PENGUIN

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Edgar
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Allan Poe
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 PENGUIN BOOKS

The Masque ofthe Red Death

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, Mass. in 1809, the son of itinerant
actors. His father disappeared and his mother died within two years of his
birth. Edgar was taken into the home of a Richmond, Virginia merchant,
John Allan, although never legally adopted. His early work as a writer went
unrecognized and he was forced to earn a living on newspapers and magazines.
It was not until the publication of The Raven and Other Poems in 1845 that he
gained success as a writer, and despite his increasing fame, Poe remained in
the same poverty which characterized most of his life: In 1836 he married
his cousin Virginia, who was then thirteen; she died eleven years later of
tuberculosis. Much affected by the death of his wife, Poe died a few years
later in 1849.
r
 EDGAR ALLAN POE

The Masque of the Red Death

and Other Stories

PENGUIN BOOKS
 PENGUIN BOOKS

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 Contents

The Fall of the House of Usher I

Ligeia 27
The Oval Portrait 48
Eleonora 53
The Masque of the Red Death 61
The Pit and the Pendulum 69
The Tell-Tale Heart 89
‘The Black Cat ~- 96
William Wilson 109
The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar 136
The Cask of Amontillado 149
Hop-Frog 158
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 The Fall of the House of Usher

Son coeur est un luth suspendu;

Sit6ét qu’on le touche il résonne.

DE BERANGER!

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in

the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppres-
sively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on
horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country;
and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening
drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.
I know not how it was — but, with the first glimpse of
the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my
spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved
by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, senti-
ment, with which the mind usually receives even the
_ sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I
looked upon the scene before me — upon the mere house,
and the simple landscape features of the domain — upon
the bleak walls — upon the vacant eye-like windows —
upon a few rank sedges — and upon a few white trunks
_of decayed trees — with an utter depression of soul which
I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly
“His heart is a suspended lute;
Whenever one touches it, it resounds’
than to the afterdream of the reveller upon opium — the
bitter lapse into everyday life — the hideous dropping off
of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening
of the heart — an unredeemed dreariness of thought
which no goading of the imagination could torture into
aught of the sublime. What was it — I paused to think
— what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation
of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble;
nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that
crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall
back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while,
beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple
natural objects which have the power of thus affecting
us, still the analysis of this power lies among considera-
tions beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that
a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the
scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient
to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrow-
ful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my
horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn
that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed
down — but with a shudder even more thrilling than
before — upon the remodelled and inverted images of
the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant
and eye-like windows.
Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed
to myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor,
Roderick Usher, had been one of my boon companions
in boyhood; but many years had elapsed since our last
meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a
distant part of the country — a letter from him — which,
in its wildly importunate nature, had admitted of no

2
 other than a personal reply. The MS. gave evidence of
nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute bodily
illness — of a mental disorder which oppressed him — and
of an earnest desire to see me, as his best, and indeed
his only personal friend, with a view of attempting, by
the cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation of his
malady. It was the manner in which all this, and much
more, was said — it was the apparent heart that went
with his request — which allowed me no room for hesi-
tation; and I accordingly obeyed forthwith what | still
considered a very singular summons.
Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associ-
ates, yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve
had been always excessive and habitual. I was aware,
however, that his very ancient family had been noted,
time out of mind, for a peculiar sensibility of tempera-
ment, displaying itself, through long ages, in many works
of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in repeated deeds
of munificent yet unobtrusive charity, as well as in a
passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more
than to the orthodox and easily recognizable beauties,
of musical science. I had learned, too, the very remark-
able fact, that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honoured
as it was, had put forth, at no period, any enduring
branch; in other words, that the entire family lay in the
direct line of descent, and had always, with very trifling
and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this
deficiency, I considered, while running over in thought
the perfect keeping of the character of the premises with
the accredited character of the people, and while specu-
_ lating upon the possible influence which the one, in the
long lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the

3
 other — it was this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue,
and the consequent undeviating transmission, from sire
to son, of the patrimony with the name, which had, at
length, so identified the two as to merge the original
title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal appellation
of the ‘House of Usher’ — an appellation which seemed
to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it,
both the family and the family mansion.
I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat child-
ish experiment — that of looking down within the tarn
— had been to deepen the first singular impression. There
can be no doubt that the consciousness of the rapid
increase of my superstition — for why should I not so
term it? — served mainly to accelerate the increase itself.
Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law of all
sentiments having terror as a basis. And it might have
been for this reason only, that, when I again uplifted my
eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, there
grew in my mind a strange fancy — a fancy so ridiculous,
indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid force of
the sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked
upon my imagination as really to believe that about the
whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere
peculiar to themselves and their immediate vicinity — an
atmosphere which had no affinity with the air of Heaven,
but which had reekedup from the decayed trees, and
the gray wall, and the silent tarn — a pestilent and mystic
vapour, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-
hued.
Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a
dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the
building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an

4
 excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been
great. Minute fungi over-spread the whole exterior, hang-
ing in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all
this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No
portion of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared
to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adap-
tation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the
individual stones. In this there was much that reminded
me of the specious totality of old wood-work which has
rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no
disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond
this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric
gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scru-
tinizing observer might have discovered a barely
perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of
the building in front, made its way down the wall in a
zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters
of the tarn.
Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway
to the house. A servant in waiting took my horse and I
entered the Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of
stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, through
many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the
studio of his master. Much that I encountered on the
way contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague
sentiments of which I have already spoken. While the
objects around me —-while the carvings of the ceilings,
the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness
of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies
which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or
to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy
— while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was

5
 all this — I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were
the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On
one of the staircases, I met the physician of the family.
His countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression
of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me with
trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a
door and ushered me into the presence of his master.
The room in which I found myself was very large and
lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and
at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be '
altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of
encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised
panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more
prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled
in vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber, or
the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark
draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture
was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many
books and musical instruments lay scattered about, but
failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt that Ibreathed
an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and
irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all.
Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa on which
he had been lying at full length, and greeted me with a
vivacious warmth which had much in it, | at first thought,
of an overdone cordiality — of the constrained effort of
the ennuyé man of the world. A glance, however, at his
countenance, convinced me of his perfect sincerity. We
sat down; and for some moments, while he spoke not,
_I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, half of awe.
Surely, man had never before so terribly altered, in so
brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! It was with

6
difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identity
of the wan being before me with the companion of my
early boyhood. Yet the character of his face had been at
all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion;
an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond comparison;
lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly
beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but
with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations;
a finely moulded chin, speaking, in its want of promi-
nence, of a want of moral energy; hair of a more than
web-like softness and tenuity; these features, with an
inordinate expansion above the regions of the temple,
made up altogether a countenance not easily to be forgot-
ten. And now in the mere exaggeration of the prevailing
character of these features, and of the expression they
were wont to convey, lay so much of change that I
doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor of
the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye, above
all things startled and even awed me. The silken hair,
too, had been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in
its wild gossamer texture, it floated rather than fell about
the face, I could not, even with effort, connect its
Arabesque expression with any idea of simple human-
ity.
In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with
an incoherence — an inconsistency; and I soon found this
to arise from a series of feeble and futile struggles to
overcome an habitual trepidancy — an excessive nervous
agitation. For something of this nature I had indeed been
prepared, no less by his letter, than by reminiscences of
certain boyish traits, and by conclusions deduced from
his peculiar physical conformation and temperament.

7
His action was alternately vivacious and sullen. His voice
varied rapidly from a tremulous indecision (when the
animal spirits seemed utterly in abeyance) to that species
of energetic concision — that abrupt, weighty, unhurried,
and hollow-sounding enunciation — that leaden, self-
balanced and perfectly modulated guttural utterance,
which may -be observed in the lost drunkard, or the
irreclaimable eater of opium, during the periods of his
most intense excitement.
It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit,
of his earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he
expected me to afford him. He entered, at some length,
into what he conceived to be the nature of his malady.
It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and
one for which he despaired to find a remedy — a mere
nervous affection, he immediately added, which would
undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed itself in a host
of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he detailed
them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps,
the terms, and the general manner of the narration had
their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acuteness
of the senses; the most insipid food was alone endurable;
he could wear only garments of certain texture; the
odours of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were
tortured by even a faint light; and there were but pecu-
liar sounds, and these from stringed instruments, which
did not inspire him with horror.
To an anomalous species of terror I found him a
bounden slave. ‘I shall perish,’ said he, ‘I must perish in
this deplorable folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall
I be lost. I dread the events of the future, not in them-
selves, but in their results. I shudder at the thought of

8
 ,

any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operate

upon this intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed,
no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect — in
terror. In this unnerved — in this pitiable condition — I
feel that the period will sooner or later arrive when I
must abandon life and reason together, in some struggle
with the grim phantasm, FEar.’
I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken
and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his
mental condition. He was enchained by certain supersti-
tious impressions in regard to the dwelling which he
tenanted, and whence, for many years, he had never
ventured forth — in regard to an influence whose supposi-_ -
- titious force was conveyed in terms too shadowy here
to be re-stated — an influence which some peculiarities
in the mere form and substance of his family mansion,
had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained over
his spirit — an effect which the 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 the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him
could be traced to a more natural and far more palpable
origin — to the severe and long-continued illness — indeed
to the evidently approaching dissolution — of a tenderly
beloved sister — his sole companion for long years — his
last and only relative on earth. ‘Her decease,’ he said,
with a bitterness which I can never forget, ‘would leave
him (him the hopeless and the frail) the last of the ancient
race of the Ushers.’ While he spoke, the lady Madeline
(for so was she called) passed slowly through a remote

9
portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed
my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter
astonishment not unmingled with dread —and yet I found
it impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of
stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating
steps. When a door, at length, closed upon her, my glance
sought instinctively and eagerly the countenance of the
brother — but he had buried his face in his hands, and I
could only perceive that a far more than ordinary
wanness had over-spread the emaciated fingers a
which trickled many passionate tears.
The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the
skill of her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wast-
ing away of the person, and frequent although transient
affections of a partially cataleptical character, were the
unusual diagnosis. Hitherto she had steadily borne up
against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken
herself finally to bed; but, on the closing in of the evening
of my arrival at the house, she succumbed (as her brother
told me at night with inexpressible agitation) to the
prostrating power of the destroyer; and I learned that
the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus
probably be the last I should obtain — that the lady, at
least while living, would be seen by me no more.
For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned
by either Usher or myself: and during this period I was
busied in earnest endeavours to alleviate the melancholy
of my friend. We painted and read together; or I listened,
as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations of his speak-
ing guitar. And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacy
admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his
spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility of all

IO
attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness, as if
an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects —
of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing
radiation of gloom.
I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many
solemn hours I thus spent alone with the master of the
House of Usher. Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey
an idea of the exact character of the studies, or of the
occupations, in which he involved me, or led me the way.
An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a
sulphureous lustre over all. His long improvised dirges
will ring forever in my ears. Among other things, I hold
painfully in mind a certain singular perversion and ampli-
fication of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber.
From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded,
and which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which
I shuddered the more thrillingly, because I shuddered
knowing not why; — from these paintings (vivid as their
images now are before me) I would in vain endeavour to
educe more than a small portion which should lie within
the compass of merely written words. By the utter sim-
plicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested and
overawed attention. If ever mortal painted an idea, that
mortal was Roderick Usher. For me at least —in the circum-
stances then surrounding me — there arose out of the pure
abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw
upon his canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow
of which felt I ever yet in the contemplation of the
certainly glowing yet too concrete reveries of Fuseli.
One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend,
partaking not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may
be shadowed forth, although feebly, in words. A small

II
picture presented the interior of an immensely long and
rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth,
white, and without interruption or device. Certain acces-
sory points of the design served well to convey the idea
that this excavation lay at an exceeding depth below the
surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in any
portion of its vast extent, and no torch, or other artificial
source of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense
rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly
and inappropriate splendour.
I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the
auditory nerve which rendered all music intolerable to
the sufferer, with the exception of certain effects of
stringed instruments. It was, perhaps, the narrow limits
to which he thus confined himself upon the guitar, which
gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic character
of his performances. But the fervid facility of his impromp-
tus could not be so accounted for. They must have been,
and were, in the notes, as well as in the words of his
wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently accompanied
himself with rhymed verbal improvisations), the result
of that intense mental collectedness and concentration
to which I have previously alluded as observable only in
particular moments of the highest artificial excitement.
The words of one of these rhapsodies I have easily
remembered. I was, perhaps, the more forcibly impressed
with it, as he gave it, because, in the under or mystic
current of its meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and
for the first time, a full consciousness on the part of
Usher, of the tottering of his lofty reason upon her
throne. The verses, which were entitled ‘The Haunted —
Palace,’ ran very nearly, if not accurately, thus:

I2
 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 winged odour went away.

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

13
 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 travellers 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 into a train of thought wherein there

14
became manifest an opinion of Usher’s which I mention
not so much on account of its novelty, (for other men
have thought thus), as on account of the pertinacity with
which he maintained it. This opinion, in its general form,
was that of the sentience of all vegetable things. But, in
his disordered fancy, the idea had assumed a more daring
character, and trespassed, under certain conditions, upon
the kingdom of inorganization. I lack words to express
the full extent, or the earnest abandon of his persuasion.
The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously
hinted) with the gray stones of the home of his fore-
fathers. The conditions of the sentience had been here,
he imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of
these stones — in the order of their arrangement, as well
as in that of the many fungi which overspread them, and
of the decayed trees which stood around — above all, in
the long undisturbed endurance of this arrangement,
and in its reduplication in the still waters of the tarn. Its
evidence — the evidence of the sentience — was to be
seen, he said, (and I here started as he spoke), in the
gradual yet certain condensation of an atmosphere of
their own about the waters and the walls. The result was
discoverable, he added, in that silent, yet importunate
and terrible influence which for centuries had moulded
the destinies of his family, and which made him what I
now saw him — what he was. Such opinions need no
comment, and I will make none.
Our books — the books which, for years, had formed
no small portion of the mental existence of the invalid
— were, as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this
character of phantasm. We pored together over such
works as the Ververt et Chartreuse of Gresset; the

15
 Belphegor of Machiavelli; the Heaven and Hell of
Swedenborg; The Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm
by Holberg; the Chiromancy of Robert Flud, of Jean
D’Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; The Journey into the
Blue Distance of Tieck; and The City of the Sun of
Campanella. One favourite volume was a small octavo
edition of the Directorium Inquisitorum, by the Dominican
Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pompo-
nius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and gipans,
over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chief
delight, however, was found in the perusal of an exceed-
ingly rare and curious book in quarto Gothic — the
manual of a forgotten church — the Vigiliae Mortuorum
secundum Chorum Ecclesice Maguntine.
I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this
work, and of its probable influence upon the hypochon-
driac, when, one evening, having informed me abruptly
that the lady Madeline was no more, he stated his inten-
tion of preserving her corpse for a fortnight, (previously
to its final interment), in one of the numerous vaults
within the main walls of the building. The worldly
reason, however, assigned for this singular proceeding,
was one which I did not feel at liberty to dispute. The
brother had been led to his resolution (so he told me)
by consideration of the unusual character of the malady
of the deceased, of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries
_ on the part of her medical men, and of the remote and
exposed situation of the burial-ground of the family. I
will not deny that when I called to mind the sinister
countenance of the person whom I met upon the stair-
case, on the day of my arrival at the house, I had no
desire to oppose what I regarded as at best but a

16
 Fg

harmless, and by no means an unnatural, precaution.

At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the
arrangements for the temporary entombment. The body
having been encoffined, we two alone bore it to its rest.
The vault in which we placed it (and which had been so
long unopened that our torches, half smothered in its
oppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for
investigation) was small, damp, and entirely without
means of admission for light; lying, at great depth, imme-
diately beneath that portion of the building in which
was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, appar-
ently, in remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of
a donjon-keep, and, in later days, as a place of deposit
for powder, or some other highly combustible substance,
_-as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior of a long
archway through which we reached it, were carefully
sheathed with copper. The door, of massive iron, had
been, also, similarly protected. Its immense weight
caused an unusually sharp grating sound, as it moved
upon its hinges.
Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels
within this region of horror, we partially turned aside
the yet unscrewed lid of the coffin, and looked upon the
face of the tenant. A striking similitude between the
brother and sister now first arrested my attention; and
Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out
some few words from which I learned that the deceased
and himself had been twins, and that sympathies of a
scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between ~
them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the
dead — for we could not regard her unawed. The disease
which had thus entombed the lady in the maturity of

v4
youth, had left, as usual in all maladies of a strictly cata-
leptical character, the mockery of a faint blush upon the
bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering smile
upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced
and screwed down the lid, and, having secured the door
of iron, made our way, with toil, into the scarcely less
gloomy apartments of the upper portion of the house.
And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed,
an observable change came over the features of the
mental disorder of my friend. His ordinary manner had
vanished. His ordinary occupations were neglected or
forgotten. He roamed from chamber to chamber with
hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallor of his
countenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastly
hue — but the luminousness of his eye had utterly gone
out. The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard
no more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror,
habitually characterized his utterance. There were times,
indeed, when I thought his unceasingly agitated mind
was labouring with some oppressive secret, to divulge
which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times,
again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplic-
able vagaries of madness, for I beheld him gazing upon
vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of the profoundest
attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound. It was
no wonder that his condition terrified — that it infected
me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain degrees,
the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive
superstitions.
It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night
of the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady
Madeline within the donjon, that I experienced the full

18
power of such feelings. Sleep came not near my couch
— while the hours waned and waned away. I struggled
to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over
me. I endeavoured to believe that much, if not all of
what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence of the
gloomy furniture of the room — of the dark and tattered
draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of
a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the
walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the
bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible trem-
our gradually pervaded my frame; and, at length, there
sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly causeless
alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle, |
uplifted myself upon the pillows, and, peering earnestly
within the intense darkness of the chamber, hearkened
— I know not why, except that an instinctive spirit
prompted me — to certain low and indefinite sounds
which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long
intervals, I knew not whence. Overpowered by an intense
sentiment of horror, unaccountable yet unendurable, I
threw on my clothes with haste (for I felt that I should
sleep no more during the night), and endeavoured to
arouse myself from the pitiable condition into which I
had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through the
apartment.
I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light
step on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. |
presently recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant
afterward he rapped, with a gentle touch, at my door,
and entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, as
‘usual, cadaverously wan — but, moreover, there was a
speciesofmad hilarity in his eyes —an evidently restrained

19
 hysteria in his whole demeanour. His air appalled me — but
anything was preferable to the solitude which I had so
long endured, and I even welcomed his presence as a
relief.
‘And you have not seen it?’ he said abruptly, after
having stared about him for some moments in silence
— ‘you have not then seen it? — but, stay! you shall.’ Thus
speaking, and having carefully shaded his lamp, he
hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely open
to the storm.
The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted
us from our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly
beautiful night, and one wildly singular in its terror and
its beauty. A whirlwind had apparently collected its force
in our vicinity; for there were frequent and violent alter-
ations in the direction of the wind; and the exceeding
density of the clouds (which hung so low as to press
upon the turrets of the house) did not prevent our
perceiving the life-like velocity with which they flew .
careering from all points against each other, without
passing away into the distance. I say that even their
exceeding density did not prevent our perceiving this — yet
_ we had no glimpse of the moon or stars — nor was there
any flashing forth of the lightning. But the under surfaces
of the huge masses of agitated vapour, as well as all
terrestrial objects immediately around us, were glowing
in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly
visible gaseous exhalation which hung about and
enshrouded the mansion.
‘You must not — you shall not behold this!’ said I,
shudderingly, to Usher, as I led him, with a gentle ~
violence, from the window to a seat. “These appearances,

20
 which bewilder you, are merely electrical phenomena
not uncommon — or it may be that they have their ghastly
origin in the rank miasma of the tarn. Let us close this
casement; — the air is chilling and dangerous to your
frame. Here is one of your favourite romances. I will
read, and you shall listen; - and so we will pass away
this terrible night together.’
The antique volume which I had taken up was the
‘Mad Trist’ of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it
a favourite of Usher’s more in sad jest than in earnest;
for, in truth, there is little in its uncouth and unimagina-
tive prolixity which could have had interest for the lofty
and spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the
only book immediately at hand; and I indulged a vague
hope that the excitement which now agitated the hypo-
chondriac, might find relief (for the history of mental
disorder is full of similar anomalies) even in the extreme-
ness of the folly which I should read. Could I have judged,
indeed, by the wild overstrained air of vivacity with
which he hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the
words of the tale, I might well have congratulated myself
upon the success of my design.
I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story
where Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in
vain for peaceable admission into the dwelling of the
’ hermit, proceeds to make good an entrance by force.
Here, it will be remembered, the words of the narrative
run thus:
‘And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart,
and who was now mighty withal, on account of the
powerfulness of the wine which he had drunken, waited
no longer to hold parley with the hermit, who, in sooth,

21
was of an obstinate and maliceful turn, but, feeling the
rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of the
tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and, with blows,
made quickly room in the plankings of the door for his
gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewith sturdily, he
so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that the
noise of the. dry and hollow-sounding wood alarumed
and reverberated throughout the forest.’
At the termination of this sentence I started, and for
a moment, paused; for it appeared to me (although I at
once concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me)
— it appeared to me that, from some very remote portion
of the mansion, there came, indistinctly, to my ears, what
might have been, in its exact similarity of character, the
echo (but a stifled and dull one certainly) of the very
cracking and ripping sound which Sir Launcelot had so
particularly described. It was, beyond doubt, the coinci-
dence alone which had arrested my attention; for, amid
the rattling of the sashes of the casements, and the
ordinary commingled noises of the still increasing storm,
the sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should
have interested or disturbed me. I continued the story:
‘But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within
the door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive no
signal of the maliceful hermit; but, in the stead thereof, —
a dragon of a scaly and prodigious demeanour, and of a
fiery tongue, which sate in guard before a palace of gold,
with a floor of silver; and upon the wall there hung a
shield of shining brass with this legend enwritten —

Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin;

Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win;

22,
And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the
head of the dragon, which fell before him, and gave up
his pesty breath, with a shriek so horrid and harsh, and
withal so piercing, that Ethelred had fain to close his
ears with his hands against the dreadful noise of it, the
like whereof was never before heard.’
Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling
of wild amazement — for there could be no doubt what-
ever that, in this instance, I did actually hear (although
from what direction it proceeded I found it impossible
to say) a low and apparently distant, but harsh, protracted,
and most unusual screaming or grating sound — the exact
counterpart of what my fancy had already conjured up
for the dragon’s unnatural shriek as described — the
romancer.
Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence
of the second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a
thousand conflicting sensations, in which wonder and
extreme terror were predominant, I still retained sufficient
presence of mind to avoid exciting, by any observation,
the sensitive nervousness of my companion. I was by no
means certain that he had noticed the sounds in question;
although, assuredly, a strange alteration had, during the
last few minutes, taken place in his demeanour. From a
position fronting my own, he had gradually brought
round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the door of
the chamber; and thus I could but partially perceive his
features, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he
were murmuring inaudibly. His head had dropped upon
his breast — yet I knew that he was not asleep, from the
wide and rigid opening of the eye as I caught a glance
of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was at
23
variance with this idea — for he rocked from side to side
with a gentle yet constant and uniform sway. Having
rapidly taken notice of all this, I resumed the narrative
of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded:
‘And now, the champion, having escaped from the
terrible fury of the dragon, bethinking himself of the
brazen shield, and of the breaking up of the enchant-
ment which was upon it, removed the carcass from out
of the way before him, and approached valorously over
the silver pavement of the castle to where the shield was
upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not for his full
coming, but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor,
with a mighty great and terrible ringing sound.’
No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than
—as if ashield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen
heavily upon a floor of silver — I became aware of a
distinct, hollow, metallic, and clangorous, yet apparently
muffled reverberation. Completely unnerved, I leaped
to my feet; but the measured rocking movement of
Usher was undisturbed. I rushed to the chair in which
he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before him, and
throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony
rigidity. But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder,
there came a strong shudder over his whole person; a
sickly smile quivered about his lips; and I saw that he
spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering murmur, as if
unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over him,
I at length drank in the hideous import of his words.
‘Not hear it? — yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long
— long — long — many minutes, many hours, many days,
have I heard it — yet I dared not — oh, pity me, miserable
wretch that I am! — I dared not — I dared not speak! We

24
 have put her living in the tomb! Said I not that my senses
were acute? I now tell you that I heard her first feeble
movements in the hollow coffin. I heard them — many,
many days ago — yet I dared not —I dared not speak! And
now — to-night — Ethelred — ha! ha! — the breaking of
the hermit’s door, and the death-cry of the dragon, and
the clangour of the shield! — say, rather, the rending of
her coffin, and the grating of the iron hinges of her
prison, and her struggles within the coppered archway
of the vault! Oh whither shall I fly? Will she not be here
anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid me for my haste?
Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do I not
distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her heart?
Mapmawn! - here he sprang furiously to his feet, and
shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were
giving up his soul — ‘Mapman! I TELL YOU THAT SHE
NOW STANDS WITHOUT THE DOOR!’
As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there
had been found the potency of a spell — the huge antique
panels to which the speaker pointed, threw slowly back,
upon the instant, their ponderous and ebony jaws. It was
the work of the rushing gust — but then without those
doors there pip stand the lofty and enshrouded figure
of the lady Madeline of Usher. There was blood upon
her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter strug-
gle upon every portion of her emaciated frame. For a
- moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro
upon the threshold, then, with a low moaning cry, fell
heavily inward upon the person of her brother, and in
her violent and now final death-agonies, bore him to the
floor a corpse, and a victim to the terrors he had antici-
pated. .

