Famous Modern Ghost Stories, by Various

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2017 TheProjectGutenbergeBookofFamousModernGhostStories,byVarious
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Title:FamousModernGhostStories
Author:Various
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GHOSTSTORIES***

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FAMOUSMODERNGHOSTSTORIES
SELECTED,WITHANINTRODUCTION
BY
DOROTHYSCARBOROUGH,PH.D.
LECTURERINENGLISH,COLUMBIAUNIVERSITY
AUTHOROFTHESUPERNATURALINMODERNENGLISHFICTION,
FUGITIVEVERSES,FROMASOUTHERNPORCH,ETC.
COMPILEROFHUMOROUSGHOSTSTORIES
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/15143/15143h/15143h.htm 1/160
8.6.2017 TheProjectGutenbergeBookofFamousModernGhostStories,byVarious
G.P.PUTNAM'SSONS
NEWYORKANDLONDON
TheKnickerbockerPress
1921
PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica
TO

ASHLEYHORACETHORNDIKE,LITT.D.
PROFESSOROFENGLISH,COLUMBIAUNIVERSITY

WHOGUIDEDMYEARLIERSTUDIESINTHESUPERNATURAL
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION:THEIMPERISHABLEGHOST
THEWILLOWS
BYALGERNONBLACKWOOD
THESHADOWSONTHEWALL
BYMARYE.WILKINSFREEMAN
THEMESSENGER
BYROBERTW.CHAMBERS
LAZARUS
BYLEONIDANDREYEV
THEBEASTWITHFIVEFINGERS
BYW.F.HARVEY
THEMASSOFSHADOWS
BYANATOLEFRANCE
WHATWASIT?
BYFITZJAMESO'BRIEN
THEMIDDLETOEOFTHERIGHTFOOT
BYAMBROSEBIERCE
THESHELLOFSENSE
BYOLIVIAHOWARDDUNBAR
THEWOMANATSEVENBROTHERS
BYWILBURDANIELSTEELE
ATTHEGATE
BYMYLAJOCLOSSER
LIGEIA
BYEDGARALLANPOE
THEHAUNTEDORCHARD
BYRICHARDLEGALLIENNE
THEBOWMEN
BYARTHURMACHEN
AGHOST
BYGUYDEMAUPASSANT
TheImperishableGhost
INTRODUCTION
Ghostsarethetrueimmortals,andthedeadgrowmorealiveallthetime.Wraithshave
agreatervitalitytodaythaneverbefore.Theyarefarmorenumerousthanatanytimein
the past, and people are more interested in them. There are persons that claim to be
acquainted with specific spirits, to speak with them, to carry on correspondence with
them,andevensomewhoinsistthattheyareprivatesecretariestothedead.Othersofus
mortals, more reserved, are content to keep such distance as we may from even the
shadowofashade.Butthere'snogettingawayfromghostsnowadays,forevenifyou
shutyoureyestotheminactuallife,youstumbleovertheminthebooksyouread,you
seethemonthestageandonthescreen,andyouhearthemonthelectureplatform.Even
a Lodgeinanyvast wilderness would have the company of spirits. Man's love for the
supernatural,whichisoneofthemostnaturalthingsabouthim,wasnevermoremarked
than at present. You may go aghosting in any company today, and all aspects of
literature,novels,shortstories,poetry,anddramaalike,reflecttheshadelessspirit.The
latestcensusofthehauntingworldshowsavastincreaseinpopulation,whichmightbe
explainedonvariousgrounds.
Life is so inconveniently complex nowadays, what with income taxes and other
visitations of government, that it is hard for us to have the added risk of wraiths, but
there's no escaping. Many persons of today are in the same mental state as one Mr.
Boggs, told of in a magazine story, a rural gentleman who was agitated over spectral
visitants.Hehadoncetalkedatasancewithaspeakerwhoclaimedtobethespiritof
hisbrother,WesleyBoggs,butwhoconversedonlyonbluesuspenders,asubjectnotof
vitalinteresttoWesleyintheflesh."Still,"Mr.Boggsreflected,"I'mnotsodarnsure!"
In answer to a suggestion regarding subliminal consciousness and dual personality as
explanationofthestrangethingsthatcomeboltingintolife,hesaid,"It'scrawlyanyway
youlookatit.Ghostsinsideyouareasbadasghostsoutsideyou."Thereareothersto
daywhoare"notsodarnsure!"
One may conjecture divers reasons for this multitude of ghosts in late literature.
Perhaps spooks are like small boys that rush to fires, unwilling to miss anything, and
cravingnewsensations.Andwemortalsreadaboutthemtogetvicariousthrillsthrough
the safe medium of fiction. The war made sensationalists of us all, and the drab
everydayness of mortal life bores us. Man's imagination, always bigger than his
environment,overleapsthebarriersoftimeandspaceandclaimsallworldsaseminent
domain, so that literature, which he has the power to create, as he cannot create his
material surroundings, possesses a dramatic intensity, an epic sweep, unknown in

actuality.Inthelastanalysis,manisasgreatashisdaydreamsorhisnightmares!
Ghostshavealwayshauntedliterature,anddoubtlessalwayswill.Spectersseemnever
towearoutortodie,butrenewtheirtissuebothofpersonandofraiment,inmarvelous
fashion, so that their number increases with a Malthusian relentlessness. We of today
have the ghosts that haunted our ancestors, as well as our own modern revenants, and
there's no earthly use trying to banish or exorcise them by such a simple thing as
disbeliefinthem.Schopenhauerassertsthatabeliefinghostsisbornwithman,thatitis
foundinallagesandinalllands,andthatnooneisfreefromit.Sinceaccountsvary,and
our earliest antecedents were poor diarists, it is difficult to establish the apostolic
successionofspooksinactual life, but in literature, the line reaches back as far as the
primevalpicturewriting.Astudyofanimisminprimitivecultureshowsmanyinteresting
linksbetweenthepastandthepresentinthismatter.Andanyhow,sincemanknowsthat
whether or not he has seen a ghost, presently he'll be one, he's fascinated with the
subject.Andhecreatesghosts,notmerelyinhisownimage,butaccordingtohisdreams
ofpower.
Themoremanknowsofnaturallaws,thekeenerheisaboutthesupernatural.Hemay
claimtohavelaidasidesuperstition,but heisn'ttobebelieved in that. Though he has
discardedwitchcraft and alchemy, it is only that he may have more time forpsychical
researchtrue,henolongerdabbleswithancientmagic,butthatisbecausethemodern
types,astheouijaboard,entertainhimmore.Hedearlylovestotrafficwiththatother
worldofwhichheknowssolittleandconcerningwhichheissocurious.
Perhaps the war, or possibly an increase in class consciousness, or unionization of
spirits, or whatever, has greatly energized the ghost in our day and given him both
ambition and strength to do more things than ever. Maybe "pep tablets" have been
discoveredontheothersideaswell!Nolongeristheghostcontenttobeseenandnot
heard, to slink around in shadowy corners as apologetically as poor relations. Wraiths
nowhavearambunctiousvitalityandselfassurancethatareastonishing.Eventheghosts
offolksdeadsolongtheyhaveforgottenaboutthemselvesareyawning,stretchingtheir
skeletons, and starting out to do a little haunting. Spooky creatures in such a wide
diversity are abroad today that one is sometimes at a loss to know what to do "gin a
bodymeet a body." Ghosts are entering all sorts of activities now, so that mortals had
betterlookalive,elsethey'llbecrowdedoutoftheirplaceintheshade.Thedeadaretoo
muchwithus!
Modernghostsarelesssimpleandprimitivethantheirancestors,andaredeveloping
complexesofvariouskinds.Theyaremoredemocraticthanofold,andhavemoreofa
diversityofinterests,sothatmortalshavescarcelytheghostofachancewiththem.They
employ all the agencies and mechanisms known to mortals, and have in addition their
ownmethodsoftransitandcommunication.Whereasinthepastaghosthadtostalkor
glidetohishaunts,nowhelimousinesorairplanes,sothatnaturallyhecangetinmore
workthanbefore.Heusesthewirelesstosendhismessages,andisexpertinallmanner
ofscientificlines.
Infact,hisinfernalefficiencyandknowledgeofscienceconstitutetheworstterrorof
thecurrentspecter.Whocancombataghostthatknowsallaboutachemicallaboratory,
that can add electricity to his other shocks, and can employ all mortal and immortal
agenciesashisown?Scienceitselfissupernatural,asweseewhenwelookatitproperly.
Modernliterature,especiallythemostrecent,showsarevivalofoldtypesofghosts,
togetherwiththeinnovationsofthenew.Therearespectersthattakearealpartinthe
plotcomplication,andthosethatmerelycastthreateninglooksattheliving,oratleast,
arecontenttospeakapieceanddepart.Somespiritsaredumb,whileothersarehighly
elocutionary.
Ghostsvaryinmanyrespects.Somearelikethepallidshadesofthepast,altogether
unlikethelivingandwithanunmistakablespectralformorlackofit.Theysweeplike
mistthroughtheair,orflutterlikedeadleavesinthegaleagalealwaysaccompanying
them as part of the stock furnishings. On the other hand, some revenants are so
successfullymadeupthatonedoesn'tbelievethemwhentheypridefullyannouncethat
they are wraiths. Some of them are, in fact, so alive that they don't themselves know
they'redead.It'sgoingtobeagreatshocktosomeofthemoneofthesedaystowakeup
andfindoutthey'redemised!
Ghostsaremoregregariousthaninthepast.Formerlyashadeslunkoffbyhimself,as
ifashamedofhisprofession,asifawareofthelackofcordialitywithwhichhewouldbe
received, knowing that mortals shunned and feared him, and chary even of associating
with his fellowshades. He wraithed all by himself. The specters of the pastsave in
scenesofthelowerworld,wereusuallysolitarycreatures,driventohauntmortalsfrom
verylonesomeness.Nowwehaveachancetostudythemobpsychologyofghosts,for
theycomeinmaddingcrowdswhenevertheylike.
Ghostsatpresentareshowinganactiveinterestnotonlyinpublicaffairs,butinthe
arts as well. At least, we now have pictures and writing attributed to them. Perhaps
annoyedbysomeoftheinaccuraciespublishedconcerningthemforauthorshaveinthe
past taken advantage of the belief that ghosts couldn't write backthey have recently
developeditchingpens.Theyuseallmannerofutensilsforexpressionnow.There'sthe
magic typewriter that spooks for John Kendrick Bangs, the boardwalk that Patience
Worth executes for Mrs. Curran, and innumerable other specters that commandeer
fountainpensandpencilsandbrushestogivetheirversionsofinfinity.There'sapassion
on the part of ghosts for being interviewed just now. At present bookreviewers, for
instance, had better be careful, lest the wraiths take their own method of answering
criticism. It isn't safe to speak or write with anything but respect of ghosts now. De
mortuisnilnisibonum,indeed!Oneshouldnevermakelightofashade.
Modernghostshaveamorepronouncedpersonalitythanthespectersofthepast.They
have more strength, of mind as well as of body, than the colorless revenants of earlier
literature, and they produce a more vivid effect on the beholder and the reader. They
knowmoresurelywhattheywishtodo,andtheyadvancerelentlesslyandwitheconomy
of effort to the effecting of their purpose, whether it be of pure horror, of beauty, or
pathos of humor. We have now many spirits in fiction that are pathetic without
frightfulness, many that move us with a sense of poetic beauty rather than of curdling
horror,whotouchtheheartaswellasthespineofthereader.Andthehumorousghostis
a distinctive shade of today, with his quips and pranks and haunting grin. Whatever a
modernghostwishestodoortobe,heisordoes,withconfidenceandsuccess.
Thespiritoftodayisterrifyinglyvisibleorinvisibleatwill.Thedreadfulpresenceof
aghostthatonecannotseeismoreunbearablethanthespecterthatonecanlocateand
attempt to escape from. The invisible haunting is represented in this volume by Fitz
JamesO'Brien'sWhatWasIt?oneoftheverybestofthetype,andonethathasstrongly
influenced others. O'Brien's story preceded Guy de Maupassant's Le Horla by several
years, and must surelyhavesuggested to Maupassant as to Bierce, in hisThe Damned
Thing,thepowerofevilthatcanbefeltbutnotseen.
Thewraithofthepresentcarrieswithhimmorevitalenergythanhispredecessors,is
moreathleticinhisstruggleswiththeunluckywightshevisits,andcancoercemortalsto
dohiswillbythelayingonofhandsaswellasbythelookorword.Hespeakswithmore
emphasisandauthority,aswellaswithmorehumannaturalness,thantheearlierghosts.
Hehasnotonlyalltheforcehepossessedinlife,butinmanyinstanceshasanaccessof
power, which makes man a poor protagonist for him. Algernon Blackwood's spirits of
evil,forexample,haveamoreawfulpotentialitythananylivingpersoncouldhave,and
theirwilltoharmhasbeenincreasedimmeasurablybytheaccidentofdeath.Ifthefacts
bearoutthefearthatsuchisthecaseinlifeasinfiction,someofoursocialcustomswill
bereversed.Amanwillstrivebyallmeanstokeephisdeadlyenemy alive, lest death
mayendowhimwithtenfoldpowertohurt.Darkdiscarnatepassions,disembodiedhates,
workevilwhereasimpleghostmightbehelplessandabashed.AlgernonBlackwoodhas
commandoverthespiritsofairandfireandwave,sothathispagesthrillwithbeautyand
terror.Hehashandledalmostallknownaspectsofthesupernatural,andfromhismany
storieshehasselectedforthisvolumeTheWillowsasthebestexampleofhisghostlyart.
Apparitions are more readily recognizable at present than in the past, for they carry
into eternity all the disfigurements or physical peculiarities that the living bodies
possessedafactdiscouragingtoallpersonsnotconspicuousforgoodlooks.Freckles
and warts, long noses and missing limbs distinguish the ghosts and aid in crucial
identification.ThethrillofhorrorinAmbroseBierce'sstory,TheMiddleToeoftheRight
Foot,isintensifiedbythefactthatthedeadwomanwhocomesbackinrevengetohaunt
hermurderer,hasonetoelackingasinlife.Andinarecentstoryasurgeonwhosedesire
toexperimenthascausedhimneedlesslytosacrificeaman'slifeontheoperatingtable,
ishauntedtodeathbythedismemberedarm.Fictionshowsusvariousghostswithhalf
faces,andatleastonenotablespookthatcomesinhalf.Suchability,itwillbegranted,
mustnecessarilyincreasethehauntingpower,forifaghostmaysendafootoranarmor
alegtoharryoneperson,hecandispatchhisbackboneorhisliverorhishearttoupset
otherhumanbeingssimultaneouslyinasectionalhauntingatonceeconomicallyefficient
andterrifying.
The Beast with Five Fingers, for instance, has a loathsome horror that a complete
skeleton or conventionally equipped wraith could not achieve. Who can doubt that a
bodilesshandleapingaroundonitserrandsofevilhasamenacethatacompletesixfoot
frame could not duplicate? Yet, in QuillerCouch's A Pair of Hands, what pathos and
beauty in the thought of the child hands coming back to serve others in homely tasks!
Surely no housewife in these helpless days would object to being haunted in such
delicatefashion.
Ghosts of today have an originality that antique specters lacked. For instance, what
storyofthepasthastheawfulthrill in Andreyev's Lazarus,that story of the man who
camebackfromthegrave,living,yetdead,withthehorroroftheunknownsomanifest
inhisfacethatthosewholookedintohisdeepeyesmettheirdoom?Presentdaywriters
skillfully combine various elements of awe with the supernatural, as madness with the
ghostly,addingtothechilloffearwhicheachconceptgives.WilburDanielSteele'sThe
WomanatSevenBrothersisaninstanceofthatmethod.
Poe'sLigeia,oneofthebeststoriesinanylanguage,revealstheunrelentingwillofthe
dead to effect its desire,the dead wife triumphantly coming back to life through the
second wife's body. Olivia Howard Dunbar's The Shell of Sense is another instance of
jealousyreachingbeyondthegrave.TheMessenger,oneofRobertW.Chambers'searly
storiesandanadmirableexampleofthesupernatural,hasvariousthrills,withitsriverof
blood,itsdeath'sheadmoth,andtheancientbutveryactiveskulloftheBlackPriestwho
wasshotasatraitortohiscountry,butlivedonasanenergeticandcursefulghost.
The Shadows on the Wall, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman,which one prominent
librarian considers the best ghost story ever written,is original in the method of its
horrific manifestation. Isn't it more devastating to one's sanity to see the shadow of a
revenge ghost cast on the wall,to know that a vindictive spirit is beside one but
invisiblethan to see the specter himself? Under such circumstances, the sight of a
skeletonorasheetedphantomwouldbedownrightcomforting.
The Mass of Shadows, by Anatole France, is an example of the modern tendency to
showphantomsingroups,ascontrastedwiththesolitaryhabitsofancientspecters.Here
thespiritsofthosewhohadsinnedforlovecould meet and celebrate mass together in
oneeveningoftheyear.
ThedelicatebeautyofmanyofthemodernghostlystoriesisapparentinTheHaunted
Orchard,byRichardLeGallienne,forthisprosepoemhasanappealoftendernessrather
thanofterror.Andeverybodywhohashadaffectionforadogwillappreciatethepathos
ofthelittlesketch,byMylaJ.Closser,AttheGate.Thedogappearsmorefrequentlyasa
ghostthandoesanyotheranimal,perhapsbecausemanfeelsthatheisnearerthehuman,
thoughthehorseisasintelligentandasmuchbeloved.Thereisaninnatepathosabout
a dog somehow, that makes his appearance in ghostly form more credible and
sympathetic, while the ghost of any other animal would tend to have a comic
connotation.Otheranimals in fiction have power of magicnotably the catbut they
don'tappearasspirits.Butthedogisseenasapatheticsymboloffaithfulness,asatragic
sufferer, or as a terrible revenge ghost. Dogs may come singly or in groupsEdith
WhartonhasfiveofdifferentsortsinKerfolorinpacks,asinEdenPhillpotts'sAnother
LittleHeathHound.
Anilluminatinginstanceofthepoweroffictionoverhumanfaithisfurnishedbythe
caseofArthurMachen'sTheBowmen,includedhere.Thisstory it is which started the
wholetissueoflegendryconcerningsupernaturalaidgiventhealliedarmiesduringthe
war.ThispurelyfictitiousaccountofanangelarmythatsavedthedayatMonswasso
vividthatitsreadersaccepteditastruthandobstinatelyclungtothatideainthefaceof
Mr. Machen's persistent and bewildered explanations that he had invented the whole
thing.Editorswroteleadingarticlesaboutit,ministerspreachedsermonsonit,andthe
generalpublicpreferredtobelieveintheMonsangelsratherthaninArthurMachen.Mr.
Machenhasshownhimselfanartistinthesupernatural,onewhomhisgenerationhasnot
beendiscerningenoughtoappreciate.Someofhismaterialispainfullymorbid,buthis
penismagicandhisinkwellholdsmanydarksecrets.
In this collection I have attempted to include specimens of a few of the distinctive
typesofmodernghosts,aswellastoshowtheartofindividualstories.Examplesofthe
humorous ghosts are omitted here, as a number of them will be brought together in
HumorousGhostStories,thecompanionvolumetothis.Theghostloverwhoreadsthese
pageswillthinkofothersthathewouldliketoseeincludedforIbelievethatreaders
aremorepassionatelyattachedtotheirownfavoriteghosttalesthantoanyotherformof
literature. But critics will admit the manifest impossibility of bringing together in one
volumeallthefamousexamplesoftheart.Someofthewellknowntales,particularlythe
olderonesonwhichcopyrighthasexpired,havebeenreprintedsooftenastobealmost
hackneyed, while others have been of necessity omitted because of the limitations of
space.
D.S.
NEWYORK,
March,1921.
TheWillows
BYALGERNONBLACKWOOD
FromTheListener, by Algernon Blackwood. Published in America by

E.P.Dutton,andinEnglandbyEverleighNash,Ltd.Bypermissionofthe
publishersandAlgernonBlackwood.
AfterleavingVienna,andlongbeforeyoucometoBudaPesth,theDanubeentersa
region of singular loneliness and desolation, where its waters spread away on all sides
regardlessofamainchannel,andthecountrybecomesaswampfor miles upon miles,
coveredbyavastseaoflowwillowbushes.Onthebigmapsthisdesertedareaispainted
inafluffyblue,growingfainterincolorasitleavesthebanks,andacrossitmaybeseen
inlargestragglinglettersthewordSmpfe,meaningmarshes.
In high flood this great acreage of sand, shinglebeds, and willowgrown islands is
almosttoppedbythewater,butinnormalseasonsthebushesbendandrustleinthefree
winds,showingtheirsilverleavestothesunshineinanevermovingplainofbewildering
beauty.Thesewillowsneverattaintothedignityoftreestheyhavenorigidtrunksthey
remainhumblebushes,withroundedtopsandsoftoutline,swayingonslenderstemsthat
answer to the least pressure of the wind supple as grasses, and so continually shifting
thattheysomehowgivetheimpressionthattheentireplainismovingandalive.Forthe
windsendswavesrisingandfallingoverthewholesurface,wavesofleavesinsteadof
wavesofwater,greenswellslikethesea,too,untilthebranchesturnandlift,andthen
silverywhiteastheirundersideturnstothesun.
Happy to slip beyond the control of stern banks, the Danube here wanders about at
will among the intricate network of channels intersecting the islands everywhere with
broadavenuesdownwhichthewaterspourwithashoutingsoundmakingwhirlpools,
eddies, and foaming rapids tearing at the sandy bankscarryingaway masses of shore
andwillowclumpsandformingnewislandsinnumerablewhichshiftdailyinsizeand
shapeandpossessatbestanimpermanentlife,sincethefloodtimeobliteratestheirvery
existence.
Properly speaking, this fascinating part of the river's life begins soon after leaving
Pressburg, and we, in our Canadian canoe, with gipsy tent and fryingpan on board,
reacheditonthecrestofarisingfloodaboutmidJuly.Thatverysamemorning,when
the sky was reddening before sunrise, we had slipped swiftly through stillsleeping
Vienna,leavingitacoupleofhourslateramerepatchofsmokeagainstthebluehillsof
theWienerwaldonthehorizonwehadbreakfastedbelowFischeramendunderagrove
ofbirchtreesroaringinthewindandhadthensweptonthetearingcurrentpastOrth,
Hainburg, Petronell (the old Roman Carnuntum of Marcus Aurelius), and so under the
frowning heights of Theben on a spur of the Carpathians, where the March steals in
quietlyfromtheleftandthefrontieriscrossedbetweenAustriaandHungary.
Racing along at twelve kilometers an hour soon took us well into Hungary, and the
muddywaterssuresignoffloodsentusagroundonmanyashinglebed,andtwisted
us like a cork in many a sudden belching whirlpool before the towers of Pressburg
(Hungarian,Poszny)showedagainsttheskyandthenthecanoe,leapinglikeaspirited
horse,flewattopspeedunderthegraywalls,negotiatedsafelythesunkenchainofthe
FliegendeBrckeferry,turnedthecornersharplytotheleft,andplungedonyellowfoam
into the wilderness of islands, sandbanks, and swampland beyondthe land of the
willows.
