Publishers, for the use of the text of their edition ofStevenson's works. 

[2] 207:18 bartizan. A small overhanging turret with loop-holes andembrasures projecting from the parapet of a medieval building. 

[3] 208:1 gargoyles. Mouths of spouts, in antic shapes. 

[4] 209:30 debouched. Passed out. 

[5] 212:29 Leonardo. (1452-1519. ) A famous Italian painter, architect, sculptor, scientist, engineer, mechanician, and musician. 

[6] 222:7 salle. French word for hall or room. 

[7] 223:13 Charlemagne. (742 or 747-814. ) A great king of the Franksand emperor of the Romans. 

[8] 225:25 poltroon. A coward, a dastard. 

[9] 229:12 Hercules. A mighty hero in Greek and Roman mythology. 

[10] 229:13 Solomon. Son of David. King of Israel, 993-953 B. C. 

[11] 231: 26 steadings. A farmstead--barns, stables, cattle-sheds, etc. 

BIOGRAPHY

Robert Louis Stevenson was born November 13, 1850, in Edinburgh. Hewas an only child. On his mother's side he came from a line of Scotchphilosophers and ministers; on his father's, from a line of activeworkers and scientists. His grandfather, Robert Stevenson, and hisfather, Thomas Stevenson, gained world-wide reputations inengineering. 

Robert inherited from his mother throat and lung troubles. His healthwas very poor from his birth and his life was preserved only by thecareful watchfulness of his mother and his devoted nurse, AlisonCunningham. As a child he was very lovable and possessed a very activeimagination. 

He went to school in Edinburgh between the years 1858-1867. He firstattended a preparatory school, then the Edinburgh academy. He spentconsiderable time at his maternal grandfather's home. It was therethat he first tasted the delights of romance. In his school work hewas none too studious, but all his teachers were charmed by hispleasing manner and general intelligence. Though an idler in otherthings, he worked constantly on the art of writing. Throughout hisstudy in Edinburgh University and his unsuccessful efforts inengineering and the practice of law, literature became more and more apassion with him. 

The period between 1875 and 1879 was one of improved health andconsiderable literary activity. During this time he published _ALodging for the Night, Will o' the Mill, The New Arabian Nights_, andan _Inland Voyage_. 

While in southern Europe he met and fell in love with Mrs. Osbourne. So after she returned to her home in California, Stevenson receivedthe news that she was seriously ill. He immediately sailed for SanFrancisco, travelling as a steerage passenger because of lack of fundsand a desire for literary material. Out of this experience grew anumber of stories and essays. Exposure on the voyage affected hishealth and caused a very dangerous illness. After his recovery hemarried Mrs. Osbourne and returned to England with his wife andstepson. 

For a few years his work was more or less spasmodic on account of hisbitter struggle with poor health, in 1883 he achieved success by thepublication of _Treasure Island_. _Markheim_ appeared in 1884. _Kidnapped_ and _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ were published in 1886. 

After the death of his father in 1887, Stevenson and his family sailedto America, where they settled in the Adirondacks for the winter of1888. Here his health was good and he wrote a number of essays for_Scribner's Magazine_. In the spring of the same year they started ona cruise of the south seas. They visited many of the southern islandsand settled at Vailima, Samoa. Stevenson was interested in the Samoaasand took an active part in their political affairs. The tropicalclimate agreed with him and his creative power was renewed. He wrote anumber of short stories, a series of letters on the South Seas, andthe novel _David Balfour_. 

Political reverses and failing strength took away for a time his powerto write. He was again stimulated, however, by the love andappreciation of his Samoan followers, and started on what promised tobe his period of highest achievement. This promise was soon blightedby his untimely death from a stroke of apoplexy, December 13, 1894. Hewas buried in Samoa. 

BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_Life of Robert Louis Stevenson_, 2 vols. , Graham Balfour. 

_Robert Louis Stevenson_, Isobel Strong. 

_Memories and Portraits_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_Friends on the Shelf_, Bradford Torrey. 

"Personal Recollections, " Edmund Gosse, _Century Magazine_, 50:447. 

"Character Sketch, " _Atlantic Monthly_, 89:89-99. 

"The Real Stevenson, " _Atlantic Monthly_, 85:702-5. 

_A Bibliography of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson_, W. F. Prideaux. 

CRITICISMS

Fundamentally Stevenson's style is marked by a conscious aim toentertain. His engaging humor, free of all affectation, sentimentality, and exaggeration, is spontaneous and natural. His mostoriginal writing is _The Child's Garden of Verses_. His touch is lightand his thought is clear and lucid. _Across the Plains_ is written inhis most straightforward and natural style. 