25
 From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled
aghast. The storm was still abroad in all its wrath as I
found myself crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there
shot along the path a wild light, and I turned to see
whence a gleam so unusual could have issued; for the
vast house and its shadows were alone behind me. The
radiance was-that of the full, setting, and blood-red moon
which now shone vividly through that once barely-
discernible fissure of which I have before spoken as
extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzag
direction, to the base. While Igazed, this fissure rapidly
widened — there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind
— the entire orb of the satellite burst at once upon my
sight — my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing
asunder — there was a long tumultuous shouting sound
like the voice of a thousand waters — and the deep and
dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the
fragments of the ‘House oF UsHER.’
 Ligeia

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth
the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a
great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness.
Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death
utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.

JOSEPH GLANVILL

I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even

precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady
Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory
is feeble through much suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot
now bring these points to mind, because, in truth, the
character of my beloved, her rare learning, her singular
yet placid cast of beauty, and the thrilling and enthralling
eloquence of her low musical language, made their way
into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily progres-
sive that they have been unnoticed and unknown. Yet I
believe that I met her first and most frequently in some
large, old, decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family
— I have surely heard her speak. That it is of a remotely
ancient date cannot be doubted. Ligeia! Ligeia! Buried
in studies of a nature more than all else adapted to
deaden impressions of the outward world, it is by that
sweet word alone — by Ligeia — that I bring before mine

37,
eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more. And
now, while I write, a recollection flashes upon me that
I have never known the paternal name of her who was
my friend and my betrothed, and who became the part-
ner of my studies, and finally the wife of my bosom.
Was it a playful charge on the part of my Ligeia? or was
it a test of my strength of affection, that I should institute
no inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice
of my own — a wildly romantic offering on the shrine
of the most passionate devotion? I but indistinctly recall
the fact itself - what wonder that I have utterly forgotten
the circumstances which originated or attended it? And, |
indeed, if ever that spirit which is entitled Romance — if
ever she, the wan and the misty-winged Ashtophet of
idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over marriages
ill-omened, then most surely she presided over mine.
There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory
fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was
tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaci-
ated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the
quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible
lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and
departed as a shadow. I was never made aware of her
entrance into my closed study save by the dear music of
her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon
my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled
her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream — an airy and
spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the phantasies
which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daugh-
ters of Delos. Yet her features were not of that regular
mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in _
the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no exquisite

28
 beauty,’ says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all
the forms and genera of beauty, ‘without some strangeness
in the proportion.’ Yet, although I saw that the features
of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity — although I
perceived that her loveliness was indeed ‘exquisite’, and
felt that there was much of ‘strangeness’ pervading it, yet
I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and to trace
home my own perception of ‘the strange’. I examined the
contour of the lofty and pale forehead — it was faultless
_ — how cold indeed that word when applied to a majesty
so divine! — the skin rivalling the purest ivory, the
commanding extent and repose, the gentle prominence
of the regions above the temples; and then the raven-black,
the glossy, the luxuriant and naturally curling tresses,
setting forth the full force of the Homeric epithet, ‘hyacin-
thine!’ I looked at the delicate outlines of the nose — and
nowhere but in the graceful medallions of the Hebrews
had I beheld a similar perfection. There were the same
luxurious smoothness of surface, the same scarcely percep-
tible tendency to the aquiline, the same harmoniously
curved nostrils speaking the free spirit. Iregarded the sweet
mouth. Here was indeed the triumph of all things heavenly
_ — the magnificent turn of the short upper lip — the soft,
voluptuous slumber of the under — the dimples which
sported, and the color which spoke — the teeth glancing
back, with a brilliancy almost startling, every ray of the
holy light which fell upon them in her serene and placid,
yet most exultingly radiant of all smiles. I scrutinized the
formation of the chin — and here, too, I found the gentle-
ness of breadth, the softness and the majesty, the fullness
and the spirituality, of the Greek — the contour which the
god Apollo revealed but in a dream, to Cleomenes, the

29
son of the Athenian. And then Ipeered into the large eyes
of Ligeia.
For eyes we have no models in the remotely antique.
It might have been, too, that in these eyes of my beloved
lay the secret to which Lord Verulam alludes. They were,
I must believe, far larger than the ordinary eyes of our
own race. They were even fuller than the fullest of the
gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley of Nourjahad. Yet
it was only at intervals — in moments of intense excite-
ment — that this peculiarity became more than slightly
noticeable in Ligeia. And at such. moments was her
‘beauty — in my heated fancy thus it appeared perhaps
— the beauty of beings either above or apart from the
earth — the beauty of the fabulous Houri of the Turk.
The hue of the orbs was the most brilliant of black, and,
far over them, hung jetty lashes of great length. The brows,
slightly irregular in outline, had the same tint. The ‘strange-
ness’, however, which I found in the eyes, was of a nature
distinct from the formation, or the color, or the brilliancy
of the features, and must, after all, be referred to the
expression. Ah, word of no meaning! behind whose vast
latitude of mere sound we intrench our ignorance of so
much of the spiritual. The expression of the eyes of Ligeia!
How for long hours have I pondered upon it! How have
I, through the whole of a midsummer night, struggled to
fathom it! What was it — that something more profound
than the well of Democritus — which lay far within the
pupils of my beloved? What was it? I was possessed with
a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, those shin-
ing, those divine orbs! they became to me twin stars of
Leda, and I to them devoutest of astrologers.
There is no point, among the many incomprehensible

30
anomalies of the science of mind, more thrillingly excit-
ing than the fact — never, I believe, noticed in the schools
— that, in our endeavors to recall to memory something
long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge
of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to
remember. And thus how frequently, in my intense scru-
tiny of Ligeia’s eyes, have I felt approaching the full
knowledge of their expression — felt it approaching — yet
not quite be mine — and so at length entirely depart! And
(strange, oh strangest mystery of all!) I found, in the
commonest objects of the universe, a circle of analogies
to that expression. I mean to say that, subsequently to
the period when Ligeia’s beauty passed into my spirit,
there dwelling as in a shrine, I derived, from many exist-
ences in the material world, a sentiment such as I felt
always aroused within me by her large and luminous
orbs. Yet not the more could I define that sentiment, or
analyse, or even steadily view it. I recognized it, let me
repeat, sometimes in the survey of a rapidly growing
vine — in the contemplation of a moth, a butterfly, a
chrysalis, a stream of running water. I have felt it in
the ocean; in the falling of a meteor. I have felt it in the
glances of unusually aged people. And there are one or
two stars in heaven — (one especially, a star of the sixth
magnitude, double and changeable, to be found near the
large star in Lyra) in a telescopic scrutiny of which I have
been made aware of the feeling. I have been filled with
it by certain sounds from stringed instruments, and not
unfrequently by passages from books. Among innumer-
able other instances, I well remember something in a
volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (perhaps merely from
its quaintness — who shall say?) never failed to inspire

31
me with the sentiment; — ‘And the will therein lieth,
which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will,
with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all
things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield
him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only
through the weakness of his feeble will.’
Length of years, and subsequent reflection, have
enabled me to trace, indeed, some remote connection
between this passage in the English moralist and a
portion of the character of Ligeia. An intensity in
thought, action, or speech, was possibly, in her, a result,
or at least an index, of that gigantic volition which,
during our long intercourse, failed to give other and
more immediate evidence of its existence. Of all the
women whom I have ever known, she, the outwardly
calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a
prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern passion. And
of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the
miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so
delighted and appalled me — by the almost magical
melody, modulation, distinctness and placidity of her
very low voice — and by the fierce energy (rendered
doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utter-
ance) of the wild words which she habitually uttered.
[have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was immense
— such as I have never known in woman. In the classical
tongues was she deeply proficient, and as far as my own
acquaintance extended in regard to the modern dialects
of Europe, I have never known her at fault. Indeed upon
any theme of the most admired, because simply the most
abstruse of the boasted erudition of the academy, have
I ever found Ligeia at fault? How singularly — how thrill-

32
ingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has forced
itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said
her knowledge was such as I have never known in woman
— but where breathes the man who has traversed, and
successfully, all the wide areas of moral, physical, and
mathematical science? I saw not then what I now clearly
perceive, that the acquisitions of Ligeia were gigantic,
were astounding; yet I was sufficiently aware of her infin-
ite supremacy to resign myself, with a childlike confidence,
to her guidance through the chaotic world of metaphys-
ical investigation at which I was most busily occupied
during the earlier years of our marriage. With how vast
a triumph — with how vivid a delight — with how much
of all that is ethereal in hope — did Ifeel, as she bent over
me in studies but little sought — but less known — that
delicious vista by slow degrees expanding before me,
down whose long, gorgeous, and all untrodden path, I
might at length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too
divinely precious not to be forbidden!
How poignant, then, must have been the grief with
which, after some years, I beheld my well-grounded
expectations take wings to themselves and fly away!
Without Ligeia I was but as a child groping benighted.
Her presence, her readings alone, rendered vividly lumi-
nous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in
which we were immersed. Wanting the radiant lustre of
her eyes, letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than
Saturnian lead. And now those eyes shone less and less
frequently upon the pages over which | pored. Ligeia
grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with a too — too glorious
effulgence; the pale fingers became of the transparent
waxen hue of the grave, and the blue veins upon the

33
lofty forehead swelled and sank impetuously with the
tides of the most gentle emotion. I saw that she must
die — and I struggled desperately in spirit with the grim
Azrael. And the struggles of the passionate wife were,
to my astonishment, even more energetic than my own.
There had been much in her stern nature to impress me
with the belief that, to her, death would have come
without its terrors; — but not so. Words are impotent to
convey any just idea of the fierceness of resistance with
which she wrestled with the Shadow. I groaned in anguish
at the pitiable spectacle. I would have soothed — I would
have reasoned; but, in the intensity of her wild desire -
for life, — for life — but for life — solace and reason were
alike the uttermost of folly. Yet not until the last instance,
amid the most convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit,
was shaken the external placidity of her demeanor. Her
voice grew more gentle — grew more low — yet I would
not wish to dwell upon the wild meaning of the quietly
uttered words. My brain reeled as I hearkened entranced,
to a melody more than mortal — to assumptions and
aspirations which mortality had never before known.
That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I
might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such as
hers, love would have reigned no ordinary passion. But
in death only, was I fully impressed with the strength of
her affection. For long hours, detaining my hand, would
she pour out before me the over-flowing of a heart whose
more than passionate devotion amounted to idolatry.
How had I deserved to be so blessed by such confessions?
— how had I deserved to be so cursed with the removal
of my beloved in the hour of her making them? But upon
this subject I cannot bear to dilate. Let me say only, that

34
in Ligeia’s more than womanly abandonment to a love,
alas! all unmerited, all unworthily bestowed, I at length
recognized the principle of her longing with so wildly
earnest a desire for the life which was now fleeing so
rapidly away. It is this wild longing — it is this eager vehe-
mence of desire for life — but for life — that I have no
power to portray — no utterance capable of expressing.
At high noon of the night in which she departed,
beckoning me, peremptorily, to her side, she bade me
repeat certain verses composed by herself not many days
before. I obeyed her. — They were these:

Lo! ’t is a gala night

Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,

Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
_~ At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!

That motley drama! — oh, be sure

- It shall not be forgot!

35
 With its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,

A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! — it writhes! — with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
- And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out — out are the lights — out all!

And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
-That the play is the tragedy, ‘Man,’
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

‘O God!’ half shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her feet and

extending her arms aloft with a spasmodic movement,
as I made an end of these lines — ‘O God! O Divine
Father! — shall these things be undeviatingly so? — shall
this Conqueror be not once conquered? Are we not part
and parcel in Thee? Who — who knoweth the mysteries
of the will with its vigor? Man doth not yield him to the

36
angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weak-
ness of his feeble will.’
And now, as if exhausted with emotion, she suffered
her white arms to fall, and returned solemnly to her bed
of death. And as she breathed her last sighs, there came
mingled with them a low murmur from her lips. I bent
to them my ear and distinguished, again, the concluding
words of the passage in Glanvill — ‘Man doth not yield him
to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the
weakness of his feeble will.’
She died; — and I, crushed into the very dust with
sorrow, could no longer endure the lonely desolation of
my dwelling in the dim and decaying city by the Rhine.
I had no lack of what the world calls wealth. Ligeia had
brought me far more, very far more than ordinarily falls
to the lot of mortals. After a few months, therefore, of
weary and aimless wandering, I purchased, and put in
some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of
the wildest and least frequented portions of fair England.
The gloomy and dreary grandeur of the building, the
almost savage aspect of the domain, the many melan-
choly and time-honored memories connected with both,
had much in unison with the feelings of utter abandon-
ment which had driven me into that remote and unsocial
region of the country. Yet although the external abbey,
with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little
alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and
perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows,
to a display of more than regal magnificence within. — For
such follies, even in childhood, I had imbibed a taste and
now they came back to me as if in the dotage of grief.
Alas, I feel how much even of incipient madness might

37
have been discovered in the gorgeous and fantastic
draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild
cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the
carpets of tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in
the trammels of opium, and my labors and my orders
had taken a coloring from my dreams. But these absurd-
ities I must not pause to detail. Let me speak only of
that one chamber, ever accursed, whither in a moment
of mental alienation, I led from the altar as my bride — as
the successor of the unforgotten Ligeia — the fair-haired
and blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine.
There is no individual portion of the architecture and
decoration of that bridal chamber which is not now
visibly before me. Where were the souls of the haughty
family of the bride, when, through thirst of gold, they
permitted to pass the threshold of an apartment so
bedecked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved? I have
said that I minutely remember the details of the cham- |
ber — yet I am sadly forgetful on topics of deep moment
— and here there was no system, no keeping, in the
fantastic display, to take hold upon the memory. The
room lay in a high turret of the castellated abbey, was
pentagonal in shape, and of capacious size. Occupying
the whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole
window — an immense sheet of unbroken glass from
Venice — a single pane, and tinted of a leaden hue, so
that the rays of either the sun or moon, passing through
it, fell with a ghastly lustre on the objects within. Over
the upper portion of this huge window, extended the
trellice-work of an aged vine, which clambered up the
massy walls of the turret. The ceiling, of gloomy-
looking oak, was excessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately

38
 fretted with the wildest and most grotesque specimens
of a semi-Gothic, semi-Druidical device. From out the
most central recess of this melancholy vaulting, depended,
by a single chain of gold with long links, a huge censer
of the same metal, Saracenic in pattern, and with many
perforations so contrived that there writhed in and out
of them, as if endued with a serpent vitality, a continual
succession of parti-colored fires.
Some few ottomans and golden candelabra, of Eastern
figure, were in various stations about — and there was the
couch, too — the bridal couch — of an Indian model, and
low, and sculptured of solid ebony, with a pall-like canopy
above. In each of the angles of the chamber stood on
end a gigantic sarcophagus of black granite, from the
tombs of the kings over against Luxor, with their aged
lids full of immemorial sculpture. But in the draping of
the apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy of all. The
lofty walls, gigantic in height — even unproportionably so
~ were hung from summit to foot, in vast folds, with a
heavy and massive-looking tapestry — tapestry of a mat-
erial which was found alike as a carpet on the floor, as a
covering for the ottomans and the ebony bed, as a canopy
for the bed, and as the gorgeous volutes of the curtains
~ which partially shaded the window. The material was the
richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irregular
intervals, with arabesque figures, about a foot in dia-
meter, and wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the most
jetty black. But these figures partook of the true charac-
ter of the arabesque only when regarded from a single
. point of view. By a contrivance now common, and indeed
traceable to a very remote period of antiquity, they were
made changeable in aspect. To one entering the room,

39
they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; but
upon a farther advance, this appearance gradually
departed; and step by step, as the visitor moved his station
in the chamber, he saw himself surrounded by an endless
succession of the ghastly forms which belong to the
superstition of the Norman, or arise in the guilty slumbers
of the monk. The phantasmagoric effect was vastly
heightened by the artificial introduction of a strong
continual current of wind behind the draperies — giving
a hideous and uneasy animation to the whole.
In halls such as these — in a bridal chamber such as
this — I passed, with the Lady of Tremaine, the unhal-
lowed hours of the first month of our marriage — passed
them with but little disquietude. That my wife dreaded
the fierce moodiness of my temper — that she shunned
me and loved me but little — I could not help perceiving;
but it gave me rather pleasure than otherwise. I loathed
her with a hatred belonging more to demon than to
man. My memory flew back, (oh, with what intensity
of regret!) to Ligeia, the beloved, the august, the beauti-
ful, the entombed. Irevelled in recollections of her purity,
of her wisdom, of her lofty, her ethereal nature, of her
passionate, her idolatrous love. Now, then, did my spirit
fully and freely burn with more than all the fires of her
own. In the excitement of my opium dreams (for I was
habitually fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would
call aloud upon her name, during the silence of the night,
or among the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as
if, through the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the
consuming ardor of my longing for the departed, I could
restore her to the pathway she had abandoned — ah, could
it be forever? — upon the earth.

4o
 About the commencement of the second month of
the marriage, the Lady Rowena was attacked with sudden
_ illness, from which her recovery was slow. The fever which
consumed her rendered her nights uneasy; and in her
perturbed state of half-slumber, she spoke of sounds, and
of motions, in and about the chamber of the turret, which
I concluded had no origin save in the distemper of her
fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric influences of the
chamber itself. She became at length convalescent — finally
well. Yet but a brief period elapsed, ere a second more
violent disorder again threw her upon a bed of suffering;
and from this attack her frame, at all times feeble, never
altogether recovered. Her illnesses were, after this epoch,
of alarming character, and of more alarming recurrence,
defying alike the knowledge and the great exertions of
her physicians. With the increase of the chronic disease
which had thus, apparently, taken too sure hold upon her
constitution to be eradicated by human means, I could
not fail to observe a similar increase in the nervous irrita-
tion of her temperament, and in her excitability by
trivial causes of fear. She spoke again, and now more
frequently and pertinaciously, of the sounds — of the slight
sounds — and of the unusual motions among the tap-
estries, to which she had formerly alluded.
One night, near the closing in of September, she pressed
this distressing subject with more than usual emphasis
upon my attention. She had just awakened from an
unquiet slumber, and I had been watching, with feelings
half of anxiety, half of vague terror, the workings of her
emaciated countenance. I sat by the side of her ebony
bed, upon one of the ottomans of India. She partly arose,
and spoke, in an earnest low whisper, of sounds which

4I
she then heard, but which I could not hear — of motions
which she then saw, but which I could not perceive. The
wind was rushing hurriedly behind the tapestries, and I
wished to show her (what, let me confess it, 1 could not
all believe) that those almost inarticulate breathings, and
those very gentle variations of the figures upon the wall,
were but the natural effects of that customary rushing of
the wind. But a deadly pallor, overspreading her face, had
proved to me that my exertions to reassure her would be
fruitless. She appeared to be fainting, and no attendants
were within call. I remembered where was deposited a
decanter of light wine which had been ordered by her
physicians, and hastened across the chamber to procure
it. But, as I stepped beneath the light of the censer, two
circumstances of a startling nature attracted my attention.
I had felt that some palpable although invisible object had
passed lightly by my person; and I saw that there lay upon
the golden carpet, in the very middle of the rich lustre
thrown from the censer, a shadow — a faint, indefinite
shadow of angelic aspect — such as might be fancied for
the shadow of a shade. But I was wild with the excitement
of an immoderate dose of opium, and heeded these things
but little, nor spoke of them to Rowena. Having found
the wine, I recrossed the chamber, and poured out a
gobletful, which I held to the lips of the fainting lady. She
had now partially recovered, however, and took the vessel
herself, while I sank upon an ottoman near me, with my
eyes fastened upon her person. It was then that I became
distinctly aware of a gentle foot-fall upon the carpet, and
near the couch; and in a second thereafter, as Rowena was
in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or may
have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if from

42
 some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three
or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby-colored fluid.
If this I saw — not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine
unhesitatingly, and I forbore to speak to her of a circum-
stance which must, after all, I considered, have been but
the suggestion of a vivid imagination, rendered morbidly
active by the terror of the lady, by the opium, and by the
hour.
Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception that,
immediately subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a
rapid change for the worse took place in the disorder of
my wife; so that, on the third subsequent night, the hands
of her menials prepared her for the tomb, and on the
fourth, I sat alone, with her shrouded body, in that fantas-
tic chamber which had received her as my bride. — Wild
visions, opium-engendered, flitted, shadow-like, before
me. I gazed with unquiet eye upon the sarcophagi in the
angles of the room, upon the varying figures of the
drapery, and upon the writhing of the parti-colored fires
in the censer overhead. My eyes then fell, as I called to
mind the circumstances of a former night, to the spot
- beneath the glare of the censer where I had seen the
faint traces of the shadow. It was there, however, no
longer; and breathing with greater freedom, I turned my
glances to the pallid and rigid figure upon the bed. Then
rushed upon me a thousand memories of Ligeia — and
then came back upon my heart, with the turbulent
violence of a flood, the whole of that unutterable woe
with which I had regarded her thus enshrouded. The
night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter
thoughts of the one only and supremely beloved, I
remained gazing upon the body of Rowena.