Thechangecamesuddenly,aswhenaseriesofbioscopepicturessnapsdownonthe
streets of a town and shifts without warning into the scenery of lake and forest. We
enteredthelandofdesolationonwings,andinlessthanhalfanhourtherewasneither
boatnorfishinghutnorredroof,noranysinglesignofhumanhabitationandcivilization
withinsight.Thesenseofremotenessfromtheworldofhumankind,theutterisolation,
the fascination of this singular world of willows, winds, and waters, instantly laid its
spelluponusboth,sothatweallowedlaughinglytooneanotherthatweoughtbyrights
to have held some special kind of passport to admit us, and that we had, somewhat
audaciously, come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom of wonder and
magica kingdom that was reserved for the use of others who had a right to it, with
everywhere unwritten warnings to trespassers for those who had the imagination to
discoverthem.
Though still early in the afternoon, the ceaseless buffetings of a most tempestuous
wind made us feel weary, and we at once began casting about for a suitable camping
groundforthenight.Butthebewilderingcharacteroftheislandsmadelandingdifficult
theswirlingfloodcarriedusinshoreandthensweptusoutagainthewillowbranches
toreourhandsasweseizedthemtostopthecanoe,andwepulledmanyayardofsandy
bankintothewaterbeforeatlengthweshotwithagreatsidewaysblowfromthewind
into a backwater and managed to beach the bows in a cloud of spray. Then we lay
pantingandlaughingafterourexertionsonhotyellowsand,shelteredfromthewind,and
inthefullblazeofascorchingsun,acloudlessblueskyabove,andanimmensearmyof
dancing, shouting willow bushes, closing in from all sides, shining with spray and
clappingtheirthousandlittlehandsasthoughtoapplaudthesuccessofourefforts.
"Whatariver!"Isaidtomycompanion,thinkingofallthewaywehadtraveledfrom
thesourceintheBlackForest,andhowwehadoftenbeenobligedtowadeandpushin
theuppershallowsatthebeginningofJune.
"Won't stand much nonsense now, will it?" he said, pulling the canoe a little farther
intosafetyupthesand,andthencomposinghimselfforanap.
Ilaybyhisside,happyandpeacefulinthebathoftheelementswater,wind,sand,
andthegreatfireofthesunthinkingofthelongjourneythatlaybehindus,andofthe
greatstretchbeforeustotheBlackSea,andhowluckyIwastohavesuchadelightful
andcharmingtravelingcompanionasmyfriend,theSwede.
We had made many similar journeys together, but the Danube, more than any other
river I knew, impressed us from the very beginning with its aliveness. From its tiny
bubblingentryintotheworldamongthepinewoodgardensofDonaueschingen,untilthis
momentwhenitbegantoplaythegreatrivergameoflosingitselfamongthedeserted
swamps,unobserved,unrestrained,ithadseemedtouslikefollowingthegrowthofsome
livingcreature.Sleepyatfirst,butlaterdevelopingviolentdesiresasitbecameconscious
ofitsdeepsoul, it rolled, like some huge fluid being, through all the countrieswehad
passed, holding our little craft on its mighty shoulders, playing roughly with us
sometimes,yetalwaysfriendlyandwellmeaning,tillatlengthwehadcomeinevitably
toregarditasaGreatPersonage.
How,indeed,coulditbeotherwise,sinceittoldussomuchofitssecretlife?Atnight
we heard it singing to the moon as we lay in our tent, uttering that odd sibilant note
peculiartoitselfandsaidtobecausedbytherapidtearingofthepebblesalongitsbed,
so great is its hurrying speed. We knew, too, the voice of its gurgling whirlpools,
suddenly bubbling up on a surface previously quite calm the roar of its shallows and
swift rapids its constant steady thundering below all mere surface sounds and that
ceaselesstearingofitsicywatersatthe banks. How it stood up and shouted when the
rains fell flat upon its face! And how its laughter roared out when the wind blew
upstream and tried to stop its growing speed! We knew all its sounds and voices, its
tumblings and foamings, its unnecessary splashing against the bridges that self
conscious chatter when there were hills to look on the affected dignity of its speech
when it passed through the little towns, far too important to laugh and all these faint,
sweet whisperings when the sun caught it fairly in some slow curve and poured down
uponittillthesteamrose.
It was full of tricks, too, in its early life before the greatworldknewit. There were
placesintheupperreachesamongtheSwabianforests,whenyetthefirstwhispersofits
destinyhadnotreachedit,whereitelectedtodisappearthroughholesintheground,to
appear again on the other side of the porous limestone hills and start a new river with
anothernameleaving,too,solittlewaterinitsownbedthatwe hadtoclimbout and
wadeandpushthecanoethroughmilesofshallows!
Andachiefpleasure,inthoseearlydaysofitsirresponsibleyouth,wastolielow,like
BrerFox,justbeforethelittleturbulenttributariescametojoinitfromtheAlps,andto
refusetoacknowledgethemwhenin,buttorunformilessidebyside,thedividingline
wellmarked,theverylevelsdifferent,theDanubeutterlydecliningtorecognizethenew
comer.BelowPassau,however,itgaveupthisparticulartrick,fortheretheInncomesin
withathunderingpowerimpossibletoignore,andsopushesandincommodestheparent
riverthatthereishardlyroomfortheminthelongtwistinggorgethatfollows,andthe
Danubeisshovedthiswayandthatagainstthecliffs,andforcedtohurryitselfwithgreat
wavesandmuchdashingtoandfroinordertogetthroughintime.Andduringthefight
ourcanoeslippeddownfromitsshouldertoitsbreast,andhadthetimeofitslifeamong
the struggling waves. But the Inn taught the old river a lesson, and after Passau it no
longerpretendedtoignorenewarrivals.
This was many days back, of course, and since then we had come to know other
aspects of the great creature, and across the Bavarian wheat plain of Straubing she
wandered so slowly under the blazing June sun that we could well imagine only the
surfaceincheswerewater,whilebelowtheremoved,concealedasbyasilkenmantle,a
wholearmyofUndines,passingsilentlyandunseendowntothesea,andveryleisurely
too,lesttheybediscovered.
Much, too, we forgave her because of her friendliness to the birds and animals that
hauntedtheshores.Cormorantslinedthebanksinlonelyplacesinrowslikeshortblack
palings gray crows crowded the shinglebeds storks stood fishing in the vistas of
shallowerwaterthatopenedupbetweentheislands,andhawks,swans,andmarshbirds
ofallsortsfilledtheairwithglintingwingsandsinging,petulantcries.Itwasimpossible
to feel annoyed with the river's vagaries after seeing a deer leap with a splash into the
wateratsunriseandswimpastthebowsofthecanoeandoftenwesawfawnspeeringat
usfromtheunderbrush,orlookedstraightintothebrowneyesofastagaswecharged
full tilt round a corner and entered another reach of the river. Foxes, too, everywhere
hauntedthebanks,trippingdaintilyamongthedriftwoodanddisappearingsosuddenly
thatitwasimpossibletoseehowtheymanagedit.
Butnow,afterleavingPressburg,everythingchangedalittle,andtheDanubebecame
moreserious.Itceasedtrifling.ItwashalfwaytotheBlackSea,withinscentingdistance
almostofother,strangercountrieswherenotrickswouldbepermittedorunderstood.It
becamesuddenlygrownup,andclaimedourrespectandevenourawe.Itbrokeoutinto
threearms,foronething,thatonlymetagainahundredkilometersfartherdown,andfor
acanoetherewerenoindicationswhichonewasintendedtobefollowed.
"Ifyoutakeasidechannel,"saidtheHungarianofficerwemetinthePressburgshop
whilebuyingprovisions,"youmayfindyourselves,whenthefloodsubsides,fortymiles
fromanywhere,highanddry,andyoumayeasilystarve.Therearenopeople,nofarms,
nofishermen.Iwarnyounottocontinue.Theriver,too,isstillrising,andthiswindwill
increase."
Therisingriverdidnotalarmusintheleast,butthematterofbeinglefthighanddry
byasuddensubsidenceofthewatersmightbeserious,andwehadconsequentlylaidin
anextrastockofprovisions.Fortherest,theofficer'sprophecyheldtrue,andthewind,
blowing down a perfectly clear sky, increased steadily till it reached the dignity of a
westerlygale.
Itwasearlierthanusualwhenwecamped,forthesunwasagoodhourortwofromthe
horizon,andleavingmyfriendstillasleeponthehotsand,Iwanderedaboutindesultory
examination of our hotel. The island, I found, was less than an acre in extent, a mere
sandy bank standing some two or three feet above the level of the river. The far end,
pointingintothesunset,wascoveredwithflyingspraywhichthetremendouswinddrove
offthecrestsofthebrokenwaves.Itwastriangularinshape,withtheapexupstream.
Istoodthereforseveralminutes,watchingtheimpetuouscrimsonfloodbearingdown
with a shouting roar, dashing in waves against the bank as though to sweep it bodily
away,andthenswirlingbyintwofoamingstreamsoneitherside.Thegroundseemedto
shakewiththeshockandrushwhilethefuriousmovementofthewillowbushesasthe
wind poured over them increased the curious illusion that the island itself actually
moved.Above,foramileortwo,Icouldseethegreatriverdescendinguponme:itwas
likelookinguptheslopeofaslidinghill,whitewithfoam,andleapingupeverywhereto
showitselftothesun.
Therestoftheislandwastoothicklygrownwithwillowstomakewalkingpleasant,
butImadethetour,nevertheless.Fromthelowerendthelight,ofcourse,changed,and
the river looked dark and angry. Only the backs of the flying waves were visible,
streakedwithfoam,andpushedforciblybythegreatpuffsofwindthatfelluponthem
frombehind.Forashortmileitwasvisible,pouringinandoutamongtheislands,and
thendisappearingwithahugesweepintothewillows,whichclosedaboutitlikeaherd
of monstrous antediluvian creatures crowding down to drink. They made me think of
giganticspongelikegrowthsthatsuckedtheriverupintothemselves.Theycauseditto
vanishfromsight.Theyherdedtheretogetherinsuchoverpoweringnumbers.
Altogetheritwasanimpressivescene,withitsutterloneliness,itsbizarresuggestion
andasIgazed,longandcuriously,asingularemotionbeganstirsomewhereinthedepths
ofme.Midwayinmydelightofthewildbeauty,therecreptunbiddenandunexplained,a
curiousfeelingofdisquietude,almostofalarm.
Arisingriver,perhaps,alwayssuggestssomethingoftheominous:manyofthelittle
islands I saw before me would probably have been swept away by the morning this
resistless,thunderingfloodofwatertouchedthesenseofawe.YetIwasawarethatmy
uneasinesslaydeeperfarthantheemotionsofaweandwonder.ItwasnotthatIfelt.Nor
had it directly to do with the power of the driving windthis shouting hurricane that
mightalmostcarryupafewacresofwillowsintotheairandscatterthemlikesomuch
chaffoverthelandscape.Thewindwassimplyenjoyingitself,fornothingroseoutofthe
flat landscape to stop it, and I was conscious of sharing its great game with a kind of
pleasurableexcitement.Yetthisnovelemotionhadnothingtodowiththewind.Indeed,
sovaguewasthesenseofdistressIexperienced,thatitwasimpossibletotraceittoits
sourceanddealwithitaccordingly,thoughIwasawaresomehowthatithadtodowith
myrealizationofourutterinsignificancebeforethisunrestrainedpoweroftheelements
aboutme.Thehugegrownriverhadsomethingtodowithittooavague,unpleasant
ideathatwehadsomehowtrifledwiththesegreatelementalforcesinwhosepowerwe
layhelplesseveryhourofthedayandnight.Forhere,indeed,theyweregiganticallyat
playtogether,andthesightappealedtotheimagination.
But my emotion, so far as I could understand it, seemed to attach itself more
particularly to the willow bushes, to these acres and acres of willows, crowding, so
thicklygrowingthere,swarmingeverywheretheeyecouldreach,pressingupontheriver
as though to suffocate it, standing in dense array mile after mile beneath the sky,
watching,waiting,listening.And,apartquitefromtheelements,thewillowsconnected
themselvessubtlywithmymalaise,attackingthemindinsidiouslysomehowby reason
of their vast numbers, and contriving in some way or other to represent to the
imaginationanewandmightypower,apower,moreover,notaltogetherfriendlytous.
Greatrevelationsofnature,ofcourse,neverfailtoimpressinonewayoranother,and
Iwasnostrangertomoodsofthekind.Mountainsoveraweandoceansterrify,whilethe
mysteryofgreatforestsexercisesaspellpeculiarlyitsown.Butallthese,atonepointor
another,somewherelinkonintimatelywithhumanlifeandhumanexperience.Theystir
comprehensible,evenifalarming,emotions.Theytendonthewholetoexalt.
Withthismultitudeofwillows,however,itwassomethingfardifferent,Ifelt.Some
essenceemanatedfromthemthatbesiegedtheheart.Asenseofaweawakened,true,but
ofawetouched somewhere by a vague terror. Their serried ranks growing everywhere
darkeraboutmeastheshadowsdeepened,movingfuriouslyyetsoftlyinthewind,woke
in me the curious and unwelcome suggestion that we had trespassed here upon the
bordersofanalienworld,aworldwherewewereintruders,aworldwherewewerenot
wantedorinvitedtoremainwherewerangraverisksperhaps!
The feeling,however, though it refused to yield its meaningentirely to analysis, did
notatthetimetroublemebypassingintomenace.Yetitneverleftmequite,evenduring
theverypracticalbusinessofputtingupthetentinahurricaneofwind and building a
fireforthestewpot.Itremained,justenoughtobotherandperplex,andtorobamost
delightfulcampinggroundofagoodportionofitscharm.Tomycompanion,however,I
saidnothing,forhewasamanIconsidereddevoidofimagination.Inthefirstplace,I
could never have explained to him what I meant, and in the second, he would have
laughedstupidlyatmeifIhad.
Therewasaslightdepressioninthecenteroftheisland,andherewepitchedthetent.
Thesurroundingwillowsbrokethewindabit.
"Apoorcamp,"observedtheimperturbableSwedewhenatlastthetentstoodupright
"no stones and precious little firewood. I'm for moving on early tomorroweh? This
sandwon'tholdanything."
Buttheexperienceofacollapsingtentatmidnighthadtaught us many devices, and
wemadethecosygipsyhouseassafeaspossible,andthensetaboutcollectingastoreof
woodtolasttillbedtime.Willowbushesdropnobranches,anddriftwoodwasouronly
source of supply. We hunted the shores pretty thoroughly. Everywhere the banks were
crumblingastherisingfloodtoreatthemandcarriedawaygreatportionswithasplash
andagurgle.
"Theisland'smuchsmallerthanwhenwelanded,"saidtheaccurateSwede."Itwon't
lastlongatthisrate.We'dbetterdragthecanoeclosetothetent,andbereadytostartata
moment'snotice.Ishallsleepinmyclothes."
Hewasalittledistanceoff,climbingalongthebank,andIheardhisratherjollylaugh
ashespoke.
"By Jove!" I heard him call, a moment later, and turned to see what had caused his
exclamationbutforthemomenthewashiddenbythewillows,andIcouldnotfindhim.
"Whatintheworld'sthis?"Iheardhimcryagain,andthistimehisvoicehadbecome
serious.
Iranupquicklyandjoinedhimonthebank.Hewaslookingovertheriver,pointingat
somethinginthewater.
"GoodHeavens,it'saman'sbody!"hecriedexcitedly."Look!"
Ablackthing,turningoverandoverinthefoamingwaves,sweptrapidlypast.Itkept
disappearingandcominguptothesurfaceagain.Itwasabouttwentyfeetfromtheshore,
andjustasitwasoppositetowherewestooditlurchedroundandlookedstraightatus.
We saw its eyes reflecting the sunset, and gleaming an odd yellow as the body turned
over.Thenitgaveaswift,gulpingplunge,anddivedoutofsightinaflash.
"Anotter,bygad!"weexclaimedinthesamebreath,laughing.
Itwasanotter,alive,andoutonthehuntyetithadlookedexactlylikethebodyofa
drowned man turning helplessly in the current. Far below it came to the surface once
again,andwesawitsblackskin,wetandshininginthesunlight.
Then,too,justasweturnedback,ourarmsfullofdriftwood,anotherthinghappened
torecallustotheriverbank.Thistimeitreallywasaman,andwhatwasmore,amanin
aboat.NowasmallboatontheDanubewasanunusualsightatanytime,buthereinthis
desertedregion,andatfloodtime,itwassounexpectedastoconstitutearealevent.We
stoodandstared.
Whether it was due to the slanting sunlight, or the refraction from the wonderfully
illumined water, I cannot say, but, whatever the cause, I found it difficult to focus my
sight properly upon the flying apparition. It seemed, however, to be a man standing
uprightinasortofflatbottomedboat,steeringwithalongoar,andbeingcarrieddown
the opposite shore at a tremendous pace. He apparently was looking across in our
direction, but the distance was too great and the light too uncertainforustomake out
veryplainlywhathewasabout.Itseemed to me that he was gesticulating and making
signsatus.Hisvoicecameacrossthewatertousshoutingsomethingfuriouslybutthe
winddrowneditsothatnosinglewordwasaudible.Therewassomethingcuriousabout
thewholeappearanceman,boat,signs,voicethatmadeanimpressiononmeoutof
allproportiontoitscause.
"He'scrossinghimself!"Icried."Look,he'smakingthesignofthecross!"
"Ibelieveyou'reright,"theSwedesaid,shadinghiseyeswithhishandandwatching
themanoutofsight.Heseemedtobegoneinamoment,meltingawaydownthereinto
theseaofwillowswherethesuncaughttheminthebendoftheriverandturned them
intoagreatcrimsonwallofbeauty.Mist,too,hadbeguntorise,sothattheairwashazy.
"Butwhatintheworldishedoingatnightfallonthisfloodedriver?"Isaid, half to
myself. "Where is he going at such a time, and what did he mean by his signs and
shouting?D'youthinkhewishedtowarnusaboutsomething?"
"Hesawoursmoke,andthoughtwewerespiritsprobably,"laughed my companion.
"These Hungarians believe in all sorts of rubbish: you remember the shopwoman at
Pressburgwarningusthatnooneeverlandedherebecauseitbelongedtosomesortof
beings outside man's world! I suppose they believe in fairies and elementals, possibly
demonstoo.Thatpeasantintheboatsawpeopleontheislandsforthefirsttimeinhis
life,"headded,afteraslightpause,"anditscaredhim,that'sall."TheSwede'stoneof
voice was not convincing, and his manner lacked something that was usually there. I
noted the change instantly while he talked, though without being able to label it
precisely.
"If they had enough imagination," I laughed loudlyI remember trying to make as
muchnoise as I could"they might well people a place like this with the old gods of
antiquity.TheRomansmusthavehauntedallthisregionmoreorlesswiththeirshrines
andsacredgrovesandelementaldeities."
Thesubjectdroppedandwereturnedtoourstewpot,formyfriendwasnotgivento
imaginativeconversationasarule.Moreover,justthenIrememberfeelingdistinctlyglad
thathewasnotimaginativehisstolid,practicalnaturesuddenlyseemedtomewelcome
andcomforting.Itwasanadmirabletemperament,Ifelt:hecouldsteerdownrapidslike
aredIndian, shoot dangerous bridges and whirlpools better than any white man I ever
sawinacanoe.Hewasagrandfellowforanadventuroustrip,atowerofstrengthwhen
untowardthingshappened.Ilookedathisstrongfaceandlightcurlyhairashestaggered
alongunderhispileofdriftwood(twicethesizeofmine!),andIexperiencedafeelingof
relief.Yes,IwasdistinctlygladjustthenthattheSwedewaswhathewas,andthathe
nevermaderemarksthatsuggestedmorethantheysaid.
"The river's still rising, though," he added, as if following out some thoughts of his
own,anddroppinghisloadwithagasp."Thisislandwillbeunderwaterintwodaysifit
goeson."
"Iwishthewindwouldgodown,"Isaid."Idon'tcareafigfortheriver."
Theflood,indeed,hadnoterrorsforuswecouldgetoffattenminutes'notice,and
themorewaterthebetterwelikedit.Itmeantanincreasingcurrentandtheobliteration
of the treacherous shinglebeds that so often threatened to tear the bottom out of our
canoe.
Contrary to our expectations, the wind did not go down with the sun. It seemed to
increase with the darkness, howling overhead and shaking the willows round us like
straws.Curioussoundsaccompanieditsometimes,liketheexplosionofheavyguns,and
itfelluponthewaterandtheislandingreatflatblowsofimmensepower.Itmademe
think of the sounds a planet must make, could we only hear it, driving along through
space.
Buttheskykeptwhollyclearofclouds,andsoonaftersupperthefullmoonroseupin
theeastandcoveredtheriverandtheplainofshoutingwillowswithalightliketheday.
Welayonthesandypatchbesidethefire,smoking,listeningtothenoisesofthenight
round us, and talking happily of the journey we had already made, and of our plans
ahead. The map lay spread in the door of the tent, but the high wind made it hard to
study, and presently we lowered the curtain and extinguished the lantern. The firelight
wasenoughtosmokeandseeeachother'sfacesby,andthesparksflewaboutoverhead
likefireworks.Afewyardsbeyond,therivergurgledandhissed,andfromtimetotimea
heavysplashannouncedthefallingawayoffurtherportionsofthebank.
Ourtalk,Inoticed,hadtodowiththefarawayscenesandincidentsofourfirstcamps
intheBlackForest,orofothersubjectsaltogetherremotefromthepresentsetting,for
neitherofusspokeoftheactualmomentmorethanwasnecessaryalmostasthoughwe
hadagreedtacitlytoavoiddiscussionofthecampanditsincidents.Neithertheotternor
theboatman,forinstance,receivedthehonorofasinglemention,thoughordinarilythese
would have furnished discussion for the greater part of the evening. They were, of
course,distincteventsinsuchaplace.
Thescarcityofwoodmadeitabusinesstokeepthefiregoing,forthewind,thatdrove
the smoke in our faces wherever we sat, helped at the same time to make a forced
draught. We took it in turn to make foraging expeditions into the darkness, and the
quantitytheSwedebroughtbackalwaysmademefeelthathetookanabsurdlylongtime
findingitforthefactwasIdidnotcaremuchaboutbeingleftalone,andyetitalways
seemed to be my turn to grub about among the bushes or scramble along the slippery
banksinthemoonlight.Thelongday'sbattlewithwindandwatersuchwindandsuch
water!hadtiredusboth,andanearlybedwastheobviousprogram.Yetneitherofus
madethemoveforthetent.Welaythere,tendingthefire,talkingindesultoryfashion,
peeringaboutusintothedensewillowbushes,andlisteningtothethunderofwindand
river.Thelonelinessoftheplacehadenteredourverybones,andsilenceseemednatural,
for after a bit the sound of our voices became a trifle unreal and forced whispering
wouldhavebeenthefittingmodeofcommunication,Ifelt,andthehumanvoice,always
rather absurd amid the roar of the elements, now carried with it something almost
illegitimate. It was like talking out loud in church, or in some place where it was not
lawful,perhapsnotquitesafe,tobeoverheard.