Stevenson was a careful writer, doing with great skill any establishedpiece of art. He practised diligently, and gained, as he himselfstates, his high rank by constantly drilling himself in the art ofwriting. This imitation of form to the point of perfection, ratherthan an expression of a great and moving idea, gives an air ofinsincerity to some of Stevenson's works. Yet, although seeminglyartificial, he never chose words for the sake of mere sounds, but fortheir accuracy in truth and fitness. He was as an ephemeral shadowwith an optimistic and real spirit. He infused an intimacy andspirituality into his writings that prove delightful to all hisreaders. 

The subject of Markheim, a man failing through weakness, was afavorite topic for Stevenson. Markheim is almost an ideal specimen ofthe impressionistic short-story. It has a plot in which Hawthornemight justly have revelled, a treatment as intellectual as that ofPoe, descriptions not unlike those of Flaubert's, and a moral endingtrue to the Puritanic type. The movement of the story is swift andpossesses perfect unity. The surprise at the end comes as a shockalthough the author has consistently and logically constructed hisplot. 

GENERAL REFERENCES

_Emerson and Other Essays_, John Jay Chapman. 

_Robert Louis Stevenson_, L. Cope Cornford. 

_Modern Novelists_, William Lyon Phelps. 

_Makers of English Fiction_, W. J. Dawson. 

"Art of Stevenson, " _North American Review_, 171: 348-358. 

"Criticism, " _Dial_, 30:345. May 18, 1901. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_The Suicide Club (New Arabian Nights)_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_Story of the Physician and the Saratoga Trunk_, Robert LouisStevenson. 

_The Adventure of the Hansom Cab_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_The Rajah's Diamond_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_The Story of the House with the Green Blinds_, Robert LouisStevenson. 

_The Adventure of Prince Florizel and the Detective_, Robert LouisStevenson. 

_A Lodging for the Night_, Robert Louis Stevenson, _Providence and the Guitar_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_In the Valley_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_With the Children of Israel_, Robert Louis Stevenson. 

_The Lotus and the Cockleburrs_, "O. Henry. "

_Two Bites at a Cherry_, Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 

_The Notary of Perigueux_, Henry W. Longfellow. 

MARKHEIM[1]

_By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)_

"Yes, " said the dealer, "our windfalls[2] are of various kinds. Somecustomers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend[3] on my superiorknowledge. Some are dishonest, " and here he held up the candle, sothat the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case, " hecontinued, "I profit by my virtue. "

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyeshad not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in theshop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of theflame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. 

The dealer chuckled. "You come to me on Christmas Day, " he resumed, "when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, andmake a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay forthat; you will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should bebalancing my books; you will have to pay, besides; for a kind ofmanner that I remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence ofdiscretion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannotlook me in the eye, he has to pay for it. " The dealer once morechuckled; and then, changing to his usual business voice, though stillwith a note of irony, "You can give, as usual, a clear account of howyou came into the possession of the object?" he continued. "Still youruncle's cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir!"

And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tiptoe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head withevery mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one ofinfinite pity, and a touch of horror. 

"This time, " said he, "you are in error. I have not come to sell, butto buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare tothe wainscot: even were it still intact, I have done well on the StockExchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and myerrand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek, a Christmas present for alady, " he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speechhe had prepared; "and certainly I owe you every excuse for thusdisturbing you upon so small a matter. But the thing was neglectedyesterday; I must produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as youvery well know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected. "

There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh thisstatement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curiouslumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a nearthoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. 

"Well, sir, " said the dealer, "be it so. You are an old customer afterall; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, farbe it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady, now, " he went on, "this hand glass--fifteenth century, warranted;comes from a good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in theinterests of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole heir of a remarkable collector. "

The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, hadstooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, a shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed asswiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling ofthe hand that now received the glass. 

"A glass, " he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it moreclearly. "A glass? For Christmas? Surely not. "

"And why not?" cried the dealer. "Why not a glass?"

Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. "You askme why not?" he said. "Why, look here--look in it--look at yourself!Do you like to see it? No! nor I--nor any man. "

The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenlyconfronted him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothingworse on hand, he chuckled. "Your future lady, sir, must be prettyhard favored, " said he. 

"I ask you, " said Markheim, "for a Christmas present, and you give methis--this damned reminder of years and sins and follies--thishand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tellme. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself, I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?"