43
 It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or
later, for I had taken no note of time, when a sob, low,
gentle, but very distinct, startled me from my revery. — I
felt that it came from the bed of ebony — the bed of
death. I listened in an agony of superstitious terror — but
there was no repetition of the sound. I strained my vision
to detect any motion in the corpse — but there was not
the slightest perceptible. Yet I could not have been
deceived. I had heard the noise, however faint, and my
soul was awakened within me. I resolutely and persever-
ingly kept my attention riveted upon the body. Many
minutes elapsed before any circumstance occurred tend-
ing to throw light upon the mystery. At length it became
evident that a slight, a very feeble, and barely noticeable
tinge of color had flushed up within the cheeks, and
along the sunken small veins of the eyelids. Through a
species of unutterable horror and awe, for which the
language of mortality has no sufficiently energetic
expression, I felt my heart cease to beat, my limbs grow
rigid where I sat. Yet a sense of duty finally operated to
restore my self-possession. I could no longer doubt that
we had been precipitate in our preparations — that
Rowena still lived. It was necessary that some immediate
exertion be made; yet the turret was altogether apart
from the portion of the abbey tenanted by the servants
— there were none within call — I had no means of
summoning them to my aid without leaving the room
for many minutes — and this I could not venture to do.
I therefore struggled alone in my endeavors to call back
the spirit still hovering. In a short period it was certain,
however, that a relapse had taken place; the color disap-
peared from both eyelid and cheek, leaving a wanness

44
even more than that of marble; the lips became doubly
shrivelled and pinched up in the ghastly expression of
death; a repulsive clamminess and coldness overspread
rapidly the surface of the body; and all the usual rigor-
ous stiffness immediately supervened. | fell back with a
shudder upon the couch from which I had been so star-
tlingly aroused, and again gave myself up to passionate
waking visions of Ligeia.
An hour thus elapsed when (could it be possible?) I
was a second time aware of some vague sound issuing
from the region of the bed. I listened — in extremity of
horror. The sound came again — it was a sigh. Rushing
to the corpse, I saw — distinctly saw — a tremor upon the
lips. In a minute afterward they relaxed, disclosing a
bright line of the pearly teeth. Amazement now strug-
gled in my bosom with the profound awe which had
hitherto reigned there alone. I felt that my vision grew
dim, that my reason wandered; and it was only by a
violent effort that I at length succeeded in nerving myself
to the task which duty thus once more had pointed out.
There was now a partial glow upon the forehead and
upon the cheek and throat; a perceptible warmth
pervaded the whole frame; there was even a slight pulsa-
tion at the heart. The lady lived; and with redoubled
ardor I betook myself to the task of restoration. I chafed
and bathed the temples and the hands, and used every
exertion which experience, and no little medical reading,
could suggest. But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled, the
pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the expression of
the dead, and, in an instant afterward, the whole body
took upon itself the icy chilliness, the livid hue, the
intense rigidity, the sunken outline, and all the loathsome

45
peculiarities of that which has been, for many days, a
tenant of the tomb.
And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia — and again,
(what marvel that I shudder while I write?) again there
reached my ears a low sob from the region of the ebony
bed. But why shall I minutely detail the unspeakable
horrors of that night? Why shall I pause to relate how,
time after time, until near the period of the gray dawn,
this hideous drama of revification was repeated; how
each terrific relapse was only into a sterner and appar-
ently more irredeemable death; how each agony wore
the aspect of a struggle with some invisible foe; and how
each struggle was succeeded by I know not what of wild
change in the personal appearance of the corpse? Let
me hurry to a conclusion.
The greater part of the fearful night had worn away,
and she who had been dead, once again stirred — and
now more vigorously than hitherto, although arousing
from a dissolution more appalling in its utter hopeless-
ness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or to move,
and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a helpless
prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of which extreme
awe was perhaps the least terrible, the least consuming.
The corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously
than before. The hues of life flushed up with unwonted
energy into the countenance — the limbs relaxed — and,
save that the eyelids were yet pressed heavily together,
and that the bandages and draperies of the grave still
imparted their charnel character to the figure, I might
have dreamed that Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly,
the fetters of Death. But if this idea was not, even then,
altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer,

46
when, arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps,
with closed eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered
in a dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced
boldly and palpably into the middle of the apartment.
I trembled not — I stirred not — for a crowd of unut-
terable fancies connected with the air, the stature, the
demeanor of the figure, rushing hurriedly through my
brain, had paralysed — had chilled me into stone. I stirred
not — but gazed upon the apparition. There was a mad
disorder in my thoughts — a tumult unappeasable. Could
it, indeed, be the living Rowena who confronted me?
Could it indeed be Rowena at all — the fair-haired, the
blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? Why,
why should I doubt it? The bandage lay heavily about
the mouth — but then might it not be the mouth of the
breathing Lady of Tremaine? And the cheeks — there
were the roses as in her noon of life — yes, these might
indeed be the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine.
And the chin, with its dimples, as in health, might it not
be hers? — but had she then grown taller since her malady?
What inexpressible madness seized me with that thought?
One bound, and I had reached her feet! Shrinking from
my touch, she let fall from her head, unloosened, the
ghastly cerements which had confined it, and there
streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the cham-
ber, huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; it was
blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! And now
slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before
me. ‘Here then, at least,’ I shrieked aloud, ‘can I never
— can I never be mistaken — these are the full, and the
black, and the wild eyes — of my lost love — of the lady
— of the Lapy LicEIA.’

47
 The Oval Portrait

- The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make

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

48
 and the perusal of a small volume which had been found
upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and
describe them.
Long — long I read — and devoutly, devotedly I gazed.
Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by, and the deep
midnight came. The position of the candelabrum
displeased me, and outreaching my hand with difficulty,
rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so
as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.
But the action produced an effect altogether unan-
ticipated. The rays of the numerous candles (for there
were many) now fell within a niche of the room which
had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the
bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed
before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening
into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly,
and then closed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first
apparent even to my own perception. But while my lids
remained thus shut, I ran over in mind my reason for so
shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to gain
time for thought — to make sure that my vision had not
deceived me — to calm and subdue my fancy for a more
sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments |
again looked fixedly at the painting.
That I now saw aright I could not and would not
doubt; for the first flashing of the candles upon that
canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which
was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at once
into waking life.
The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young
girl. It was a mere head and shoulders, done in what is
technically termed a vignette manner; much in the style

49
of the favorite heads of Sully. The arms, the bosom and
even the ends of the radiant hair, melted imperceptibly
into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the back-
ground of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded
and filagreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could
be more admirable than the painting itself. But it could
have been neither the execution of the work, nor the
immortal beauty of the countenance, which had so
suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least of all,
could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half
slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living
person. I saw at once that the peculiarities of the design,
of the vignetting, and of the frame, must have instantly
dispelled such idea — must have prevented even its
momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon
these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting,
half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait.
At length, satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell
back within the bed. I had found the spell of the picture
in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which at first
startling, finally confounded, subdued and appalled me.
With deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum
in its former position. The cause of my deep agitation
being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume
which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning
to the number which designated the oval portrait, I there
read the vague and quaint words which follow:
‘She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more
lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour when she
saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate,
studious, austere, and having already a bride in his Art;
she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than

50
full of glee: all light and smiles, and frolicksome as the
young fawn: loving and cherishing all things: hating only
the Art which was her rival: dreading only the pallet and
brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived
her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terri-
ble thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his
desire to pourtray even his young bride. But she was
humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks
in the dark high turret-chamber where the light dripped
upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the
painter, took glory in his work, which went on from
hour to hour and from day to day. And he was a passion-
ate, and wild and moody man, who became lost in
reveries; so that he would not see that the light which
fell so ghastlily in that lone turret withered the health
and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all but
him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, —
because she saw that the painter, (who had high renown),
took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and
wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him,
yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in
sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resem-
blance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof
not less of the power of the painter than of his deep
love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But
at length, as the labor drew nearer to its conclusion,
there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter
had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned
his eyes from the canvas rarely, even to regard the coun-
tenance of his wife. And he would not see that the tints
which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the
cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many

5I
weeks had passed, and but little remained to do, save
one brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye,
the spirit of the lady again flickered up as the flame
within the socket of the lamp. And then the brush was
given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one moment,
the painter stood entranced before the work which he ©
had wrought; but in the next, while he yet gazed, he
grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying
with a loud voice, “This is indeed Life itself!” turned
suddenly to regard his beloved: — She was dead!
 Eleonora

Sub conservatione formae specifice salva anima.'

RAYMOND LULLY

Iam come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor

of passion. Men have called me mad; but the question
is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the
loftiest intelligence — whether much that is glorious —
whether all that is profound — does not spring from
disease of thought — from moods of mind exalted at the
expense of the general intellect. They who dream by
day are cognizant of many things which escape those
who dream only by night. In their gray visions they
obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awaking, to
find that they have been upon the verge of the great
secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom
which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge
which is of evil. They penetrate, however rudderless or
compassless, into the vast ocean of the ‘light ineffable’
and again, like the adventurers of the Nubian geogra-
pher, ‘agressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset
exploraturi.”*
We will say, then, that I am mad. I grant, at least, that
there are two distinct conditions of my mental existence
«*The soul is saved by the preservation of the specific form’
> "They faced a sea of shadows with the idea of exploring what it contained’

53
— the condition of a lucid reason, not to be disputed, and
belonging to the memory of events forming the first epoch
of my life — and a condition of shadow and doubt, apper-
taining to the present, and to the recollection of what
constitutes the second great era of my being. Therefore,
what I shall tell of the earlier period, believe; and to what
I may relate of the later time, give only such credit as may
seem due; or doubt it altogether; or, if doubt it ye cannot,
then play unto its riddle the Oedipus.
She whom I loved in youth, and of whom. I now pen
calmly and distinctly these rememberances, was the sole
daughter of the only sister of my mother long departed.
Eleonora was the name of my cousin. We had always
dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley
of the Many-Colored Grass. No unguided footstep ever
came upon that vale; for it lay far away up among a
range of giant hills that hung beetling around about it,
shutting out the sunlight from its sweetest recesses. No
path was trodden in its vicinity; and, to reach our happy
home, there was need of putting back, with force, the
foliage of many thousands of forest trees, and of crush-
ing to death the glories of many millions of fragrant
flowers. Thus it was that we lived all alone, knowing
nothing of the world without the valley, — I, and my
cousin, and her mother.
From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the
upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a
narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of
Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses,
it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among
hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued. We
called it the ‘River of Silence;’ for there seemed to be a

54
 hushing influence in its flow. No murmur arose from its
bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles
upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom,
stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in
its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.
The margin of the river, and of the many dazzling
rivulets that glided, through devious ways, into its channel,
as well as the spaces that extended from the margins away
down into the depths of the streams until they reached
the bed of pebbles at the bottom, — these spots, not less
than the whole surface of the valley, from the river to the
mountains that girdled it in, were carpeted all by a soft
green grass, thick, short, perfectly even, and vanilla-
perfumed, but so besprinkled throughout with the yellow
_ buttercup, the white daisy, the purple violet, and the ruby-
red asphodel, that its exceeding beauty spoke to our hearts,
in loud tones, of the love and of the glory of God.
And, here and there, in groves about this grass, like
wildernesses of dreams, sprang up fantastic trees, whose
tall slender stems stood not upright, but slanted grace-
fully towards the light that peered at noon-day into the
centre of the valley. Their bark was speckled with the
vivid alternate splendor of ebony and silver, and was
smoother than all save the cheeks of Eleonora; so that
but for the brilliant green of the huge leaves that spread
from their summits in long tremulous lines, dallying with
the Zephyrs, one might have fancied them giant serpents
of Syria doing homage to their Sovereign the Sun.
Hand in hand about this valley, for fifteen years, roamed
I with Eleonora before Love entered within our hearts. It
was one evening at the close of the third lustrum of her
life, and of the fourth of my own, that we sat, locked in

55
each other’s embrace, beneath the serpent-like trees, and
looked down within the waters of the River of Silence at
our images therein. We spoke no words during the rest of
that sweet day; and our words even upon the morrow were
tremulous and few. We had drawn the god Eros from that
wave, and now we felt that he had enkindled within us
the fiery souls of our forefathers. The passions which had
for centuries distinguished our race, came thronging with
the fancies for which they had been equally noted, and
together breathed a delirious bliss over the Valley of the
Many-Colored Grass. A change fell upon all things. Strange
brilliant flowers, star-shaped, burst out upon the trees
where no flowers had been known before. The tints of the
green carpet deepened; and when, one by one, the white
daisies shrank away, there sprang up, in place of them, ten
by ten of the ruby-red asphodel. And life arose in our paths;
for the tall flamingo, hitherto unseen, with all gay glowing
birds, flaunted his scarlet plumage before us. The golden
and silver fish haunted the river, out of the bosom of which
issued, little by little, a murmur that swelled, at length,
into a lulling melody more divine than that of the harp of
AEolus — sweeter than:all save the voice of Eleonora. And
now, too, a voluminous cloud, which we had long watched
in the regions of Hesper, floated out thence, all gorgeous
in crimson and gold, and settling in peace above us, sank,
day by day, lower and lower, until its edges rested upon
the tops of the mountains, turning all their dimness into
magnificence, and shutting us up, as if forever, within a
magic prison-house of grandeur and of glory.
The loveliness of Eleonora was that of the Seraphim;
but she was a maiden artless and innocent as the brief life
she had led among the flowers. No guile disguised the

56
 fervor of love which animated her heart, and she examined
with me its inmost recesses as we walked together in the
_ Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, and discoursed of the
mighty changes which had lately taken place therein.
At length, having spoken one day, in tears, of the last
sad change which must befall Humanity, she thence
forward dwelt only upon this one sorrowful theme, inter-
weaving it into all our converse, as, in the songs of the
bard of Schiraz, the same images are found occurring,
again and again, in every impressive variation of phrase.
She had seen that the finger of Death was upon her
bosom -— that, like the ephemeron, she had been made
perfect in loveliness only to die; but the terrors of the
grave, to her, lay solely in a consideration which she
revealed to me, one evening at twilight, by the banks of
the River of Silence. She grieved to think that, having
entombed her in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.
I would quit forever its happy recesses, transferring the
love which now was so passionately her own to some
maiden of the outer and everyday world. And, then and
there, I threw myself hurriedly at the feet of Eleonora,
and offered up a vow, to herself and to Heaven, that I
would never bind myself in marriage to any daughter
of Earth — that I would in no manner prove recreant to
her dear memory, or to the memory of the devout affec-
tion with which she had blessed me. And I called the
Mighty Ruler of the Universe to witness the pious solem-
nity of my vow. And the curse which I invoked of Him
and of her, a saint in Helusion, should I prove traitorous
to that promise, involved a penalty the exceeding great
horror of which will not permit me to make record of
it here.-And the bright eyes of Eleonora grew brighter

57
at my words; and she sighed as if a deadly burthen had
been taken from her breast; and she trembled and very
bitterly wept; but she made acceptance of the vow, (for
what was she but a child?) and it made easy to her the
bed of her death. And she said to me, not many days
afterwards, tranquilly dying, that, because of what I had
done for the comfort of her spirit, she would watch over
me in that spirit when departed, and, if so it were permit-
ted her, return to me visibly in the watches of the night;
but, if this thing were, indeed, beyond the power of the
souls in Paradise, that she would, at least, give me
frequent indications of her presence; sighing upon me
in the evening winds, or filling the air which I breathed
with perfume from the censers of the angels. And, with
these words upon her lips, she yielded up her innocent
life, putting an end to the first epoch of my own.
Thus far I have faithfully said. But as I pass the barrier
in Time’s path formed by the death of my beloved, and
proceed with the second era of my existence, I feel that a
shadow gathers over my brain, and I mistrust the perfect
sanity of the record. But let me on. — Years dragged them-
selves along heavily, and still I dwelled within the Valley
of the Many-Colored Grass; — but a second change had
come upon all things. The star-shaped flowers shrank into
the stems of the trees, and appeared no more. The tints
of the green carpet faded; and, one by one, the ruby-red
asphodels withered away; and there sprang up, in place of
them, ten by ten, dark eye-like violets that writhed uneas-
ily and were ever encumbered with dew. And Life departed
from our paths; for the tall flamingo flaunted no longer
his scarlet plumage before us, but flew sadly from the vale
into the hills, with all the gay glowing birds that had arrived

58
in his company. And the golden and silver fish swam down
through the gorge at the lower end of our domain and
bedecked the sweet river never again. And the lulling
melody that had been softer than the wind-harp of Aolus
and more divine than all save the voice of Eleonora, it died
little by little away, in murmurs growing lower and lower,
until the stream returned, at length, utterly, into the solem-
nity of its original silence. And then, lastly the voluminous
cloud uprose, and, abandoning the tops of the mountains
to the dimness of old, fell back into the regions of Hesper,
and took away all its manifold golden and gorgeous glories
from the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.
Yet the promises of Eleonora were not forgotten; for
I heard the sounds of the swinging of the censers of the
angels; and streams of a holy perfume floated ever and
ever about the valley; and at lone hours, when my heart
beat heavily, the winds that bathed my brow came unto
me laden with soft sighs; and indistinct murmurs filled
often the night air; and once — oh, but once only! I was
awakened from a slumber like the slumber of death by
the pressing of spiritual lips upon my own.
But the void within my heart refused, even thus, to
be filled. I longed for the love which had before filled it
to overflowing. At length the valley pained me through
its memories of Eleonora, and I left it forever for the
vanities and the turbulent triumphs of the world.

I found myself within a strange city, where all things

might have served to blot from recollection the sweet
dreams I had dreamed so long in the Valley of the Many-
Colored Grass. The pomps and pageantries of a stately
court, and the mad clangor of arms, and the radiant

59
loveliness of woman, bewildered and intoxicated my
brain. But as yet my soul had proved true to its vows,
and the indications of the presence of Eleonora were
still given me in the silent hours of the night. Suddenly,
these manifestations they ceased; and the world grew
dark before mine eyes; and I stood aghast at the burning
thoughts which possessed — at the terrible temptations
which beset me; for there came from some far, far distant
and unknown land, into the gay court of the king I
served, a maiden to whose beauty my whole recreant
heart yielded at once — at whose footstool I bowed down
without a struggle, in the most ardent, in the most abject
worship of love. What indeed was my passion for the
young girl of the valley in comparison with the fervor,
and the delirium, and the spirit-lifting ecstasy of adora-
tion with which I poured out my whole soul in tears at
the feet of the ethereal Ermengarde? — Oh bright was
the seraph Ermengarde! and in that knowledge I had
room for none other. — Oh divine was the angel Ermen-
garde! and as I looked down into the depths of her
memorial eyes I thought only of them — and of her.
I wedded; — nor dreaded the curse I had invoked; and
its bitterness was not visited upon me. And once — but
once again in the silence of the night, there came through
my lattice the soft sighs which had forsaken me; and
they modelled themselves into familiar and sweet voice,
saying: :
‘Sleep in peace! — for the Spirit of Love reigneth and
ruleth, and, in taking to thy passionate heart her who is
Ermengarde, thou art absolved, for reasons which shall
be made known to thee in Heaven, of thy vows unto
Eleonora.’

60
 The Masque of the Red Death

The “Red Death’ had long devastated the country. No

pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood
was its Avatar and its seal — the redness and the horror
of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness,
and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution.
The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the
face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him
out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-
men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination
of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and
sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated,
he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-
hearted friends from among the knights and dames of
his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion
of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive
and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s
own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall
girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers,
having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers
and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means >
neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of
despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply
provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might
bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take
care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or

61
to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of
pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori,
there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there
was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were
within. Without was the ‘Red Death.’
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of
his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furi-
ously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his
thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual
magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first
let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were
seven — an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such
suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding
doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that
the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here
the case was very different; as might have been expected
from the duke’s love of the bizarre. 'The apartments were
so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little
more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every
twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To
the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and
narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor
which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows
were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance
with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber
into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was
hung, for example, in blue — and vividly blue were its
windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments
and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third
was green throughout, and so were the casements. The
fourth was furnished and lighted with orange — the fifth

62
 with white — the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment
was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung
all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy
folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in
this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to
correspond with the decorations. The panes here were
scarlet — a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven
_ apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the
profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and
fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any
kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of
chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite,
there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod,
bearing a brazier of fire that projected its rays through the
tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus
were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appear-
ances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of
the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through
the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and
produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those
who entered, that there were few of the company bold
enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against
the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum
swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang;
and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face,
and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the
brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and
loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so pecu-
liar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour,
the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause,
momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the

63
sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolu-
tions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay
company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang,
it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more
aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as
if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes
had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the
assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled
as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whis-
pering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of
the clock should produce in them no similar emotion;
and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace
three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time
that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock,
and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness
and meditation as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magni-
ficent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He
had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the
decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery,
and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There
are some who would have thought him mad. His follow-
ers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see
and touch him to be sure that he was not.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellish-
ments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great
fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given
character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque.
There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phan-
tasm — much of what has been since seen in “Hernani.’
There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and
appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the

64
madman fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much
of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the
terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited
disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in
fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the dreams —
writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and
causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the
echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony
clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for
a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the
clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the
echoes of the chime die away — they have endured but an
instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them
as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the
dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever,
taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which
stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which
lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of
the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away;
and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored
panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and
to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes
from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly
emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge
in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded, and
in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel
went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the
sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music
ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers
were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all
things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to

65
be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened,
perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time,
into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who
revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before
the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into
silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who
had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a
masked figure which had arrested the attention of no
single individual before. And the rumor of this new pres-
ence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose
at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur,
expressive of disapprobation and surprise — then, finally,
of terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted it,
it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could
have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade
license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure
in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond
the bounds of even the prince’s indefinite decorum. There
are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot
be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost,
to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters
of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed,
seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bear-
ing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The
figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot
in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed
the visage was made so nearly to resemble the counte-
nance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must
have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this
might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad
revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to

66
assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled
in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the
face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spec-
tral image (which with a slow and solemn movement,
as if more fully to sustain its réle, stalked to and fro
among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the
first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or
distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
“Who dares?’ he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers
who stood near him — ‘who dares insult us with this
blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him — that
we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from
the battlements!’
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood
the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They
rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly — for
the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music
had become hushed at the waving of his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with
a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke,
there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the
direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also
near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step,
made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain
nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the
mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found
none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded,
he passed within a yard of the prince’s person; and, while
the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the
centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way unin-
terruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step

67
which had distinguished him from the first, through the
blue chamber to the purple — through the purple to the
green — through the green to the orange — through this
again to the white — and even thence to the violet, ere a
decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was
then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with
rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice,
rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none
followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized
upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached,
in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the
retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the
extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and
confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry — and the
dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon
which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the
Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of
despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves
into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose
tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow
of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding
the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they
handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any
tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red
Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one
by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls
of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture
of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with
that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods
expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death
held illimitable dominion over all.

68
 The Pit and the Pendulum

Impia tortorum longos hic turba furores

Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit.
Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro,
Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent.’

I was sick — sick unto death with that long agony; and
when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted
to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence
— the dread sentence of death — was the last of distinct
accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the sound
of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy
indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea of
revolution — perhaps from its association in fancy with the
burr of a mill-wheel. This only for a brief period: for
presently I heard no more. Yet, for a while, I saw; but with
how terrible an exaggeration! I saw the lips of the black-
robed judges. They appeared to me white — whiter than
the sheet upon which I trace these words — and thin even
to grotesqueness: thin with the intensity of their expres-
sion of firmness — of immoveable resolution — of stern
contempt of human torture. I saw that the decrees of
what to me was Fate, were still issuing from those lips. I
"The unholy gang of torturers fed its long furies from the blood of the
innocent and was not satisfied. Now that the fatherland is safe, the cave of
death is broken; where terrible death was, life and health appear.’