Theeerinessofthislonelyisland,setamongamillionwillows,sweptbyahurricane,
and surroundedbyhurrying deep waters, touched us both, I fancy. Untrodden by man,
almostunknowntoman,itlaytherebeneaththemoon,remotefromhumaninfluence,on
thefrontierofanotherworld,analienworld,aworldtenantedbywillowsonlyandthe
soulsofwillows.Andwe,inourrashness,haddaredtoinvadeit,eventomakeuseofit!
SomethingmorethanthepowerofitsmysterystirredinmeasIlayonthesand,feetto
fire,andpeeredupthroughtheleavesatthestars.ForthelasttimeIrosetogetfirewood.
"Whenthishasburntup,"Isaidfirmly,"Ishallturnin,"andmycompanionwatched
melazilyasImovedoffintothesurroundingshadows.
For an unimaginative man I thought he seemed unusually receptive that night,
unusually open to suggestion of things other than sensory. He too was touched by the
beautyandlonelinessoftheplace.Iwasnotaltogetherpleased,Iremember,torecognize
thisslightchangeinhim,andinsteadofimmediatelycollectingsticks,Imademywayto
thefarpointoftheislandwherethemoonlightonplainandrivercouldbeseentobetter
advantage. The desire to be alone had come suddenly upon me my former dread
returned in force there was a vague feeling in me I wished to face and probe to the
bottom.
WhenIreachedthepointofsandjuttingoutamongthewaves,thespelloftheplace
descendeduponmewithapositiveshock.Nomere"scenery"couldhaveproducedsuch
aneffect.Therewassomethingmorehere,somethingtoalarm.
IgazedacrossthewasteofwildwatersIwatchedthewhisperingwillowsIheardthe
ceaselessbeatingofthetirelesswindand,oneandall,eachinitsownway,stirredinme
this sensation of a strange distress. But the willows especially: for ever they went on
chatteringandtalkingamongthemselves,laughingalittle,shrillycryingout,sometimes
sighingbutwhatitwastheymadesomuchtodoaboutbelongedtothesecretlifeof
thegreatplaintheyinhabited.AnditwasutterlyalientotheworldIknew,ortothatof
thewildyetkindlyelements.Theymademethinkofahostofbeingsfromanotherplane
of life, another evolution altogether, perhaps, all discussing a mystery known only to
themselves.Iwatchedthemmovingbusilytogether,oddlyshakingtheirbigbushyheads,
twirlingtheirmyriadleavesevenwhentherewasnowind.Theymovedoftheirownwill
asthoughalive,andtheytouched,bysomeincalculablemethod,myownkeensenseof
thehorrible.
There they stood in the moonlight, like a vast army surrounding our camp, shaking
theirinnumerablesilverspearsdefiantly,formedallreadyforanattack.
The psychology of places, for some imaginations at least, is very vivid for the
wanderer,especially,campshavetheir"note"eitherofwelcomeorrejection.Atfirstit
maynotalwaysbeapparent,becausethebusypreparationsoftentandcookingprevent,
but with the first pauseafter supper usuallyit comes and announces itself. And the
note of this willowcamp now became unmistakably plain to me: we were interlopers,
trespassers,wewerenotwelcomed.ThesenseofunfamiliaritygrewuponmeasIstood
therewatching.Wetouchedthefrontierofaregionwhereourpresencewasresented.For
anight'slodgingwemightperhapsbetoleratedbutforaprolongedandinquisitivestay
No! by all the gods of the trees and the wilderness, no! We were the first human
influencesuponthisisland,andwewerenotwanted.Thewillowswereagainstus.
Strangethoughtslikethese,bizarrefancies,borneIknownotwhence,foundlodgment
in my mind as I stood listening. What, I thought, if, after all, these crouching willows
proved to be alive if suddenly they should rise up, like a swarm of living creatures,
marshaled by the gods whose territory we had invaded, sweep towards us off the vast
swamps, booming overhead in the nightand then settle down! As I looked it was so
easytoimaginetheyactuallymoved,creptnearer,retreatedalittle,huddledtogetherin
masses, hostile, waiting for the great wind that should finally start them arunning. I
could have sworn their aspect changed a little, and their ranks deepened and pressed
morecloselytogether.
Themelancholyshrillcryofanightbirdsoundedoverhead,andsuddenlyInearlylost
my balance as the piece of bank I stood upon fell with a great splash into the river,
underminedbytheflood.Isteppedbackjustintime,andwentonhuntingforfirewood
again, half laughing at the odd fancies that crowded so thickly into my mind and cast
theirspelluponme.IrecalltheSwede'sremarkaboutmovingonnextday,andIwasjust
thinkingthatIfullyagreedwithhim,whenIturnedwithastartandsawthesubjectof
my thoughts standing immediately in front of me. He was quite close. The roar of the
elementshadcoveredhisapproach.
"You've been gone so long," he shouted above the wind, "I thought something must
havehappenedtoyou."
Buttherewasthatinhistone,andacertainlookinhisfaceaswell,thatconveyedto
memorethanhisactualwords,andinaflashIunderstoodtherealreasonforhiscoming.
Itwasbecausethespelloftheplacehadenteredhissoultoo,andhedidnotlikebeing
alone.
"River still rising," he cried, pointing to the flood in the moonlight, "and the wind's
simplyawful."
Healwayssaidthesamethings,butitwasthecryforcompanionshipthatgavethereal
importancetohiswords.
"Lucky," I cried back, "our tent's in the hollow. I think it'll hold all right." I added
somethingaboutthedifficultyoffindingwood,inordertoexplainmyabsence,butthe
windcaughtmywordsandflungthemacrosstheriver,sothathedidnothear,butjust
lookedatmethroughthebranches,noddinghishead.
"Lucky if we get away without disaster!" he shouted, or words to that effect and I
remember feeling half angry with him for putting the thought into words, for it was
exactlywhatI felt myself. There was disaster impending somewhere, and the sense of
presentimentlayunpleasantlyuponme.
Wewentbacktothefireandmadeafinalblaze,pokingitupwithourfeet.Wetooka
lastlookround.Butforthewindtheheatwouldhavebeenunpleasant.Iputthisthought
intowords,andIremembermyfriend'sreplystruckmeoddly:thathewouldratherhave
theheat,theordinaryJulyweather,thanthis"diabolicalwind."
Everything was snug for the night the canoe lying turned overbesidethetent,with
bothyellowpaddlesbeneathhertheprovisionsackhangingfromawillowstem,andthe
washedup dishes removed to a safe distance from the fire, all ready for the morning
meal.
Wesmotheredtheembersofthefirewithsand,andthenturnedin.Theflapofthetent
doorwasup,andIsawthebranchesandthestarsandthewhitemoonlight.Theshaking
willowsandtheheavybuffetingsofthewindagainstourtautlittlehousewerethelast
things I remembered as sleep came down and covered all with its soft and delicious
forgetfulness.
II
Suddenly I found myself lying awake, peering from my sandy mattress through the
doorofthetent.Ilookedatmywatchpinnedagainstthecanvas,andsawbythebright
moonlight that it was past twelve o'clockthe threshold of a new dayand I had
thereforesleptacoupleofhours.TheSwedewasasleepstillbesidemethewindhowled
asbeforesomethingpluckedatmyheartandmademefeelafraid.Therewasasenseof
disturbanceinmyimmediateneighborhood.
I sat up quickly and looked out. The trees were swaying violently to and fro as the
gustssmotethem,butourlittlebitofgreencanvaslaysnuglysafeinthehollow,forthe
windpassedoveritwithoutmeetingenoughresistancetomakeitvicious.Thefeelingof
disquietude did not pass however, and I crawled quietly out of the tent to see if our
belongingsweresafe. I moved carefully so as not to waken my companion. A curious
excitementwasonme.
Iwashalfwayout,kneelingonallfours,whenmyeyefirsttookinthatthetopsofthe
bushesopposite,withtheirmovingtraceryofleaves,madeshapesagainstthesky.Isat
back on my haunches and stared. It was incredible, surely, but there, opposite and
slightlyaboveme,wereshapesofsomeindeterminatesortamongthewillows,andasthe
branches swayed in the wind they seemed to group themselves about these shapes,
forming a series of monstrous outlines that shifted rapidly beneath the moon. Close,
aboutfiftyfeetinfrontofme,Isawthesethings.
My first instinct was to waken my companion that he too might see them, but
something made me hesitatethe sudden realization, probably, that I should not
welcome corroboration and meanwhile I crouched there staring in amazement with
smartingeyes.Iwaswideawake.IremembersayingtomyselfthatIwasnotdreaming.
They first became properly visible, these huge figures, just within the tops of the
bushesimmense bronzecolored, moving, and wholly independent of the swaying of
thebranches.Isawthemplainlyandnoted,nowIcametoexaminethemmorecalmly,
that they were very much larger than human, and indeed that something in their
appearanceproclaimedthemtobenothumanatall.Certainlytheywerenotmerelythe
movingtraceryofthebranchesagainstthemoonlight.Theyshiftedindependently.They
roseupwardsinacontinuousstreamfromearthtosky,vanishingutterlyassoonasthey
reached the dark of the sky. They were interlaced one with another, making a great
column,andIsawtheirlimbsandhugebodiesmeltinginandoutofeachother,forming
thisserpentinelinethatbentandswayedandtwistedspirallywiththecontortionsofthe
windtossedtrees.Theywerenude,fluidshapes,passingupthebushes,withintheleaves
almostrising up in a living column into the heavens. Their faces I never could see.
Unceasinglytheypouredupwards,swayingingreatbendingcurves,withahueofdull
bronzeupontheirskins.
Istared,tryingtoforceeveryatomofvisionfrommyeyes.ForalongtimeIthought
they must every moment disappear and resolve themselves into the movements of the
branchesandprovetobeanopticalillusion.Isearchedeverywhereforaproofofreality,
whenallthewhileIunderstoodquitewellthatthestandardofrealityhadchanged.For
the longer I looked the more certain I became that these figures were real and living,
thoughperhapsnot according tothe standards that the camera and the biologist would
insistupon.
Farfromfeelingfear,IwaspossessedwithasenseofaweandwondersuchasIhave
neverknown.Iseemedtobegazingatthepersonifiedelementalforcesofthishaunted
andprimevalregion.Ourintrusionhadstirredthepowersoftheplaceintoactivity.Itwas
we who were the cause of the disturbance, and my brain filled to bursting with stories
and legends of the spirits and deities of places that have been acknowledged and
worshiped by men in all ages of the world's history. But, before I could arrive at any
possibleexplanation,somethingimpelledmetogofartherout,andIcreptforwardonto
thesandandstoodupright.Ifeltthegroundstillwarmundermybarefeetthewindtore
atmyhairandfaceandthesoundoftheriverburstuponmyearswithasuddenroar.
Thesethings,Iknew,werereal,andprovedthatmysenseswereactingnormally.Yetthe
figuresstillrosefromearthtoheaven,silent,majestically,inagreatspiralofgraceand
strengththatoverwhelmedmeatlengthwithagenuinedeepemotionofworship.Ifelt
thatImustfalldownandworshipabsolutelyworship.
PerhapsinanotherminuteImighthavedoneso,whenagustof wind swept against
mewithsuchforcethatitblewmesideways,andInearlystumbledandfell.Itseemedto
shakethedreamviolentlyoutofme.Atleastitgavemeanotherpointofviewsomehow.
Thefiguresstillremained,stillascendedintoheavenfromtheheartofthenight,butmy
reasonatlastbegantoassertitself.Itmustbeasubjectiveexperience, I arguednone
the less real for that, but still subjective. The moonlight and the branches combined to
work out these pictures upon the mirror of my imagination, and for some reason I
projectedthemoutwardsandmadethemappearobjective.Iknewthismustbethecase,
ofcourse.Iwasthesubjectofavividandinterestinghallucination.Itookcourage,and
began to move forward across the open patches of sand. By Jove, though, was it all
hallucination?Wasitmerelysubjective?Didnotmyreasonargueintheoldfutileway
fromthelittlestandardoftheknown?
Ionlyknowthatgreatcolumnoffiguresascendeddarklyintotheskyforwhatseemed
averylongperiodoftime,andwithaverycompletemeasureofrealityasmostmenare
accustomedtogaugereality.Thensuddenlytheyweregone!
And, once they were gone and the immediate wonder of their great presence had
passed,fearcamedownuponmewithacoldrush.Theesotericmeaningofthislonely
andhauntedregionsuddenly flamed up within me and I began to tremble dreadfully. I
took a quick look rounda look of horror that came near topaniccalculatingvainly
ways of escape and then, realizing how helpless I was to achieve anything really
effective,Icreptbacksilentlyintothetentandlaydownagainuponmysandymattress,
firstloweringthedoorcurtaintoshutoutthesightofthewillowsinthemoonlight,and
thenburyingmyheadasdeeplyaspossiblebeneaththeblanketstodeadenthesoundof
theterrifyingwind.
III
AsthoughfurthertoconvincemethatIhadnotbeendreaming,Irememberthatitwas
alongtimebeforeIfellagainintoatroubledandrestlesssleepandeventhenonlythe
upper crust of me slept, and underneath there was something that never quite lost
consciousness,butlayalertandonthewatch.
ButthissecondtimeIjumpedupwithagenuinestartofterror.Itwasneitherthewind
northeriverthatwokeme,buttheslowapproachofsomethingthatcausedthesleeping
portionofmetogrowsmallerandsmallertillatlastitvanishedaltogether,andIfound
myselfsittingboltuprightlistening.
Outsidetherewasasoundofmultitudinouslittlepatterings.Theyhadbeencoming,I
was aware, for a long time, and in my sleep they had first become audible. I sat there
nervouslywideawakeasthoughIhadnotsleptatall.Itseemedtomethatmybreathing
camewithdifficulty,andthattherewasagreatweightuponthesurfaceofmybody.In
spite of the hot night, I felt clammy with cold and shivered. Something surely was
pressing steadily against the sides of the tent and weighing down upon it from above.
Wasitthebodyofthewind?Wasthisthepatteringrain,thedrippingoftheleaves?The
sprayblownfromtheriverbythewindandgatheringinbigdrops?Ithoughtquicklyofa
dozenthings.
Thensuddenlytheexplanationleapedintomymind:aboughfromthepoplar,theonly
largetreeontheisland,hadfallenwiththewind.Stillhalfcaughtbytheotherbranches,
it would fall with the next gust and crush us, and meanwhile its leaves brushed and
tappeduponthetightcanvassurfaceofthetent.Iraisedthelooseflapandrushedout,
callingtotheSwedetofollow.
But when I got out and stood upright I saw that the tent was free. There was no
hangingboughtherewasnorainorspraynothingapproached.
A cold, gray light filtered down through the bushes and lay on the faintly gleaming
sand.Starsstillcrowdedtheskydirectlyoverhead,andthewindhowledmagnificently,
butthefirenolongergaveoutanyglow,andIsawtheeastreddeninginstreaksthrough
the trees. Several hours must have passed since I stood there before, watching the
ascending figures, and the memory of it now came back to me horribly, like an evil
dream.Oh,howtireditmademefeel,thatceaselessragingwind!Yet,thoughthedeep
lassitudeofasleeplessnightwasonme,mynervesweretinglingwiththeactivityofan
equallytirelessapprehension,andallideaofreposewasoutofthequestion.TheriverI
sawhadrisenfurther.Itsthunderfilledtheair,andafinespraymadeitselffeltthrough
mythinsleepingshirt.
Yet nowhere did I discover the slightest evidences of anything to cause alarm. This
deep,prolongeddisturbanceinmyheartremainedwhollyunaccountedfor.
MycompanionhadnotstirredwhenIcalledhim,andtherewasnoneedtowakenhim
now.Ilookedaboutmecarefully,notingeverything:theturnedovercanoetheyellow
paddlestwo of them, I'm certain the provision sack and the extra lantern hanging
togetherfromthetreeand,crowdingeverywhereaboutme,envelopingall,thewillows,
those endless, shaking willows. A bird uttered its morning cry, and a string of duck
passedwithwhirringflightoverheadinthetwilight.Thesandwhirled,dryandstinging,
aboutmybarefeetinthewind.
Iwalkedroundthetentandthenwentoutalittlewayintothebush,sothatIcouldsee
acrosstherivertothefartherlandscape,andthesameprofoundyetindefinableemotion
ofdistressseizeduponmeagainasIsawtheinterminableseaofbushesstretchingtothe
horizon,lookingghostlyandunrealinthewanlightofdawn.Iwalkedsoftlyhereand
there,stillpuzzlingoverthatoddsoundofinfinitepattering,andofthatpressureupon
thetentthathadwakenedme.Itmusthavebeenthewind,Ireflectedthewindbeating
upontheloose,hotsand,driving the dry particles smartly against thetaut canvasthe
winddroppingheavilyuponourfragileroof.
Yetallthetimemynervousnessandmalaiseincreasedappreciably.
Icrossedovertothefarthershoreandnotedhowthecoastlinehadalteredinthenight,
and what masses of sand the river had torn away. I dipped my hands and feet into the
coolcurrent,andbathedmyforehead.Alreadytherewasaglowofsunriseintheskyand
theexquisitefreshnessofcomingday.OnmywaybackIpassedpurposelybeneaththe
very bushes where I had seen the column of figures rising into the air, and midway
amongtheclumpsIsuddenlyfoundmyselfovertakenbyasenseofvastterror.Fromthe
shadowsalargefigurewentswiftlyby.Someonepassedme,assureasevermandid....
Itwasagreatstaggeringblowfromthewindthathelpedmeforwardagain,andonce
out in the more open space, the sense of terror diminished strangely. The winds were
about and walking, I remember saying to myself for the winds often move like great
presences under the trees. And altogether the fear that hovered about me was such an
unknown and immense kind of fear, so unlike anything I had ever felt before, that it
wokeasenseofaweandwonderinmethatdidmuchtocounteractitsworsteffectsand
whenIreachedahighpointinthemiddleoftheislandfromwhichIcouldseethewide
stretch of river, crimson in the sunrise, the whole magical beauty of it all was so
overpoweringthatasortofwildyearningwokeinmeandalmostbroughtacryupinto
thethroat.
Butthiscryfoundnoexpression,forasmyeyeswanderedfromtheplainbeyondto
theislandroundmeandnotedourlittletenthalfhiddenamongthewillows,adreadful
discoveryleapedoutatme,comparedtowhichmyterrorofthewalkingwindsseemed
asnothingatall.
For a change, I thought, had somehow come about in the arrangement of the
landscape. It was not that my point of vantage gave me a different view, but that an
alterationhadapparentlybeeneffectedintherelationofthetenttothewillows,andof
the willows to the tent. Surely the bushes now crowded much closerunnecessarily,
unpleasantlyclose.Theyhadmovednearer.
Creepingwithsilentfeetovertheshiftingsands,drawingimperceptiblynearerbysoft,
unhurriedmovements,thewillowshadcomecloserduringthenight.Buthadthewind
moved them, or had they moved of themselves? I recalled the sound of infinite small
patteringsandthepressureuponthetentanduponmyownheartthatcausedmetowake
in terror. I swayed for a moment in the wind like a tree, finding it hard to keep my
uprightpositiononthesandyhillock.Therewasasuggestionhereofpersonalagency,of
deliberateintention,ofaggressivehostility,anditterrifiedmeintoasortofrigidity.
Then the reaction followed quickly. The idea was so bizarre, so absurd, that I felt
inclinedtolaugh.Butthelaughtercamenomorereadilythanthecry,fortheknowledge
that my mind was so receptive to such dangerous imaginings brought the additional
terrorthatitwasthroughourmindsandnotthroughourphysicalbodiesthattheattack
wouldcome,andwascoming.
The wind buffeted me about, and, very quickly it seemed, the suncameupoverthe
horizon,foritwasafterfouro'clock,andImusthavestoodonthatlittlepinnacleofsand
longerthan I knew, afraid to come down at close quarters with the willows. I returned
quietly, creepily, to the tent, first taking another exhaustive look round andyes, I
confess itmaking a few measurements. I paced out on the warm sand the distances
betweenthewillowsandthetent,makinganoteoftheshortestdistanceparticularly.
I crawled stealthily into my blankets. My companion, to all appearances, still slept
soundly,andIwasgladthatthiswasso.Providedmyexperienceswerenotcorroborated,
Icouldfindstrengthsomehowtodenythem,perhaps.WiththedaylightIcouldpersuade
myselfthatitwasallasubjectivehallucination,afantasyofthenight,aprojectionofthe
excitedimagination.
Nothingfurthercametodisturbme,andIfellasleepalmostatonce,utterlyexhausted,
yet still in dread of hearing again that weird sound of multitudinous pattering, or of
feelingthepressureuponmyheartthathadmadeitdifficulttobreathe.
IV
Thesunwashighintheheavenswhenmycompanionwokemefrom a heavy sleep

and announced that the porridge was cooked and there was just time to bathe. The
gratefulsmelloffrizzlingbaconenteredthetentdoor.
"River still rising," he said, "and several islands out in midstream have disappeared
altogether.Ourownisland'smuchsmaller."
"Anywoodleft?"Iaskedsleepily.
"The wood and the island will finish tomorrow in a dead heat," he laughed, "but
there'senoughtolastustillthen."
I plunged in from the point of the island, which had indeed alteredalotinsize and
shapeduringthenight,andwassweptdowninamomenttothelandingplaceopposite
thetent.Thewaterwasicy,andthebanksflewbylikethecountryfromanexpresstrain.
Bathingundersuchconditionswasanexhilaratingoperation,andtheterrorofthenight
seemedcleansedoutofmebyaprocessofevaporationinthebrain.Thesunwasblazing
hotnotacloudshoweditselfanywherethewind,however,hadnotabatedonelittlejot.
Quite suddenly then the implied meaning of the Swede's words flashed across me,
showingthathenolongerwishedtoleaveposthaste,andhadchangedhismind."Enough
tolasttilltomorrow"heassumedweshouldstayontheislandanothernight.Itstruck
measodd.Thenightbeforehewassopositivetheotherway.Howhadthechangecome
about?
Greatcrumblingsofthebanksoccurredatbreakfast,withheavysplashingsandclouds
of spray which the wind brought into our fryingpan, and my fellowtraveler talked
incessantlyaboutthedifficultytheViennaPesthsteamersmusthavetofindthechannel
inflood.Butthestateofhismindinterestedandimpressedmefarmorethanthestateof
theriverorthedifficultiesofthesteamers.Hehadchangedsomehowsincetheevening
before.Hismannerwasdifferentatrifleexcited,atrifleshy,withasortofsuspicion
abouthisvoiceandgestures.Ihardlyknowhowtodescribeitnowincoldblood,butat
thetimeIrememberbeingquitecertainofonething,viz.,thathehadbecomefrightened!