The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheimdid not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like aneager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. 

"What are you driving at?" the dealer asked. 

"Not charitable?" returned the other, gloomily. "Not charitable; notpious; not scrupulous; unloving; unbeloved; a hand to get money, asafe to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?"

"I will tell you what it is, " began the dealer, with some sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. "But I see this is a lovematch of yours, and you have been drinking the lady's health. "

"Ah!" cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity, "Ah, have you been inlove? Tell me about that. "

"I!" cried the dealer. "I in love! I never had the time, nor have Ithe time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?"

"Where is the hurry?" returned Markheim. "It is very pleasant to standhere talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurryaway from any pleasure--no, not even from so mild a one as this. Weshould, rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at acliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it--a cliff amile high--high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature ofhumanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of eachother; why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Whoknows, we might become friends?"

"I have just one word to say to you, " said the dealer. "Either makeyour purchase, or walk out of my shop. "

"True, true, " said Markheim. "Enough fooling. To business. Show mesomething else. "

The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon theshelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. Markheim moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of hisgreatcoat; he drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same timemany different emotions were depicted together on his face--terror, horror, and resolve, fascination, and a physical repulsion; andthrough a haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out. 

"This, perhaps, may suit, " observed the dealer; and then, as he beganto re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, skewer-like[4] dagger flashed and fell. The dealer straggled like ahen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floorin a heap. 

Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately andslow as was becoming to their great age, others garrulous and hurried. All these told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. Then the passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in upon these smaller voices and startled Markheim into theconsciousness of his surroundings. He looked about him awfully. Thecandle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught;and by that inconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled withnoiseless bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadowsnodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as withrespiration, the faces of the portraits and the china gods changingand wavering like images in water. The inner door stood ajar, andpeered into that leaguer[5] of shadows with a long slit of daylightlike a pointing finger. 

From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes returned to the bodyof his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incrediblysmall and strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserlyclothes, in that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so muchsawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. Andyet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood beganto find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was none to work thecunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion--there it must lietill it was found. Found! aye, and then? Then would this dead fleshlift up a cry that would ring over England, and fill the world withthe echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. "Time was that when the brains were out[6], " he thought; and thefirst word struck into his mind. Time, now that the deed wasaccomplished--time, which had dosed for the victim, had becomeinstant and momentous for the slayer. 

The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, with every variety of pace and voice--one deep as the bell from acathedral turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of awaltz--the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. 

The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggeredhim. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chancereflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home designs, some fromVenice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it werean army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound ofhis own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. Andstill as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him, witha sickening iteration[7], of the thousand faults of his design. Heshould have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared analibi; he should not have used a knife; he should have been morecautious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; heshould have been more bold, and killed the servant also; he shouldhave done all things otherwise; poignant regrets, weary, incessanttoiling of the mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what wasnow useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying ofrats in a deserted attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brainwith riot; the hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, ingalloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the blackcoffin. Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mindlike a besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that somerumor of the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edgetheir curiosity; and now, in all the neighboring houses, he divinedthem sitting motionless and with uplifted ear--solitary people, condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, and now startlingly recalled from that tender exercise: happy familyparties, struck into silence round the table, the mother still withraised finger; every degree and age and humor, but all, by their ownhearths, prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hanghim. Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; theclink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; andalarmed by the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop theclocks. And then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, thevery silence of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing tostrike and freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, andbustle aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, withelaborate bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his ownhouse. 

But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while oneportion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled onthe brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a stronghold on his credulity. The neighbor hearkening with white face besidehis window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on thepavement--these could at worst suspect, they could not know; throughthe brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. Buthere, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watchedthe servant set forth sweethearting, in her poor best, "out for theday" written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course;and yet, in the bulk of empty house about him, he could surely heara stir of delicate footing--he was surely conscious, inexplicablyconscious, of some presence. Ay, surely; to every room and cornerof the house his imagination followed it; and now it was a facelessthing, and yet had eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow ofhimself; and yet again behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspiredwith cunning and hatred. 

At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door whichstill seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight smalland dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down tothe ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on thethreshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow?

Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began tobeat with a staff on the shop door, accompanying his blows with shoutsand railleries[8] in which the dealer was continually called upon byname. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! helay quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blowsand shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, which would once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had become an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desistedfrom his knocking and departed. 

Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forthfrom, this accusing neighborhood, to plunge into a bath of Londonmultitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven ofsafety and apparent, innocence---his bed. One visitor had come: atany moment it another might follow and be more obstinate. To havedone the deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrenta failure. The money, that was now Markheim's concern: and as a meansto that, the keys. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow wasstill lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of themind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of hisvictim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suithalf-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, onthe floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy andinconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more significanceto the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and turned it on itsback. It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they hadbeen broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of allexpression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared withblood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasingcircumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain fairday in a fishers' village: a gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon thestreet, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice ofa ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in thecrowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out uponthe chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screenwith pictures, dismally designed, garishly[9] colored: Brownrigg[10]with her apprentice; the Mannings[11] with their murdered guest; Wearein the death grip of Thurtell[12]; and a score besides of famouscrimes. The thing was as clear as an illusion; he was once again thatlittle boy; he was looking once again, and with the same sense ofphysical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunned by thethumping of the drums. A bar of that day's music returned upon hismemory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, abreath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he mustinstantly resist and conquer. 

He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from theseconsiderations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending hismind to realize the nature and greatness of his crime. So little awhile ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, thatpale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governableenergies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had beenarrested, as the horologist[13], with interjected finger, arrests thebeating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no moreremorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered beforethe painted effigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with allthose faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, onewho had never lived and who was now dead. But of penitence, no, not atremor. 

With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found thekeys and advanced toward the open door of the shop. Outside, it hadbegun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof hadbanished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the housewere haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingledwith the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps ofanother foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitatedloosely on the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon hismuscles, and drew back the door. 

The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor andstairs; on the bright suit of armor posted, halbert in hand, upon thelanding; and on the dark wood carvings and framed pictures that hungagainst the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating ofthe rain through all the house that, in Markheim's ears, it began tobe distinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, thetread of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in thecounting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared tomingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing ofthe water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon himto the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt bypresences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with agreat effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him andfollowed stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, howtranquilly he would possess his soul! And then again, and hearkeningwith ever fresh attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sensewhich held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. Hishead turned continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed startingfrom their orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were halfrewarded as with the tail of something nameless vanishing. Thefour-and-twenty steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. 

On that first story the doors stood ajar, three of them like threeambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He couldnever again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men'sobserving eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried amongbed-clothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought hewondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fearthey were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, atleast, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callousand immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence ofhis crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitiousterror, some scission[14] in the continuity of man's experience, somewilful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending onthe rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, asthe defeated tyrant overthrew the chessboard, should break the mouldof their succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said)when the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like mightbefall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and revealhis doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks mightyield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch;aye, and there were soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, forinstance, the house should fall and imprison him beside the body ofhis victim; or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemeninvade him from all sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might be called the hands of God reached forth againstsin. But about God himself he was at ease; his act was doubtlessexceptional, but so were his excuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among men, that he felt sure of justice. 

When he got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases and incongruousfurniture; several great pier glasses, in which he beheld himself atvarious angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed andunframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine Sheraton[15]sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry[16], and a great old bed, withtapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great goodfortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and thisconcealed him from the neighbors. Here, then, Markheim drew in apacking case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, andtime was on the wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he saw the door--even glanced at it from timeto time directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the goodestate of his defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain fallingin the street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the otherside, the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, andthe voices of many children took up the air and words. How stately, how comfortable was the melody! How fresh the youthful voices!Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and hismind was thronged with answerable ideas and images; church-goingchildren and the pealing of the high organ; children afield, bathersby the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite-flyers in thewindy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another cadence of thehymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of summer Sundays, andthe high, genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little torecall), and the painted Jacobean[17] tombs, and the dim lettering ofthe Ten Commandments in the chancel. 

And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to hisfeet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, wentover him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mountedthe stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon theknob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. 

Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether thedead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or somechance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. Butwhen a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, andthen withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear brokeloose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this thevisitant returned. 

"Did you call me?" he asked pleasantly, and with that he entered theroom, and closed the door behind him. 

Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was afilm upon his sight, but the outlines of the newcomer seemed to changeand waver like those of the idols in the wavering candlelight of theshop: and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought hebore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of theearth and not of God. 

And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stoodlooking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: "You are lookingfor the money, I believe?" it was in the tones of everyday politeness. 

Markheim made no answer. 

"I should warn you, " resumed the other, "that the maid has left hersweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheimbe found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences. "

"You know me?" cried the murderer. 