69
 saw them writhe with a deadly locution. I saw them fash-
ion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered because
no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of
delirious horror, the soft and nearly imperceptible waving
of the sable draperies which enwrapped the walls of the
apartment. And then my vision fell upon the seven tall
candles upon the table. At first they wore the aspect of
charity, and seemed white slender angels who would save
me; but then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea
over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in my frame thrill as
if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, while the
angel forms became meaningless spectres, with heads of
flame, and I saw that from them there would be no help.
And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical
note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the
grave. The thought came gently and stealthily, and it
seemed long before it attained full appreciation; but just
as my spirit came at length properly to feel and entertain
it, the figures of the judges vanished, as if magically, from
before me; the tall candles sank into nothingness; their
flames went out utterly; the blackness of darkness super-
vened; all sensations appeared swallowed up in a mad
rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. Then silence,
and stillness, and night were the universe.
Thad swooned but still will not say that all of conscious-
ness was lost. What of it there remained I will not attempt
to define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost. In the
deepest slumber — no! In delirium — no! In a swoon — no!
In death — no! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there
_ is no immortality for man. Arousing from the most
profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of
some dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may that

70
web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.
In the return to life from the swoon there are two stages;
first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual; secondly,
that of the sense of physical, existence. It seems probable
that if, upon reaching the second stage, we could recall
the impressions of the first, we should find these impres-
sions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond. And that
gulf is — what? How at least shall we distinguish its
shadows from those of the tomb? But if the impressions
of what I have termed the first stage, are not, at will,
recalled, yet, after long interval, do they not come unbid-
den, while we marvel whence they come? He who has
never swooned, is not he who finds strange palaces and
wildly familiar faces in coals that glow; is not he who
beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions that the many
may not view; is not he who ponders over the perfume
of some novel flower — is not he whose brain grows
bewildered with the meaning of some musical cadence
which has never before arrested his attention.
Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to remember;
amid earnest struggles to regather some token of the state
of seeming nothingness into which my soul had lapsed,
there have been moments when I have dreamed of success;
there have been brief, very brief periods when I have
conjured up remembrances which the lucid reason of a
later epoch assures me could have had reference only to
that condition of seeming unconsciousness. These
shadows of memory tell, indistinctly, of tall figures that
lifted and bore me in silence down — down -— still down
— till a hideous dizziness oppressed me at the mere idea
of the interminableness of the descent. They tell also of
a vague horror at my heart, on account of that heart's

71
unnatural stillness. Then comes a sense of sudden motion-
lessness throughout all things; as if those who bore me
(a ghastly train!) had outrun, in their descent, the limits
of the limitless, and paused from the wearisomeness of
their toil. After this I call to mind flatness and dampness;
and then all is madness — the madness of a memory which
busies itself among forbidden things.
Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and
sound — the tumultuous motion of the heart, and, in my
ears, the sound of its beating. Then a pause in which all
is blank. Then again sound, and motion, and touch — a
tingling sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere ~
consciousness of existence, without thought — a condition
which lasted long. Then, very suddenly, thought, and shud-
dering terror, and earnest endeavor to comprehend my
true state. Then a strong desire to lapse into insensibility.
Then a rushing revival of soul and a successful effort to
move. And now a full memory of the trial, of the judges,
of the sable draperies, of the sentence, of the sickness,
of the swoon. Then entire forgetfulness of all that
followed; of all that a later day and much earnestness of
endeavor have enabled me vaguely to recall.
So far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I lay upon
my back, unbound. I reached out my hand, and it fell
heavily upon something damp and hard. There I suffered
it to remain for many minutes, while I strove to imagine
where and what I could be. I longed, yet dared not to
employ my vision. I dreaded the first glance at objects
around me. It was not that I feared to look upon things
horrible, but that I grew aghast lest there should be noth-
ing to see. At length, with a wild desperation at heart, I
quickly unclosed my eyes. My worst thoughts, then, were

72
 confirmed. The blackness of eternal night encompassed
me. I struggled for breath. The intensity of the darkness
seemed to oppress and stifle me. The atmosphere was
intolerably close. I still lay quietly, and made effort to
exercise my reason. I brought to mind the inquisitorial
proceedings, and attempted from that point to deduce my
real condition. The sentence had passed; and it appeared
to me that a very long interval of time had since elapsed.
Yet not for a moment did I suppose myself actually dead.
Such a supposition, notwithstanding what we read in
fiction, is altogether inconsistent with real existence; — but
where and in what state was I? The condemned to death,
I knew, perished usually at the autos-da-fé, and one of these
had been held on the very night of the day of my trial.
Had I been remanded to my dungeon, to await the next
sacrifice, which would not take place for many months?
This I at once saw could not be. Victims had been in
_ immediate demand. Moreover, my dungeon, as well as all
the condemned cells at Toledo, had stone floors, and light
was not altogether excluded. —
A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in
torrents upon my heart, and for a brief period, I once
more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recovering, I at
once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in every
fibre. I thrust my arms wildly above and around me in
all directions. I felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step,
lest I should be impeded by the walls of a tomb. Perspir-
ation burst from every pore, and stood in cold big beads
upon my forehead. The agony of suspense grew at length
intolerable, and I cautiously moved forward, with my
arms extended, and my eyes straining from their sockets,
in the hope of catching some faint ray of light. I

73
proceeded for many paces; but'still all was blackness and
vacancy. I breathed more freely. It seemed evident that
mine was not, at least, the most hideous of fates.
And now, as I still continued to step cautiously onward,
there came thronging upon my recollection a thousand
vague rumors of the horrors of Toledo. Of the dungeons
there had been strange things narrated — fables I had always
deemed them — but yet strange, and too ghastly to repeat,
save in a whisper. Was I left to perish of starvation in this
subterranean world of darkness; or what fate, perhaps even
more fearful, awaited me? That the result would be death,
and a death of more than customary bitterness, I knew
too well the character of my judges to doubt. The mode
and the hour were all that occupied or distracted me.
My outstretched hands at length encountered some
solid obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly of stone
masonry — very smooth, slimy, and cold. I followed it up;
stepping with all the careful distrust with which certain ©
antique narratives had inspired me. This process, however,
afforded me no means of ascertaining the dimensions of
my dungeon; as I might make its circuit, and return to
the point whence I set out, without being aware of the
fact; so perfectly uniform seemed the wall. I therefore
sought the knife which had been in my pocket, when led
into the inquisitorial chamber; but it was gone; my clothes
had been exchanged for a wrapper of coarse serge. I had
thought of forcing the blade in some minute crevice of
the masonry, so as to identify my point of departure. The
difficulty, nevertheless, was but trivial; although, in the
disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first insuperable. I tore
a part of the hem from the robe and placed the fragment
at full length, and at right angles to the wall. In groping

74
my way around the prison, I could not fail to encounter
this rag upon completing the circuit. So, at least I thought:
but I had not counted upon the extent of the dungeon,
or upon my own weakness. The ground was moist and
slippery. I staggered onward for some time, when I stum-
bled and fell. My excessive fatigue induced me to remain
prostrate; and sleep soon overtook me as I lay.
Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found
beside me a loaf and a pitcher with water. I was too
much exhausted to reflect upon this circumstance, but
ate and drank with avidity. Shortly afterward, I resumed
my tour around the prison, and with much toil, came
at last upon the fragment of the serge. Up to the period
when I fell I had counted fifty-two paces, and upon
resuming my walk, I had counted forty-eight more; —
when I arrived at the rag. There were in all, then, a
hundred paces; and, admitting two paces to the yard, I
presumed the dungeon to be fifty yards in circuit. I had
met, however, with many angles in the wall, and thus I
could form no guess at the shape of the vault, for vault
I could not help supposing it to be.
I had little object’ — certainly no hope — in these
researches; but a vague curiosity prompted me to continue
them. Quitting the wall, I resolved to cross the area of
the enclosure. At first I proceeded with extreme caution,
for the floor, although seemingly of solid material, was
treacherous with slime. At length, however, I took cour-
age, and did not hesitate to step firmly; endeavoring to
cross in as direct a line as possible. I had advanced some
ten or twelve paces in this manner, when the remnant
of the torn hem of my robe became entangled between
my legs. I stepped on it, and fell violently on my face.

75
 In the confusion attending my fall, I did not immedi-
ately apprehend a somewhat startling circumstance,
which yet, in a few seconds afterward, and while I still
lay prostrate, arrested my attention. It was this - my
chin rested upon the floor of the prison, but my lips and
the upper portion of my head, although seemingly at a
less elevation than the chin, touched nothing. At the
same time my forehead seemed bathed in a clammy
vapor, and the peculiar smell of decayed fungus arose
to my nostrils. I put forward my arm, and shuddered to
find that I had fallen at the very brink of a circular pit,
whose extent, of course, I had no means of ascertaining
at the moment. Groping about the masonry just below
the margin, I succeeded in dislodging a small fragment,
and let it fall into the abyss. For many seconds I heark-
ened to its reverberations as it dashed against the sides
of the chasm in its descent; at length there was a sullen
plunge into water, succeeded by loud echoes. At the
same moment there came a sound resembling the quick
opening, and as rapid closing of a door overhead, while
a faint gleam of light flashed suddenly through the
gloom, and as suddenly faded away.
I saw clearly the doom which had been prepared for
me, and congratulated myself upon the timely accident
by which I had escaped. Another step before my fall, and
‘the world had seen me no more. And the death just
avoided, was of that very character which I had regarded
as fabulous and frivolous in the tales respecting the Inqui-
sition. To the victims of its tyranny, there was the choice
of death with its direst physical agonies, or death with
its most hideous moral horrors. I had been reserved for
the latter. By long suffering my nerves had been unstrung,

76
 until I trembled at the sound of my own voice, and had
become in every respect a fitting subject for the species
of torture which awaited me.
Shaking in every limb, I groped my way back to the
wall; resolving there to perish rather than risk the terrors
of the wells, of which my imagination now pictured
many in various positions about the dungeon. In other
conditions of mind I might have had courage to end my
misery at once by a plunge into one of these abysses;
but now I was the veriest of cowards. Neither could I
forget what I had read of these pits — that the sudden
extinction of life formed no part of their most horrible
plan.
Agitation of spirit kept me awake for many long hours;
’ but at length I again slumbered. Upon arousing, I found
by my side, as before, a loaf and a pitcher of water. A
burning thirst consumed me, and I emptied the vessel
at a draught. It must have been drugged; for scarcely
had I drunk, before I became irresistibly drowsy. A deep
sleep fell upon me —a sleep like that of death. How long
it lasted of course, I know not; but when, once again, I
unclosed my eyes, the objects around me were visible.
By a wild sulphurous lustre, the origin of which I could
not at first determine, I was enabled to see the extent
and aspect of the prison.
In its size I had been greatly mistaken. The whole
circuit of its walls did not exceed twenty-five yards. For
some minutes this fact occasioned me a world of vain
trouble; vain indeed! for what could be of less impor-'
tance, under the terrible circumstances which environed
me, than the mere dimensions of my dungeon? But my
soul took a wild interest in trifles, and I busied myself

77
in endeavors to account for the error I had committed
in my measurement. The truth at length flashed upon
me. In my first attempt at exploration I had counted
fifty-two paces, up to the period when I fell; I must then
have been within a pace or two of the fragment of serge;
in fact, I had nearly performed the circuit of the vault.
I then slept, and upon awaking, I must have returned
upon my steps — thus supposing the circuit nearly double
what it actually was. My confusion of mind prevented
me from observing that I began my tour with the wall
to the left, and ended it with the wall to the right.
I had been deceived, too, in respect to the shape of
the enclosure. In feeling my way I had found many
angles, and thus deduced an idea of great irregularity;
so potent is the effect of total darkness upon one arous-
ing from lethargy or sleep! The angles were simply those
of a few slight depressions, or niches, at odd intervals.
The general shape of the prison was square. What I had
taken for masonry seemed now to be iron, or some other
metal, in huge plates, whose sutures or joints occasioned
the depression. The entire surface of this metallic enclo-
sure was rudely daubed in all the hideous and repulsive
devices to which the charnel superstition of the monks
has given rise. The figures of fiends in aspects of menace,
with skeleton forms, and other more really fearful
images, overspread and disfigured the walls. I observed
that the outlines of these monstrosities were sufficiently
distinct, but that the colors seemed faded and blurred,
as if from the effects of a damp atmosphere. I now
noticed the floor, too, which was of stone. In the centre
yawned the circular pit from whose jaws I had escaped;
but it was the only one in the dungeon.

78
 All this I saw indistinctly and by much effort: for my
personal condition had been greatly changed during
slumber. I now lay upon my back, and at full length, on
a species of low framework of wood. To this I was
securely bound by a long strap resembling a surcingle.
It passed in many convolutions about my limbs and body,
leaving at liberty only my head, and my left arm to such
extent that I could, by dint of much exertion, supply
myself with food from an earthen dish which lay by my
side on the floor. I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher
had been removed. I say to my horror; for I was
consumed with intolerable thirst. This thirst it appeared
to be the design of my persecutors to stimulate: for the
food in the dish was meat pungently seasoned.
Looking upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my prison.
It was some thirty or forty feet overhead, and constructed
much as the side walls. In one of its panels a very singu-
lar figure riveted my whole attention. It was the painted
figure of Time as he is commonly represented, save that,
in lieu of a scythe, he held what, at a casual glance, I
supposed to be the pictured image of a huge pendulum
such as we see on antique clocks. There was something,
however, in the appearance of this machine which caused
me to regard it more attentively. While I gazed directly
upward at it (for its position was immediately over my
own) I fancied that I saw it in motion. In an instant
afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its sweep was brief,
and of course slow. I watched it for some minutes, some-
what in fear, but more in wonder. Wearied at length with
observing its dull movement, I turned my eyes upon the
other objects in the cell.
A slight noise attracted my notice, and, looking to

79
the floor, I saw several enormous rats traversing it. They
had issued from the well, which lay just within view to
my right. Even then, while I gazed, they came up in
troops, hurriedly, with ravenous eyes, allured by the scent
of the meat. From this it required much effort and atten-
tion to scare them away.
It might have been half an hour, perhaps even an hour,
(for I could take but imperfect note of time) before I
again cast my eyes upward. What I then saw confounded
and amazed me. The sweep of the pendulum had
increased in extent by nearly a yard. As a natural conse-
quence, its velocity was also much greater. But what
mainly disturbed me was the idea that it had perceptibly
descended. I now observed — with what horror it is need-
less to say — that its nether extremity was formed of a
crescent of glittering steel, about a foot in length from
horn to horn; the horns upward, and the under edge
evidently as keen as that of a razor. Like a razor also, it
seemed massy and heavy, tapering from the edge into a
solid and broad structure above. It was appended to a
weighty rod of brass, and the whole hissed as it swung
through the air.
I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me
by monkish ingenuity in torture. My cognizance of the
pit had become known to the inquisitorial agents — the
pit whose horrors had-been destined for so bold a recu-
sant as myself — the pit, typical of Hell, and regarded by
rumor as the Ultima Thule of all their punishments. The’
plunge into this pit I had avoided by the merest of acci-
dents, and I knew that surprise, or entrapment into
torment, formed an important portion of all the grotes-
querie of these dungeon deaths. Having failed to fall, it

80
 nt

was no part of the demon plan to hurl me into the abyss;

and thus (there being no alternative) a different and a
milder destruction awaited me. Milder! I half smiled in
my agony as I thought of such application of such a
term.
What boots it to tell of the long, long hours of horror
more than mortal, during which I counted the rushing
vibrations of the steel! Inch by inch — line by line — with
a descent only appreciable at intervals that seemed ages
— down and still down it came! Days passed — it might
have been that many days passed — ere it swept so closely
over me as to fan me with its acrid breath. The odor of
the sharp steel forced itself into my nostrils. I prayed — I
wearied Heaven with my prayer for its more speedy
descent. I grew frantically mad, and struggled to force
myself upward against the sweep of the fearful scimitar.
And then I fell suddenly calm, and lay smiling at the
glittering death, as a child at some rare bauble.
There was another interval of ‘utter insensibility; it
was brief; for, upon again lapsing into life there had been
no perceptible descent in the pendulum. But it might
have been long; for I knew there were demons who took
note of my swoon, and who could have arrested the
vibration at pleasure. Upon my recovery, too, I felt very
— oh, inexpressibly sick and weak, as if through long
inanition. Even amid the agonies of that period, the
human nature craved food. With painful effort I
outstretched my left arm as far as my bonds permitted,
and took possession of the small remnant which had
been spared me by the rats. As I put a portion of it
within my lips, there rushed to my mind a half formed
thought of joy — of hope. Yet what business had I with

81
hope? It was, as I say, a half formed thought — man has
many such which are never completed. I felt that it was
of joy — of hope; but I felt also that it had perished in
its formation. In vain I struggled to perfect — to regain
it. Long suffering had nearly annihilated all my ordinary
powers of mind. I was an imbecile — an idiot.
The vibration of the pendulum was at right angles to
my length. I saw that the crescent was designed to cross
the region of the heart. It would fray the serge of my
robe — it would return and repeat its operations — again
— and again. Notwithstanding its terrifically wide sweep
(some thirty feet or more) and the hissing vigor of its
descent, sufficient to sunder these very walls of iron, still
the fraying of my robe would be all that, for several
minutes, it would accomplish. And at this thought I
paused. I dared not go farther than this reflection. I dwelt
upon it with a pertinacity of attention — as if, in so dwell-
ing, I could arrest here the descent of the steel. I forced
myself to ponder upon the sound of the crescent as it
should pass across the garment — upon the peculiar thrill-
ing sensation which the friction of cloth produces on
the nerves. I pondered upon all this frivolity until my
teeth were on edge. —
Down — steadily down it crept. I took a frenzied pleas-
ure in contrasting its downward with its lateral velocity.
To the right — to the left — far and wide — with the shriek
of a damned spirit; to my heart with the stealthy pace of
the tiger! I alternately laughed and howled as the one
or the other idea grew predominant.
Down — certainly, relentlessly down! It vibrated-within
three inches of my bosom! I struggled violently, furiously,
to free my left arm. This was free only from the elbow

82,
to the hand. I could reach the latter, from the platter
beside me, to my mouth, with great effort, but no farther.
Could I have broken the fastenings above the elbow, I
would have seized and attempted to arrest the pendulum.
I might as well have attempted to arrest an avalanche!
Down - still unceasingly — still inevitably down! I
gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrunk convul-
sively at its every sweep. My eyes followed its outward
or upward whirls with the eagerness of the most
unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodic-
ally at the descent, although death would have been a
relief, oh! how unspeakable! Still I quivered in every nerve
to think how slight a sinking of the machinery would
precipitate that keen, glistening axe upon my bosom. It
was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver — the frame
to shrink. It was hope — the hope that triumphs on the
rack — that whispers to the death-condemned even in the
dungeons of the Inquisition.
I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would bring
the steel in actual contact with my robe, and with this
observation there suddenly came over my spirit all the
keen, collected calmness of despair. For the first time
during many hours — or perhaps days — I thought. It now
occurred to me that the bandage, or surcingle, which
enveloped me, was unique. I was tied by no separate cord.
The first stroke of the razor-like crescent athwart any
portion of the band, would so detach it that it might be
unwound from my person by means of my left hand.
But how fearful, in that case, the proximity of the steel!
The result of the slightest struggle how deadly! Was it
likely, moreover, that the minions of the torturer had
not foreseen and provided for this possibility! Was it

83
probable that the bandage crossed my bosom in the track
of the pendulum? Dreading to find my faint, and, as it
seemed, my last hope frustrated, I so far elevated my
head as to obtain a distinct view of my breast. The
surcingle enveloped my limbs and body close in all direc-
tions — save in the path of the destroying crescent.
Scarcely had I dropped my head back into its original
position, when there flashed upon my mind what |
cannot better describe than as the unformed half of that
idea of deliverance to which I have previously alluded,
and of which a moiety only floated indeterminately
through my brain when I raised: food to my burning lips.
The whole thought was now present — feeble, scarcely
sane, scarcely definite, — but still entire. I proceeded at
once, with the nervous energy of despair, to attempt its
execution.
For many hours the immediate vicinity of the low
framework upon which I lay had been literally swarming
with rats. They were wild, bold, ravenous; their red eyes
glaring upon me as if they waited but for motionlessness
on my part to make me their prey. “To what food,’ I
thought, ‘have they been accustomed in the well?’
They had devoured, in spite of all my efforts to prevent
them, all but a small remnant of the contents of the
dish. I had fallen into an habitual see-saw, or wave of the
hand about the platter: and, at length, the unconscious
uniformity of the movement deprived it of effect. In
their voracity the vermin frequently fastened their sharp
fangs in my fingers. With the particles of the oily and
spicy viand which now remained, I thoroughly rubbed
the bandage wherever I could reach it; then, raising my
hand from the floor, I lay breathlessly still.

84
 At first the ravenous animals were startled and terrified
at the change — at the cessation of movement. They |
shrank alarmedly back; many sought the well. But this
was only for a moment. I had not counted in vain upon
their voracity. Observing that I remained without motion,
one or two of the boldest leaped upon the framework,
and smelt at the surcingle. This seemed the signal for a
general rush. Forth from the well they hurried in fresh
troops. They clung to the wood — they overran it, and
leaped in hundreds upon my person. The measured
movement of the pendulum disturbed them not at all.
Avoiding its strokes they busied themselves with the
anointed bandage. They pressed — they swarmed upon
me in ever accumulating heaps. They writhed upon my
throat; their cold lips sought my own; I was half stifled
by their thronging pressure; disgust, for which the world
has no name, swelled my bosom, and chilled, with a
heavy clamminess, my heart. Yet one minute, and I felt
that the struggle would be over. Plainly I perceived the
loosening of the bandage. I knew that in more than one
place it must be already severed. With a more than
human resolution I lay still.
Nor had I erred in my calculations —nor bod I endured
in vain. I at length felt that I was free. The surcingle hung
in ribands from my body. But the stroke of the pendulum
already pressed upon my bosom. It had divided the serge
of the robe. It had cut through the linen beneath. Twice
again it swung, and a sharp sense of pain shot through
every nerve. But the moment of escape had arrived. At
a wave of my hand my deliverers hurried tumultuously
away. With a steady movement — cautious, side-long,
shrinking, and slow — I slid from the embrace of the

85
 bandage and beyond the reach of the scimitar. For the
moment, at least, I was free.
Free! — and in the grasp of the Inquisition! I had
scarcely stepped from my wooden bed of horror upon
the stone floor of the prison, when the motion of the
hellish machine ceased and I beheld it drawn up, by some
invisible force, through the ceiling. This was a lesson
which I took desperately to heart. My every motion was
undoubtedly watched..Free! — I had but escaped death
in one form of agony, to be delivered unto worse than
death in some other. With that thought I rolled my eyes
nervously around on the barriers of iron that hemmed
me in. Something unusual — some change which, at first,
I could not appreciate distinctly — it was obvious, had
taken place in the apartment. For many minutes of a
dreamy and trembling abstraction, I busied myself in
vain, unconnected conjecture. During this period, I
became aware, for the first time, of the origin of the
sulphurous light which illuminated the cell. It proceeded
. from a fissure, about half an inch in width, extending
entirely around the prison at the base of the walls, which
thus appeared, and were, completely separated from the
floor. I endeavored, but of course in vain, to look through
the aperture. : !
As | arose from the attempt, the mystery of the alter-
ation in the chamber broke at once upon my
understanding. I have observed that, although the
outlines of the figures upon the walls were sufficiently
distinct, yet the colours seemed blurred and indefinite.
These colors had now assumed, and were momentarily —
assuming, a startling and most intense brilliancy, that
gave to the spectral and fiendish portraitures an aspect

86
that might have thrilled even firmer nerves than my own.
Demon eyes, of a wild and ghastly vivacity, glared upon
me in a thousand directions, where none had been visi-
ble before, and gleamed with the lurid lustre of a fire
that I could not force my imagination to regard as
unreal.
Unreal! — Even while I breathed there came to my
nostrils the breath of the vapour of heated iron! A suffo-
cating odour pervaded the prison! A deeper glow settled
each moment in the eyes that glared at my agonies! A
richer tint of crimson diffused itself over the pictured
horrors of blood. I panted! I gasped for breath! There
could be no doubt of the design of my tormentors — oh!
most unrelenting! oh! most demoniac of men! I shrank
from the glowing metal to the centre of the cell. Amid
the thought of the fiery destruction that impended, the
idea of the coolness of the well came over my soul like
balm. I rushed to its deadly brink. I threw my straining
vision below. The glare from the enkindled roof illu-
mined its inmost recesses. Yet, for a wild moment, did
my spirit refuse to comprehend the meaning of what |
saw. At length it forced — it wrestled its way into my soul
— it burned itself in upon my shuddering reason. — Oh!
for a voice to speak! — oh! horror! — oh! any horror but
this! With a shriek, I rushed from the margin, and buried
my face in my hands — weeping bitterly.
The heat rapidly increased, and once again I looked
up, shuddering as with a fit of the ague. There had been
a second change in the cell — and now the change was
obviously in the form. As before, it was in vain that I, at
first, endeavoured to appreciate or understand what
was taking place. But not long was I left in doubt. The