Heateverylittlebreakfast,andforonceomittedtosmokehispipe.Hehadthemap
spreadopenbesidehim,andkeptstudyingitsmarkings.
"We'dbettergetoffsharpinanhour,"Isaidpresently,feelingforanopeningthatmust
bring him indirectly to a partial confession at any rate. And his answer puzzled me
uncomfortably:"Rather!Ifthey'llletus."
"Who'llletus?Theelements?"Iaskedquickly,withaffectedindifference.
"Thepowersofthis awful place, whoever they are," hereplied, keeping his eyes on
themap."Thegodsarehere,iftheyareanywhereatallintheworld."
"The elements are always the true immortals," I replied, laughing as naturally as I
couldmanage,yetknowingquitewellthatmyfacereflectedmytruefeelingswhenhe
lookedupgravelyatmeandspokeacrossthesmoke:
"Weshallbefortunateifwegetawaywithoutfurtherdisaster."
ThiswasexactlywhatIhaddreaded,andIscrewedmyselfuptothepointofthedirect
question. It was like agreeing to allow the dentist to extract the tooth it had to come
anyhowinthelongrun,andtherestwasallpretense.
"Furtherdisaster!Why,what'shappened?"
"Foronethingthesteeringpaddle'sgone,"hesaidquietly.
"Thesteeringpaddlegone!"Irepeated,greatlyexcited,forthiswasourrudder,andthe
Danubeinfloodwithoutarudderwassuicide."Butwhat"
"Andthere'satearinthebottomofthecanoe,"headded,withagenuinelittletremor
inhisvoice.
I continued staring at him, able only to repeat the words in his face somewhat
foolishly. There, in the heat of the sun, and on this burning sand, I was aware of a
freezingatmospheredescendingroundus.Igotuptofollowhim,forhemerelynodded
hisheadgravelyandledthewaytowardsthetentafewyardsontheothersideofthe
fireplace.ThecanoestilllaythereasIhadlastseenherinthenight,ribsuppermost,the
paddles,orrather,thepaddle,onthesandbesideher.
"There's only one," he said, stooping to pick it up. "And here's the rent in the base
board."
ItwasonthetipofmytonguetotellhimthatIhadclearlynoticedtwopaddlesafew
hours before, but a second impulse made me think better of it, and I said nothing. I
approachedtosee.
Therewasalong,finelymadetearinthebottomofthecanoewherealittleslitherof
woodhadbeenneatlytakencleanoutitlookedasifthetoothofasharprockorsnag
hadeatendownherlength,andinvestigationshowedthattheholewentthrough.Hadwe
launchedoutinherwithoutobservingitwemustinevitablyhavefoundered.Atfirstthe
waterwouldhavemadethewoodswellsoastoclosethehole,butonceoutinmidstream
the water must have poured in, and the canoe, never more than two inches above the
surface,wouldhavefilledandsunkveryrapidly.
"There,yousee,anattempttoprepareavictimforthesacrifice,"Iheardhimsaying,
moretohimselfthantome,"twovictimsrather,"headdedashebentoverandranhis
fingersalongtheslit.
IbegantowhistleathingIalwaysdounconsciouslywhenutterlynonplusedand
purposelypaidnoattentiontohiswords.Iwasdeterminedtoconsiderthemfoolish.
"It wasn't there last night," he said presently, straightening up from his examination
andlookinganywherebutatme.
"Wemusthavescratchedherinlanding,ofcourse,"Istoppedwhistlingtosay,"The
stonesareverysharp"
I stopped abruptly, for at that moment he turned round and met my eye squarely. I
knewjustaswellashedidhowimpossiblemyexplanationwas.Therewerenostones,to
beginwith.
"And then there's this to explain too," he added quietly, handing me the paddle and
pointingtotheblade.
AnewandcuriousemotionspreadfreezinglyovermeasItookandexaminedit.The
blade was scraped down all over, beautifully scraped, as though someone had sand
papereditwithcare,makingitsothinthatthefirstvigorousstrokemusthavesnappedit
offattheelbow.
"Oneofuswalkedinhissleepanddidthisthing,"Isaidfeebly,"ororithasbeen
filedbytheconstantstreamofsandparticlesblownagainstitbythewind,perhaps."
"Ah,"saidtheSwede,turningaway,laughingalittle,"youcanexplaineverything!"
"Thesamewindthatcaughtthesteeringpaddleandflungitsonearthebankthatitfell
in with the next lump that crumbled," I called out after him, absolutely determined to
findanexplanationforeverythingheshowedme.
"Isee,"heshoutedback,turninghisheadtolookatmebeforedisappearingamongthe
willowbushes.
Once alone with these perplexing evidences of personal agency, I think my first
thoughttooktheformof"Oneofusmusthavedonethisthing,anditcertainlywasnot
I." But my second thought decided how impossible it was to suppose, under all the
circumstances,thateitherofushaddoneit.Thatmycompanion,thetrustedfriendofa
dozensimilarexpeditions,couldhaveknowinglyhadahandinit,wasasuggestionnot
to be entertained for a moment. Equally absurd seemed the explanation that this
imperturbableanddenselypracticalnaturehadsuddenlybecomeinsaneandwasbusied
withinsanepurposes.
Yet the fact remained that what disturbed me most, and kept my fear actively alive
eveninthisblazeofsunshineandwildbeauty,wastheclearcertaintythatsomecurious
alterationhadcomeaboutinhismindthathewasnervous,timid,suspicious,awareof
goingsonhedidnotspeakabout,watchingaseriesofsecretandhithertounmentionable
eventswaiting,inaword,foraclimaxthatheexpected,and,Ithought,expectedvery
soon.ThisgrewupinmymindintuitivelyIhardlyknewhow.
Imadeahurriedexaminationofthetentanditssurroundings,butthemeasurementsof
thenightremainedthesame.Thereweredeephollowsformedinthesand,Inownoticed
for the first time, basinshaped and of various depths and sizes,varyingfrom that of a
teacuptoalargebowl.Thewind,nodoubt,wasresponsiblefortheseminiaturecraters,
justasitwasforliftingthepaddleandtossingittowardsthewater.Therentinthecanoe
wastheonlythingthatseemedquiteinexplicableand,afterall,itwasconceivablethata
sharppointhadcaughtitwhenwelanded.TheexaminationImadeoftheshoredidnot
assist this theory, but all the same I clung to it with that diminishing portion of my
intelligencewhich I called my "reason." An explanation of some kind was an absolute
necessity, just as some working explanation of the universe is necessaryhowever
absurdtothehappinessofeveryindividualwhoseekstodohisdutyintheworldand
facetheproblemsoflife.Thesimileseemedtomeatthetimeanexactparallel.
Iatoncesetthepitchmelting,andpresentlytheSwedejoinedmeatthework,though
underthebestconditionsintheworldthecanoecould not be safe for traveling till the
followingday.Idrewhisattentioncasuallytothehollowsinthesand.
"Yes," he said, "I know. They're all over the island. But you can explain them, no
doubt!"
"Wind,ofcourse,"Iansweredwithouthesitation."Haveyouneverwatchedthoselittle
whirlwinds in the street that twist and twirl everything into a circle? This sand's loose
enoughtoyield,that'sall."
Hemadenoreply,andweworkedoninsilenceforabit.Iwatchedhimsurreptitiously
all the time, and I had an idea he was watching me. He seemed, too, to be always
listening attentively to something I could not hear, or perhaps for something that he
expectedtohear,forhekeptturningaboutandstaringintothebushes,andupintothe
sky, and out across the water where it was visible through the openings among the
willows.Sometimesheevenputhishandtohisearandhelditthereforseveralminutes.
Hesaidnothingtome,however,aboutit,andIaskednoquestions.Andmeanwhile,as
hemendedthattorncanoewiththeskillandaddressofaredIndian,Iwasgladtonotice
hisabsorptioninthework,fortherewasavaguedreadinmyheartthathewouldspeak
ofthechangedaspectofthewillows.And,ifhehadnoticedthat,myimaginationcould
nolongerbeheldasufficientexplanationofit.
Atlength,afteralongpause,hebegantotalk.
"Queer thing," he added in a hurried sort of voice, as though he wanted to say
somethingandgetitover."Queerthing,Imean,aboutthatotterlastnight."
I had expected something so totally different that he caught me with surprise, and I
lookedupsharply.
"Showshowlonelythisplaceis.Ottersareawfullyshythings"
"Idon'tmeanthat,ofcourse,"heinterrupted."Imeandoyouthinkdidyouthinkit
reallywasanotter?"
"Whatelse,inthenameofHeaven,whatelse?"
"You know, I saw it before you did, and at first it seemedsomuch bigger than an
otter."
"Thesunsetasyoulookedupstreammagnifiedit,orsomething,"Ireplied.
He looked at me absently a moment, as though his mind were busy with other
thoughts.
"Ithadsuchextraordinaryyelloweyes,"hewentonhalftohimself.
"Thatwasthesuntoo,"Ilaughed,atrifleboisterously."Isupposeyou'llwondernextif
thatfellowintheboat"
I suddenly decided not to finish the sentence. He was in the act again of listening,
turninghisheadtothewind,andsomethingintheexpressionofhisfacemademehalt.
Thesubjectdropped,andwewentonwithourcaulking.Apparentlyhehadnotnoticed
myunfinishedsentence.Fiveminuteslater,however,helookedatmeacrossthecanoe,
thesmokingpitchinhishand,hisfaceexceedinglygrave.
"Ididratherwonder,ifyouwanttoknow,"hesaidslowly,"whatthatthingintheboat
was.Irememberthinkingat the time it was not a man. The whole business seemed to
risequitesuddenlyoutofthewater."
Ilaughedagainboisterouslyinhisface,butthistimetherewasimpatienceandastrain
ofangertoo,inmyfeeling.
"Lookherenow,"Icried,"thisplaceisquitequeerenoughwithoutgoingoutofour
waytoimaginethings!Thatboatwasanordinaryboat,andthemaninitwasanordinary
man,andtheywerebothgoingdownstreamasfastastheycouldlick.Andthatotterwas
anotter,sodon'tlet'splaythefoolaboutit!"
He looked steadily at me with the same grave expression. He was not in the least
annoyed.Itookcouragefromhissilence.
"Andforheaven'ssake,"Iwenton,"don'tkeeppretendingyouhearthings,becauseit
only gives me the jumps, and there's nothing to hear but the river and this cursed old
thunderingwind."
"Youfool!"heansweredinalow,shockedvoice,"youutterfool.That'sjusttheway
allvictimstalk.Asifyoudidn'tunderstandjustaswellasIdo!"hesneeredwithscornin
hisvoice,andasortofresignation."Thebestthingyoucandoistokeepquietandtryto
holdyourmindasfirmaspossible.Thisfeebleattemptatselfdeceptiononlymakesthe
truthharderwhenyou'reforcedtomeetit."
Mylittleeffortwasover,andIfoundnothingmoretosay,for I knewquitewell his
wordsweretrue,andthatIwasthefool,nothe.Uptoacertainstageintheadventurehe
keptaheadofmeeasily,andIthinkIfeltannoyedtobeoutofit,tobethusprovedless
psychic,lesssensitivethanhimselftotheseextraordinaryhappenings,andhalfignorant
allthetimeofwhatwasgoingonundermyverynose.Heknewfromtheverybeginning,
apparently.ButatthemomentIwhollymissedthepointofhiswordsaboutthenecessity
of there being a victim, and that we ourselves were destined to satisfy the want. I
dropped all pretense thenceforward, but thenceforward likewise my fear increased
steadilytotheclimax.
"Butyou'requiterightaboutonething,"headded,beforethesubjectpassed,"andthat
isthatwe'rewisernottotalkaboutit,oreventothinkaboutit,becausewhatonethinks
findsexpressioninwords,andwhatonesays,happens."
Thatafternoon,whilethecanoedriedandhardened,wespenttryingtofish,testingthe
leak, collecting wood, and watching the enormous flood of rising water. Masses of
driftwood swept near our shores sometimes, and we fished for them with long willow
branches. The island grew perceptibly smaller as the banks were torn away with great
gulpsandsplashes.Theweatherkeptbrilliantlyfinetillaboutfouro'clock,andthenfor
thefirsttimeforthreedaysthewindshowedsignsofabating.Cloudsbegantogatherin
thesouthwest,spreadingthenceslowlyoverthesky.
Thislesseningofthewindcameasagreatrelief,fortheincessantroaring,banging,
andthunderinghadirritatedournerves.Yetthesilencethatcameaboutfiveo'clockwith
itssuddencessationwasinamannerquiteasoppressive.Theboomingoftheriverhad
everythingitsownwaythen:itfilledtheairwithdeepmurmurs,moremusicalthanthe
windnoises,butinfinitelymoremonotonous.Thewindheldmanynotes,rising,falling,
always beating out some sort of great elemental tune whereas the river's song lay
betweenthreenotesatmostdullpedalnotes,thatheldalugubriousqualityforeignto
thewind,andsomehowseemedtome,inmythennervousstate,tosoundwonderfully
wellthemusicofdoom.
It was extraordinary, too, how the withdrawal suddenly of bright sunlight took
everything out of the landscape that made for cheerfulness and since this particular
landscape had already managed to convey the suggestion of something sinister, the
change of course was all the more unwelcome and noticeable. For me, I know, the
darkeningoutlookbecamedistinctlymorealarming,andIfoundmyselfmorethanonce
calculatinghowsoonaftersunsetthefullmoonwouldgetupintheeast,andwhetherthe
gatheringcloudswouldgreatlyinterferewithherlightingofthelittleisland.
Withthisgeneralhushofthewindthoughitstillindulgedinoccasionalbriefgusts
theriverseemedtometogrowblacker,thewillowstostandmoredenselytogether.The
latter, too, kept up a sort of independent movement of their own, rustling among
themselves when no wind stirred, and shaking oddly from the roots upwards. When
common objects in this way become charged with the suggestion of horror, they
stimulatetheimaginationfarmorethanthingsofunusualappearanceandthesebushes,
crowding huddled about us, assumed for me in the darkness a bizarre grotesquerie of
appearance that lent to them somehow the aspect of purposeful and living creatures.
Theirveryordinariness,Ifelt,maskedwhatwasmalignantandhostiletous.Theforces
oftheregiondrewnearerwiththecomingofnight.Theywerefocusinguponourisland,
and more particularly upon ourselves. For thus, somehow, in the terms of the
imagination, did my really indescribable sensations in this extraordinary place present
themselves.
Ihadsleptagooddealintheearlyafternoon,andhadthusrecoveredsomewhatfrom
the exhaustion of a disturbed night, but this only served apparently to render me more
susceptible than before to the obsessing spell of the haunting. I fought against it,
laughing at my feelings as absurd and childish, with very obvious physiological
explanations, yet, in spite of every effort, they gained in strength upon me so that I
dreadedthenightasachildlostinaforestmustdreadtheapproachofdarkness.
Thecanoewehadcarefullycoveredwithawaterproofsheetduringtheday,andthe
oneremainingpaddlehadbeensecurelytiedbytheSwedetothebaseofatree,lestthe
windshouldrobusofthattoo.Fromfiveo'clockonwardsIbusiedmyselfwiththestew
pot and preparations for dinner, it being my turn to cook that night. We had potatoes,
onions,bitsofbaconfattoaddflavour,andageneralthickresiduefromformerstewsat
thebottomofthepotwithblackbreadbrokenupintoittheresultwasmostexcellent,
anditwasfollowedbyastewofplumswithsugarandabrewofstrongteawithdried
milk.A goodpileofwoodlaycloseathand,andtheabsenceofwindmademyduties
easy.Mycompanionsatlazilywatchingme,dividinghisattentionsbetweencleaninghis
pipeandgivinguselessadviceanadmittedprivilegeoftheoffdutyman.Hehadbeen
very quiet all the afternoon, engaged in recaulking the canoe, strengthening the tent
ropes,andfishingfordriftwoodwhileIslept.Nomoretalkaboutundesirablethingshad
passedbetweenus,andIthinkhisonlyremarkshadtodowiththegradualdestructionof
theisland,whichhedeclaredwasnowfullyathirdsmallerthanwhenwefirstlanded.
ThepothadjustbeguntobubblewhenIheardhisvoicecallingtomefromthebank,
wherehehadwanderedawaywithoutmynoticing.Iranup.
"Comeandlisten,"hesaid,"andseewhatyoumakeofit."Heheldhishandcupwise
tohisear,assooftenbefore.
"Nowdoyouhearanything?"heasked,watchingmecuriously.
Westoodthere,listeningattentivelytogether.AtfirstIheardonlythedeepnoteofthe
water and the hissings rising from its turbulent surface. The willows, for once, were
motionlessandsilent.Thenasoundbegantoreachmyearsfaintly,apeculiarsound
something like the humming of a distant gong. It seemed to come across to us in the
darkness from the waste of swamps and willows opposite. It was repeated at regular
intervals, but it was certainly neither the sound of a bell nor the hooting of a distant
steamer.Icanlikenittonothingsomuchastothesoundofanimmensegong,suspended
farupinthesky,repeatingincessantlyitsmuffledmetallicnote,softandmusical,asit
wasrepeatedlystruck.MyheartquickenedasIlistened.
"I'vehearditallday,"saidmycompanion."Whileyousleptthisafternoonitcameall
roundtheisland.Ihunteditdown,butcouldnevergetnearenoughtoseetolocalizeit
correctly.Sometimesitwasoverhead,andsometimesitseemedunderthewater.Onceor
twice,too,Icouldhaveswornitwasnotoutsideatall,butwithinmyselfyouknow
thewayasoundinthefourthdimensionissupposedtocome."
I was too much puzzled to pay much attention to his words. I listened carefully,
striving to associate it with any known familiar sound I could think of, but without
success.Itchangedindirection,too,comingnearer,andthensinkingutterlyawayinto
remote distance. I cannot say that it was ominous in quality, because to me it seemed
distinctlymusical,yetImustadmititsetgoingadistressingfeelingthatmademewishI
hadneverheardit.
"Thewindblowinginthosesandfunnels,"Isaid,determinedtofindanexplanation,
"orthebushesrubbingtogetherafterthestormperhaps."
"Itcomesoffthewholeswamp,"myfriendanswered."Itcomes from everywhere at
once."Heignoredmyexplanations."Itcomesfromthewillowbushessomehow"
"Butnowthewindhasdropped,"Iobjected"Thewillowscanhardlymakeanoiseby
themselves,canthey?"
Hisanswerfrightenedme,firstbecauseIhaddreadedit,andsecondly,becauseIknew
intuitivelyitwastrue.
"Itisbecausethewindhasdroppedwenowhearit.Itwasdrownedbefore.Itisthe
cry,Ibelieveofthe"
Idashedbacktomyfire,warnedbyasoundofbubblingthatthestewwasindanger,
butdeterminedatthesametimetoescapefromfurtherconversation.Iwasresolute,if
possible, to avoid the exchanging of views. I dreaded, too, that he would begin again
about the gods, or the elemental forces, or something else disquieting, and I wanted to
keep myself well in hand for what might happen later. There was another night to be
facedbeforeweescapedfromthisdistressingplace,andtherewasnoknowingyetwhat
itmightbringforth.
"Comeandcutupbreadforthepot,"Icalledtohim,vigorouslystirringtheappetizing
mixture.Thatstewpotheldsanityforusboth,andthethoughtmademelaugh.
He came over slowly and took the provision sack from the tree, fumbling in its
mysterious depths, and then emptying the entire contents upon the groundsheet at his
feet.
"Hurryup!"Icried"it'sboiling."
TheSwedeburstoutintoaroaroflaughterthatstartledme.Itwasforcedlaughter,not
artificialexactly,butmirthless.
"There'snothinghere!"heshouted,holdinghissides.
"Bread,Imean."
"It'sgone.Thereisnobread.They'vetakenit!"
Idroppedthelongspoonandranup.Everythingthesackhadcontainedlayuponthe
groundsheet,buttherewasnoloaf.
Thewholedeadweightofmygrowingfearfelluponmeandshookme.ThenIburst
out laughing too. It was the only thing to do: and the sound of my own laughter also
made me understand his. The strain of psychical pressure caused itthis explosion of
unnaturallaughterinbothofusitwasaneffortofrepressedforcestoseekreliefitwas
atemporarysafetyvalve.Andwithbothofusitceasedquitesuddenly.
"Howcriminallystupidofme!"Icried,stilldeterminedtobeconsistentandfindan
explanation. "I clean forgot to buy a loaf at Pressburg. That chattering woman put
everythingoutofmyhead,andImusthaveleftitlyingonthecounteror"
"Theoatmeal,too,ismuchlessthanitwasthismorning,"theSwedeinterrupted.
Whyintheworldneedhedrawattentiontoit?Ithoughtangrily.
"There'senoughfortomorrow,"Isaid,stirringvigorously,"andwecangetlotsmore
atKomornorGran.Intwentyfourhoursweshallbemilesfromhere."
"IhopesotoGod,"hemuttered,puttingthethingsbackintothesack,"unlesswe're
claimedfirstasvictimsforthesacrifice,"headdedwithafoolishlaugh.Hedraggedthe
sackintothetent,forsafety'ssake,Isuppose,andIheardhimmumblingontohimself,
butsoindistinctlythatitseemedquitenaturalformetoignorehiswords.
Ourmealwasbeyondquestionagloomyone,andweateitalmostinsilence,avoiding
oneanother'seyes,andkeepingthefirebright.Thenwewashedupandpreparedforthe
night, and, once smoking, our minds unoccupied with any definite duties, the
apprehensionIhadfeltalldaylongbecamemoreandmoreacute.Itwasnotthenactive
fear,Ithink,buttheveryvaguenessofitsorigindistressedmefarmorethanifIhadbeen
abletoticketandfaceitsquarely.ThecurioussoundIhavelikenedtothenoteofagong
becamenowalmostincessant,andfilledthestillnessofthenightwithafaint,continuous
ringing rather than a series of distinct notes. At one time it was behind and at another
timeinfrontofus.SometimesIfancied it came from the bushes on our left, and then
again from the clumps on our right. More often it hovered directly overhead like the
whirring of wings. It was really everywhere at once, behind, in front, at our sides and
over our heads, completely surrounding us. The sound really defies description. But
nothing within my knowledge is like that ceaseless muffled humming rising off the
desertedworldofswampsandwillows.
Wesatsmokingincomparativesilence,thestraingrowingeveryminutegreater.The
worst feature of the situation seemed to me that we did not know what to expect, and
could therefore make no sort of preparation by way of defense. We could anticipate
nothing.Myexplanationsmadeinthesunshine,moreover,nowcametohauntmewith
theirfoolishandwhollyunsatisfactorynature,anditwasmoreandmorecleartomethat
some kind of plain talk with my companion was inevitable, whether I liked it or not.
Afterall,wehadtospendthenighttogether,andtosleepinthesametentsidebyside.I
sawthatIcouldnotgetalongmuchlongerwithoutthesupportofhismind,andforthat,
ofcourse,plaintalkwasimperative.Aslongaspossible,however,Ipostponedthislittle
climax, and tried to ignore or laugh at the occasional sentences he flung into the
emptiness.