The visitor smiled. "You have long been a favorite of mine, " he said;"and I have long observed and often sought to help you. "

"What are you?" cried Markheim: "the devil?"

"What I may be, " returned the other, "cannot affect the service Ipropose to render you. "

"It can, " cried Markheim; "it does! Be helped by you? No, never; notby you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!"

"I know you, " replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity orrather firmness. "I know you to the soul. "

"Know me!" cried Markheim. "Who can do so? My life is but atravesty[18] and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all men are better than this disguise that grows about andstifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravoshave seized and muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control--ifyou could see their faces, they would be altogether different, theywould shine out for heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself ismore overlaid; my excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose myself. "

"To me?" inquired the visitant. 

"To you before all, " returned the murderer. "I supposed you wereintelligent. I thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader ofthe heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think ofit; my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giantshave dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother--thegiants of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can younot look within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me?Can you not see within me the clear writing of conscience, neverblurred by any wilful sophistry[19] although too often disregarded?Can you not read me for a thing that surely must be common ashumanity--the unwilling sinner?"

"All this is very feelingly expressed, " was the reply, "but it regardsme not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I carenot in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, soas you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; theservant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictureson the hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, itis as if the gallows itself were striding toward you through theChristmas streets! Shall I help you--I, who know all? Shall I tell youwhere to find the money?"

"For what price?" asked Markheim. 

"I offer you the service for a Christmas gift, " returned the other. 

Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph, "No, " said he, "I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying ofthirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I shouldfind the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothingto commit myself to evil. "

"I have no objection to a death-bed repentance, " observed thevisitant. 

"Because you disbelieve their efficacy[20]!" Markheim cried. 

"I do not say so, " returned the other; "but I look on these thingsfrom a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under color ofreligion, or to sow tares[21] in the wheat field, as you do, in acourse of weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near tohis deliverance, he can add but one act of service--to repent, to diesmiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorousof my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Acceptmy help. Please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; pleaseyourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when thenight begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, foryour greater comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound yourquarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. I came but now from such a death-bed, and the room was full of sinceremourners, listening to the man's last words; and when I looked intothat face, which had been set as a flint against mercy, I found itsmiling with hope. "

"And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?" asked Markheim. "Doyou think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and sin, and, at last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at thethought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it becauseyou find me with red hands that you presume such baseness? and is thiscrime of murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs ofgood?"

"Murder is to me no special category[22], " replied the other. "Allsins are murder, even all life is war. I behold your race, likestarving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands offamine and feeding on each other's lives. I follow sins beyond themoment of their acting; I find in all that the last consequence isdeath; and to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother withsuch taking graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly withhuman gore than such a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I followsins? I follow virtues also; they differ not by the thickness of anail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, forwhich I live, consists not in action but in character. The bad man isdear to me; not the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them farenough down the hurtling[23] cataract of the ages, might yet be foundmore blessed than those of the rarest virtues. And it is not becauseyou have killed a dealer, but because you are Markheim, that I offeredto forward your escape. "

"I will lay my heart open to you, " answered Markheim. "This crime onwhich you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned manylessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have beendriven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bondslave to poverty, driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in thesetemptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches--both the powerand a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actorin the world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands theagents of good, this heart at peace. Some thing comes over me out ofthe past; something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to thesound of the church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears overnoble books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There liesmy life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my cityof destination. "

"You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?" remarkedthe visitor; "and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost somethousands?"

"Ah, " said Markheim, "but this time I have a sure thing. "

"This time, again, you will lose, " replied the visitor, quietly. 

"Ah, but I keep back the half!" cried Markheim. 

"That also you will lose, " said the other. 

The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. "Well, then, what matter?" heexclaimed. "Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shallone part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to overridethe better? Evil and good ran strong in me, hailing me both ways. I donot love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime asmurder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knowstheir trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, Ilove honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earthbut I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of themind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts. "

But the visitant raised his finger. "For six-and-thirty years that youhave been in this world, " said he, "through many changes of fortuneand varieties of humor, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteenyears ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back youwould have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, isthere any cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil?--fiveyears from now I shall detect you in the fact! Downward, downward liesyour way; nor can anything but death avail to stop you. "

"It is true, " Markheim said huskily, "I have in some degree compliedwith evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mereexercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of theirsurroundings. "

"I will propound to you one simple question, " said the other; "and asyou answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grownin many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at anyaccount, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you inany one particular, however trifling, more difficult to please withyour own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?"