87
 Inquisitorial vengeance had been hurried by my twofold
escape, and there was to be no more dallying with the
King of Terrors. The room had been square. I saw that
two of its iron angles were now acute — two, conse-
quently, obtuse. The fearful difference quickly increased
with a low rumbling or moaning sound. In an instant
the apartment had shifted its form into that of a lozenge.
But the alteration stopped not here — I neither hoped
nor desired it to stop. I.could have clasped the red walls
to my bosom as a garment of eternal peace. “Death, I
said, ‘any death but that of the pit!’ Fool! might I have
not known that into the pit it was the object of the burn-
ing iron to urge me? Could I resist its glow? or, if even
that, could I withstand its pressure? And now, flatter and
flatter grew the lozenge, with a rapidity that left me no
time for contemplation. Its centre, and of course, its
greatest width, came just over the yawning gulf. I shrank
back — but the closing walls pressed me resistlessly
onward. At length for my seared and writhing body there
was no longer an inch of foothold on the firm floor of
the prison. I struggled no more, but the agony of my
soul found vent in one loud, long, and final scream of
despair. I felt that I tottered upon the brink — I averted
my eyes —
_ There was a discordant hum of human voices! There
was a loud blast as of many trumpets! There was a harsh
grating as of a thousand thunders! The fiery walls rushed
back! An outstretched arm caught my own as_I fell,
fainting, into the abyss. It was that of General Lasalle.
The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition
was in the hands of its enemies.
 The Tell-Tale Heart

True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had

been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The
disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not
dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute.
I heard all things in the Heaven and in the Earth. I heard ©
many things in Hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken!
and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you
the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my
brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.
Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved
the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never
given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it
was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture
—a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell
upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very
gradually — 1 made up my mind to take the life of the
old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen
know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should
have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution
~ — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went
to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during
the whole week before I killed him. And every night,
about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened
it — oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening

- 89
sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed,
closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in
my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how
cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very
slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep.
It took me an hour to place my whole head within the
opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his
bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this?
And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid
the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously
(for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a
single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did
for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but
I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible
to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed
me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day
broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke coura-
geously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone,
and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see
he would have been a very profound old man, indeed,
to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in
upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually
cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand
moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that
night, had I felt the extent of my own powers — of my
sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph.
To think that there I was, opening the door, little by
little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or
thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he
heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if star-
tled. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His

as
room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for
the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers),
and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the
door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern,
when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the
old man sprang up in bed, crying out — “Who’s there?’
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour
I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not
hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed
listening; — just as I have done, night after night, heark-
ening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was
the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain
or of grief — oh, no! — it was the low stifled sound that
arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged
with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at
midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from
my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the
terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew
what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuck-
led at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever
since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the
bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him.
He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could
not. He had been saying to himself — ‘It is nothing but
the wind in the chimney — it is only a mouse crossing
a
the floor,’ or ‘It is merely’a cricket which has made
single chirp.’ Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself
with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All
in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked
the
with his black shadow before him, and enveloped

gI
victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unper-
ceived shadow that caused him to feel — although he
neither saw nor heard — to feel the presence of my head
within the room. .
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, with-
out hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a
very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you
cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until, at length
a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from
out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.
It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew furious
as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all
a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the
very marrow in my bones; but I could see-nothing else
of the old man’s face or person: for I had directed the
ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for
madness is but over acuteness of the senses? — now, I
say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such
as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that
sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s
heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum
stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely
breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how stead-
ily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the
hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and
quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old
man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I
say, louder every moment! — do you mark me-well? I
have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at
the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of

92,
 that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to
uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I
refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder,
louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new
anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a
neighbour! The old man’s hour had come! With a loud
yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room.
He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged
him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I
then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for
many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound.
This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard
through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was
dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes,
he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the
heart and held it there many minutes. There was no
pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me
no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer
when I describe the wise precautions I took for the
concealment of the body. The night waned; and I worked
hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the
corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the
chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then
_ replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no
human eye — not even his — could have detected any
thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain
of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too
wary for that. A tub had caught all — ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was four
o'clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the

93
 hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went
down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now
to fear? There entered three men, who introduced them-
selves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A
shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night;
suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information
had been lodged at the police office, and they (the
officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen
welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream.
The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I
took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search
— search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I
showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the
enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the
room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues,
while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect
triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath
which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced
them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I
answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But,
ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone.
My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but
still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more
distinct: — it continued and became more distinct: I talked
more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued
and gained definiteness — until, at length, I found that
the noise was not within my ears.
No doubt I now grew very pale; — but I talked more
fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound
' increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick

94
sound — much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped
in cotton. I gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard
it not. I talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the
noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles,
in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the
noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I
paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited
to fury by the observations of the men — but the noise
steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed
— I raved —I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had
been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise
arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder
— louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly,
and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty
God! — no, no! They heard! — they suspected! — they knew!
— they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I
thought, and this I think. But anything was better than
this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this deri-
sion! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I
felt that I must scream or die! and now — again! — hark!
louder! louder! louder! louder!
‘Villains!’ I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the
deed! — tear up the planks! here, here! — it is the beating
of his hideous heart!’
 The Black Cat

For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I

am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad
indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very
senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not — and
very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and
to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate
purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly,
and without comment, a series of mere household
events, In their consequences, these events have terrified
— have tortured — have destroyed me. Yet I will not
attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented
little but Horror — to many they will seem less terrible
than baroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be
found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-
place — some intellect more calm, more logical, and far
less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the
circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an
ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.
From my infancy I was noted for the docility and
humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was
even sO conspicuous as to make me the jest of my
companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was
indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets.
With these I spent most of my time, and never was so
happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculi-
arity of character grew with my growth, and, in my

96
manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources
of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection
for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the
trouble of. explaining the nature or the intensity of the
gratification thus derivable. There is something in, the
unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes
directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occa-
sion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity
of mere Man.
I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a
disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing
my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity
of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had
birds, goldfish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and
a cat.
This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful
animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing
degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at
heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made
frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which
regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that
she was ever serious upon this point — and I mention the
matter at all for no better reason than that it happens,
just now, to be remembered.
Pluto — this was the cat’s name — was my favourite
pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me
wherever I went about the house. It was even with
difficulty that I could prevent him from following me
through the streets.
Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years,
during which my general temperament and character
— through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance-

oF
— had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical altera-
tion for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more
irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I
suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife.
At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets,
of course, were made to feel the change in my disposi-
tion. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto,
however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me
from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreat-
ing the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by
accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But
my disease grew upon me — for what disease is like .
Alcohol! — and at length even Pluto, who was now becom-
ing old, and consequently somewhat peevish — even Pluto
began to experience the effects of my ill temper.
One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from
one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat
avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright
at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my
hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly
possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul
seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a
more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled
every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket
a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the
throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the
socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damna-
ble atrocity.
When reason returned with the morning — when I
had slept off the fumes of the night’s debauch — IT expe-
rienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for ©
the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best,

98
 4

a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained

untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon
drowned in wine all memory of the deed.
In the meantime the cat slowly-recovered. The socket
of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appear-
ance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He
went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected,
fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much
of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this
evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once
so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation.
And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable over-
throw, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit
philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure
that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of
the primitive impulses of the human heart — one of the
indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give
direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a
hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a
silly action, for no other reason than because he knows
he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in
the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is
Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This
spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow.
It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself
— to offer violence to its own nature — to do wrong for
the wrong’s sake only — that urged me to continue and
finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon
the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I
slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb
of a tree; — hung it with the tears streaming from my
eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; — hung

99
it because I knew that it had loved me, and because | felt
it had given me no reason of offence; — hung it because
I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin — a deadly
sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to
place it — if such a thing were possible — even beyond
the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and
Most Terrible God.
On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was
done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The
curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house
was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a
‘servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagra-
tion. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly
wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thence-
forward to despair.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a
sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and
the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts — and
wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the
day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls,
with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was
found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood
_about the middle of the house, and against which had
rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in
great measure, resisted the action of the fire — a fact
which I attributed to its having been recently spread.
About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many
persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of
it with very minute and eager attention. The words
‘strange!’ ‘singular!’ and other similar expressions, excited
my curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven in bas
relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic cat.

100
The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvel-
lous. There was a rope about the animal’s neck.
When I first beheld this apparition — for I could
scarcely regard it as less - my wonder and my terror
were extreme. But at length reflection came to my aid.
The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden
adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden
had been immediately filled by the crowd — by some one
of whom the animal must have been cut from the tree
and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber.
This had probably been done with the view of arousing
me from sleep. The falling of other walls had compressed
the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the freshly
spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and
the ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished
the portraiture as I saw it.
Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if
not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact
just detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep
impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid
myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this
period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment
that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to
regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me,
among the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented,
for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat
similar appearance, with which to supply its place.
One night as I sat, half stupified, in a den of more
than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some
black object, reposing upon the head of one of the
immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which consti-
tuted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been

IOI
looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some
minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact
that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I
approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a
black cat — a very large one — fully as large as Pluto, and
closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto
had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but
this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white,
covering nearly the whole region of the breast.
Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred
loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted
with my notice. This, then, was the very creature of ©
which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it
of the landlord; but this person made no claim to it —
knew nothing of it — had never seen it before. |
I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go
home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany
me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and
patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it
domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a
great favorite with my wife.
For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising
within me. This was just the reverse of what I had antici-
pated; but I know not how or why it was — its evident
fondness for myself rather disgusted and annoyed. By
slow degrees, these feelings of disgust and annoyance
rose into the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature;
a certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my
former deed of cruelty, preventing me from physically
abusing it. I did not, for some weeks, strike, or otherwise
violently ill use it; but gradually — very gradually — I
came to look upon it with unutterable loathing, and to

102
 flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath
of a pestilence.
What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast,
was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it
home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of one
of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only endeared
it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in
a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once
been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of
my simplest and purest pleasures.
With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality
for myself seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps
with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to make
the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it would crouch
beneath my chair,-or spring upon my knees, covering
me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it
would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me
down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress,
clamber, in this manner, to my breast. At such times,
although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet
withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my
former crime, but chiefly — let me confess it at once — by
absolute dread of the beast.
This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil
~ and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to define
it. lam almost ashamed to own — yes, even in this felon’s
cell, I am almost ashamed to own — that the terror and
horror with which the animal inspired me, had been
heightened by one of the merest chimaeras it would be
possible to conceive. My wife had called my attention,
- more than once, to the character of the mark of white
hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the

103
sole visible difference between the strange beast and the
one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this
mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite;
but, by slow degrees — degrees nearly imperceptible, and
which for a long time my reason struggled to reject as
fanciful — it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinct-
ness of outline. It was now the representation of an
object that I shudder to name — and for this, above all,
I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of
the monster had I dared — it was now,I say, the image of
a hideous — of a ghastly thing — of the GaLLows! — oh,
mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime
— of Agony and of Death!
And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretch-
edness of mere Humanity. And a brute beast — whose
fellow I had contemptuously destroyed — a brute beast to
work out for me — for me a man, fashioned in the image
of the High God — so much of insufferable woe! Alas!
neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of Rest
any more! During the former the creature left me no
moment alone; and, in the latter, I started, hourly, from
dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of the
thing upon my face, and its vast weight — an incarnate
Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off — incumbent
eternally upon my heart!
Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the
feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil
thoughts became my sole intimates — the darkest and
most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual
temper increased to hatred of all things and of all
mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungov-
ernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly

104
abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was
the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.
One day she accompanied me, upon some household
errand, into the cellar of the old building which our
poverty compelled us to inhabit. The cat followed me
down the steep stairs, and, nearly throwing me headlong,
exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an axe, and forget-
ting, in my wrath, the childish dread which had hitherto
stayed my hand, I aimed a blow at the animal which, of
course, would have proved instantly fatal had it descended
as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of
my wife. Goaded, by the interference, into a rage more
than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp
and buried the axe in her brain. She fell dead upon the
spot, without a groan.
This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forth-
with, and with entire deliberation, to the task of
concealing the body. I knew that I could not remove it
from the house, either by day or by night, without the
risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many projects
entered my mind. At one period I thought of cutting
the corpse into minute fragments, and destroying them
by fire. At another, I resolved to dig a grave for it in the
floor of the cellar. Again, I deliberated about casting it
in the well in the yard — about packing it in a box, as if
merchandise, with the usual arrangements, and so
getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit
upon what I considered a far better expedient than either
of these. I determined to wall it up in the cellar — as the
monks of the middle ages are recorded to have walled
up their victims. |
For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted.

105
Its walls were loosely constructed, and had lately been
plastered throughout with a rough plaster, which the
dampness of the atmosphere had prevented from hard-
ening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection,
caused by a false chimney, or fireplace, that had been
filled up, and made to resemble the rest of the cellar. I
made no doubt that I could readily displace the bricks
at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up
as before, so that no eye could detect anything suspi-
cious.
And in this calculation I-was not deceived. By means
of a crowbar I easily dislodged the bricks, and, having
carefully deposited the body against the inner wall, I
propped it in that position, while, with little trouble, I
relaid the whole structure as it originally stood. Having
procured mortar, sand, and hair, with every possible
precaution, I prepared a plaster which could not be distin-
guished from the old, and with this I very carefully went
over the new brickwork. When I had finished, I felt
satisfied that all was right. The wall did not present the
slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The
rubbish on the floor was picked up with the minutest
care. I looked around triumphantly, and said to myself
~ ‘Here at least, then, my labor has not been in vain.’
My next step was to look for the beast which had been
the cause of so much wretchedness; for I had, at length,
firmly resolved to put it to death. Had I been able to meet
with it, at the moment, there could have been no doubt
of its fate; but it appeared that the crafty animal had been
alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and forbore
to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to
describe, or to imagine, the deep, the blissful sense of

106
_ relief which the absence of the detested creature occa-
sioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance during
the night — and thus for one night at least, since its intro-
duction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept; aye,
slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul!
The second and the third day passed, and still my
tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a free
man. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises
forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was
supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but
little. Some few inquiries had been made, but these had
_ been readily answered. Even a search had been instituted
— but of course nothing was to be discovered. I looked
upon my future felicity as secured.
Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of
the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and
proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the
premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my
place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever.
The officers bade me accompany them in their search.
They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for
the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar.
I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that
of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar
from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and
roamed easily to and fro. The police were thoroughly
satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart
was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but
one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure
their assurance of my guiltlessness.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said at last, as the party ascended the
steps, ‘I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish

107
you all health, and a little more courtesy. By the bye,
gentlemen, this — this is a very well constructed house.’
[In the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely
knew what I uttered at all.] — ‘I may say an excellently
well constructed house. These walls — are you going,
gentlemen? — these walls are solidly put together;’ and
here, through the mere phrenzy of bravado, I rapped
heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand, upon that
very portion of the brickwork behind which stood the
corpse of the wife of my bosom.
But may God shield and deliver me ees the fangs
of the Arch-Fiend! No sooner had the reverberation of
my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a
voice from within the tomb! — by a cry, at first muffled
and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly
swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, |
utterly anomalous and inhuman — a howl — a wailing
shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might
have arisen only out of Hell, conjointly from the throats
of the damned in their agony and of the demons that
exult in the damnation. é
Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I
staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party
upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity
of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms
were toiling at the wall.Itfell bodily. The corpse, already
greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before
the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red
extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous
beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and
whose informing voice had consigned me to the hang-
man. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!

5 108
 William Wilson

What say of it? what say [of] conscrENcE grim,

That spectre in my path?

CHAMBERLAYNE’'S Pharronida

Let me call myself, for the present, William Wilson. The

fair page now lying before me need not be sullied with
my real appellation. This has been already too much an
object for the scorn — for the horror — for the detestation
of my race. To the uttermost regions of the globe have
not the indignant winds bruited its unparalleled infamy?
Oh, outcast of all outcasts most abandoned! — to the
Earth art thou not forever dead? to its honors, to its
flowers, to its golden aspirations? — and a cloud, dense,
dismal, and limitless, does it not hang eternally between
thy hopes and Heaven?
_ I would not, if I could, here or to-day, embody a record
of my later years of unspeakable misery, and unpardon-
able crime. This epoch — these later years — took unto
themselves a sudden elevation in turpitude, whose origin
alone it is my present purpose to assign. Men usually
grow base by degrees. From me, in an instant, all virtue
dropped bodily as a mantle. From comparatively trivial
wickedness I passed, with the stride of a giant, into more
than the enormities of an Elah-Gabalus. What chance

I09
— what one event brought this evil thing to pass, bear
with me while I relate. Death approaches; and the shadow
which foreruns him has thrown a softening influence over
my spirit. I long, in passing through the dim valley, for
the sympathy — I had nearly said for the pity - of my
fellow men. I would fain have them believe that I have
been, in some measure, the slave of circumstances beyond
human control. I would wish them to seek out for me,
in the details I am about to give, some little oasis of
fatality amid a wilderness of error. I would have them
allow — what what they cannot refrain from allowing —
that, although temptation may have erewhile existed as
great, man was never thus, at least, tempted before —
certainly, never thus fell. And is it therefore that he has
never thus suffered? Have I not indeed been living in a
dream? And am I not now dying a victim to the horror
and the mystery of the wildest of all sublunary visions?
I am the descendant of a race whose imaginative and
easily excitable temperament has at all times rendered
them remarkable; and, in my earliest infancy, I gave
evidence of having fully inherited the family character.
As I advanced in years it was more strongly developed;
becoming, for many reasons, a cause of serious disquiet-
ude to my friends, and of positive injury to myself. I
grew self-willed, addicted to the wildest caprices, and a
prey to the most ungovernable passions. Weak-minded,
and beset with constitutional infirmities akin to my own,
my parents could do but little to check the evil propen-
sities which distinguished me. Some feeble and ill-directed
efforts resulted in complete failure on their part, and, of —
course, in total triumph on mine. Thenceforward my
voice was a household law; and at an age when few

II0
 children have abandoned their leading-strings, I was left
to the guidance of my own will, and became, in all but
name, the master of my own actions.
My earliest recollections of a school-life, are connected
with a large, rambling, Elizabethan house, in a misty-
looking village of England, where were a vast number
of gigantic and gnarled trees, and where all the houses
were excessively ancient. In truth, it was a dream-like
and spirit-soothing place, that venerable old town. At
this moment, in fancy, I feel the refreshing chilliness of
its deeply shadowed avenues, inhale the fragrance of its
thousand shrubberies, and thrill anew with undefinable
delight, at the deep hollow note of the church-bell, break-
ing, each hour, with sullen and sudden roar, upon the
stillness of the dusky atmosphere in which the fretted
Gothic steeple lay imbedded and asleep.
It gives me, perhaps, as much of pleasure as I can now
in any manner experience, to dwell upon minute recol-
lections of the school and its concerns. Steeped in misery
as I am — misery, alas! only too real — I shall be pardoned
for seeking relief, however slight and temporary, in the
weakness of a few rambling details. These, moreover,
utterly trivial, and even ridiculous in themselves, assume,.
to my fancy, adventitious importance, as connected with
a period and a locality when and where I recognise the
- first ambiguous monitions of the destiny which afterwards
so fully overshadowed me. Let me then remember.
The house, I have said, was old and irregular. The
grounds were extensive, and a high and solid brick
wall, topped with a bed of mortar and broken glass,
encompassed the whole. This prison-like rampart formed
the limit of our domain; beyond it we saw but thrice a

III
week — once every Saturday afternoon, when, attended
by two ushers, we were permitted to take brief walks
in a body through some of the neighbouring fields — and
twice during Sunday, when we were paraded in the same
formal manner to the morning and evening service in
the one church of the village. Of this church the prin-
cipal of our school was pastor. With how deep a spirit
of wonder and perplexity was I wont to regard him from
our remote pew in the gallery, as, with step solemn and
slow, he ascended the pulpit! This reverend man, with
countenance so demurely benign, with robes so glossy
and so clerically flowing, with wig so minutely powdered,
so rigid and so vast; — could this be he who, of late, with
sour visage, and in snuffy habiliments, administered,
ferule in hand, the Draconian laws of the academy? Oh,
gigantic paradox, too utterly monstrous for solution!
At an angle of the ponderous wall frowned a more
ponderous gate. It was riveted and studded with iron bolts,
and surmounted with jagged iron spikes. What impres-
sions of deep awe did it inspire! It was never opened save
for the three periodical egressions and ingressions already
mentioned; then, in every creak of its mighty hinges, we
found a plenitude of mystery — a world of matter for
solemn remark, or for more solemn meditation.
The extensive enclosure was irregular in form, having
many capacious recesses. Of these, three or four of the
largest constituted the play-ground. It was level, and
covered with fine hard gravel. I well remember it had
no trees, nor benches, nor anything similar within it. Of
course it was in the rear of the house. In front lay a
small parterre, planted with box and other shrubs; but
through this sacred division we passed only upon rare

II2
 occasions indeed — such as a first advent to school or
final departure thence, or perhaps, when a parent or
friend having called for us, we joyfully took our way
home for the Christmas or Midsummer holy-days.
But the house! — how quaint an old building was this!
— to me how veritably a palace of enchantment! There
was really no end to its windings — to its incomprehen-
sible subdivisions. It was difficult, at any given time, to say
with certainty upon which of its two stories one happened
_ to be. From each room to every other there were sure to
be found three or four steps either in ascent or descent.
Then the lateral branches were innumerable — inconceiv-
able — and so returning in upon themselves, that our most
exact ideas in regard to the whole mansion were not very
far different from those with which we pondered upon
-infinity. During the five years of my residence here, I was
never able to ascertain with precision, in what remote
locality lay the little sleeping apartment assigned to myself
and some eighteen or twenty other scholars.
The school-room was the largest in the house —I could
not help thinking, in the world. It was very long, narrow,
and dismally low, with pointed Gothic windows and a
ceiling of oak. In a remote and terror-inspiring angle was
a square enclosure of eight. or ten feet, comprising the
sanctum, ‘during hours,’ of our principal, the Reverend Dr
Bransby. It was a solid structure, with massy door, sooner
than open which in the absence of the ‘Dominie,’ we
would all have willingly perished by the peine forte et dure.
In other angles were two other similar boxes, far less
reverenced, indeed, but still greatly matters of awe. One
of these was the pulpit of the ‘classical’ usher, one of the
‘English and mathematical.’ Interspersed about the room,

113
crossing and recrossing in endless irregularity, were innu-
merable benches and desks, black, ancient, and time-worn,
piled desperately with much-bethumbed books, and so
beseamed with initial letters, names at full length,
grotesque figures, and other multiplied efforts of the knife,
as to have entirely lost what little of original form might
have been their portion in days long departed. A huge
bucket with water stood at one extremity of the room,
and a clock of stupendous dimensions at the other.
Encompassed by the massy walls of this venerable acad-
emy, I passed, yet not in tedium or disgust, the years of
the third lustrum of my life. The-teeming brain of child-
hood requires no external world of incident to occupy or
amuse it; and the apparently dismal monotony of a school
was replete with more intense excitement than my riper
youth has derived from luxury, or my full manhood from
crime. Yet I must believe that my first mental development
had in it much of the uncommon — even much of the
outré. Upon mankind at large the events of very early exist-
ence rarely leave in mature age any definite impression.
All is gray shadow — a weak and irregular remembrance
— an indistinct regathering of feeble pleasures and phan-
tasmagoric pains. With me this is not so. In childhood I
must have felt with the energy of a man what I now find
stamped upon memory in lines as vivid, as deep, and as
durable as the exergues of the Carthaginian medals.
Yet in fact — in the fact of the world’s view — how
little was there to remember! The morning’s awakening,
the nightly summons to bed; the connings, the recita-
tions; the periodical half-holidays, and perambulations;
the play-ground, with its broils, its pastimes, its intrigues;
— these, by a mental sorcery long forgotten, were made

114
 to involve a wilderness of sensation, a world of rich
incident, an universe of varied emotion, of excitement
of the most passionate and spirit-stirring. ‘Oh, le bon
temps, que ce siecle de fer!’
In truth, the ardor, the enthusiasm, and the imperious-
ness of my disposition, soon rendered me a marked
character among my schoolmates, and by slow, but natu-
ral gradations, gave me an ascendancy over all not greatly
older than myself; — over all with a single exception. This
exception was found in the person of a scholar, who,
although no relation, bore the same Christian and surname
as myself; — a circumstance, in fact, little remarkable; for,
notwithstanding a noble descent, mine was one of those
everyday appellations which seem, by prescriptive right,
to have been, time out of mind, the common property
of the mob. In this narrative I have therefore designated
myself as William Wilson, — a fictitious title not very
dissimilar to the real. My namesake alone, of those who
in school phraseology constituted ‘our set,’ presumed to
compete with me in the studies of the class — in the sports
and broils of the play-ground — to refuse implicit belief
in my assertions, and submission to my will — indeed, to
interfere with my arbitrary dictation in any respect what-
soever. If there is on earth a supreme and unqualified
despotism, it is the despotism of a master mind in boyhood
over the less energetic spirits of its companions.
Wilson’s rebellion was to me a source of the greatest
embarrassment; — the more so as, in spite of the bravado
- with which in public I made a point of treating him and
his pretensions, I secretly felt that I feared him, and could
not help thinking the equality which he maintained so
easily with myself, a proof of his true superiority; since

115
not to be overcome cost me a perpetual struggle. Yet this
superiority — even this equality — was in truth acknow-
ledged by no one but myself; our associates, by some
unaccountable blindness, seemed not even to suspect it.
Indeed, his competition, his resistance, and especially his
impertinent and dogged interference with my purposes,
were not more pointed than private. He appeared to be
destitute alike of the ambition which urged, and of the
passionate energy of mind which enabled me to excel.
In his rivalry he might have been supposed actuated solely
by a whimsical desire to thwart, astonish, or mortify
myself; although there were times when I could not help
observing, with a feeling made up of wonder, abasement,
and pique, that he mingled with his injuries, his insults,
or his contradictions, a certain most inappropriate, and
assuredly most unwelcome affectionateness of manner. I
could only conceive this singular behavior to arise from
a consummate self-conceit assuming the vulgar airs of
patronage and protection.
Perhaps it was this latter trait in Wilson's conduct,
conjoined with our identity of name, and the mere accident
of our having entered the school upon the same day, which
set afloat the notion that we were brothers, among the
senior classes in the academy. These do not usually inquire
with much strictness into the affairs of their juniors. I have
before said, or should have said, that Wilson was not, in
the most remote degree, connected with my family. But
assuredly if we had been brothers we must have been twins;
for, after leaving Dr Bransby’s, I casually learned that my
namesake was born on the nineteenth of January, 1813 —
and this is a somewhat remarkable coincidence; for the day
is precisely that of my own nativity.