Someofthesesentences,moreover,wereconfoundedlydisquietingtome,comingas
they did to corroborate much that I felt myself: corroboration, toowhich made it so
much more convincingfrom a totally different point of view. He composed such
curious sentences, and hurled them at me in such an inconsequential sort of way, as
thoughhismainlineofthoughtwassecrettohimself,andthesefragmentswerethebits
he found it impossible to digest. He got rid of them by uttering them. Speech relieved
him.Itwaslikebeingsick.
"Therearethingsaboutus,I'msure,thatmakefordisorder,disintegration,destruction,
ourdestruction,"hesaidonce,whilethefireblazedbetweenus."We'vestrayedoutofa
safelinesomewhere."
Andanothertime,whenthegongsoundshadcomenearer,ringingmuchlouderthan
before,anddirectlyoverourheads,hesaid,asthoughtalkingtohimself:
"Idon'tthinkaphonographwouldshowanyrecordofthat.Thesounddoesn'tcometo
mebytheearsatall.Thevibrationsreachmeinanothermanneraltogether,andseemto
bewithinme, which is precisely how a fourth dimension sound might be supposed to
makeitselfheard."
Ipurposelymadenoreplytothis,butIsatupalittleclosertothefireandpeeredabout
meintothedarkness.Thecloudsweremassedallovertheskyandnotraceofmoonlight
camethrough.Verystill,too,everythingwas,sothattheriverandthefrogshadthingsall
theirownway.
"It has that about it," he went on, "which is utterly out of common experience. It is
unknown. Only one thing describes it really: it is a nonhuman sound I mean a sound
outsidehumanity."
Havingridhimselfofthisindigestiblemorsel,helayquietforatimebuthehadso
admirablyexpressedmyownfeelingthatitwasarelieftohavethethoughtout,andto
haveconfineditbythelimitationofwordsfromdangerouswanderingtoandfrointhe
mind.
ThesolitudeofthatDanubecampingplace,canIeverforgetit?Thefeelingofbeing
utterlyaloneonanemptyplanet!Mythoughtsranincessantlyuponcitiesandthehaunts
of men. I would have given my soul, as the saying is, for the "feel" of those Bavarian
villages we had passed through by the score for the normal, human commonplaces,
peasantsdrinkingbeer,tablesbeneaththetrees,hotsunshine,andaruinedcastleonthe
rocksbehindtheredroofedchurch.Eventhetouristswouldhavebeenwelcome.
YetwhatIfeltofdreadwasnoordinaryghostlyfear.Itwasinfinitelygreater,stranger,
andseemedtoarisefromsomedimancestralsenseofterrormoreprofoundlydisturbing
thananything I had known or dreamed of. We had "strayed," as the Swede put it, into
someregionorsomesetofconditionswheretherisksweregreat,yetunintelligibletous
wherethefrontiersofsomeunknownworldlaycloseaboutus.Itwasaspotheldbythe
dwellersinsomeouterspace,asortofpeepholewhencetheycouldspyupontheearth,
themselves unseen, a point where the veil between had worn a little thin. As the final
resultoftoolongasojournhere,weshouldbecarriedovertheborderanddeprivedof
what we called "our lives," yet by mental, not physical, processes. In that sense, as he
said,weshouldbethevictimsofouradventureasacrifice.
Ittookusindifferentfashion,eachaccordingtothemeasureofhissensitivenessand
powers of resistance. I translated it vaguely into a personification of the mightily
disturbedelements,investingthemwiththehorrorofadeliberateandmaleficpurpose,
resentfulofouraudaciousintrusionintotheirbreedingplacewhereasmyfriendthrewit
intotheunoriginalformatfirstofatrespassonsomeancientshrine,someplacewhere
theoldgodsstillheldsway,wheretheemotionalforcesofformerworshipersstillclung,
andtheancestralportionofhimyieldedtotheoldpaganspell.
At any rate, here was a place unpolluted by men, kept clean by the winds from
coarsening human influences, a place where spiritual agencies were within reach and
aggressive.Never,beforeorsince,haveIbeensoattackedbyindescribablesuggestions
of a "beyond region," of another scheme of life, another evolution not parallel to the
human.Andintheendourmindswouldsuccumbundertheweightoftheawfulspell,
andweshouldbedrawnacrossthefrontierintotheirworld.
Small things testified to this amazing influence of the place, and now in the silence
round the fire they allowed themselves to be noted by the mind. The very atmosphere
hadproveditselfamagnifyingmediumtodistorteveryindication:theotterrollinginthe
current,thehurryingboatmanmakingsigns,theshiftingwillows,oneandallhadbeen
robbed of its natural character, and revealed in something of its other aspectas it
existedacrosstheborderinthatotherregion.AndthischangedaspectIfeltwasnewnot
merely to me, but to the race. The whole experience whose verge we touched was
unknowntohumanityatall.Itwasaneworderofexperience,andinthetruesenseofthe
wordunearthly.
"It'sthedeliberate,calculatingpurposethatreducesone'scouragetozero,"theSwede
saidsuddenly,asifhehadbeenactuallyfollowingmythoughts."Otherwiseimagination
mightcountformuch.Butthepaddle,thecanoe,thelesseningfood"
"Haven'tIexplainedallthatonce?"Iinterruptedviciously.
"Youhave,"heanswereddryly"youhaveindeed."
Hemadeotherremarkstoo,asusual,aboutwhathecalledthe"plaindeterminationto
provide a victim" but, having now arranged my thoughts better, I recognized that this
was simply the cry of his frightened soul against the knowledge that he was being
attackedinavitalpart,andthathewouldbesomehowtakenordestroyed.Thesituation
calledforacourageandcalmnessofreasoningthatneitherofuscouldcompass,andI
have never before been so clearly conscious of two persons in methe one that
explained everything, and the other that laughed at such foolish explanations, yet was
horriblyafraid.
Meanwhile, in the pitchy night the fire died down and the woodpile grew small.
Neitherofusmovedtoreplenishthestock,andthedarknessconsequentlycameupvery
close to our faces. A few feet beyond the circle of firelight it was inky black.
Occasionallyastraypuffofwindsetthebillowsshiveringaboutus,butapartfromthis
not very welcome sound a deep and depressing silence reigned, broken only by the
gurglingoftheriverandthehummingintheairoverhead.
Webothmissed,Ithink,theshoutingcompanyofthewinds.
At length, at a moment when a stray puff prolonged itself as though the wind were
about to rise again, I reached the point for me of saturation, the point where it was
absolutely necessary to find relief in plain speech, or else to betray myself by some
hysterical extravagance that must have been far worse in its effect upon both of us. I
kickedthefireintoablaze,andturnedtomycompanionabruptly.Helookedupwitha
start.
"Ican'tdisguiseitanylonger,"Isaid"Idon'tlikethisplace,andthedarkness,andthe
noises,andtheawfulfeelingsIget.There'ssomethingherethatbeatsmeutterly.I'mina
blue funk, and that's the plain truth. If the other shore wasdifferent, I swear I'd be
inclinedtoswimforit!"
TheSwede'sfaceturnedverywhitebeneaththedeeptanofsunandwind.Hestared
straight at me and answered quietly, but his voice betrayed his huge excitement by its
unnaturalcalmness.Forthemoment,atanyrate,hewasthestrongmanofthetwo.He
wasmorephlegmatic,foronething.
"It'snotaphysicalconditionwecanescapefrombyrunningaway,"hereplied,inthe
toneofadoctordiagnosingsomegravedisease"wemustsittightandwait.Thereare
forcescloseherethatcouldkillaherdofelephantsinasecondaseasilyasyouorIcould
squashafly.Ouronlychanceistokeepperfectlystill.Ourinsignificanceperhapsmay
saveus."
I put a dozen questions into my expression of face, but found no words. It was
precisely like listening to an accurate description of a disease whose symptoms had
puzzledme.
"Imeanthatsofar,althoughawareofourdisturbingpresence,theyhavenotfoundus
not'located'us,astheAmericanssay,"hewenton."They'reblunderingaboutlikemen
huntingforaleakofgas.Thepaddleandcanoeandprovisionsprovethat.Ithinkthey
feelus,butcannotactuallysee us. We must keep our minds quietit'sourmindsthey
feel.Wemustcontrolourthoughts,orit'sallupwithus."
"Deathyoumean?"Istammered,icywiththehorrorofhissuggestion.
"Worsebyfar,"hesaid."Death,accordingtoone'sbelief,meanseitherannihilation
orreleasefromthelimitationsofthesenses,butitinvolvesnochangeofcharacter.You
don'tsuddenlyalterjustbecausethebody'sgone.Butthismeansaradicalalteration,a
completechange, a horrible loss of oneself by substitutionfar worse than death, and
notevenannihilation.Wehappentohavecampedinaspotwheretheirregiontouches
ourswheretheveilbetweenhaswornthin"horrors!hewasusingmyveryownphrase,
myactualwords"sothattheyareawareofourbeingintheirneighborhood."
"Butwhoareaware?"Iasked.
I forgot the shaking of the willows in the windless calm, the humming overhead,
everything except that I was waiting for an answer that I dreaded more than I can
possiblyexplain.
He lowered his voice at once to reply, leaning forward a little over the fire, an
indefinable change in his face that made me avoid his eyes and look down upon the
ground.
"Allmylife,"hesaid,"Ihavebeenstrangely,vividlyconsciousofanotherregionnot
farremovedfromourownworldinonesense,yetwhollydifferentinkindwheregreat
things go on unceasingly, where immense and terrible personalities hurry by, intent on
vastpurposescomparedtowhichearthlyaffairs,theriseandfallofnations,thedestinies
ofempires,thefateofarmiesandcontinents,areallasdustinthebalancevastpurposes,
Imean,thatdealdirectlywiththesoul,andnotindirectlywithmereexpressionsofthe
soul"
"Isuggestjustnow"Ibegan,seekingtostophim,feelingasthoughIwasfaceto
facewithamadman.Butheinstantlyoverboremewithhistorrentthathadtocome.
"Youthink,"hesaid,"itisthespiritsoftheelements,andIthoughtperhapsitwasthe
oldgods.ButItellyounowitisneither.Thesewouldbecomprehensibleentities,for
they have relations with men, depending upon them for worship or sacrifice, whereas
thesebeingswhoarenowaboutushaveabsolutelynothingtodowithmankind,anditis
merechancethattheirspacehappensjustatthisspottotouchourown."
Themereconception,whichhiswordssomehowmadesoconvincing,asIlistenedto
them there in the dark stillness of that lonely island, set me shaking a little all over. I
founditimpossibletocontrolmymovements.
"Andwhatdoyoupropose?"Ibeganagain.
"Asacrifice,avictim,mightsaveusbydistractingthemuntilwecouldgetaway,"he
wenton,"justasthewolvesstoptodevourthedogsandgivethesleighanotherstart.But
Iseenochanceofanyothervictimnow."
Istaredblanklyathim.Thegleaminhiseyeswasdreadful.Presentlyhecontinued.
"It's the willows, of course. The willows mask the others, but the others are feeling
aboutforus.Ifweletourmindsbetrayourfear,we'relost,lostutterly."Helookedatme
withanexpressionsocalm,sodetermined,sosincere,thatInolongerhadanydoubtsas
to his sanity. He was as sane as any man ever was. "If we can hold out through the
night,"headded,"wemaygetoffinthedaylightunnoticed,orrather,undiscovered."
"Butyoureallythinkasacrificewould"
ThatgonglikehummingcamedownverycloseoverourheadsasIspoke,butitwas
myfriend'sscaredfacethatreallystoppedmymouth.
"Hush!"hewhispered,holdinguphishand."Donotmentionthemmorethanyoucan
help.Donotrefertothembyname.Tonameistoreveal:itistheinevitableclue,andour
onlyhopeliesinignoringthem,inorderthattheymayignoreus."
"Eveninthought?"Hewasextraordinarilyagitated.
"Especiallyinthought.Ourthoughtsmakespiralsintheirworld.Wemustkeepthem
outofourmindsatallcostsifpossible."
Irakedthefiretogethertopreventthedarknesshavingeverythingitsownway.Inever
longedforthesunasIlongedforitthenintheawfulblacknessofthatsummernight.
"Wereyouawakealllastnight?"hewentonsuddenly.
"Isleptbadlyalittleafterdawn,"Irepliedevasively,tryingtofollowhisinstructions,
whichIknewinstinctivelyweretrue,"butthewind,ofcourse"
"Iknow.Butthewindwon'taccountforallthenoises."
"Thenyouheardittoo?"
"ThemultiplyingcountlesslittlefootstepsIheard,"hesaid,adding,afteramoment's
hesitation,"andthatothersound"
"Youmeanabovethetent,andthepressingdownuponusofsomethingtremendous,
gigantic?"
Henoddedsignificantly.
"Itwaslikethebeginningofasortofinnersuffocation?"Isaid.
"Partly,yes.Itseemedtomethattheweightoftheatmospherehadbeenalteredhad
increasedenormously,sothatweshouldbecrushed."
"Andthat,"Iwenton,determinedtohaveitallout,pointingupwardswherethegong
likenotehummedceaselessly,risingandfallinglikewind."Whatdoyoumakeofthat?"
"It'stheirsound,"hewhisperedgravely."It'sthesoundoftheirworld,thehummingin
theirregion.Thedivisionhereissothinthatitleaksthroughsomehow.But,ifyoulisten
carefully, you'll find it's not above so much as around us. It's in the willows. It's the
willowsthemselveshumming,becauseherethewillowshavebeenmadesymbolsofthe
forcesthatareagainstus."
Icouldnotfollowexactlywhathemeantbythis,yetthethoughtandideainmymind
werebeyondquestionthethoughtandideainhis.Irealizedwhatherealized,onlywith
lesspowerofanalysisthanhis.Itwasonthetipofmytonguetotellhimatlastaboutmy
hallucinationoftheascendingfiguresandthemovingbushes,whenhesuddenlythrust
hisfaceagaincloseintomineacrossthefirelightandbegantospeakin a very earnest

whisper.Heamazedmebyhiscalmnessandpluck,hisapparentcontrolofthesituation.
ThismanIhadforyearsdeemedunimaginative,stolid!
"Nowlisten,"hesaid."Theonlythingforustodoistogoonasthoughnothinghad
happened,followourusualhabits,gotobed,andsoforthpretendwefeelnothingand
noticenothing.Itisaquestionwhollyofthemind,andthelesswethinkaboutthemthe
betterourchanceofescape.Aboveall,don'tthink,forwhatyouthinkhappens!"
"Allright,"Imanagedtoreply,simplybreathlesswithhiswordsandthestrangeness
of it all "all right, I'll try, but tell me one thing more first. Tell me what you make of
thosehollowsinthegroundallaboutus,thosesandfunnels?"
"No!"hecried,forgettingtowhisperinhisexcitement."Idare not, simply dare not,
putthethoughtintowords.IfyouhavenotguessedIamglad.Don'ttryto.Theyhaveput
itintomymindtryyourhardesttopreventtheirputtingitintoyours."
He sank his voice again to a whisper before he finished, and I did not press him to
explain. There was already just about as much horror in me as I could hold. The
conversationcametoanend,andwesmokedourpipesbusilyinsilence.
Thensomethinghappened,somethingunimportantapparently,asthewayiswhenthe
nervesareinaverygreatstateoftension,andthissmallthingforabriefspacegaveme
anentirelydifferentpointofview.Ichancedtolookdownatmysandshoethesortwe
usedforthecanoeandsomethingtodowiththeholeatthetoesuddenlyrecalledtome
theLondonshopwhereIhadboughtthem,thedifficultythemanhadinfittingme,and
otherdetailsoftheuninterestingbutpracticaloperation.Atonce,initstrain,followeda
wholesomeviewofthemodernskepticalworldIwasaccustomedtomoveinathome.I
thought of roast beef and ale, motorcars, policemen, brass bands, and a dozen other
thingsthatproclaimedthesoulofordinarinessorutility.Theeffectwasimmediateand
astonishing even to myself. Psychologically, I suppose, it was simply a sudden and
violent reaction after the strain of living in an atmosphere of things that to the normal
consciousness must seem impossible and incredible. But, whatever the cause, it
momentarilyliftedthespellfrommyheart,andleftmefortheshortspaceofaminute
feelingfreeandutterlyunafraid.Ilookedupatmyfriendopposite.
"Youdamnedoldpagan!"Icried,laughingaloudinhisface."Youimaginativeidiot!
Yousuperstitiousidolator!You"
Istoppedinthemiddle,seizedanewbytheoldhorror.Itriedtosmotherthesoundof
myvoiceassomethingsacrilegious.TheSwede,ofcourse,heardittoothatstrangecry
overheadinthedarknessandthatsuddendropintheairasthoughsomethinghadcome
nearer.
Hehadturnedashenwhiteunderthetan.Hestoodboltuprightinfrontofthefire,stiff
asarod,staringatme.
"Afterthat,"hesaidinasortofhelpless,franticway,"wemustgo!Wecan'tstaynow
wemuststrikecampthisveryinstantandgoondowntheriver."
Hewastalking,Isaw,quitewildly,hiswordsdictatedbyabjectterrortheterrorhe
hadresistedsolong,butwhichhadcaughthimatlast.
"In the dark?" I exclaimed, shaking with fear after my hysterical outburst, but still
realizingourpositionbetterthanhedid."Sheermadness!Theriver'sinflood,andwe've
onlygotasinglepaddle.Besides,weonlygodeeperintotheircountry!There'snothing
aheadforfiftymilesbutwillows,willows,willows!"
He sat down again in a state of semicollapse. The positions, by one of those
kaleidoscopic changes nature loves, were suddenly reversed, and the control of our
forcespassedoverintomyhands.Hismindatlasthadreachedthepointwhereitwas
beginningtoweaken.
"What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?" he whispered, with the awe of
genuineterrorinhisvoiceandface.
Icrossedroundtohissideofthefire.Itookbothhishandsinmine,kneelingdown
besidehimandlookingstraightintohisfrightenedeyes.
"We'llmakeonemoreblaze,"Isaidfirmly,"andthenturninforthenight.Atsunrise
we'llbeofffullspeedforKomorn.Now,pullyourselftogetherabit,andrememberyour
ownadviceaboutnotthinkingfear!"
Hesaidnomore,andIsawthathewouldagreeandobey.Insomemeasure,too,itwas
asortofrelieftogetupandmakeanexcursionintothedarknessformorewood.Wekept
close together, almost touching, groping among the bushes and along the bank. The
hummingoverheadneverceased,butseemedtometogrowlouderasweincreasedour
distancefromthefire.Itwasshiverywork!
We were grubbing away in the middle of a thickish clump of willows where some
driftwoodfromaformerfloodhadcaughthighamongthebranches,whenmybodywas
seizedinagripthatmademehalfdropuponthesand.ItwastheSwede.Hehadfallen
against me, and was clutching me for support. I heard his breath coming and going in
shortgasps.
"Look! By my soul!" he whispered, and for the first time in my experience I knew
whatitwastoheartearsofterrorinahumanvoice.Hewaspointingtothefire,some
fiftyfeetaway.Ifollowedthedirectionofhisfinger,andIswearmyheartmissedabeat.
There,infrontofthedimglow,somethingwasmoving.
Isawitthroughaveilthathungbeforemyeyeslikethegauzedropcurtainusedatthe
backofatheaterhazilyalittle.Itwasneitherahumanfigurenorananimal.Tomeit
gavethestrangeimpression of being as large as severalanimalsgroupedtogether,like
horses, two or three, moving slowly. The Swede, too, got a similar result, though
expressingitdifferently,forhethoughtitwasshapedandsizedlikeaclumpofwillow
bushes, rounded at the top, and moving all over upon its surface"coiling upon itself
likesmoke,"hesaidafterwards.
"Iwatcheditsettledownwardsthroughthebushes,"hesobbedatme."Look,byGod!
It'scomingthisway!Oh,oh!"hegaveakindofwhistlingcry."They'vefoundus."
Igaveoneterrifiedglance,whichjustenabledmetoseethattheshadowyformwas
swinging towards us through the bushes, and then I collapsed backwards with a crash
intothebranches.Thesefailed,ofcourse,tosupportmyweight,sothatwiththeSwede
onthetopofmewefellinastrugglingheapuponthesand.Ireallyhardlyknewwhat
was happening. I was conscious only of a sort of enveloping sensation of icy fear that
plucked the nerves out of their fleshly covering, twisted them this way and that, and
replacedthemquivering.Myeyesweretightlyshutsomethinginmythroatchokedme
afeeling that my consciousness was expanding, extending out into space,swiftlygave
waytoanotherfeelingthatIwaslosingitaltogether,andabouttodie.
Anacutespasmofpainpassedthroughme,andIwasawarethattheSwedehadhold
of me in such a way that he hurt me abominably. It was the way he caught at me in
falling.
Butitwasthispain,hedeclaredafterwards,thatsavedme:itcausedmetoforgetthem
and think of something else at the very instant when they were about to find me. It
concealedmymindfromthematthemomentofdiscovery,yetjustintimetoevadetheir
terribleseizingofme.Hehimself,hesays,actuallyswoonedatthesamemoment,and
thatwaswhatsavedhim.
Ionlyknowthatatalatertime,howlongorshortisimpossibletosay,Ifoundmyself
scramblingupoutoftheslipperynetworkofwillowbranches,andsawmycompanion
standinginfrontofmeholdingoutahandtoassistme.Istaredathiminadazedway,
rubbingthearmhehadtwistedforme.Nothingcametometosay,somehow.
"Ilostconsciousnessforamomentortwo,"Iheardhimsay."That'swhatsavedme.It
mademestopthinkingaboutthem."
"Younearlybrokemyarmintwo,"Isaid,utteringmyonlyconnectedthoughtatthe
moment.Anumbnesscameoverme.
"That'swhatsavedyou!"hereplied."Betweenus,we'vemanagedtosetthemoffona
falsetacksomewhere.Thehumminghasceased.It'sgoneforthemomentatanyrate!"
Awaveofhystericallaughterseizedmeagain,andthistimespreadtomyfriendtoo
greathealinggustsofshakinglaughterthatbroughtatremendoussenseofreliefintheir
train.Wemadeourwaybacktothefireandputthewoodonsothatitblazedatonce.
Thenwesawthatthetenthadfallenoverandlayinatangledheapupontheground.
Wepickeditup,andduringtheprocesstrippedmorethanonceandcaughtourfeetin
sand.
"It's those sandfunnels," exclaimed the Swede, when the tent was up again and the
firelightlitupthegroundforseveralyardsaboutus."Andlookatthesizeofthem!"
All round the tent and about the fireplace where we had seen the moving shadows
there were deep funnelshaped hollows in the sand, exactly similar to the ones we had
alreadyfoundovertheisland,onlyfarbiggeranddeeper,beautifullyformed,andwide
enoughinsomeinstancestoadmitthewholeofmyfootandleg.