"In any one?" repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. "No, " he added, with despair, "in none! I have gone down in all. "

"Then, " said the visitor, "content yourself with what you are, for youwill never change; and the words of your part on this stage areirrevocably written down. "

Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitorwho first broke the silence. "That being so, " he said, "shall I showyou the money?"

"And grace?" cried Markheim. 

"Have you not tried it?" returned the other. "Two or three years ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was notyour voice the loudest in the hymn?"

"It is true, " said Markheim; "and I see clearly what remains for me byway of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes areopened, and I behold myself at last for what I am. "

At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through thehouse; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal forwhich he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanor. 

"The maid!" he cried. "She has returned, as I forewarned you, andthere is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, youmust say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but ratherserious countenance--no smiles, no overacting, and I promise yousuccess! Once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexteritythat has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this lastdanger in your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening--thewhole night, if needful--to ransack the treasures of the house and tomake good your safety. This is help that comes to you with the mask ofdanger. Up!" he cried: "up, friend; your life hangs trembling in thescales: up, and act!"

Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. "If I be condemned to evilacts, " he said, "there is still one door of freedom open--I can ceasefrom action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though Ibe, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I canyet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be!But I have still my hatred of evil; and from that, to your gallingdisappointment, you shall see that I can draw both energy andcourage. "

The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovelychange: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph; and, evenas they brightened, faded and dislimned[24]. But Markheim did notpause to watch or understand the transformation. He opened the doorand went downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past wentsoberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous likea dream, random as chance-medley--a scene of defeat. Life, as hethus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the farther side heperceived a quiet haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, andlooked into the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. And then the bell once more broke out intoimpatient clamor. 

He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. 

"You had better go for the police, " said he: "I have killed yourmaster. "

NOTES

[1] Written in 1884. This story is used by permission of and specialarrangement with the Charles Scribner's Sons Company, Publishers. 

[2] 237:1 windfalls. Unexpected gains. 

[3] 237:3 dividend. His knowledge a business asset that drawsinterest. 

[4] 241:22 skewer-like. Like a wooden pin now used to fasten meat. 

[5] 242:11 leaguer. Place besieged with shadows. 

[6] 242:27 Time was that when the brains were out. See Macbeth, ActIII, sc. 4, line 78. 

[7] 243:16 iteration. Repetition. 

[8] 246:25 railleries. Merry jesting or ridicule. 

[9] 247:7 garishly. A blinding, gaudy effect. 

[10] 247:7 Brownrigg. A notorious murderess living in England in themiddle of the eighteenth century. She was hanged and her skeleton isstill preserved. 

[11] 247:8 Mannings. Marie Manning and her husband murdered a formersuitor. They were given, a death sentence. 

[12] 247:9 Thurtell. A gambler who quarrelled with Weare and killedhim after he had professed peace. He designed his own gallows. 

[13] 247:25 horologist. One who makes timepieces. 

[14] 249:27 scission. A cleaving or a dividing. 

[15] 250:25 Sheraton. Next to Chippendale the greatest furnituredesigner and cabinet-maker. 

[16] 250:25 marquetry. An inlay of some thin material in the surfaceof a piece of furniture or other object. 

[17] 251:23 Jacobean. Pertaining to the time of James I of England. 

[18] 253:12 travesty. A grotesque imitation. 

[19] 254:3 sophistry. Methods of the Greek sophists. 

[20] 254:29 efficacy. Effective energy. 

[21] 255:5 sow tares, etc. See Matthew XII, 24-30. 

[22] 255:29 category. A class, condition, or predicament. 

[23] 256:14 hurtling. Rushing headlong or confusedly. 

[24] 280:10 dislimned. Erased or effaced. 

COLLATERAL READINGS

_Treasure Island_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Kidnapped_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Prince Otto_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Across the Plains_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Travels with a Donkey_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_An Inland Voyage_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Essays on Burns and Thoreau_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_Virginibus Puerisque_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_The Child's Garden of Verses_, R. L. Stevenson. 

_The Masque of the Red Death_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_The Pit and the Pendulum_, Edgar Allan Poe. 

_A Coward_, Guy de Maupassant. 

_The Substitute_, François Coppée. 

_The Revolt of Mother_, Mary Wilkins Freeman. 

_Flute and Violin_, James Lane Alien. 

_A Lear of the Steppes_, Ivan Turgeneff. 

_Rappacini's Daughter_, Nathaniel Hawthorne.