116
 It may seem strange that in spite of the continual anxi-
ety occasioned me by the rivalry of Wilson, and his
intolerable spirit of contradiction, I could not bring myself
to hate him altogether. We had, to be sure, nearly every
day a quarrel in which, yielding me publicly the palm of
victory, he, in some manner, contrived to make me feel
that it was he who had deserved it; yet a sense of pride
on my part, and a veritable dignity on his own, kept us
always upon what are called ‘speaking terms,’ while there
were many points of strong congeniality in our tempers,
operating to awake in me a sentiment which our position
alone, perhaps, prevented from ripening into friendship.
It is difficult, indeed, to define, or even to describe, my
real feelings towards him. They formed a motley and
heterogeneous admixture; — some petulant animosity,
which was not yet hatred, some esteem, more respect,
much fear, with a world of uneasy curiosity. To the moral-
ist it will be unnecessary to say, in addition, that Wilson
and myself were the most inseparable of companions.
It was no doubt the anomalous state of affairs existing
- between us, which turned all my attacks upon him, (and
they were many, either open or covert) into the channel
of banter or practical joke (giving pain while assuming the
aspect of mere fun) rather than into a more serious and
determined hostility. But my endeavours on this head were
by no means uniformly successful, even when my plans
were the most wittily concocted; for my namesake had
much about him, in character, of that unassuming and
quiet austerity which, while enjoying the poignancy of its
own jokes, has no heel of Achilles in itself, and absolutely
refuses to be laughed at. I could find, indeed, but one
vulnerable point, and that, lying in a personal peculiarity,

117
 arising, perhaps, from constitutional disease, would have
been spared by any antagonist less at his wit’s end than
myself; — my rival had a weakness in the faucial or guttural
organs, which precluded him from raising his voice at any
time above a very low whisper. Of this defect I did not fail
to take what poor advantage lay in my power.
Wilson’s retaliations in kind were many; and there was
one form of -his practical wit that disturbed me beyond
measure. How his sagacity first discovered at all that so
petty a thing would vex me, is a question I never could
solve; but, having discovered, he habitually practised the
annoyance. I had always felt aversion to my uncourtly
patronymic, and its very common, if not plebeian
praenomen. The words were venom in my ears; and when,
upon the day of my arrival, a second William Wilson
came also to the academy, I felt angry with him for bear-
ing the name, and doubly disgusted with the name because
a stranger bore it, who would be the cause of its twofold
repetition, who would be constantly in my presence, and
' whose concerns, in the ordinary routine of the school
business, must inevitably, on account of the detestable
coincidence, be often confounded with my own.
The feeling of vexation thus engendered grew stronger
with every circumstance tending to show resemblance,
moral or physical, between my rival and myself. I had
not then discovered the remarkable fact that we were of
the same age; but I saw that we were of the same height,
and I perceived that we were even singularly alike in
general contour of person and outline of feature. I was
galled, too, by the rumor touching a relationship, which
had grown current in the upper forms. In a word, noth-
ing could more seriously disturb me, (although I

118
 scrupulously concealed such disturbance,) than any allu-
sion to a similarity of mind, person, or condition existing
between us. But, in truth, I had no reason to believe that
(with the exception of the matter of relationship, and in
the case of Wilson himself,) this similarity had ever been
made a subject of comment, or even observed at all by
our schoolfellows. That he observed it in all its bearings,
and as fixedly as I, was apparent; but that he could
discover in such circumstances so fruitful a field of annoy-
ance, can only be attributed, as I said before, to his more
than ordinary penetration.
His cue, which was to perfect an imitation of myself,
lay both in words and in actions; and most admirably did
he play his part. My dress it was an easy matter to copy;
my gait and general manner were, without difficulty,
appropriated; in spite of his constitutional defect, even
my voice did not escape him. My louder tones were, of
course, unattempted, but then the key, it was identical;
and his singular whisper, it grew the very echo of my own.
How greatly this most exquisite portraiture harassed
me, (for it could not justly be termed a caricature,) I will
not now venture to describe. I had but one consolation
— in the fact that the imitation, apparently, was noticed
by myself alone, and that I had to endure only the know-
ing and strangely sarcastic smiles of my namesake himself.
Satisfied with having produced in my bosom the intended
effect, he seemed to chuckle in secret over the sting he
had inflicted, and was characteristically disregardful of
the public applause which the success of his witty endeav-
ours might have so easily elicited. That the school, indeed,
did not feel his design, perceive its accomplishment, and
_ participate in his sneer, was, for many anxious months,

119
 a riddle I could not resolve. Perhaps the gradation of his
copy rendered it not so readily perceptible; or, more possi-
bly, Iowed my security to the masterly air of the copyist,
who, disdaining the letter, (which in a painting is all the
obtuse can see,) gave but the full spirit of his original for
my individual contemplation and chagrin.
I have already more than once spoken of the disgust-
ing air of patronage which he assumed toward me, and
of his frequent officious interference with my will. This
interference often took the ungracious character of
advice; advice not openly given, but hinted or insinuated.
I received it with a repugnance which gained strength as
I grew in years. Yet, at this distant day, let me do him
the simple justice to acknowledge that I can recall no
occasion when the suggestions of my rival were on the
side of those errors or follies so usual to his immature
age and seeming inexperience; that his moral sense, at
least, if not his general talents and worldly wisdom, was
far keener than my own; and that I might, to-day, have
_ been a better, and thus a happier man, had I less
frequently rejected the counsels embodied in those mean-
ing whispers which I then but too cordially hated and
too bitterly despised.
As it was, I at length grew restive in the extreme under
his distasteful supervision, and daily resented more and
more openly what I considered his intolerable arrogance.
I have said that, in the first years of our connexion as
schoolmates, my feelings in regard to him might have
been easily ripened into friendship: but, in the latter
months of my residence at the academy, although the
intrusion of his ordinary manner had, beyond doubt, in
some measure, abated, my sentiments, in nearly similar

I20
proportion, partook very much of positive hatred. Upon
one occasion he saw this, I think, and afterwards avoided,
or made a show of avoiding me.
It was about the same period, if I remember aright,
that, in an altercation of violence with him, in which he
was more than usually thrown off his guard, and spoke
and acted with an openness of demeanor rather foreign
to his nature, I discovered, or fancied I discovered, in his
accent, his air, and general appearance, a something
which first ‘startled, and then deeply interested me, by
bringing to mind dim visions of my earliest infancy —
wild, confused and thronging memories of a time when
memory herself was yet unborn. I cannot better describe
the sensation which oppressed me than by saying that I
could with difficulty shake off the belief of my having _
been acquainted with the being who stood before me,
at some epoch very long ago — some point of the past
even infinitely remote. The delusion, however, faded
rapidly as it came; and I mention it at all but to define
the day of the last conversation I there held with my
singular namesake.
The huge old house, with its countless subdivisions,
had several large chambers communicating with each
other, where slept the greater number of the students.
There were, however, (as must necessarily happen in a
building so awkwardly planned,) many little nooks or
recesses, the odds and ends of the structure; and these
the economic ingenuity of Dr Bransby had also fitted
up as dormitories; although, being the merest closets,
they were capable of accommodating but a single indi-
vidual. One of these small apartments was occupied by
Wilson.

I21
 One night, about the close.of my fifth year at the
school, and immediately after the altercation just
mentioned, finding every one wrapped in sleep, I arose
from bed, and, lamp in hand, stole through a wilderness
of narrow passages from my own bedroom to that of
my rival. I had long been plotting one of those ill-natured
pieces of practical wit at his expense in which I had
hitherto been so uniformly unsuccessful. It was my inten-
tion, now, to put my scheme in operation, and I resolved
to make him feel the whole extent of the malice with
whichIwas imbued. Having reached his closet, I noise-
lessly entered, leaving the lamp,-with a shade over it, on
the outside. I advanced a step, and listened to the sound
of his tranquil breathing. Assured of his being asleep, I
returned, took the light, and with it again approached
the bed. Close curtains were around it, which, in the
prosecution of my plan, I slowly and quietly withdrew,
when the bright rays fell vividly upon the sleeper, and
my eyes, at the same moment, upon his countenance. I
looked; — and a numbness, an iciness of feeling instantly
pervaded my frame. My breast heaved, my knees
tottered, my whole spirit became possessed with an
objectless yet intolerable horror. Gasping for breath, I
lowered the lamp in still nearer proximity to the face.
Were these — these the lineaments of William Wilson? I
saw, indeed, that they were his, but I shook as if with a
fit of the ague in fancying they were not. What was there
about them to confound me in this manner? I gazed; —
while my brain reeled with a multitude of incoherent
thoughts. Not thus he appeared — assuredly not thus — in
the vivacity of his waking hours. The same name! the
same contour of person! the same day of arrival at the

122
academy! And then his dogged and meaningless imitation
of my gait, my voice, my habits, and my manner! Was
it, in truth, within the bounds of human possibility, that
what I now saw was the result, merely, of the habitual
practice of this sarcastic imitation? Awestricken, and with
a creeping shudder, I extinguished the lamp, passed
silently from the chamber, and left, at once, the halls of
that old academy, never to enter them again.
After a lapse of some months, spent at home in mere
idleness, I found myself a student at Eton. The brief
interval had been sufficient to enfeeble my remembrance
of the events at Dr Bransby’s, or at least to effect a mate-
rial change in the nature of the feelings with which I
remembered them. The truth — the tragedy — of the
drama was no more. I could now find room to doubt
the evidence of my senses; and seldom called up the
subject at all but with wonder at the extent of human
credulity, and a smile at the vivid force of the imagina-
tion which I hereditarily possessed. Neither was this
species of scepticism likely to be diminished by the char-
acter of the life Iled at Eton. The vortex of thoughtless
folly into which I there so immediately and so recklessly
plunged, washed away all but the froth of my past hours,
engulfed at once every solid or serious impression, and
left to memory only the veriest levities of a former
existence.
I do not wish, however, to trace the course of my
miserable profligacy here — a profligacy which set at
defiance the laws, while it eluded the vigilance of the
institution. Three years of folly, passed without profit,
had but given me rooted habits of vice, and added, ina
somewhat unusual degree, to my bodily stature, when,

123
after a week of soulless dissipation, I invited a small party
of the most dissolute students to a secret carousal in my
chambers. We met at a late hour of the night; for our
debaucheries were to be faithfully protracted until morn-
ing. The wine flowed freely, and there were not wanting
other and perhaps more dangerous seductions; so that
the grey dawn had already faintly appeared in the east,
while our delirious extravagance was at its height. Madly
flushed with cards and intoxication, I was in the act of
insisting upon a toast of more than wonted profanity,
when my attention was suddenly diverted by the violent,
although partial unclosing of the door of the apartment,
and by the eager voice of a servant from without. He
said that some person, apparently in great haste,
demanded to speak with me in the hall.
Wildly excited with wine, the unexpected interruption
rather delighted than surprised me. I staggered forward
at once, and a few steps brought me to the vestibule of
the building. In this low and small room there hung no
lamp; and now no light at all was admitted, save that of
the exceedingly feeble dawn which made its way through
the semi-circular window. As I put my foot over the
threshold, I became aware of the figure of a youth about
my own height, and habited in a white kerseymere morn-
ing frock, cut in the novel fashion of the one I myself
wore at the moment. This the faint light enabled me to
perceive; but the features of his face I could not distin-
guish. Upon my entering he strode hurriedly up to me,
and, seizing me by the arm with a gesture of petulant
impatience, whispered the words “William Wilson!’ in —
my ear.
I grew perfectly sober in an instant.

124
 There was that in the manner of the stranger, and in
the tremulous shake of his uplifted finger, as he held it
between my eyes and the light, which filled me with
unqualified amazement; but it was not this which had
so violently moved me. It was the pregnancy of solemn
admonition in the singular, low, hissing utterance; and,
above all, it was the character, the tone, the key, of those
few, simple, and familiar, yet whispered syllables, which
came with a thousand thronging memories of by-gone
days, and struck upon my soul with the shock of a
galvanic battery. Ere I could recover the use of my senses
he was gone.
Although this event failed not of a vivid effect upon
my disordered imagination, yet was it evanescent as
vivid. For some weeks, indeed, I busied myself in earnest
inquiry, or was wrapped in a cloud of morbid specula-
tion. I did not pretend to disguise from my perception
the identity of the singular individual who thus persever-
ingly interfered with my affairs, and harassed me with
his insinuated counsel. But who and what was this
Wilson? — and whence came he? — and what were his
purposes? Upon neither of these points could I be
satisfied; merely ascertaining, in regard to him, that a
sudden accident in his family had caused his removal
from Dr Bransby’s academy on the afternoon of the day
in which I myself had eloped. But in a brief period I
ceased to think upon the subject; my attention being all
absorbed in a contemplated departure for Oxford.
Thither I soon went; the uncalculating vanity of my
parents furnishing me with an outfit and annual estab-
lishment, which would enable me to indulge at will in
the luxury already so dear to my heart, — to vie in

125
profuseness of expenditure with the haughtiest heirs of
the wealthiest earldoms in Great Britain.
Excited by such appliances to vice, my constitutional
temperament broke forth with redoubled ardor, and I
spurned even the common restraints of decency in the
mad infatuation of my revels. But it were absurd to pause
in the detail of my extravagance. Let it suffice, that
among spendthrifts I out-Heroded Herod, and that,
giving name to a multitude of novel follies, I added no
brief appendix to the long catalogue of vices then usual
in the most dissolute university of Europe.
It could hardly be credited, however, that I had, even
here, so utterly fallen from the gentlemanly estate, as to
speak acquaintance with the vilest arts of the gambler
by profession, and, having become an adept in his despic-
able science, to practise it habitually as a means of
increasing my already enormous income at the expense
of the weak-minded among my fellow-collegians. Such,
nevertheless, was the fact. And the very enormity of this .
offence against all manly and honourable sentiment
proved, beyond doubt, the main ‘if not the sole reason
of the impunity with which it was committed. Who,
indeed, among my most abandoned associates, would
not rather have disputed the clearest evidence of his
senses, than have suspected of such courses, the gay, the
frank, the generous William Wilson — the noblest and
most liberal commoner at Oxford — him whose follies
(said his parasites) were but the follies of youth and
unbridled fancy — whose errors but inimitable whim —
whose darkest vice but a careless and dashing
extravagance?
I had been now two years successfully busied in this

126
 way, when there came to the university a young parvenu
nobleman, Glendinning — rich, said report, as Herodes
Atticus — his riches, too, as easily acquired. I soon found
him of weak intellect, and, of course, marked him as a
fitting subject for my skill. I frequently engaged him in
play, and contrived, with the gambler’s usual art, to let
him win considerable sums, the more effectually to
entangle him in my snares. At length, my schemes being
ripe, I met him (with the full intention that this meeting
should be final and decisive) at the chambers of a fellow-
commoner, (Mr Preston,) equally intimate with both,
but who, to do him justice, entertained not even a remote
suspicion of my design. To give to this a better colour-
ing, I had contrived to have assembled a party of some
eight or ten, and was solicitously careful that the intro-
_ duction of cards should appear accidental, and originate
in the proposal of my contemplated dupe himself. To
be brief upon a vile topic, none of the low finesse was
omitted, so customary upon similar occasions that it is
a just matter for wonder how any are still found so
besotted as to fall its victim.
We had protracted our sitting far into the night, and
Thad at length effected the manoeuvre of getting Glen-
dinning as my sole antagonist. The game, too, was my
favorite écarté. The rest of the company, interested in
the extent of our play, had abandoned their own cards,
and were standing around us as spectators. The parvenu,
who had been induced by my artifices in the early part
of the evening, to drink deeply, now shuffled, dealt, or
played, with a wild nervousness of manner for which
his intoxication, I thought, might partially, but could not
altogether account. In a very short period he had become

127
my debtor to a large amount, when, having taken a long
draught of port, he did precisely what I had been coolly
anticipating — he proposed to double our already extra-
vagant stakes. With a well-feigned show of reluctance,
and not until after my repeated refusal had seduced him
into some angry words which gave a color of pique to
my compliance, did I finally comply. The result, of
course, did but prove how entirely the prey was in my
toils; in less than an hour he had quadrupled his debt.
For some time his countenance had been losing the florid
tinge lent it by the wine; but now, to my astonishment,
I perceived that it had grown to a pallor truly fearful. I
say to my astonishment. Glendinning had been repre-
sented to my eager inquiries as immeasurably wealthy;
and the sums which he had as yet lost, although in
themselves vast, could not, I supposed, very seriously
annoy, much less so violently affect him. That he was
overcome by the wine just swallowed, was the idea which
most readily presented itself; and, rather with a view to
the preservation of my own character in the eyes of my
associates, than from any less interested motive, I was
about to insist, peremptorily, upon a discontinuance of
the play, when some expressions at my elbow from
among the company, and.an ejaculation evincing utter
despair on the part of Glendinning, gave me to under-
stand that I had effected his total ruin under circumstances
which, rendering him an object for the pity of all, should
have protected him from the ill offices even of a fiend.
What now might have been my conduct it is difficult
to say. The pitiable condition of my dupe had thrown
an air of embarrassed gloom over all; and, for some
moments, a profound silence was maintained, during

128
 which I could not help feeling my cheeks tingle with the
many burning glances of scorn or reproach cast upon
me by the less abandoned of the party. I will even own
that an intolerable weight of anxiety was for a brief
instant lifted from my bosom by the sudden and extraor-
dinary interruption which ensued. The wide, heavy
folding doors of the apartment were all at once thrown
open, to their full extent, with a vigorous and rushing
impetuosity that extinguished, as if by magic, every
candle in the room. Their light, in dying, enabled us just
to perceive that a stranger had entered, about my own
height, and closely muffled in a cloak. The darkness,
however, was now total; and we could only feel that he
was standing in our midst. Before any one of us could
recover from the extreme astonishment into which this
rudeness had thrown all, we heard the voice of the
intruder.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, in a low, distinct, and never-to-
be-forgotten whisper which thrilled to the very marrow
of my bones, “Gentlemen, I make no apology for this
behaviour, because in thus behaving, I am but fulfilling
a duty. You are, beyond doubt, uninformed of the true
character of the person who has to-night won at écarté
a large sum of money from Lord Glendinning. I will
therefore put you upon an expeditious and decisive plan
of obtaining this very necessary information. Please to
examine, at your leisure, the inner linings of the cuff of
his left sleeve, and the several little packages which may
be found in the somewhat capacious pockets of his
embroidered morning wrapper.’
While he spoke, so profound was the stillness that
one might have heard a pin drop upon the floor. In ceasing,

129
he departed at once, and as abruptly as he had entered.
Can I — shall I describe my sensations? — must I say that
I felt all the horrors of the damned? Most assuredly I
had little time given for reflection. Many hands roughly
seized me upon the spot, and lights were immediately
reprocured. A search ensued. In the lining of my sleeve
were found all the court cards essential in écarté, and, in
the pockets of my wrapper, a number of packs, fac-
similes of those used-at our sittings, with the single
exception that mine were of the species called, techni-
cally, arrondées; the honours being slightly convex at the |
ends, the lower cards slightly convex at the sides. In this
disposition, the dupe who cuts, as customary, at the
length of the pack, will invariably find that he cuts his
antagonist an honour; while the gambler, cutting at the
breadth, will, as certainly, cut nothing for his victim which
may count in the records of the game.
Any burst of indignation upon this discovery would
have affected me less than the silent contempt, or the
sarcastic composure, with which it was received.
“Mr Wilson,’ said our host, stooping to remove from
beneath his feet an exceedingly luxurious cloak of rare
furs, ‘Mr Wilson, this is your property.’ (The weather
was cold; and, upon quitting my own room, I had thrown
a cloak over my dressing wrapper, putting it off upon
reaching the scene of play.) ‘I presume it is supereroga-
tory to seek here (eyeing the folds of the garment with
a bitter smile) for any farther evidence of your skill.
Indeed, we have had enough. You will see the necessity,
I hope, of quitting Oxford — at all events, of quitting
instantly my chambers.’
Abased, humbled to the dust as I then was, it is