Neitherofussaidaword.Webothknewthatsleepwasthesafestthingwecoulddo,
and to bed we went accordingly without further delay, having first thrown sand on the
fireandtakentheprovisionsackandthepaddleinsidethetentwithus.Thecanoe,too,
we propped in such a way at the end of the tent that our feet touched it, and the least
motionwoulddisturbandwakeus.
In case of emergency, too, we again went to bed in our clothes, ready for a sudden
start.
Itwasmyfirmintentiontolieawakeallnightandwatch,buttheexhaustionofnerves
and body decreed otherwise, and sleep after a while came over me with a welcome
blanketofoblivion. The fact that my companion also slept quickened its approach. At
first he fidgeted and constantly sat up, asking me if I "heard this" or "heard that." He
tossedaboutonhiscorkmattress,andsaidthetentwasmovingandtheriverhadrisen
overthepointoftheislandbuteachtimeIwentouttolookIreturnedwiththereport
thatallwaswell,andfinallyhegrewcalmerandlaystill.Thenatlengthhisbreathing
becameregularandIheardunmistakablesoundsofsnoringthefirstandonlytimein
mylifewhensnoringhasbeenawelcomeandcalminginfluence.
This,Iremember,wasthelastthoughtinmymindbeforedozingoff.
A difficulty in breathing woke me, and I found the blanket over my face. But
somethingelsebesidestheblanketwaspressinguponme,andmyfirstthoughtwasthat
mycompanionhadrolledoffhismattressontomyowninhissleep.Icalledtohimand
satup,andatthesamemomentitcametomethatthetentwassurrounded.Thatsound
ofmultitudinoussoftpatteringwasagainaudibleoutside,fillingthenightwithhorror.
Icalledagaintohim,louderthanbefore.Hedidnotanswer,butImissedthesoundof
his snoring, and also noticed that the flap of the tent door was down. This was the
unpardonablesin.Icrawledoutinthedarknesstohookitbacksecurely,anditwasthen
forthefirsttimeIrealizedpositivelythattheSwedewasnotthere.Hehadgone.
Idashedoutinamadrun,seizedbyadreadfulagitation,andthemomentIwasoutI
plungedintoasortoftorrentofhummingthatsurroundedmecompletelyandcameout
ofeveryquarteroftheheavensatonce.Itwasthatsamefamiliarhumminggonemad!
Aswarmofgreatinvisiblebeesmighthavebeenaboutmeintheair.Thesoundseemed
tothickentheveryatmosphere,andIfeltthatmylungsworkedwithdifficulty.
Butmyfriendwasindanger,andIcouldnothesitate.
Thedawnwasjustabouttobreak,andafaintwhitishlightspreadupwardsoverthe
clouds from a thin strip of clear horizon. No wind stirred. I could just make out the
bushesandriverbeyond,andthepalesandypatches.InmyexcitementIranfrantically
toandfroabouttheisland,callinghimbyname,shoutingatthetopofmyvoicethefirst
wordsthatcameintomyhead.Butthewillowssmotheredmyvoice,andthehumming
muffled it, so that the sound only traveled a few feet round me. I plunged among the
bushes,trippingheadlong,tumblingoverroots,andscrapingmyfaceasItorethisway
andthatamongthepreventingbranches.
Then, quite unexpectedly, I came out upon the island's point and saw a dark figure
outlinedbetweenthewaterandthesky.ItwastheSwede.Andalreadyhehadonefootin
theriver!Amomentmoreandhewouldhavetakentheplunge.
I threw myself upon him, flinging my arms about his waist and dragging him
shorewardswithallmystrength.Ofcoursehestruggledfuriously,makinganoiseallthe
timejustlikethatcursedhumming,andusingthemostoutlandishphrasesinhisanger
about"goinginsidetoThem,"and"takingthewayofthewaterandthewind,"andGod
onlyknowswhatmorebesides,thatItriedinvaintorecallafterwards,butwhichturned
mesickwithhorrorandamazementasIlistened.ButintheendImanagedtogethim
into the comparative safety of the tent, and flung him breathless and cursing upon the
mattress,whereIheldhimuntilthefithadpassed.
Ithinkthesuddennesswithwhichitallwentandhegrewcalm,coincidingasitdid
withtheequallyabruptcessationofthehummingandpatteringoutsideIthinkthiswas
almostthestrangestpartofthewholebusinessperhaps.Forhejustopenedhiseyesand
turned his tired face up to me so that the dawn threw a pale light upon it through the
doorway,andsaid,foralltheworldjustlikeafrightenedchild:
"Mylife,oldmanit'smylifeIoweyou.Butit'sallovernowanyhow.They'vefound
avictiminourplace!"
Thenhedroppedbackuponhisblanketsandwenttosleepliterallyundermyeyes.He
simplycollapsed,andbegantosnoreagainashealthilyasthoughnothinghadhappened
andhehad never tried to offer his own life as a sacrifice by drowning. And when the
sunlightwokehimthreehourslaterhoursofceaselessvigilformeitbecamesoclear
to me that he remembered absolutely nothing of what he had attempted to do, that I
deemeditwisetoholdmypeaceandasknodangerousquestions.
He woke naturally and easily, as I have said, when the sun was already high in a
windless hot sky, and he at once got up and set about the preparation of the fire for
breakfast. I followed him anxiously at bathing, but he did not attempt to plunge in,
merelydippinghisheadandmakingsomeremarkabouttheextracoldnessofthewater.
"River'sfallingatlast,"hesaid,"andI'mgladofit."
"Thehumminghasstoppedtoo,"Isaid.
He looked up at me quietly with his normal expression. Evidently he remembered
everythingexcepthisownattemptatsuicide.
"Everythinghasstopped,"hesaid,"because"
He hesitated. But I knew some reference to that remark he had made just before he
faintedwasinhismind,andIwasdeterminedtoknowit.
"Because'They'vefoundanothervictim'?"Isaid,forcingalittlelaugh.
"Exactly,"heanswered,"exactly!IfeelaspositiveofitasthoughasthoughIfeel
quitesafeagain,Imean,"hefinished.
He began to look curiously about him. The sunlight lay in hot patches on the sand.
Therewasnowind.Thewillowsweremotionless.Heslowlyrosetofeet.
"Come,"hesaid"Ithinkifwelook,weshallfindit."
Hestartedoffonarun,andIfollowedhim.Hekepttothebanks,pokingwithastick
amongthesandybaysandcavesandlittlebackwaters,myselfalwayscloseonhisheels.
"Ah!"heexclaimedpresently,"ah!"
Thetoneofhisvoicesomehowbroughtbacktomeavividsenseofthehorrorofthe
lasttwentyfourhours,andIhurrieduptojoinhim.Hewaspointingwithhisstickata
largeblackobjectthatlayhalfinthewaterandhalfonthesand.Itappearedtobecaught
by some twisted willow roots so that the river could not sweep it away. A few hours
beforethespotmusthavebeenunderwater.
"See,"hesaidquietly,"thevictimthatmadeourescapepossible!"
AndwhenIpeeredacrosshisshoulderIsawthathisstickrestedonthebodyofaman.
Heturneditover.Itwasthecorpse of a peasant, and the face was hidden in the sand.
Clearlythemanhadbeendrownedbutafewhoursbefore,andhisbodymusthavebeen
sweptdownuponourislandsomewhereaboutthehourofthedawnattheverytimethe
fithadpassed.
"Wemustgiveitadecentburial,youknow."
"I suppose so," I replied. I shuddered a little in spite of myself, for there was
somethingabouttheappearanceofthatpoordrownedmanthatturnedmecold.
TheSwedeglancedupsharplyatme,andbeganclamberingdownthebank.Ifollowed
himmoreleisurely.Thecurrent,Inoticed,hadtornawaymuchoftheclothingfromthe
body,sothattheneckandpartofthechestlaybare.
Halfway down the bank my companion suddenly stopped and held up his hand in
warningbuteithermyfootslipped,orIhadgainedtoomuchmomentumtobringmyself
quicklytoahalt,forIbumpedintohimandsenthimforwardwithasortofleaptosave
himself.Wetumbledtogetherontothehardsandsothatourfeetsplashedintothewater.
And,beforeanythingcouldbedone,wehadcollidedalittleheavilyagainstthecorpse.
TheSwedeutteredasharpcry.AndIsprangbackasifIhadbeenshot.
At the moment we touched the body there arose from its surface the loud sound of
hummingthesoundofseveralhummingswhichpassedwithavastcommotionasof
wingedthingsintheairaboutusanddisappearedupwardsintothesky,growingfainter
and fainter till they finally ceased in the distance. It was exactly as though we had
disturbedsomelivingyetinvisiblecreaturesatwork.
My companion clutched me, and I think I clutched him, but before either of us had
time properly to recover from the unexpected shock, we saw that a movement of the
current was turning the corpse round so that it became released from the grip of the
willow roots. A moment later it had turned completely over, the dead face uppermost,
staringatthesky.Itlayontheedgeofthemainstream.Inanothermomentitwouldbe
sweptaway.
TheSwedestartedtosaveit,shoutingagainsomethingIdidnotcatchabouta"proper
burial"andthenabruptlydroppeduponhiskneesonthesandandcoveredhiseyeswith
hishands.Iwasbesidehiminaninstant.
Isawwhathehadseen.
Forjustasthebodyswungroundtothecurrentthefaceandtheexposedchestturned
full towards us, and showed plainly how the skin and flesh were indented with small
hollows,beautifully formed, and exactly similar in shape and kind to the sandfunnels
thatwehadfoundallovertheisland.
"Theirmark!"Iheardmycompanionmutterunderhisbreath."Theirawfulmark!"
AndwhenIturnedmyeyesagainfromhisghastlyfacetotheriver, the current had
done its work, and the body had been swept away into midstream and was already
beyond our reach and almost out of sight, turning over and over on the waves like an
otter.
TheShadowsontheWall
BYMARYE.WILKINSFREEMAN
From The Wind in the Rosebush, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman.

Copyright by Harper and Brothers. By permission of the publishers and
MaryE.WilkinsFreeman.
"Henry had words with Edward in the study the night before Edward died," said
CarolineGlynn.
Shespokenotwithacrimony,butwithgraveseverity.RebeccaAnnGlynngaspedby
wayofassent.Shesatinawideflounceofblacksilkinthecornerofthesofa,androlled
terrifiedeyesfromhersisterCarolinetohersisterMrs.StephenBrigham,whohadbeen
Emma Glynn, the one beauty of the family. The latter was beautiful still, with a large,
splendid, fullblown beauty, she filled a great rockingchair with her superb bulk of
femininity,andswayedgentlybackandforth,herblacksilkswhisperingandherblack
frillsfluttering.EventheshockofdeathforherbrotherEdwardlaydeadinthehouse
couldnotdisturbheroutwardserenityofdemeanor.
But even her expression of masterly placidity changed before her sister Caroline's
announcementandhersisterRebeccaAnn'sgaspofterroranddistressinresponse.
"IthinkHenrymighthavecontrolledhistemper,whenpoorEdwardwassonearhis
end," she said with an asperity which disturbed slightly the roseate curves of her
beautifulmouth.
"Ofcoursehedidnotknow,"murmuredRebeccaAnninafainttone.
"Ofcoursehedidnotknowit,"saidCarolinequickly.Sheturnedonhersisterwitha
strange,sharplookofsuspicion.Thensheshrankasiffromtheother'spossibleanswer.
Rebecca gasped again. The married sister, Mrs. Emma Brigham, was now sitting up
straightinherchairshehadceasedrocking,andwaseyeingthembothintentlywitha
suddenaccentuationoffamilylikenessinherface.
"What do you mean?" said she impartially to them both. Then she, too, seemed to
shrinkbeforeapossibleanswer.Sheevenlaughedanevasivesortoflaugh.
"Nobodymeansanything,"saidCarolinefirmly.Sheroseandcrossedtheroomtoward
thedoorwithgrimdecisiveness.
"Whereareyougoing?"askedMrs.Brigham.
"Ihavesomethingtoseeto,"repliedCaroline,andtheothersatonceknewbyhertone
thatshehadsomesolemnandsaddutytoperforminthechamberofdeath.
"Oh,"saidMrs.Brigham.
AfterthedoorhadclosedbehindCaroline,sheturnedtoRebecca.
"DidHenryhavemanywordswithhim?"sheasked.
"Theyweretalkingveryloud,"repliedRebeccaevasively.
Mrs. Brigham looked at her. She had not resumed rocking. She still sat up straight,
withaslightknittingofintensityonherfairforehead,betweentheprettyripplingcurves
ofherauburnhair.
"Did youever hear anything?" she asked in a low voice with a glance toward the
door.
"I was just across the hall in the south parlor, and that door was open and this door
ajar,"repliedRebeccawithaslightflush.
"Thenyoumusthave"
"Icouldn'thelpit."
"Everything?"
"Mostofit."
"Whatwasit?"
"Theoldstory."
"IsupposeHenrywasmad,ashealwayswas,becauseEdwardwaslivingonherefor
nothing,whenhehadwastedallthemoneyfatherlefthim."
Rebeccanodded,withafearfulglanceatthedoor.
WhenEmmaspokeagainhervoicewasstillmorehushed."Iknowhowhefelt,"said
she."ItmusthavelookedtohimasifEdwardwaslivingathisexpense,buthewasn't."
"No,hewasn't."
"AndEdwardhadarighthereaccordingtothetermsoffather'swill,andHenryought
tohaverememberedit."
"Yes,heought."
"Didhesayhardthings?"
"Prettyhard,fromwhatIheard."
"What?"
"I heard him tell Edward that he had no business here at all, and he thought he had
bettergoaway."
"WhatdidEdwardsay?"
"Thathewouldstayhereaslongashelivedandafterward,too,ifhewasamindto,
andhewouldliketoseeHenrygethimoutandthen"
"What?"
"Thenhelaughed."
"WhatdidHenrysay?"
"Ididn'thearhimsayanything,but"
"Butwhat?"
"Isawhimwhenhecameoutofthisroom."
"Helookedmad?"
"You'veseenhimwhenhelookedso."
Emmanodded.Theexpressionofhorroronherfacehaddeepened.
"Doyourememberthattimehekilledthecatbecauseshehadscratchedhim?"
"Yes.Don't!"
ThenCarolinereenteredtheroomshewentuptothestove,inwhichawoodfirewas
burningit was a cold, gloomy day of falland she warmed her hands, which were
reddenedfromrecentwashingincoldwater.
Mrs. Brigham looked at her and hesitated. She glanced at the door, which was still
ajaritdidnoteasilyshut,beingstillswollenwiththedampweatherofthesummer.She
roseandpushed it together with a sharp thud, which jarred the house. Rebecca started
painfullywithahalfexclamation.Carolinelookedatherdisapprovingly.
"Itistimeyoucontrolledyournerves,Rebecca,"shesaid.
Mrs. Brigham, returning from the closed door, said imperiously that it ought to be
fixed,itshutsohard.
"Itwillshrinkenoughafterwehavehadthefireafewdays,"repliedCaroline.
"IthinkHenryoughttobeashamedofhimselffortalkingashedidtoEdward,"said
Mrs.Brighamabruptly,butinanalmostinaudiblevoice.
"Hush,"saidCaroline,withaglanceofactualfearatthecloseddoor.
"Nobodycanhearwiththedoorshut.IsayagainIthinkHenryoughttobeashamedof
himself.Ishouldn'tthinkhe'devergetoverit,havingwordswithpoorEdwardthevery
nightbeforehedied.EdwardwasenoughsightbetterdispositionthanHenry,withallhis
faults."
"Ineverheardhimspeakacrossword,unlesshespokecrosstoHenrythatlastnight.I
don'tknowbuthedidfromwhatRebeccaoverheard."
"Notsomuchcross,assortofsoft,andsweet,andaggravating,"sniffedRebecca.
"WhatdoyoureallythinkailedEdward?"askedEmmainhardlymorethanawhisper.
Shedidnotlookathersister.
"Iknowyousaidthathehadterriblepainsinhisstomach,andhadspasms,butwhat
doyouthinkmadehimhavethem?"
"Henrycalleditgastrictrouble.YouknowEdwardhasalwayshaddyspepsia."
Mrs.Brighamhesitatedamoment."Wasthereanytalkofanexamination?"saidshe.
ThenCarolineturnedonherfiercely.
"No,"saidsheinaterriblevoice."No."
The three sisters' souls seemed to meet on one common ground of terrified
understandingthroughtheireyes.
Theoldfashionedlatchofthedoorwasheardtorattle,andapushfromwithoutmade
the door shake ineffectually. "It's Henry," Rebecca sighed rather than whispered. Mrs.
Brigham settled herself, after a noiseless rush across the floor, into her rockingchair
again,andwasswayingbackandforthwithherheadcomfortablyleaningback,whenthe
dooratlastyieldedandHenryGlynnentered.Hecastacovertlysharp,comprehensive
glanceatMrs.BrighamwithherelaboratecalmatRebeccaquietlyhuddledinthecorner
ofthesofawithherhandkerchieftoherfaceandonlyonesmalluncoveredreddenedear
asattentiveasadog's,andatCarolinesittingwithastrainedcomposureinherarmchair
bythestove.Shemethiseyesquitefirmlywithalookofinscrutablefear,anddefiance
ofthefearandofhim.
Henry Glynn looked more like this sister than the others. Both had the same hard
delicacyofformandaquilinityoffeature.Theyconfrontedeachotherwiththepitiless
immovability of two statues in whose marble lineaments emotions were fixed for all
eternity.
Then Henry Glynn smiled and the smile transformed his face. He looked suddenly
yearsyounger,andanalmostboyishrecklessnessappearedinhisface.Heflunghimself
intoachairwithagesturewhichwasbewilderingfromitsincongruitywithhisgeneral
appearance.Heleanedhisheadback,flungonelegovertheother,andlookedlaughingly
atMrs.Brigham.
"Ideclare,Emma,yougrowyoungereveryyear,"hesaid.
Sheflushedalittle,andherplacidmouthwidenedatthecorners.Shewassusceptible
topraise.
"Ourthoughtstodayoughttobelongtotheoneofuswhowillnevergrowolder,"said
Carolineinahardvoice.
Henrylookedather,stillsmiling."Ofcourse,wenoneofusforgetthat,"saidhe,ina
deep, gentle voice "but we have to speak to the living, Caroline, and I have not seen
Emmaforalongtime,andthelivingareasdearasthedead."
"Nottome,"saidCaroline.
Sheroseandwentabruptlyoutoftheroomagain.Rebeccaalsoroseandhurriedafter
her,sobbingloudly.
Henrylookedslowlyafterthem.
"Carolineiscompletelyunstrung,"saidhe.
Mrs.Brighamrocked.Aconfidenceinhiminspiredbyhismannerwasstealingover
her.Outofthatconfidenceshespokequiteeasilyandnaturally.
"Hisdeathwasverysudden,"saidshe.
Henry'seyelidsquiveredslightlybuthisgazewasunswerving.
"Yes,"saidhe,"itwasverysudden.Hewassickonlyafewhours."
"Whatdidyoucallit?"
"Gastric."
"Youdidnotthinkofanexamination?"
"Therewasnoneed.Iamperfectlycertainastothecauseofhisdeath."
Suddenly Mrs. Brigham felt a creep as of some live horror over her very soul. Her
flesh prickled with cold, before an inflection of his voice. She rose, tottering on weak
knees.
"Whereareyougoing?"askedHenryinastrange,breathlessvoice.
Mrs. Brigham said something incoherent about some sewing which she had to do
someblackforthefuneralandwasoutoftheroom.Shewentuptothefrontchamber
whichsheoccupied.Carolinewasthere.Shewentclosetoherandtookherhands,and
thetwosisterslookedateachother.
"Don'tspeak,don't,Iwon'thaveit!"saidCarolinefinallyinanawfulwhisper.
"Iwon't,"repliedEmma.
Thatafternoonthethreesisterswereinthestudy.
Mrs.Brighamwashemmingsomeblackmaterial.Atlastshelaidherworkonherlap.
"It'snouse,Icannotseetosewanotherstitchuntilwehavealight,"saidshe.
Caroline, who was writing some letters at the table, turned to Rebecca, in her usual
placeonthesofa.
"Rebecca,youhadbettergetalamp,"shesaid.
Rebeccastartedupevenintheduskherfaceshowedheragitation.
"Itdoesn'tseemtomethatweneedalampquiteyet,"shesaidinapiteous,pleading
voicelikeachild's.
"Yes,wedo,"returnedMrs.Brighamperemptorily."Ican'tseetosewanotherstitch."
Rebeccaroseandlefttheroom.Presentlysheenteredwithalamp.Shesetiton the
table,anoldfashionedcardtablewhich was placed against the opposite wall from the
window. That opposite wall was taken up with three doors the one small space was
occupiedbythetable.
"What have you put that lamp over there for?" asked Mrs. Brigham, with more of
impatiencethanhervoiceusuallyrevealed."Whydidn'tyousetitinthehall,andhave
donewithit?NeitherCarolinenorIcanseeifitisonthattable."
"Ithoughtperhapsyouwouldmove,"repliedRebeccahoarsely.
"IfIdomove,wecan'tbothsitatthattable.Carolinehasherpaperallspreadaround.
Whydon'tyousetthelamponthestudy table in the middle of the room, then we can
bothsee?"
Rebeccahesitated.Herfacewasverypale.Shelookedwithanappealthatwasfairly
agonizingathersisterCaroline.
"Why don't you put the lamp on this table, as she says?" asked Caroline, almost
fiercely."Whydoyouactso,Rebecca?"
Rebecca took the lamp and set it on the table in the middle of the room without
anotherword.Thensheseatedherselfonthesofaandplacedahandoverhereyesasifto
shadethem,andremainedso.
"Doesthelighthurtyoureyes,andisthatthereasonwhyyoudidn'twantthelamp?"
askedMrs.Brighamkindly.
"I always like to sit in the dark," replied Rebecca chokingly. Then she snatched her
handkerchief hastily from her pocket and began to weep. Caroline continued to write,
Mrs.Brighamtosew.
SuddenlyMrs.Brighamasshesewedglancedattheoppositewall.Theglancebecame
a steady stare. She looked intently, her work suspended in her hands. Then she looked
awayagainandtookafewmorestitches,thenshelookedagain,andagainturnedtoher
task.Atlastshelaidherworkinherlapandstaredconcentratedly.Shelookedfromthe
wallroundtheroom,takingnoteofthevariousobjects.Thensheturnedtohersisters.
"Whatisthat?"saidshe.
"What?"askedCarolineharshly.
"Thatstrangeshadowonthewall,"repliedMrs.Brigham.
RebeccasatwithherfacehiddenCarolinedippedherpenintheinkstand.
"Why don't you turn around and look?" asked Mrs. Brigham in a wondering and
somewhataggrievedway.
"Iaminahurrytofinishthisletter,"repliedCarolineshortly.
Mrs.Brighamrose,herworkslippingtothefloor,andbeganwalkingroundtheroom,
movingvariousarticlesoffurniture,withhereyesontheshadow.
Thensuddenlysheshriekedout:
"Lookatthisawfulshadow!Whatisit?Caroline,look,look!Rebecca,look!Whatis
it?"
AllMrs.Brigham'striumphantplaciditywasgone.Herhandsomefacewaslividwith
horror.Shestoodstifflypointingattheshadow.
ThenafterashudderingglanceatthewallRebeccaburstoutinawildwail.
"Oh,Caroline,thereitisagain,thereitisagain!"
"Caroline Glynn, you look!" said Mrs. Brigham. "Look! What is that dreadful
shadow?"
Carolinerose,turned,andstoodconfrontingthewall.
"HowshouldIknow?"shesaid.
"Ithasbeenthereeverynightsincehedied!"criedRebecca.
"Everynight?"
"Yes he died Thursday and this is Saturday that makes three nights," said Caroline
rigidly.Shestoodasifholdinghercalmwithaviseofconcentratedwill.
"Ititlookslikelike"stammeredMrs.Brighaminatoneofintensehorror.
"Iknowwhatitlookslikewellenough,"saidCaroline."I'vegoteyesinmyhead."
"ItlookslikeEdward,"burstoutRebeccainasortoffrenzyoffear."Only"
"Yes,itdoes,"assentedMrs.Brigham,whosehorrorstrickentonematchedhersisters',
"onlyOh,itisawful!Whatisit,Caroline?"
"Iaskyouagain,howshouldIknow?"repliedCaroline."Iseeittherelikeyou.How
shouldIknowanymorethanyou?"
"Itmustbesomethingintheroom,"saidMrs.Brigham,staringwildlyaround.
"We moved everything in the room the first night it came," said Rebecca "it is not
anythingintheroom."
Carolineturneduponherwithasortoffury."Ofcourseitissomethingintheroom,"
saidshe."Howyouact!Whatdoyoumeantalkingso?Ofcourseitissomethinginthe
room."
"Ofcourseitis,"agreedMrs.Brigham,lookingatCarolinesuspiciously."Itmustbe
somethingintheroom."
"Itisnotanythingintheroom,"repeatedRebeccawithobstinatehorror.
ThedooropenedsuddenlyandHenryGlynnentered.Hebegantospeak,thenhiseyes
followedthedirectionoftheothers.Hestoodstaringattheshadowonthewall.
"Whatisthat?"hedemandedinastrangevoice.
"Itmustbeduetosomethingintheroom,"Mrs.Brighamsaidfaintly.
HenryGlynnstoodandstaredamomentlonger.Hisfaceshowedagamutofemotions.
Horror, conviction, then furious incredulity. Suddenly he began hastening hither and
thitherabouttheroom.Hemovedthefurniturewithfiercejerks,turningevertoseethe
effectupontheshadowonthewall.Notalineofitsterribleoutlineswavered.
"Itmustbesomethingintheroom!"hedeclaredinavoicewhichseemedtosnaplike
alash.
Hisfacechanged,theinmostsecrecyofhisnatureseemedevidentuponhisface,until
onealmostlostsightofhislineaments.Rebeccastoodclosetohersofa,regardinghim
withwoeful,fascinatedeyes.Mrs.BrighamclutchedCaroline'shand.Theybothstoodin
acorneroutofhisway.Forafewmomentsheragedabouttheroomlikeacagedwild
animal.Hemovedeverypieceoffurniturewhenthemovingofapiecedidnotaffectthe
shadowheflungittothefloor.
Thensuddenlyhedesisted.Helaughed.
"Whatanabsurdity,"hesaideasily."Suchatodoaboutashadow."
"That'sso,"assentedMrs.Brigham,inascaredvoicewhichshetriedtomakenatural.
Asshespokesheliftedachairnearher.
"IthinkyouhavebrokenthechairthatEdwardwasfondof,"saidCaroline.
Terrorandwrathwerestrugglingforexpressiononherface.Hermouthwasset,her
eyesshrinking.Henryliftedthechairwithashowofanxiety.
"Just as good as ever," he said pleasantly. He laughed again, looking at his sisters.
"DidIscareyou?"hesaid."Ishouldthinkyoumightbeusedtomebythistime.You
knowmywayofwantingtoleaptothebottomofamystery,andthatshadowdoeslook
queer, likeand I thought if there was any way of accounting for it I would like to
withoutanydelay."
"Youdon'tseemtohavesucceeded,"remarkedCarolinedryly,withaslightglanceat
thewall.
Henry'seyesfollowedhersandhequiveredperceptibly.
"Oh,thereisnoaccountingforshadows,"hesaid,andhelaughedagain."Amanisa
fooltotrytoaccountforshadows."
Thenthesupperbellrang,andtheyalllefttheroom,butHenrykepthisback to the
wallasdid,indeed,theothers.
HenryledthewaywithanalertmotionlikeaboyRebeccabroughtuptherear.She
couldscarcelywalk,herkneestrembledso.
"Ican'tsitinthatroomagainthisevening,"shewhisperedtoCarolineaftersupper.
"Verywellwewillsitinthesouthroom,"repliedCaroline."Ithinkwewillsitinthe
southparlor,"shesaidaloud"itisn'tasdampasthestudy,andIhaveacold."
So they all sat in the south room with their sewing. Henry read the newspaper, his
chair drawn close to the lamp on the table. About nine o'clock he rose abruptly and
crossedthehalltothestudy.Thethreesisterslookedatoneanother.Mrs.Brighamrose,
foldedherrustlingskirtscompactlyroundher,andbegantiptoeingtowardthedoor.
"Whatareyougoingtodo?"inquiredRebeccaagitatedly.
"Iamgoingtoseewhatheisabout,"repliedMrs.Brighamcautiously.
As she spoke she pointed to the study door across the hall it was ajar. Henry had
striventopullittogetherbehindhim,butithadsomehowswollenbeyondthelimitwith
curiousspeed.Itwasstillajarandastreakoflightshowedfromtoptobottom.
Mrs. Brigham folded her skirts so tightly that her bulk with its swelling curves was
revealed in a black silk sheath, and she went with a slow toddle across the hall to the
studydoor.Shestoodthere,hereyeatthecrack.
In the south room Rebecca stopped sewing and sat watching with dilated eyes.
Carolinesewedsteadily.WhatMrs.Brigham,standingatthecrackinthestudydoor,saw
wasthis:
Henry Glynn, evidently reasoning that the source of the strange shadow must be
betweenthetableonwhichthelampstoodandthewall,wasmakingsystematicpasses
andthrustswithanoldswordwhichhadbelongedtohisfatheralloverandthroughthe
interveningspace.Notaninchwasleftunpierced.Heseemedtohavedividedthespace
into mathematical sections. He brandished the sword with a sort of cold fury and
calculation the blade gave out flashes of light, the shadow remained unmoved. Mrs.
Brigham,watching,feltherselfcoldwithhorror.
Finally Henry ceased and stood with the sword in hand and raised as if to strike,
surveying the shadow on the wall threateningly. Mrs. Brigham toddled back across the
hallandshutthesouthroomdoorbehindherbeforesherelatedwhatshehadseen.
"Helookedlikeademon,"shesaidagain."Haveyougotanyofthatoldwineinthe
house,Caroline?Idon'tfeelasifIcouldstandmuchmore."
"Yes,there'splenty,"saidCaroline"youcanhavesomewhenyougotobed."
"Ithinkwehadallbettertakesome,"saidMrs.Brigham."Oh,Caroline,what"
"Don'taskdon'tspeak,"saidCaroline.
"No,I'mnotgoingto,"repliedMrs.Brigham"but"
Soon the three sisters went to their chambers and the south parlor was deserted.
CarolinecalledtoHenryinthestudytoputoutthelightbeforehecameupstairs.They
hadbeengoneaboutanhourwhenhecameintotheroombringingthelampwhichhad
stoodinthestudy.Hesetitonthetable,andwaitedafewminutes,pacingupanddown.
Hisfacewasterrible,hisfaircomplexionshowedlivid,andhisblueeyesseemeddark
blanksofawfulreflections.
Then he took up the lamp and returned to the library. He set the lamp on the center
tableandtheshadowsprangoutonthewall.Againhestudiedthefurnitureandmovedit
about, but deliberately, with none of his former frenzy. Nothing affected the shadow.
Thenhereturnedtothesouthroomwiththelampandagainwaited.Againhereturnedto
thestudyandplacedthelamponthetable,andtheshadowsprangoutuponthewall.It
wasmidnightbeforehewentupstairs.Mrs.Brighamandtheothersisters,whocouldnot
sleep,heardhim.
The next day was the funeral. That evening the family sat in the south room. Some
relativeswerewiththem.NobodyenteredthestudyuntilHenrycarriedalampinthere
aftertheothershadretiredforthenight.Hesawagaintheshadowonthewallleaptoan
awfullifebeforethelight.
ThenextmorningatbreakfastHenryGlynnannouncedthathehadtogotothecityfor
threedays.Thesisterslookedathimwithsurprise.Heveryseldomlefthome,andjust
nowhispracticehadbeenneglectedonaccountofEdward'sdeath.
"Howcanyouleaveyourpatientsnow?"askedMrs.Brighamwonderingly.
"Idon'tknowhowto,butthereisnootherway,"repliedHenryeasily."Ihavehada
telegramfromDr.Mitford."
"Consultation?"inquiredMrs.Brigham.
"Ihavebusiness,"repliedHenry.
DoctorMitfordwasanoldclassmateofhiswholivedinaneighboringcityandwho
occasionallycalleduponhiminthecaseofaconsultation.
After he had gone, Mrs. Brigham said to Caroline that, after all,Henryhadnotsaid
thathewasgoingtoconsultwithDoctorMitford,andshethoughtitverystrange.
"Everythingisverystrange,"saidRebeccawithashudder.
"Whatdoyoumean?"inquiredCaroline.
"Nothing,"repliedRebecca.
Nobody entered the study that day, nor the next. The third day Henry was expected
home,buthedidnotarriveandthelasttrainfromthecityhadcome.
"I call it pretty queer work," said Mrs. Brigham. "The idea of a doctor leaving his
patientsatsuchatimeasthis,andtheideaofaconsultationlastingthreedays!Thereis
nosenseinit,andnowhehasnotcome.Idon'tunderstandit,formypart."
"Idon'teither,"saidRebecca.
Theywereallinthesouthparlor.Therewasnolightinthestudythedoorwasajar.
Presently Mrs. Brigham roseshe could not have told why something seemed to
impel hersome will outside her own. She went out of the room, again wrapping her
rustlingskirts round that she might pass noiselessly, and began pushing at the swollen
doorofthestudy.
"Shehasnotgotanylamp,"saidRebeccainashakingvoice.
Caroline, who was writing letters, rose again, took the only remaining lamp in the
room,andfollowedhersister.Rebeccahadrisen,butshestoodtrembling,notventuring
tofollow.
Thedoorbellrang,buttheothersdidnothearititwasonthesouthdoorontheother
sideofthehousefromthestudy.Rebecca,afterhesitatinguntilthebellrangthesecond
time,wenttothedoorsherememberedthattheservantwasout.
Caroline and her sister Emma entered the study. Caroline set the lamp on the table.
Theylookedatthewall,andthereweretwoshadows.Thesistersstoodclutchingeach
other,staringattheawfulthingsonthewall.ThenRebeccacamein,staggering,witha
telegraminherhand."Hereisatelegram,"shegasped."Henryisdead."
TheMessenger
BYROBERTW.CHAMBERS
Littlegraymessenger,
RobedlikepaintedDeath,
Yourrobeisdust.
Whomdoyouseek
Amongliliesandclosedbuds
Atdusk?
Amongliliesandclosedbuds
Atdusk,
Whomdoyouseek,
Littlegraymessenger,
Robedintheawfulpanoply
OfpaintedDeath?
R.W.C.
From The Mystery of Choice, by Robert W. Chambers. Published,

1897,byD.AppletonandCompany.Copyright by Robert W. Chambers.
BypermissionofRobertW.Chambers.
Allwise,
Hastthouseenallthereistoseewiththytwoeyes?
Dostthouknowallthereistoknow,andso,
Omniscient,
Darestthoustilltosaythybrotherlies?
R.W.C.
"The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin, and he placed his middle finger over a
smoothholeexactlyinthecenteroftheforehead.
Isatdownuponamoundofdryseaweedandunslungmyfowlingpiece.
The little chemist cautiously felt the edges of the shothole, first with his middle
finger,andthenwithhisthumb.
"Letmeseetheskullagain,"saidI.
MaxFortinpickeditupfromthesod.
"It'slikealltheothers,"herepeated,wipinghisglassesonhishandkerchief."Ithought
youmightcaretoseeoneoftheskulls,soIbroughtthisoverfromthegravelpit.The
menfromBannalecarediggingyet.Theyoughttostop."
"Howmanyskullsaretherealtogether?"Iinquired.
"Theyfoundthirtyeightskullstherearethirtyninenotedinthelist.Theyliepiledup
in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le
Bihanisgoingtostopthem."
"Let'sgoover,"saidIandIpickedupmygunandstartedacrossthecliffs,Portinon
oneside,Mmeontheother.
"Whohasthelist?"Iasked,lightingmypipe."Yousaythereisalist?"
"Thelistwasfoundrolledupinabrasscylinder,"saidthechemist. He added: "You

shouldnotsmokehere.Youknowthatifasinglesparkdriftedintothewheat"
"Ah,butIhaveacovertomypipe,"saidI,smiling.
FortinwatchedmeasIclosedthepepperboxarrangementovertheglowingbowlof
thepipe.Thenhecontinued:
"Thelistwasmadeoutonthickyellowpaperthebrasstubehaspreservedit.Itisas
freshtodayasitwasin1760.Youshallseeit."
"Isthatthedate?"
"The list is dated 'April, 1760.' The Brigadier Durand has it. It is not written in
French."
"NotwritteninFrench!"Iexclaimed.
"No,"repliedFortinsolemnly,"itiswritteninBreton."
"But,"Iprotested,"theBretonlanguagewasneverwrittenorprintedin1760."
"Exceptbypriests,"saidthechemist.
"IhaveheardofbutonepriestwhoeverwrotetheBretonlanguage,"Ibegan.
Fortinstoleaglanceatmyface.
"YoumeantheBlackPriest?"heasked.
Inodded.
Fortinopenedhismouthtospeakagain,hesitated,andfinallyshuthisteethobstinately
overthewheatstemthathewaschewing.
"AndtheBlackPriest?"Isuggestedencouragingly.ButIknewitwasuselessforitis
easier to move the stars from their courses than to make an obstinate Breton talk. We
walkedonforaminuteortwoinsilence.
"WhereistheBrigadierDurand?"Iasked,motioningMmetocomeoutofthewheat,
whichhewastramplingasthough it were heather. As I spoke we came in sight of the
fartheredgeofthewheatfieldandthedark,wetmassofcliffsbeyond.
"Durand is down thereyou can see him he stands just behind the mayor of St.
Gildas."
"Isee,"saidIandwestruckstraightdown,followingasunbakedcattlepathacross
theheather.
When we reached the edge of the wheat field, Le Bihan, the mayor of St. Gildas,
calledtome,andItuckedmygunundermyarmandskirtedthewheattowherehestood.
"Thirtyeight skulls," he said in his thin, highpitched voice "there is but one more,
andIamopposedtofurthersearch.IsupposeFortintoldyou?"
Ishookhandswithhim,andreturnedthesaluteoftheBrigadierDurand.
"Iamopposedtofurthersearch,"repeatedLeBihan,nervouslypickingatthemassof
silver buttons which covered the front of his velvet and broadcloth jacket like a
breastplateofscalearmor.
Durandpurseduphislips,twistedhistremendousmustache,andhookedhisthumbsin
hissaberbelt.
"Asforme,"hesaid,"Iaminfavoroffurthersearch."
"Furthersearchforwhatforthethirtyninthskull?"Iasked.
LeBihannodded.Durandfrownedatthesunlitsea,rockinglikeabowlofmoltengold
from the cliffs to the horizon. I followed his eyes. On the dark glistening cliffs,
silhouettedagainst the glare of the sea, sat a cormorant, black, motionless, its horrible
headraisedtowardheaven.
"Whereisthatlist,Durand?"Iasked.
Thegendarmerummagedinhisdespatchpouchandproducedabrasscylinderabouta
footlong.Verygravelyheunscrewedtheheadanddumpedoutascrollofthickyellow
papercloselycoveredwithwritingonbothsides.AtanodfromLeBihanhehandedme
thescroll.ButIcouldmakenothingofthecoarsewriting,nowfadedtoadullbrown.
"Come, come, Le Bihan," I said impatiently, "translate it, won't you? You and Max
Fortinmakealotofmysteryoutofnothing,itseems."
LeBihanwenttotheedgeofthepitwherethethreeBannalecmenweredigging,gave
anorderortwoinBreton,andturnedtome.
AsIcametotheedgeofthepittheBannalecmenwereremovingasquarepieceof
sailclothfromwhatappearedtobeapileofcobblestones.
"Look!"saidLeBihanshrilly.Ilooked.Thepilebelowwasaheapofskulls.Aftera
moment I clambered down the gravel sides of the pit and walked over to the men of
Bannalec.Theysalutedmegravely,leaningontheirpicksandshovels,andwipingtheir
sweatingfaceswithsunburnedhands.
"Howmany?"saidIinBreton.
"Thirtyeight,"theyreplied.
I glanced around. Beyond the heap of skulls lay two piles of human bones. Beside
thesewasamoundofbroken,rustedbitsofironandsteel.Lookingcloser,Isawthatthis
moundwascomposedofrustybayonets,saberblades,scytheblades,withhereandthere
atarnishedbuckleattachedtoabitofleatherhardasiron.
I picked up a couple of buttons and a belt plate. The buttonsboretheroyal arms of
EnglandthebeltplatewasemblazonedwiththeEnglisharmsandalsowiththenumber
"27."
"I have heard my grandfather speak of the terrible English regiment, the 27th Foot,
whichlandedandstormedthefortupthere,"saidoneoftheBannalecmen.
"Oh!"saidI"thenthesearethebonesofEnglishsoldiers?"
"Yes,"saidthemenofBannalec.
LeBihanwascallingtomefromtheedgeofthepitabove,andIhandedthebeltplate
andbuttonstothemenandclimbedthesideoftheexcavation.
"Well," said I, trying to prevent Mme from leaping up and licking my face as I
emergedfromthepit,"Isupposeyouknowwhatthesebonesare.Whatareyougoingto
dowiththem?"
"Therewasaman,"saidLeBihanangrily,"anEnglishman,whopassedhereinadog
cartonhiswaytoQuimperaboutanhourago,andwhatdoyousupposehewishedto
do?"
"Buytherelics?"Iasked,smiling.
"Exactlythepig!"pipedthemayorofSt.Gildas."Jean Marie Tregunc, who found
the bones, was standing there where Max Fortin stands, and do you know what he
answered?Hespatupontheground,andsaid:'PigofanEnglishman,doyoutakemefor
adesecratorofgraves?'"
IknewTregunc,asober,blueeyedBreton,wholivedfromoneyear'sendtotheother
withoutbeingabletoaffordasinglebitofmeatforameal.
"HowmuchdidtheEnglishmanofferTregunc?"Iasked.
"Twohundredfrancsfortheskullsalone."
Ithoughtoftherelichuntersandtherelicbuyersonthebattlefieldsofourcivilwar.
"Seventeenhundredandsixtyislongago,"Isaid.
"Respectforthedeadcanneverdie,"saidFortin.
"And the English soldiers came here to kill your fathers and burn your homes," I
continued.
"Theyweremurderersandthieves,buttheyaredead,"saidTregunc,comingupfrom
thebeachbelow,hislongsearakebalancedonhisdrippingjersey.
"Howmuchdoyouearneveryyear,JeanMarie?"Iasked,turningtoshakehandswith
him.
"Twohundredandtwentyfrancs,monsieur."
"Fortyfivedollarsayear,"Isaid."Bah!youareworthmore,Jean.Willyoutakecare
of my garden for me? My wife wished me to ask you. I think it would be worth one
hundredfrancsamonthtoyouandtome.Comeon,LeBihancomealong,Fortinand
you,Durand.IwantsomebodytotranslatethatlistintoFrenchforme."
Treguncstoodgazingatme,hisblueeyesdilated.
"Youmaybeginatonce,"Isaid,smiling,"ifthesalarysuitsyou?"
"Itsuits,"saidTregunc,fumblingforhispipeinasillywaythatannoyedLeBihan.
"Then go and begin your work," cried the mayor impatiently and Tregunc started
acrossthemoorstowardSt.Gildas,takingoffhisvelvetribbonedcaptomeandgripping
hissearakeveryhard.
"Youofferhimmorethanmysalary,"saidthemayor,afteramoment'scontemplation
ofhissilverbuttons.
"Pooh!"saidI,"whatdoyoudoforyoursalaryexceptplaydominoeswithMaxPortin
attheGroixInn?"
Le Bihan turned red, but Durand rattled his saber and winked at Max Fortin, and I
slippedmyarmthroughthearmofthesulkymagistrate,laughing.
"There'sashadyspotunderthecliff,"Isaid"comeon,LeBihan,andreadmewhatis
inthescroll."
In a few moments we reached the shadow of the cliff, and I threw myself upon the
turf,chinonhand,tolisten.
The gendarme, Durand, also sat down, twisting his mustache into needlelike points.
Fortinleanedagainstthecliff,polishinghisglassesandexamininguswithvague,near
sightedeyesandLeBihan,themayor,plantedhimselfinourmidst,rollingupthescroll
andtuckingitunderhisarm.
"First of all," he began in a shrill voice, "I am going to light my pipe, and while
lightingitIshalltellyouwhatIhaveheardabouttheattackonthefortyonder.Myfather
toldmehisfathertoldhim."
Hejerkedhisheadinthedirectionoftheruinedfort,asmall,squarestonestructureon
the sea cliff, now nothing but crumbling walls. Then he slowly produced a tobacco
pouch,abitofflintandtinder,andalongstemmedpipefittedwithamicroscopicalbowl
ofbakedclay.Tofillsuchapiperequirestenminutes'closeattention.Tosmokeittoa
finishtakesbutfourpuffs.ItisveryBreton,thisBretonpipe.Itisthecrystallization of
everythingBreton.
"Goon,"saidI,lightingacigarette.
"Thefort,"saidthemayor,"wasbuiltbyLouisXIV,andwasdismantledtwicebythe
English.LouisXVrestoreditin1730.In1760itwascarriedbyassaultbytheEnglish.
TheycameacrossfromtheislandofGroixthreeshiploads,andtheystormedthefort
andsackedSt.Julienyonder,andtheystartedtoburnSt.Gildasyoucanseethemarks
of their bullets on my house yet but the men of Bannalec and the men of Lorient fell
upon them with pike and scythe and blunderbuss, and those who did not run away lie
therebelowinthegravelpitnowthirtyeightofthem."
"Andthethirtyninthskull?"Iasked,finishingmycigarette.
The mayor had succeeded in filling his pipe, and now he began to put his tobacco
pouchaway.