130
probable that I should have resented this galling language
by immediate personal violence, had not my whole atten-
tion been at the moment arrested by a fact of the most
startling character. The cloak which I had worn was of
a rare description of fur; how rare, how extravagantly
costly, I shall not venture to say. Its fashion, too, was of
my own fantastic invention; for I was fastidious to an
absurd degree of coxcombry, in matters of this frivolous
nature. When, therefore, Mr Preston reached me that
which he had picked up upon the floor, and near the
folding doors of the apartment, it was with an astonish-
ment nearly bordering upon terror, that I perceived my
own already hanging on my arm, (where I had no doubt
unwittingly placed it,) and that the one presented me
was but its exact counterpart in every, in even the minut-
est possible particular. The singular being who had so
disastrously exposed me, had been muffled, I remem-
bered, in a cloak; and none had been worn at all by any
of the members of our party with the exception of
myself. Retaining some presence of mind, I took the one
offered me by Preston; placed it, unnoticed, over my
own; left the apartment with a resolute scowl of defiance;
and, next morning ere dawn of day, commenced a
hurried journey from Oxford to the continent, in a perfect
agony of horror and of shame.
I fled in vain. My evil destiny pursued me as if in
exultation, and proved, indeed, that the exercise of its
mysterious dominion had as yet only begun. Scarcely
had I set foot in Paris ere I had fresh evidence of the
detestable interest taken by this Wilson in my concerns.
Years flew, while I experienced no relief. Villain! — at
Rome, with how untimely, yet with how spectral an

131
 officiousness, stepped he in between me and my ambi-
tion! At Vienna, too — at Berlin — and at Moscow! Where,
in truth, had I not bitter cause to curse him within my
heart? From his inscrutable tyranny did I at length flee,
panic-stricken, as from a pestilence; and to the very ends
of the earth I fled in vain.
And again, and again, in secret communion with my
own spirit, would I demand the questions “Who is he?
— whence came he? — and what are his objects?’ But no
answer was there found. And then I scrutinized, with a
minute scrutiny, the forms, and the methods, and the
leading traits of his impertinent supervision. But even
here there was very little upon which to base a conjec-
ture. It was noticeable, indeed, that, in no one of the
multiplied instances in which he had of late crossed my
path, had he so crossed it except to frustrate those
schemes, or to disturb those actions, which, if fully
carried out, might have resulted in bitter mischief. Poor
justification this, in truth, for an authority so imperiously
assumed! Poor indemnity for natural rights of self-agency
so pertinaciously, so insultingly denied!
I had also been forced to notice that my tormentor,
for a very long period of time, (while scrupulously and
with miraculous dexterity maintaining his whim of and
identity of apparel with myself,) had so contrived it, in
_ the execution of his varied interference with my will, that
I saw not, at any moment, the features of his face. Be
Wilson what he might, this, at least, was but the veriest
of affectation, or of folly. Could he, for an instant, have
supposed that, in my admonisher at Eton — in the
destroyer of my honour at Oxford, —in him who thwarted
my ambition at Rome, my revenge at Paris, my passion-

132,
ate love at Naples, or what he falsely termed my avarice
in Egypt, — that in this, my arch-enemy and evil genius,
I could fail to recognize the William Wilson of my school
boy days, — the namesake, the companion, the rival, — the
hated and dreaded rival at Dr Bransby’s? Impossible! — But
let me hasten to the last eventful scene of the drama.
_ Thus far I had succumbed supinely to this imperious
domination: The sentiment of deep awe with which I
habitually regarded the elevated character, the majestic
wisdom, the apparent omnipresence and omnipotence
of Wilson, added to a feeling of even terror, with which
certain other traits in his nature and assumptions inspired
me, had operated, hitherto, to impress me with an idea
of my own utter weakness and helplessness, and to
suggest an implicit, although bitterly reluctant submis-
sion to his arbitrary will. But, of late days, I had given
myself up entirely to wine; and its maddening influence
upon my hereditary temper rendered me more and more
impatient of control. 1 began to murmur, ~ to hesitate,
— to resist. And was it only fancy which induced me to
believe that, with the increase of my own firmness, that
of my tormentor underwent a proportional diminution?
Be this as it may, I now began to feel the inspiration of
a burning hope, and at length nurtured in my secret
thoughts a stern and desperate resolution that I would
submit no longer to be enslaved.
It was at Rome, during the Carnival of 18-, that I
attended a masquerade in the palazzo of the Neapolitan
Duke Di Broglio. I had indulged more freely than usual
in the excesses of the wine-table; and now the suffocat-
ing atmosphere of the crowded rooms irritated me
beyond endurance. The difficulty, too, of forcing my way

133
through the mazes of the cornpany contributed not a
little to the ruffling of my temper; for I was anxiously
seeking, (let me not say with what unworthy motive)
the young, the gay, the beautiful wife of the aged and
doting Di Broglio. With a too unscrupulous confidence
she had previously communicated to me the secret of
the costume in which she would be habited, and now,
having caught a glimpse of her person, I was hurrying ©
to make my way into her presence. — At this moment I
felt a light hand placed upon my shoulder, and that ever-
remembered, low, damnable whisper within my ear.
In an absolute phrenzy of wrath, I turnedat once
upon him who had thus interrupted me, and seized him
violently by the collar. He was attired, as I had expected,
in a costume altogether similar to my own; wearing a
Spanish cloak of blue velvet, begirt about the waist with
a crimson belt sustaining a rapier. A mask of black silk
entirely covered his face.
‘Scoundrel!’ I said, in a voice husky with rage, while
every syllable I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury,
‘scoundrel! impostor! accursed villain! you shall not —you
shall not dog me unto death! Follow me, or I stab you
where you stand!’ — and I broke my way from the ball-
room into a small ante-chamber adjoining — dragging
him unresistingly with me as I went.
Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He
staggered against the wall, while I closed the door with
an oath, and commanded him to draw. He hesitated but
for an instant; then, with a slight sigh, drew in silence,
and put himself upon his defence.
The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every
species of wild excitement, and felt within my single arm

134
the energy and power of a multitude. In a few seconds I
forced him by sheer strength against the wainscoting, and
thus, getting him at mercy, plunged my sword, with brute
ferocity, repeatedly through and through his bosom.
At that instant some person tried the latch of the
door. I hastened to prevent an intrusion, and then imme-
diately returned to my dying antagonist. But what human
language can adequately portray that astonishment, that
horror which possessed me at the spectacle then
presented to view? The brief moment in which I averted »
my eyes had been sufficient to produce, apparently, a
material change in the arrangements at the upper or
farther end of the room. A large mirror, = so at first it
seemed to me in my confusion — now stood where none
had been perceptible before; and, as I stepped up to it
in extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features
all pale and dabbled in blood, advanced to meet me with
a feeble and tottering gait.
Thus it appeared, I say, but was not. It was my
antagonist — it was Wilson, who then stood before me
in the agonies of his dissolution. His mask and cloak lay,
where he had thrown them, upon the floor. Not a thread
in all his raiment — not a line in all the marked and
singular lineaments of his face which was not, even in
the most absolute identity, mine own!
It was Wilson; but he spoke no longer in a whisper,
and I could have fancied that I myself was speaking while
he said:
‘You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art
thou also dead — dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope!
In me didst thou exist — and, in my death, see by this image,
which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself.’

135
 The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar

Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter

for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar
has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had
it not — especially under the circumstances. Through the
desire of all parties concerned, to keep the affair from
the public, at least for the present, or until we had farther
opportunities for investigation — through our endeavors
to effect this — a garbled or exaggerated account made
its way into society, and became the source of many
unpleasant misrepresentations, and, very naturally, of a
great deal of disbelief.
It is now rendered necessary that I give the facts — as
far as | comprehend them myself. They are, succinctly,
these:
My attention, for the last three years, had been repeat-
edly drawn to the subject of Mesmerism; and, about
nine months ago, it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that
in the series of experiments made hitherto, there had
been a very remarkable and most unaccountable omis-
sion: — no person had as yet been mesmerized in articulo
mortis. It remained to be seen, first, whether, in such
condition, there existed in the patient any susceptibility
to the magnetic influence; secondly, whether, if any
existed, it was impaired or increased by the condition;
thirdly, to what extent, or for how long a period, the
encroachments of Death might be arrested by the process.

136
 There were other points to be ascertained, but these
most excited my curiosity — the last in especial, from the
immensely important character of its consequences.
In looking around me for some subject by whose
means I might test these particulars, I was brought to
think of my friend, M. Ernest Valdemar, the well-known
compiler of the ‘Bibliotheca Forensica,’ and author
(under the nom de plume of Issachar Marx) of the Polish
_ versions of ‘Wallenstein’ and ‘Gargantua.’ M. Valdemar,
who has resided principally at Harlaem, N.Y., since the
year 1839, is (or was) particularly noticeable for the
extreme spareness of his person — his lower limbs much
resembling those of John Randolph; and, also, for the
whiteness of his whiskers, in violent contrast to the
blackness of his hair — the latter, in consequence, being
very generally mistaken for a wig. His temperament was
markedly nervous, and rendered him a good subject for
mesmeric experiment. On two or three occasions I had
put him to.sleep with little difficulty, but was disappointed
in other results which his peculiar constitution had natur-
ally led me to anticipate. His will was at no period
positively, or thoroughly, under my control, and in regard
to clairvoyance, I could accomplish with him nothing to
be relied upon. I always attributed my failure at these
points to the disordered state of his health. For some
months previous to my becoming acquainted with him,
his physicians had declared him in a confirmed phthisis.
It was his custom, indeed, to speak calmly of his
approaching dissolution, as a matter neither to be avoided
nor regretted.
When the ideas to which I had alluded first occurred
to me, it was of course very natural that I should think

. 137
of M. Valdemar. I knew the steady philosophy of the
man too well to apprehend any scruples from him; and
he had no relatives in America who would be likely to
interfere. I spoke to him frankly upon the subject;
and, to my surprise, his interest seemed vividly excited.
I say to my surprise; for, although he had always yielded
his person freely to my experiments, he had never before
given me any tokens of sympathy with what I did. His
disease was of that character which would admit of exact
calculation in respect to the epoch of its termination in
death; and it was finally arranged between us that he
would send for me about twenty-four hours before the
period announced by his physicians as that of his
decease. . .
It is now rather more than seven months since I
received, from M. Valdemar himself, the subjoined note:

My Dear P—, ati?

You may as well come now. D— and F— are agreed
that I cannot hold out beyond tomorrow mid-night; and I
think they have hit the time very nearly.
. Val demar.

I received this note within half an hour after it was

written, and in fifteen minutes more I was in the dying
man’s chamber. I had not seen him for ten days, and was
appalled by the fearful alteration which the brief interval
had wrought in him. His face wore a leaden hue; the
eyes were utterly lustreless; and the emaciation was so
extreme that the skin had been broken through by the
cheek-bones. His expectoration was excessive. The pulse
was barely perceptible. He retained, nevertheless, in a

138
very remarkable manner, both his mental power and a
certain degree of physical strength. He spoke with
distinctness — took some palliative medicines without aid
— and, when I entered the room, was occupied in pencil-
ing memoranda in a pocket-book. He was propped up
in the bed by pillows. Doctors D— and F— were in
attendance.
After pressing Valdemar’s hand, I took these gentlemen
aside, and obtained from them a minute account of the
patient’s condition. The left lung had been for eighteen
months in a semiosseous or cartilaginous state, and was,
of course, entirely useless for all purposes of vitality. The
right, in its upper portion, was also partially, if not thor-
oughly, ossified, while the lower region was merely a mass
of purulent tubercles, running one into another. Several
extensive perforations existed; and, at one point, permanent
adhesion to the ribs had taken place. These appearances
in the right lobe were of comparatively recent date. The
ossification had proceeded with very unusual rapidity; no
sign of it had been discovered a month before, and the
adhesion had only been observed during the three previous
days. Independently of the phthisis, the patient was
suspected of aneurism of the aorta; but on this point the
osseous symptoms rendered an exact diagnosis impossible.
It was the opinion of both physicians that M. Valdemar
would die about midnight on the morrow (Sunday). It was
then seven o’clock on Saturday evening.
On quitting the invalid’s bed-side to hold conversation
with myself, Doctors D— and F — had bidden him a
final farewell. It had not been their intention to return;
but, at my request, they agreed to look in upon the
patient about ten the next night.

139
 When they had gone, I spoke freely with M. Valdemar
on the subject of his approaching dissolution, as well as,
more particularly, of the experiment proposed. He still
professed himself quite willing and even anxious to have
it made, and urged me to commence it at once. A male
and a female nurse were in attendance; but I did not feel
myself altogether at liberty to engage in a.task of this
character with no more reliable witnesses than these
people, in case of sudden accident, might prove. I there-
fore postponed operations until about eight the next
night, when the arrival of a medical student with whom
I had some acquaintance, (Mr-Theodore L—I,) relieved
me from farther embarrassment. It had been my design,
originally, to wait for the physicians; but I was induced
to proceed, first, by the urgent entreaties of M. Valdemar,
and secondly, by my conviction that I had not a moment
to lose, as he was evidently sinking fast.
Mr L—I was so kind as to accede to my desire that
he would take notes of all that occurred; and it is from
his memoranda that what I now have to relate is, for the
most part, either condensed or copied verbatim.
It wanted about five minutes of eight when, taking
the patient’s hand, I begged him to state, as distinctly as
he could, to Mr L—I, whether he (M. Valdemar) was
entirely willing that I should make the experiment of
mesmerizing him in his then condition.
He replied feebly, yet quite audibly, “Yes, I wish to be
mesmerized’ — adding immediately afterwards, ‘I fear
you have deferred it too long.’
While he spoke thus, I commenced the passes which
I had already found most effectual in subduing him. He
was evidently influenced with the first lateral stroke of

140
my hand across his forehead; but although I exerted all
my powers, no farther perceptible effect was induced
until some minutes after ten o’clock, when Doctors
D—and F— called, according to appointment. I explained
to them, in a few words, what I designed, and as they
opposed no objection, saying that the patient was already
in the death agony, I proceeded without hesitation —
exchanging, however, the lateral passes for downward
ones, and directing my gaze entirely into the right eye
of the sufferer.
By this time his pulse was imperceptible and his
breathing was stertorous, and at intervals of half a
minute. :
This condition was nearly unaltered for a quarter of
an hour.
At the expiration of this period, however, a natural
although a very deep sigh escaped the bosom of the
dying man, and the stertorous breathing ceased — that
is to say, its stertorousness was no longer apparent; the
intervals were undiminished. The patient’s extremities
were of an icy coldness.
At five minutes before eleven I perceived unequivocal
signs of the mesmeric influence. The glassy roll of the
eye was changed for that expression of uneasy inward
examination which is never seen except in cases of sleep- |
waking, and which it is quite impossible to mistake. With
a few rapid lateral passes I made the lids quiver, as in
incipient sleep, and with a few more I closed them alto-
gether. I was not satisfied, however, with this, but
continued the manipulations vigorously, and with the
fullest exertion of the will, until I had completely
stiffened the limbs of the slumberer, after placing them

I4I
in a seemingly easy position. The legs were at full length;
the arms were nearly so, and reposed on the bed at a
moderate distance from the loins. The head was very
slightly elevated.
When I had accomplished this, it was fully midnight,
and I requested the gentlemen present to examine M.
Valdemar’s condition. After a few experiments, they
admitted him to be in an unusually perfect state of
mesmeric trance. The curiosity of both the physicians
was greatly excited. Dr D— resolved at once to remain
with the patient all night, while Dr F— took leave with
a promise to return at daybreak. Mr L—I and the nurses
remained. ’
We left M. Valdemar entirely undisturbed until about
three o’clock in the morning, when I approached him
and found him in precisely the same condition as when
Dr F— went away — that is to say, he lay in the same
position; the pulse was imperceptible; the breathing was
gentle (scarcely noticeable, unless through the applica-
tion of a mirror to the lips); the eyes were closed
naturally; and the limbs were as rigid and as cold as
marble. Still, the general appearance was certainly not
that of death.
As I approached M. Valdemar I made a kind of half
effort to influence his right arm into pursuit of my own,
as I passed the latter gently to and fro above his person. _
In such experiments with this patient I had never perfectly
succeeded before, and assuredly I had little thought of
succeeding now; but to my astonishment, his arm very
readily, although feebly, followed every direction I
assigned it with mine. I determined to hazard*a few
words of conversation.
 ‘M. Valdemar,’ I said; ‘are you asleep?’ He made no
answer, but I perceived a tremor about the lips, and was
thus induced to repeat the question, again and again. At
its third repetition, his whole frame was agitated by a
very slight shivering; the eyelids unclosed themselves so
far as to display a white line of the ball; the lips moved
sluggishly, and from between them, in Henlya audible
whisper, issued the words:
“Yes; — asleep now. Do not wake me! — let me die
so!’
I here felt the limbs and found them as rigid as ever.
The right arm, as before, obeyed the direction of my
hand. I questioned the sleep-waker again:
‘Do you still feel pain in the breast, M. Valdemar?’
The answer now was immediate, but even less audible
than before:
‘No pain — I am dying.’
I did not think it advisable to disturb him farther just
then, and nothing more was said or done until the arrival
of Dr F—, who came a little before sunrise, and expressed
unbounded astonishment at finding the patient still alive.
After feeling the pulse and applying a mirror to the lips,
he requested me to speak to the sleep-waker again. I did
so, saying:
‘M. Valdemar, do you still sleep?’
As before, some minutes elapsed ere a reply was made;
and during the interval the dying man seemed to be
collecting his energies to speak. At my fourth repetition
of the question, he said very faintly, almost inaudibly:
‘Yes; still asleep — dying.’
It was now the opinion, or rather the wish, of the
physicians, that M. Valdemar should be suffered to

143
 remain undisturbed in his present apparently tranquil —
condition, until death should supervene — and this, it was
generally agreed, must now take place within a few
minutes. I concluded, however, to speak to him once
more, and merely repeated my previous question.
While I spoke, there came a marked change over the
countenance of the sleep-walker. The eyes rolled them-
selves slowly open, the pupils disappearing upwardly; the
skin generally assumed. a cadaverous hue, resembling
not so much parchment as white paper; and the circular
hectic spots which, hitherto, had been strongly defined
in the centre of each cheek, went-out at once. I use this
expression, because the suddenness of their departure
put me in mind of nothing so much as the extinguish-
ment of a candle by a puff of the breath. The upper lip,
at the same time, writhed itself away from the teeth,
which it had previously covered completely; while the
lower jaw fell with an audible jerk, leaving the mouth
widely extended, and disclosing in full view the swollen
and blackened tongue. I presume that no memberof
~ the party then present had been unaccustomed to death-
bed horrors; but so hideous beyond conception was the
appearance of M. Valdemar at this moment, that there
was a general shrinking back from the region of the
bed.
_ [now feel that I have reached a point of this narrative
at which every reader will be startled into positive disbe-
lief. It is my business, however, simply to proceed.
There was no longer the faintest sign of vitality in M.
Valdemar; and concluding him to be dead, we were
consigning him to the charge of the nurses, when a
strong vibratory motion was observable in the tongue.

144
This continued for perhaps a minute. At the expiration
of this period, there issued from the distended and
motionless jaws a voice — such as it would be madness
in me to attempt describing. There are, indeed, two or
three epithets which might be considered as applicable
to it in part; I might say, for example, that the sound was
harsh, and broken and hollow; but the hideous whole is
indescribable, for the simple reason that no similar
sounds have ever jarred upon the ear of humanity. There
were two particulars, nevertheless, which I thought then,
and still think, might fairly be stated as characteristic of
the intonation — as well adapted to convey some idea of
its unearthly peculiarity. In the first place, the voice
seemed to reach our ears — at least mine — from a vast
distance, or from some deep cavern within the earth. In
the second place, it impressed me (I fear, indeed, that it
will be impossible to make myself comprehended) as
gelatinous or glutinous matters impress the sense of
touch.
I have spoken both of ‘sound’ and of ‘voice.’ I mean
to say that the sound was one of distinct — of even
wonderfully, thrillingly distinct —syllabification. M. Valde-
mar spoke — obviously in reply to the question I had
propounded to him a few minutes before. I had asked
him, it will be remembered, if he still slept. He now
said:
"Yes; — no; — I have been sleeping — and now — now — I
am dead.’ |
No person present even affected to deny, or attempted
to repress, the unutterable, shuddering horror which
these few words, thus uttered, were so well calculated
to convey. Mr L—I (the student) swooned. The nurses

145
immediately left the chamber, and could not be induced
to return. My own impressions I would not pretend to
render intelligible to the reader. For nearly an hour, we
busied ourselves, silently — without the utterance of a
word — in endeavors to revive Mr L—I. When he came
to himself, we addressed ourselves again to an investiga-
tion of M. Valdemar’s condition.
It remained in all respects as I have last described it,
with the exception that the mirror no longer afforded
evidence of respiration. An attempt to draw blood from
the arm failed. I should mention, too, that this limb was
no farther subject to my will. I endeavored in vain to
make it follow the direction of my hand. The only real
indication, indeed, of the mesmeric influence, was now
found in the vibratory movement of the tongue, when-
ever I addressed M. Valdemar a question. He seemed to
be making an effort to reply, but had no longer sufficient
volition. To queries put to him by any other person than
myself he seemed utterly insensible — although I endea-
vored to place each member of the company in mesmeric
rapport with him. I believe that I have now related all
that is necessary to an understanding of the sleep-waker’s
state at this epoch. Other nurses were procured; and at
ten o'clock I left the house in company with the two
physicians and Mr L—I.
In the afternoon we all called again to see the patient.
His condition remained precisely the same. We had now
some discussion as to the propriety and feasibility of
awakening him; but we had little difficulty in agreeing
that no good purpose would be served by so doing. It
was evident that, so far, death (or what is usually termed
death) had been arrested by the mesmeric process. It

146
seemed clear to us all that to awaken M. Valdemar would
be merely to insure his instant, or at least his speedy
dissolution.
From this period until the close of last week — an
interval of nearly seven months — we continued to make
daily calls at M. Valdemar’s house, accompanied, now
and then, by medical and other friends. All this time the
sleep-waker remained exactly as I have last described him.
The nurses’ attentions were continual.
It was on Friday last that we finally resolved to make
the experiment of awakening, or attempting to awaken
him; and it is the (perhaps) unfortunate result of this
latter experiment which has given rise to so much discus-
sion in private circles — to so much of what I cannot help
thinking unwarranted popular feeling.
For the purpose of relieving M. Valdemar from the
mesmeric trance, I made use of the customary passes.
These, for a time, were unsuccessful. The first indication
of revival was afforded by a partial descent of the iris.
It was observed, as especially remarkable, that this lower-
ing of the pupil was accompanied by the profuse
out-flowing of a yellowish ichor (from beneath the lids)
of a pungent and highly offensive odor.
It was now suggested that I should attempt to
influence the patient’s arm, as heretofore. I made the
attempt and failed. Dr F— then intimated a desire to
have me put a question. I did so, as follows:
‘M. Valdemar, can you explain to us what are your
feelings or wishes now?’
There was an instant return of the hectic circles on
the cheeks; the tongue quivered, or rather rolled violently
in the mouth (although the jaws and lips remained rigid

147
as before;) and at length the same hideous voice which
I have already described, broke forth:
‘For God’s sake! — quick! — quick! — put me to sleep
— or, quick! — waken me! — quick! — I say to you that I am
dead!
‘I was thoroughly unnerved, and for an instant
remained undecided what to do. At first I made an
endeavor to-re-compose the patient; but, failing in this
through total abeyance of the will, I retraced my steps
and as earnestly struggled to awaken him. In this attempt
I soon saw that I should be successful — or at least I soon
fancied that my success would be complete —- andI am .
sure that all in the room were prepared to see the patient
awaken.
For what really occurred, however, it is quite impos-
sible that any human being could have been prepared.
As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejacula-
tions of “dead! dead!’ absolutely bursting from the tongue
and not from the lips of the sufferer, his whole frame at
once — within the space of a single minute, or even less,
shrunk — crumbled — absolutely rotted away beneath my
hands. Upon the bed, before that whole company, there
lay a nearly liquid mass of loathsome — of detestable
putridity.
 The Cask of Amontillado

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best

could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed
revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul,
will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a
threat. At length 1 would be avenged; this was a point
definitely settled — but the very definitiveness with which
it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not
only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unre-
dressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is
equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make
himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed
had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I
continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he
did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought
of his immolation.
He had a weak point — this Fortunato — although in
other regards he was a man to be respected and even
feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in
wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the
most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time
and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British
and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary,
Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the
matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did
not differ from him materially; — I was skilful in the

149
Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I
could.
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme
madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my
friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he
had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had
on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was
surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased
to see him that I thought I should never have done
wringing his hand. —
I said to him — ‘My dear Fortunato, you are luckily
met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I
have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and
Ihave my doubts.’
- ‘How?’ said he. Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! And
in the middle of the carnival!’
‘T have my doubts,’ I replied; ‘and I was silly enough
to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you
in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fear-
ful of losing a bargain.’
‘Amontillado!’
‘I have my doubts.’
‘Amontillado!’
And I must satisfy them.’
Amontillado!’ |
‘As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If
any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me —
‘Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.’
‘And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match
for your own.’
‘Come, let us go.’
‘Whither?’

150
 “To your vaults.’
‘My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good
nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi —’
‘I have no engagement; — come.’
‘My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe
cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults
are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre.’
‘Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing.
Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as
for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from
Amontillado.’
Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my
arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a
roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to
hurry me to my palazzo.
There were no attendants at home; they had feuded
to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them
that I should not return until the morning, and had given
them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These
orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their imme-
diate wig or one and all, as soon as my back was
turned.
I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving
one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of
rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed
down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to
be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the
foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp
ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells
upon his cap jingled as he strode.
‘The pipe, he said.

151
 ‘It is farther on,’ said I; ‘but observe the white web-
work which gleams from these cavern walls.’
He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with
two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.
‘Nitre?’ he asked, at length.
‘Nitre,’ I replied. ‘How long have you had that
cough?’
‘Ugh! ugh!-ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh! —
ugh! ugh! ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh!’
My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many
minutes.
‘It is nothing,’ he said, at last.
‘Come,’ I said, with decision, “we will go back; your
health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired,
beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to
be missed. For me it is no matter. We willgo back; you
will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is
Luchresi —
‘Enough,’ he said; ‘the cough is a mere nothing; it
will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.’
“True — true,’ I replied; “and, indeed, I had no inten-
tion of alarming you unnecessarily — but you should use
all proper caution. A genet:of this Medoc will defend
us from the damps.’
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew
from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the
mould.
‘Drink,’ I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and
nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
‘I drink,” he said, ‘to the buried that repose around
Us.

152
 ‘And I to your long life.’
He again took my arm, and we proceeded.
“These vaults,’ he said, ‘are extensive.’
“The Montresors,’ I replied, ‘were a great and numer-
ous family.’
‘I forget your arms.’
‘A huge human foot d’or, in a field azure; the foot
crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in
the heel.’
‘And the motto?’
‘Nemo me impune lacessit.’
‘Good!’ he said.
The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled.
My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had
passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks
and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses
of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made
bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.
“The nitre!’ I said; ‘see, it increases. It hangs like moss
upon the vaults. We are below the river’s bed. The drops
of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go
back ere it is too late. Your cough —’
‘It is nothing,’ he said; ‘let us go on. But first, another
draught of the Medoc.’
I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He
emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light.
He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gestic-
ulation I did not understand.
I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement
— a grotesque one.
‘You do not comprehend?’ he said.
‘Not I,’ I replied.

153
 ‘Then you are not of the brotherhood.’
‘How?’
‘You are not of the masons.’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said; ‘yes, yes.’
‘You? Impossible! A mason?’
‘A mason,’ I replied.
‘A sign,’ he said, ‘a sign.’
‘It is this,’ I answered, producing from beneath the
folds of my roquelaire a trowel.
‘You jest, he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. “But
let us proceed to the Amontillado.’
‘Be it so,’ I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak
and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heav-
ily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado.
We passed through a range of low arches, descended,
passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt,
in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux
rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared
another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with
human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the
fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of
this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner.
From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down,
and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one
point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus
exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived
a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet,
in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have
been constructed for no especial use within itself, but
formed merely the interval between two of the colos-
sal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was

154
backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid
granite.
It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch,
endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its
termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.
‘Proceed,’ I said; ‘herein is the Amontillado. As for
Luchresi —’
‘He is an ignoramus,’ interrupted my friend, as he
stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately
at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity
of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the
rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I
had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two
iron staples, distant from each other about two feet,
horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain,
from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his
waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it.
He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the
key I stepped back from the recess.
‘Pass your hand,’ I said, ‘over the wall; you cannot
help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more
let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively
leave you. But I must first render you all the little atten-
tions in my power.
- ‘The Amontillado!’ ejaculated my friend, not yet recov-
ered from his astonishment.
‘True,’ I replied; ‘the Amontillado.’
As I said these words I busied myself among the pile
of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them
aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and
mortar, With these materials and with the aid of my trowel,
I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

155
 I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when
I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a
great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of
this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess.
It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a
long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the
third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibra-
tions of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes,
during which, that I might hearken to it with the more
satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the
bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed
the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth,
the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly
upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding
the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble
rays upon the figure within.
A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting
suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed
to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesi-
tated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to
grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an
instant reassured me, I placed my hand upon the solid
fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I re-approached
the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I
re-echoed, I aided, 1 surpassed them in volume and in
strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.
It was now midnight,.and my task was drawing to a
close. [had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth
tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh;
there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plas-
tered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially
in its destined position. But now there came from out

156
the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my
head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had
difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato.
The voice said —
‘Ha! ha! ha! — he! he! he! — a very good joke, indeed
—an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about
it at the palazzo — he! he! he! — over our wine — he! he!
he!’
“The Amontillado!’ I said.
‘He! he! he! — he! he! he! — yes, the Amontillado. But
is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the
palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be
gone.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘let us be gone.’
‘For the love of God, Montresor’
‘Yes, I said, ‘for the love of God!’
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I
grew impatient. I called aloud —
‘Fortunato!’
No answer. I called again —
‘Fortunato!’
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remain-
ing aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in
return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick;
it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so.
I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the
last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the
new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For
the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In
pace requiescat!
 Hop-Frog

I never knew any one so keenly alive to a joke as the

king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a
good story. of the joke kind, and to tell it well, was the
surest road to his favor. Thus it happened that his seven
ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as
jokers. They all took after the king, too, in being large,
corpulent, oily men, as well as inimitable jokers. Whether
people grow fat by joking, or whether there is something
in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never
been quite able to determine; but certain it is that a lean
joker is a rara avis in terris.
About the refinements, or, as he called them, the
‘ghosts’ of wit, the king troubled himself very little. He
had an especial admiration for breadth in a jest, and would
often put up with length, for the sake of it. Over-niceties
wearied him. He would have preferred Rabelais’s
‘Gargantua’, to the “Zadig’ of Voltaire: and, upon the
whole, practical oe suited his taste far better than
verbal ones.
At the date of my narrative, professing jesters had not
altogether gone out of fashion at court. Several of the
great continental ‘powers’ still retained their ‘fools,’ who
wore motley, with caps and bells, and who were expected
to be always ready with sharp witticisms, at a moment’s
notice, in consideration of the crumbs that fell from the
royal table.

158
 Our king, as a matter of course, retained his ‘fool.’
The fact is, he required something in the way of folly if
only to counterbalance the heavy wisdom of the seven
wise men who were his ministers — not to mention
himself.
His fool, or professional jester, was not only a fool,
however. His value was trebled in the eyes of the king,
by the fact of his being also a dwarf and a cripple. Dwarfs
were as common at court, in those days, as fools; and
many monarchs would have found it difficult to get
through their days (days are rather longer at court than
elsewhere) without both a jester to laugh with, and a
dwarf to laugh at. But, as I have already observed, your
jesters, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, are fat,
round and unwieldy — so that it was no small source of
self-gratulation with our king that, in Hop-Frog (this was
the fool’s name,) he possessed a triplicate treasure in one
person.
I believe the name “Hop-Frog’ was not that given to
the dwarf by his sponsors at baptism, but it was conferred
upon him, by general consent of the seven ministers, on
account of his inability to walk as other men do. In fact,
Hop-Frog could only get along by a sort of interjectional
gait — something between a leap and a wriggle — a move-
ment that afforded illimitable amusement, and of course
consolation, to the king, for (notwithstanding the protu-
berance of his stomach and a constitutional swelling of
the head) the king, by his whole court, was accounted
a capital figure.
But although Hop-Frog, through the distortion of his
legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty along
a road or floor, the prodigious muscular power which

159
nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms, by way
of compensation for deficiency in the lower limbs,
enabled him to perform many feats of wonderful dexter-
ity, where trees or ropes were in question, or anything
else to climb. At such exercises he certainly much more
resembled a squirrel, or a small monkey, than a frog.
I am not able to say, with precision, from what coun-
try Hop-Frog originally came. It was from some
barbarous region, however, that no person ever heard ~
of — a vast distance from the court of our king. Hop-
Frog, and a young girl very little less dwarfish than
himself (although of exquisite proportions, and a marvel-
lous dancer,) had been forcibly carried off from their
respective homes in adjoining provinces, and sent as
presents to the king, by one of his ever-victorious
generals.
Under these circumstances, it is not to be wondered
at that a close intimacy arose between the two little
captives. Indeed, they soon became sworn friends. Hop-
Frog, who, although he made a great deal of sport, was
by no means popular, had it not in his power to render
Trippetta many services; but she, on account of her grace
and exquisite beauty (although a dwarf,) was universally
admired and petted: so she possessed much influence;
and never failed to use it, whenever she could, for the
benefit of Hop-Frog. : :
On some grand state occasion — I forget what — the
king determined to have a masquerade; and whenever
a masquerade, or anything of that kind, occurred at our
court, then the talents both of Hop-Frog and Trippetta
were sure to be called in play. Hop-Frog, in especial, was
so inventive in the way of getting up pageants, suggesting

. 160
novel characters, and arranging costume, for masked
balls, that nothing could be done, it seems, without his
assistance.
The night appointed for the féte had arrived. A
gorgeous hall had been fitted up, under Trippetta’s eye,
with every kind of device which could possibly give éclat
to a masquerade. The whole court was in a fever of
expectation. As for costumes and characters, it might
well be supposed that everybody had come to a decision
on such points. Many had made up their minds (as to
what réles they should assume) a week, or even a month,
in advance; and, in fact, there was not a particle of inde-
cision anywhere — except in the case of the king and his
seven ministers. Why they hesitated I never could tell,
unless they did it by way of a joke. More probably, they
found it difficult, on account of being so fat, to make
up their minds. At all events, time flew; and, as a last
resource, they sent for Trippetta and Hop-Frog.
When the two little friends obeyed the summons of
the king, they found him sitting at his wine with the
seven members of his cabinet council; but the monarch
appeared to be in a very ill humor. He knew that Hop-
Frog was not fond of wine; for it excited the poor
cripple almost to madness; and madness is no comfort-
able feeling. But the king loved his practical jokes, and
took pleasure in forcing Hop-Frog to drink and (as the
king called it) ‘to be merry.’
‘Come here, Hop-Frog,’ said he, as the jester and his
friend entered the room: ‘swallow this bumper to the
health of your absent friends [here Hop-Frog sighed,]
and then let us have the benefit of your invention. We
want characters — characters, man — something novel — out

161
of the way. We are wearied with this everlasting same-
ness. Come, drink! the wine will brighten your wits.’
Hop-Frog endeavored, as usual, to get up a jest in
reply to these advances from the king; but the effort was
too much. It happened to be the poor dwarf’s birthday,
and the command to drink to his ‘absent friends’ forced
the tears to his eyes. Many large, bitter drops fell into
the goblet as he took it, humbly, from the hand of the
tyrant.
‘Ah! ha! ha! ha!’ roared the latter, as the dwarf reluc-
tantly drained the beaker. ‘See what a glass of good wine
can do! Why, your eyes are shining already!’
- Poor fellow! his large eyes gleamed, rather than shone;
for the effect of wine on his excitable brain was not more
powerful than instantaneous. He placed the goblet ner-
vously on the table, and looked round upon the company
with a half-insane stare. They all seemed highly amused
at the success of the king’s ‘joke.’
And now to business,’ said the prime minister, a very
fat man.
‘Yes,’ said the king; ‘come, Hop-Frog, lend us your
assistance. Characters, my fine fellow; we stand in need
of characters — all of us — ha! ha! ha!’ and as this was
seriously meant for a joke, his laugh was chorused by
the seven.
Hop-Frog also laughed, although feebly and somewhat
vacantly.
‘Come, come,’ said the king, impatiently, ‘have you
nothing to suggest?’
‘Tam endeavoring to think of something novel, replied
the dwarf, abstractedly, for he was quite bewildered by
the wine.

“162
 ‘Endeavoring!’ cried the tyrant, fiercely; ‘what do you
mean by that? Ah, I perceive. You are sulky, and want
more wine. Here, drink this!’ and he poured out another
goblet full and offered it to the cripple, who merely gazed
at it, gasping for breath.
‘Drink, I say!’ shouted the monster, ‘or by the
fiends —
The dwarf hesitated. The king grew purple with rage.
The courtiers smirked. Trippetta, pale as a corpse,
advanced to the monarch’s seat, and, falling on her knees
before him, implored him to spare her friend.
The tyrant regarded her, for some moments, in
evident wonder at her audacity. He seemed quite at a
loss what to do or say — how most becomingly to express
his indignation. At last, without uttering a syllable, he
pushed her violently from him, and threw the contents
of the brimming goblet in her face.
The poor girl got up as best she could, and, not daring
even to sigh, resumed her position at the foot of the
table.
There was a dead silence for about a half a minute,
during which the falling of a leaf, or of a feather might
have been heard. It was interrupted by a low, but harsh
and protracted grating sound which seemed to come at
once from every corner of the room.
‘What — what — what are you making that noise for?’
demanded the king, turning furiously to the dwarf.
The latter seemed to have recovered, in great measure,
from his intoxication, and looking fixedly but quietly
into the tyrant’s face, merely ejaculated:
‘I — I? How could it have been me?’
‘The sound appeared to come from without,’ observed

163
one of the courtiers. ‘I fancy it was the parrot at the
window, whetting his bill upon his cage-wires.’
‘True,’ replied the monarch, as if much relieved by
the suggestion; ‘but, on the honor of a knight, I could
have sworn that it was the gritting of this vagabond’s
teeth.’
Hereupon the dwarf laughed (the king was too
confirmed a joker to object to any one’s laughing), and
displayed a set of large, powerful, and very repulsive
teeth. Moreover, he avowed his perfect willingness to
swallow as much wine as desired. The monarch was
pacified; and having drained another bumper with no
very perceptible ill effect, Hop-Frog entered at once, and
with spirit, into the plans for the masquerade. :
‘I cannot tell what was the association of idea,’
observed he, very tranquilly, and as if he had never tasted
wine in his life, “but just after your majesty had struck
the girl and thrown the wine in her face — just after your
majesty had done this, and while the parrot was making
that odd noise outside the window, there came into my
mind a capital diversion — one of my own country
frolics — often enacted among us, at our masquerades:
but here it will be new altogether. Unfortunately,
however, it requires a company of eight persons, and —
‘Here we are!’ cried the king, laughing at his acute
discovery of the coincidence; ‘eight to a fraction — I and
my seven ministers. Come! what is the diversion?’
“We call it,’ replied the cripple, ‘the Eight Chained
Ourang-Outangs, and it really is excellent sheers:if well
enacted.’
“We will enact it,’remarked the king, vine himself
up, and lowering his eyelids.

164
 ‘The beauty of the game,’ continued Hop-Frog, ‘lies
in the fright it occasions among the women.’
‘Capital!’ roared in chorus the monarch and his
ministry.
‘I will equip you as ourang-outangs,’ proceeded the
dwarf; ‘leave all that to me. The resemblance shall be so
striking, that the company of masqueraders will take
you for real beasts — and, of course, they will be as much
terrified as astonished.’
‘O, this is exquisite!’ exclaimed the king. ‘Hop-Frog!
I will make a man of you.’
‘The chains are for the purpose of increasing the
confusion by their jangling. You are supposed to have
escaped, en masse, from your keepers. Your majesty
cannot conceive the effect produced, at a masquerade, by
eight chained ourang-outangs, imagined to be real ones
by most of the company; and rushing in with savage
cries, among the crowd of delicately and gorgeously
habited men and women. The contrast is inimitable.’
‘It must be,’ said the king: and the council arose
hurriedly (as it was growing late), to put in execution
the scheme of Hop-Frog.
His mode of equipping the party as ourang-outangs
was very simple, but effective enough for his purposes.
The animals in question had, at the epoch of my story,
very rarely been seen in any part of the civilized world;
and as the imitations made by the dwarf were sufficiently
beast-like and more than sufficiently hideous, their truth-
fulness to nature was thus thought to be secured.
The king and his ministers were first encased in tight-
fitting stockinet shirts and drawers. They were then
saturated with tar. At this stage of the process, some one

165
 of the party suggested feathers; but the suggestion was
at once overruled by the dwarf, who soon convinced the
eight, by ocular demonstration, that the hair of such a
brute as the ourang-outang was much more efficiently
represented by flax. A thick coating of the latter was
accordingly plastered upon the coating of tar. A long
chain was now procured. First, it was passed about the
waist of the king, and tied; then about another of the
party, and also tied; then about all successively, in the
same manner. When this chaining arrangement was
complete, and the party stood as far apart from each
other as possible, they formed-a-circle; and to make all
things appear natural, Hop-Frog passed the residue of
- the chain, in two diameters, at right angles, across the
circle, after the fashion adopted, at the present day, by
those who capture Chimpanzees, or other large apes, in
Borneo.
The grand saloon in which the masquerade was to
take place, was a circular room, very lofty, and receiving
the light of the sun only through a single window at
top. At night (the season for which the apartment was
especially designed,) it was illuminated principally by a
large chandelier, depending by a chain from the centre
of the sky-light, and lowered, or elevated, by means of
a counter-balance as usual; but (in order not to look
unsightly) this latter passed outside the cupola and over
the roof. :
The arrangements of the room had been left to Trip-
petta’s superintendence; but, in some particulars, it
seems, she had been guided by the calmer judgment of
her friend the dwarf. At his suggestion it was that, on
this occasion, the chandelier was removed. Its waxen

166
drippings (which, in weather so warm, it was quite impos-
sible to prevent,) would have been seriously detrimental
to the rich dresses of the guests, who, on account of the
crowded state of the saloon, could not all be expected
to keep from out its centre — that is to say, from under
the chandelier. Additional sconces were set in various
parts of the hall, out of the way; and a flambeau, emit-
‘ting sweet odor, was placed in the right hand of each of
the Caryatides that stood against the wall — some fifty
or sixty altogether.
The eight ourang-outangs, taking Hop-Frog’s advice,
waited patiently until midnight (when the room was
thoroughly filled with masqueraders) before making
their appearance. No sooner had the clock ceased strik-
ing, however, than they rushed, or rather rolled in, all
together — for the impediment of their chains caused
most of the party to fall, and all to stumble as they
entered.
The excitement among the masqueraders was prodi-
gious, and filled the heart of the king with glee. As had
been anticipated, there were not a few of the guests who
supposed the ferocious-looking creatures to be beasts of
some kind in reality, if not precisely ourang-outangs.
Many of the women swooned with affright; and had not
the king taken the precaution to exclude all weapons
from the saloon, his party might soon have expiated their
frolic in their blood. As it was, a general rush was made
for the doors; but the king had ordered them to be locked
immediately upon his entrance; and, at the dwarf’s
suggestion, the keys had been deposited with him.
While the tumult was at its height, and each masquer-
ader attentive only to his own safety — (for, in fact, there

167
was much real danger from the pressure of the excited
crowd,) — the chain by which the chandelier ordinarily
hung, and which had been drawn up on its removal,
might have been seen very gradually to descend, until
its hooked extremity came within three feet of the
floor.
Soon after this, the king and his seven friends, having
reeled about the hall in all directions, found themselves,
at length, in its centre, and, of course, in immediate
contact with the chain. While they were thus situated,
the dwarf, who had followed closely at their heels, incit-
ing them to keep up the commotion, took hold of their
own chain at the intersection of the two portions which
crossed the circle diametrically and at right angles. Here,
with the rapidity of thought, he inserted the hook from
which the chandelier had been wont to depend; and, in
an instant, by some unseen agency, the chandelier-chain
was drawn so far upward as to take the hook out of
reach, and, as an inevitable consequence, to drag the
ourang-outangs together in close connection, and face
to face.
The masqueraders, by this time, had recovered, in
some measure, from their alarm; and, beginning to
regard the whole matter as a well-contrived pleasantry,
set up a loud shout of laughter at the predicament of
the apes.
‘Leave them to me!’ now screamed Hop-Frog, his shrill
voice making itself easily heard through all the din.
‘Leave them to me. I fancy I know them. If I can only
get a good look at them, I can soon tell who they are.’
Here, scrambling over the heads of the crowd, he
managed to get to the wall; when, seizing a flambeau

168
from one of the Caryatides, he returned, as he went, to
the centre of the room — leaped, with the agility of a
monkey, upon the king’s head — and thence clambered
a few feet up the chain — holding down the torch to
examine the group of ourang-outangs, and still scream-
ing, ‘I shall soon find out who they are!’ ~
And now, while the whole assembly (the apes included)
were convulsed with laughter, the jester suddenly uttered
a shrill whistle; when the chain flew violently up for
about thirty feet — dragging with it the dismayed and
struggling ourang-outangs, and leaving them suspended
in mid-air between the sky-light and the floor. Hop-Frog,
clinging to the chain as it rose, still maintained his rela-
tive position in respect to the eight maskers, and still (as
if nothing were the matter) continued to thrust his torch
down towards them, as though endeavoring to discover
who they were.
So thoroughly astonished were the whole company
at this ascent, that a dead silence, of about a minute’s
duration, ensued. It was broken by just such a low, harsh,
grating sound, as had before attracted the attention of
the king and his councillors, when the former threw the
wine in the face of Trippetta. But, on the present occa-
sion, there could be no question as to whence the sound
issued. It came from the fang-like teeth of the dwarf,
who ground them and gnashed them as he foamed at
the mouth, and glared, with an expression of maniacal
rage, into the upturned countenances of the king and
his seven companions.
‘Ah, ha!’ said at length the infuriated jester. ‘Ah, ha! I
begin to see who these people are, now!’ Here, pretend-
ing to scrutinize the king more closely, he held the

169
flambeau to the flaxen coat which enveloped him, and
which instantly burst into a sheet of vivid flame. In less
than half a minute the whole eight ourang-outangs were
blazing fiercely, amid the shrieks of the multitude who
gazed at them from below, horror-stricken, and without
the power to render them the slightest assistance.
At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence,
forced the jester to climb higher up the chain, to be out
of their reach; and, as he made this movement, the crowd
again sank, for a brief instant, into silence. The dwarf
seized his opportunity, and once more spoke:
‘I now see distinctly,’ he said, “what manner of people
these maskers are. They are a great king and his seven
privy-councillors — a king who does not scruple to strike
a defenceless girl, and his seven councillors who abet
him in the outrage. As for myself, Iam simply Hop-Frog,
the jester — and this is my last jest.’
Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and
the tar to which it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made
an end of his brief speech before the work of vengeance
was complete. The eight corpses swung in their chains,
a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistinguishable mass.
The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely
to the ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light.
It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of
_the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his
fiery revenge, and that, together, they effected their
escape to their own country: for neither was seen
again.
 ‘However you try to escape it,
horror is always there’

While outside the abbey’s armoured walls the common poor

are ravaged by a grisly pestilence, within Prince Prospero hosts
lavish entertainments. But the ‘Red Death’ will not respect the
immodest comfort of the Prince and his guests . . .

In ‘The Masque of the Red Death’ and other tales of Gothic

horror, Edgar Allan Poe writes as no one else ever has of
creeping, mounting terrors — of the deadly approach of a
terrible pendulum, of the awful end of an ancient and noble
house, and of the impossible beating of a dead heart.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

Lost Hearts and Other Chilling Tales by M. R. James
The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe
The Spook House by Ambrose Bierce
The Haunted Hotel by Wilkie Collins

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