"The thirtyninth skull," he mumbled, holding the pipe stem between his defective
teeth"the thirtyninth skull is no business of mine. I have told the Bannalec men to
ceasedigging."
"Butwhatiswhoseisthemissingskull?"Ipersistedcuriously.
The mayor was busy trying to strike a spark to his tinder. Presently he set it aglow,
appliedittohispipe,tooktheprescribedfourpuffs,knockedtheashesoutofthebowl,
andgravelyreplacedthepipeinhispocket.
"Themissingskull?"heasked.
"Yes,"saidI,impatiently.
The mayorslowlyunrolled the scroll and began to read,translating from the Breton
intoFrench.Andthisiswhatheread:
"ONTHECLIFFSOFST.GILDAS,
APRIL13,1760.
"Onthisday,byorderoftheCountofSoisic,generalinchiefoftheBretonforcesnow
lyinginKerselecForest,thebodiesofthirtyeightEnglishsoldiersofthe27th,50th,and
72dregimentsofFootwereburiedinthisspot,togetherwiththeirarmsandequipments."
Themayorpausedandglancedatmereflectively.
"Goon,LeBihan,"Isaid.
"With them," continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the other side,
"wasburiedthebodyofthatviletraitorwhobetrayedtheforttotheEnglish.Themanner
ofhisdeathwasasfollows:ByorderofthemostnobleCountofSoisic,thetraitorwas
firstbrandedupontheforeheadwiththebrandofanarrowhead.Theironburnedthrough
thefleshandwaspressedheavilysothatthebrandshouldevenburnintotheboneofthe
skull.Thetraitorwasthenledoutandbiddento kneel. He admitted having guided the
EnglishfromtheislandofGroix.AlthoughapriestandaFrenchman,hehadviolatedhis
priestly office to aid him in discovering the password to the fort. This password he
extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the habit of rowing
acrossfromtheislandofGroixtovisitherhusbandinthefort.Whenthefortfell,this
younggirl,crazedbythedeathofherhusband,soughttheCountofSoisicandtoldhow
thepriesthadforcedher to confess to him all she knew about the fort. The priest was
arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross the river to Lorient. When arrested he
cursedthegirl,MarieTrevec"
"What!"Iexclaimed,"MarieTrevec!"
"MarieTrevec,"repeatedLeBihan"thepriestcursedMarieTrevec,andallherfamily
anddescendants.Hewasshotasheknelt,havingamaskofleatheroverhisface,because
theBretons who composed the squad of execution refused to fire at a priest unless his
facewasconcealed.Thepriestwasl'AbbSorgue,commonlyknownastheBlackPriest
onaccountofhisdarkfaceandswarthyeyebrows.Hewasburiedwithastakethrough
hisheart."
LeBihanpaused,hesitated,lookedatme,andhandedthemanuscriptbacktoDurand.
Thegendarmetookitandslippeditintothebrasscylinder.
"So,"saidI,"thethirtyninthskullistheskulloftheBlackPriest."
"Yes,"saidFortin."Ihopetheywon'tfindit."
"Ihaveforbiddenthemtoproceed,"saidthemayorquerulously."Youheardme,Max
Fortin."
Iroseandpickedupmygun.Mmecameandpushedhisheadintomyhand.
"That'safinedog,"observedDurand,alsorising.
"Whydon'tyouwishtofindhisskull?"IaskedLeBihan."Itwouldbecurioustosee
whetherthearrowbrandreallyburnedintothebone."
"ThereissomethinginthatscrollthatIdidn'treadtoyou,"saidthemayorgrimly."Do
youwishtoknowwhatitis?"
"Ofcourse,"Irepliedinsurprise.
"Givemethescrollagain,Durand,"hesaidthenhereadfromthebottom:"I,l'Abb
Sorgue,forcedtowritetheabovebymyexecutioners,havewrittenitinmyownblood
and with it I leave my curse. My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her
descendants.IwillcomebacktoSt.Gildaswhenmyremainsaredisturbed.Woetothat
Englishmanwhommybrandedskullshalltouch!"
"Whatrot!"Isaid."Doyoubelieveitwasreallywritteninhisownblood?"
"I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at the request of Monsieur le Maire. I am not
anxiousforthejob,however."
"See,"saidLeBihan,holdingoutthescrolltome,"itissigned,'L'AbbSorgue.'"
Iglancedcuriouslyoverthepaper.
"ItmustbetheBlackPriest,"Isaid."HewastheonlymanwhowroteintheBreton
language.Thisisawonderfullyinterestingdiscovery,fornow,atlast,themysteryofthe
BlackPriest'sdisappearanceisclearedup.Youwill,ofcourse,sendthisscrolltoParis,
LeBihan?"
"No,"saidthemayorobstinately,"itshallbeburiedinthepitbelowwheretherestof
theBlackPriestlies."
Ilookedathimandrecognizedthatargumentwouldbeuseless.ButstillIsaid,"Itwill
bealosstohistory,MonsieurLeBihan."
"Alltheworseforhistory,then,"saidtheenlightenedMayorofSt.Gildas.
We had sauntered back to the gravel pit while speaking. The men of Bannalec were
carryingthebonesoftheEnglishsoldierstowardtheSt.Gildascemetery,onthecliffsto
theeast,wherealreadyaknotofwhitecoiffedwomenstoodinattitudesofprayerandI
sawthesomberrobeofapriestamongthecrossesofthelittlegraveyard.
"Theywerethievesandassassinstheyaredeadnow,"mutteredMaxFortin.
"Respectthedead,"repeatedtheMayorofSt.Gildas,lookingaftertheBannalecmen.
"It was written in that scroll that Marie Trevec, of Groix Island, was cursed by the
priestshe and her descendants," I said, touching Le Bihan on the arm. "There was a
MarieTrevecwhomarriedanYvesTrevecofSt.Gildas"
"Itisthesame,"saidLeBihan,lookingatmeobliquely.
"Oh!"saidI"thentheywereancestorsofmywife."
"Doyoufearthecurse?"askedLeBihan.
"What?"Ilaughed.
"TherewasthecaseofthePurpleEmperor,"saidMaxFortintimidly.
Startled for a moment, I faced him, then shrugged my shoulders and kicked at a
smoothbitofrockwhichlayneartheedgeofthepit,almostembeddedingravel.
"DoyousupposethePurpleEmperordrankhimselfcrazybecausehewasdescended
fromMarieTrevec?"Iaskedcontemptuously.
"Ofcoursenot,"saidMaxFortinhastily.
"Ofcoursenot,"pipedthemayor."IonlyHellow!what'sthatyou'rekicking?"
"What?"saidI,glancingdown,atthesametimeinvoluntarilygivinganotherkick.The
smoothbitofrockdislodgeditselfandrolledoutoftheloosenedgravelatmyfeet.
"The thirtyninth skull!" I exclaimed. "By jingo, it's the noddle of the Black Priest!
See!thereisthearrowheadbrandedonthefront!"
Themayorsteppedback.MaxFortinalsoretreated.Therewasapause,duringwhichI
lookedatthem,andtheylookedanywherebutatme.
"Idon'tlikeit,"saidthemayoratlast,inahusky,highvoice."Idon'tlikeit!Thescroll
sayshewillcomebacktoSt.Gildaswhenhisremainsaredisturbed.IIdon'tlikeit,
MonsieurDarrel"
"Bosh!"saidI"thepoorwickeddeviliswherehecan'tgetout.ForHeaven'ssake,Le
Bihan,whatisthisstuffyouaretalkingintheyearofgrace1896?"
Themayorgavemealook.
"Andhesays'Englishman.'YouareanEnglishman,MonsieurDarrel,"heannounced.
"Youknowbetter.YouknowI'manAmerican."
"It'sallthesame,"saidtheMayorofSt.Gildas,obstinately.
"No, it isn't!" I answered, much exasperated, and deliberately pushed the skull till it
rolledintothebottomofthegravelpitbelow.
"Coveritup,"saidI"burythescrollwithittoo,ifyouinsist,butIthinkyououghtto
send it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin, unless you believe in werewolves and
ghosts. Hey! what thewhat the devil's the matter with you, anyway? What are you
staringat,LeBihan?"
"Come,come,"mutteredthemayorinalow,tremulousvoice,"it'stimewegotoutof
this.Didyousee?Didyousee,Fortin?"
"Isaw,"whisperedMaxFortin,pallidwithfright.
Thetwomenwerealmostrunningacrossthesunnypasturenow,andIhastenedafter
them,demandingtoknowwhatwasthematter.
"Matter!" chattered the mayor, gasping with exasperation and terror. "The skull is
rolling up hill again," and he burst into a terrified gallop, Max Fortin followed close
behind.
I watched them stampeding across the pasture, then turned toward the gravel pit,
mystified,incredulous.Theskullwaslyingontheedgeofthepit,exactlywhereithad
beenbeforeIpusheditovertheedge.ForasecondIstaredatitasingularchillyfeeling
creptupmyspinalcolumn,andIturnedandwalkedaway,sweatstartingfromtherootof
everyhaironmyhead.BeforeIhadgonetwentypacestheabsurdityofthewholething
struckme.Ihalted,hotwithshameandannoyance,andretracedmysteps.
Therelaytheskull.
"Irolledastonedowninsteadoftheskull,"Imutteredtomyself.Thenwiththebuttof
mygunIpushedtheskullovertheedgeofthepitandwatcheditrolltothebottomand
asitstruckthebottomofthepit,Mme,mydog,suddenlywhippedhistailbetweenhis
legs,whimpered,andmadeoffacrossthemoor.
"Mme!"Ishouted,angryandastonishedbutthedogonlyfledthefaster,andIceased
callingfromsheersurprise.
"Whatthemischiefisthematterwiththatdog!"Ithought.Hehadneverbeforeplayed
mesuchatrick.
MechanicallyIglancedintothepit,butIcouldnotseetheskull.Ilookeddown.The
skulllayatmyfeetagain,touchingthem.
"Goodheavens!"Istammered,andstruckatitblindlywithmygunstock.Theghastly
thingflewintotheair,whirlingoverandover,androlledagaindownthesidesofthepit
tothebottom.BreathlesslyIstaredatit,then,confusedandscarcelycomprehending,I
steppedbackfromthepit,stillfacingit,one,ten,twentypaces,myeyesalmoststarting
frommyhead,asthoughIexpectedtoseethethingrollupfromthebottomofthepit
undermyverygaze.AtlastIturnedmybacktothepitandstrodeoutacrossthegorse
coveredmoorlandtowardmyhome.AsIreachedtheroadthatwindsfromSt.Gildasto
St.JulienIgaveonehastyglanceatthepitovermyshoulder.Thesunshonehotonthe
sodabouttheexcavation.Therewassomethingwhiteandbareandroundontheturfat
theedgeofthepit.Itmighthavebeenastonetherewereplentyofthemlyingabout.
II
WhenIenteredmygardenIsawMmesprawlingonthestonedoorstep.Heeyedme
sidewaysandfloppedhistail.
"Areyounotmortified,youidiotdog?"Isaid,lookingabouttheupperwindowsfor
Lys.
Mmerolledoveronhisbackandraisedonedeprecatingforepaw,asthoughtoward
offcalamity.
"Don'tactasthoughIwasinthehabitofbeatingyoutodeath,"Isaid,disgusted.Ihad
neverinmyliferaisedwhiptothebrute."Butyouareafooldog,"Icontinued."No,you
needn't come to be babied and wept over Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am
ashamedofyou,andyoucangotothedevil."
Mme slunk off into the house, and I followed, mounting directly to my wife's
boudoir.Itwasempty.
"Wherehasshegone?"Isaid,lookinghardatMme,whohadfollowedme. "Oh! I
seeyoudon'tknow.Don'tpretendyoudo.Comeoffthatlounge!DoyouthinkLyswants
tancoloredhairsalloverherlounge?"
I rang the bell for Catherine and Fine, but they didn't know where "madame" had
gonesoIwentintomyroom,bathed,exchangedmysomewhatgrimyshootingclothes
forasuitofwarm,softknickerbockers,and,afterlingeringsomeextramomentsovermy
toiletforIwasparticular,nowthatIhadmarriedLysIwentdowntothegardenand
tookachairoutunderthefigtrees.
"Where can she be?" I wondered, Mme came sneaking out to be comforted, and I
forgavehimforLys'ssake,whereuponhefrisked.
"Youboundingcur,"saidI,"nowwhatonearthstartedyouoffacrossthemoor?Ifyou
doitagainI'llpushyoualongwithachargeofdustshot."
AsyetIhadscarcelydaredthinkabouttheghastlyhallucinationofwhichIhadbeena
victim,butnowIfaceditsquarely,flushingalittlewithmortificationatthethoughtof
myhastyretreatfromthegravelpit.
"To think," I said aloud, "that those old woman's tales of Max Fortin and Le Bihan
should have actually made me see what didn't exist at all! I lost my nerve like a
schoolboyinadarkbedroom."ForIknewnowthatIhadmistakenaroundstonefora
skulleachtime,andhadpushedacoupleofbigpebblesintothepitinsteadoftheskull
itself.
"Byjingo!"saidI,"I'mnervousmylivermustbeinadevilofaconditionifIseesuch
thingswhenI'mawake!Lyswillknowwhattogiveme."
Ifeltmortifiedandirritatedandsulky,andthoughtdisgustedlyofLeBihanandMax
Fortin.
ButafterawhileIceasedspeculating,dismissedthemayor,thechemist,andtheskull
from my mind, and smoked pensively, watching the sun low dipping in the western
ocean. As the twilight fell for a moment over ocean and moorland, a wistful, restless
happinessfilledmyheart,thehappinessthatallmenknowallmenwhohaveloved.
Slowly the purple mist crept out over the sea the cliffs darkened the forest was
shrouded.
Suddenlytheskyaboveburnedwiththeafterglow,andtheworldwasalightagain.
Cloudaftercloudcaughttherosedyethecliffsweretintedwithitmoorandpasture,
heatherandforestburnedandpulsatedwiththegentleflush.Isawthegullsturningand
tossingabovethesandbar,theirsnowywingstippedwithpinkIsawtheseaswallows
sheeringthesurfaceofthestillriver,stainedtoitsplaciddepthswithwarmreflectionsof
theclouds.Thetwitterofdrowsyhedgebirdsbrokeoutinthestillnessasalmonrolled
itsshiningsideabovetidewater.
The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified the silence. I sat motionless,
holdingmybreathasonewholistenstothefirstlowrumorofanorgan.Allatoncethe
purewhistleofanightingalecutthesilence,andthefirstmoonbeamsilveredthewastes
ofmisthungwaters.
Iraisedmyhead.
Lysstoodbeforemeinthegarden.
Whenwehadkissedeachother,welinkedarmsandmovedupanddownthegravel
walks,watchingthemoonbeamssparkleonthesandbarasthetideebbedandebbed.The
broad beds of white pinks about us were atremble with hovering white moths the
Octoberroseshungallabloom,perfumingthesaltwind.
"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne? Has she promised to spend Christmas with
us?"
"Yes,DickshedrovemedownfromPlougatthisafternoon.Shesentherlovetoyou.
Iamnotjealous.Whatdidyoushoot?"
"Ahareandfourpartridges.Theyareinthegunroom.ItoldCatherinenottotouch
themuntilyouhadseenthem."
Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not be particularly enthusiastic over game or
gunsbutshepretendedshewas,andalways scornfully denied that it was for my sake
and not for the pure love of sport. So she dragged me off to inspect the rather meager
gamebag,andshepaidmeprettycompliments,andgavealittlecryofdelightandpity
asIliftedtheenormoushareoutofthesackbyhisears.
"He'lleatnomoreofourlettuce,"Isaidattemptingtojustifytheassassination.
"Unhappylittlebunnyandwhatabeauty!ODick,youareasplendidshot,areyou
not?"
Ievadedthequestionandhauledoutapartridge.
"Poorlittledeadthings'"saidLysinawhisper"itseemsapitydoesn'tit,Dick?But
thenyouaresoclever"
"We'llhavethembroiled,"Isaidguardedly,"tellCatherine."
Catherine came in to take away the game, and presently 'Fine Lelocard, Lys's maid,
announceddinner,andLystrippedawaytoherboudoir.
Istoodaninstantcontemplatingherblissfully,thinking,"Myboy,you'rethehappiest
fellowintheworldyou'reinlovewithyourwife'"
Iwalkedintothediningroom,beamedattheplates,walkedoutagainmetTreguncin
thehallway,beamedonhimglancedintothekitchen,beamedatCatherine,andwentup
stairs,stillbeaming.
BeforeIcouldknockatLys'sdooritopened,andLyscamehastilyout.Whenshesaw
meshegavealittlecryofrelief,andnestledclosetomybreast.
"Thereissomethingpeeringinatmywindow,"shesaid.
"What!"Icriedangrily.
"Aman,Ithink,disguisedasapriest,andhehasamaskon.Hemusthaveclimbedup
bythebaytree."
Iwasdownthestairsandoutofdoorsinnotime.Themoonlitgardenwasabsolutely
deserted. Tregunc came up, and together we searched the hedge and shrubbery around
thehouseandouttotheroad.
"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my bulldoghe knows youand take your
supper on the porch where you can watch. My wife says the fellow is disguised as a
priest,andwearsamask."
Treguncshowedhiswhiteteethinasmile."Hewillnotcaretoventureinhereagain,I
think,MonsieurDarrel."
IwentbackandfoundLysseatedquietlyatthetable.
"Thesoupisready,dear,"shesaid."Don'tworryitwasonlysomefoolishloutfrom
Bannalec.NooneinSt.GildasorSt.Julienwoulddosuchathing."
I was too much exasperated to reply at first, but Lys treated it as a stupid joke, and
afterawhileIbegantolookatitinthatlight.
Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded me of my promise to have Herbert Stuart
downtomeether.
"You wicked diplomat!" I protested. "Herbert is in Paris, and hard at work for the
Salon."
"Don't you think he might spare a week to flirt with the prettiest girl in Finistere?"
inquiredLysinnocently.
"Prettiestgirl!Notmuch!"Isaid.
"Whois,then?"urgedLys.
Ilaughedatriflesheepishly.
"Isupposeyoumeanme,Dick,"saidLys,coloringup.
"NowIboreyou,don'tI?"
"Boreme?Ah,no,Dick."
AftercoffeeandcigaretteswereservedIspokeaboutTregunc,andLysapproved.
"PoorJean!Hewillbeglad,won'the?Whatadearfellowyouare!"
"Nonsense,"saidI"weneedagardeneryousaidsoyourself,Lys."
But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then bent down and hugged Mmewho
whistledthroughhisnoseinsentimentalappreciation.
"Iamaveryhappywoman,"saidLys.
"Mmewasaverybaddogtoday,"Iobserved.
"PoorMme!"saidLys,smiling.
WhendinnerwasoverandMmelaysnoringbeforetheblazefortheOctobernights
areoftenchillyinFinistereLyscurledupinthechimneycornerwithherembroidery,
andgavemeaswiftglancefromunderherdroppinglashes.
"Youlooklikeaschoolgirl,Lys,"Isaidteasingly."Idon'tbelieveyouaresixteenyet."
Shepushedbackherheavyburnishedhairthoughtfully.Herwristwasaswhiteassurf
foam.
"Havewebeenmarriedfouryears?Idon'tbelieveit,"Isaid.
She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her knee, smiling
faintly.
"Isee,"saidI,alsosmilingattheembroideredgarment."Doyouthinkitwillfit?"
"Fit?"repeatedLys.Thenshelaughed
"And,"Ipersisted,"areyouperfectlysurethatyouerweshallneedit?"
"Perfectly,"saidLys.Adelicatecolortouchedhercheeksandneck.Sheheldupthe
littlegarment,allfluffywithmistylaceandwroughtwithquaintembroidery.
"Itisverygorgeous,"saidI"don'tuseyoureyestoomuch,dearest.May I smoke a
pipe?"
"Ofcourse,"shesaidselectingaskeinofpalebluesilk.
ForawhileIsatandsmokedinsilence,watchingherslenderfingersamongthetinted
silksandthreadofgold.
Presentlyshespoke:"Whatdidyousayyourcrestis,Dick?"
"Mycrest?Oh,somethingorotherrampantonasomethingorother"
"Dick!"
"Dearest?"
"Don'tbeflippant."
"ButIreallyforget.It'sanordinarycresteverybodyinNewYorkhasthem.Nofamily
shouldbewithout'em."
"Youaredisagreeable,Dick.SendJosephineupstairsformyalbum."
"Areyougoingtoputthatcrestonthethewhateveritis?"
"Iamandmyowncrest,too."
IthoughtofthePurpleEmperorandwonderedalittle.
"Youdidn'tknowIhadone,didyou?"shesmiled.
"Whatisit?"Irepliedevasively.
"Youshallsee.RingforJosephine."
I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave her some orders in a low voice, and
Josephinetrottedaway,bobbingherwhitecoiffedheadwitha"Bien,Madame!"
After a few minutes she returned, bearing a tattered, musty volume, from which the
goldandbluehadmostlydisappeared.
Itookthebookinmyhandsandexaminedtheancientemblazonedcovers.
"Lilies!"Iexclaimed.
"Fleurdelis,"saidmywifedemurely.
"Oh!"saidI,astonished,andopenedthebook.
"Youhaveneverbeforeseenthisbook?"askedLys,withatouchofmaliceinhereyes.
"YouknowIhaven't.Hello!What'sthis?Oho!SothereshouldbeadebeforeTrevec?
LysdeTrevec?ThenwhyintheworlddidthePurpleEmperor"
"Dick!"criedLys.
"Allright,"saidI."ShallIreadabouttheSieurdeTrevecwhorodetoSaladin'stent
alonetoseekformedicineforSt.Louise?OrshallIreadaboutwhatisit?Oh,hereit
is, all down in black and whiteabout the Marquis de Trevec who drowned himself
before Alva's eyes rather than surrender the banner of the fleurdelis to Spain? It's all
writtenhere.But,dear,howaboutthatsoldiernamedTrevecwhowaskilledintheold
fortonthecliffyonder?"
"He dropped the de, and the Trevecs since then have been Republicans," said Lys
"allexceptme."
"That's quite right," said I "it is time that we Republicans should agree upon some
feudalsystem.Mydear,Idrinktotheking!"andIraisedmywineglassandlookedat
Lys.
"Totheking,"saidLys,flushing.Shesmoothedoutthetinygarmentonherkneesshe
touchedtheglasswithherlipshereyeswereverysweet.Idrainedtheglasstotheking.
AfterasilenceIsaid:"Iwilltellthekingstories.Hismajestyshallbeamused."
"Hismajesty,"repeatedLyssoftly.
"Orhers,"Ilaughed."Whoknows?"
"Whoknows?"murmuredLyswithagentlesigh.
"IknowsomestoriesaboutJacktheGiantKiller,"Iannounced."Doyou,Lys?"
"I? No, not about a giantkiller, but I know all about the werewolf, and Jeannela
Flamme,andtheManinPurpleTatters,andOdearme,Iknowlotsmore."
"Youareverywise,"saidI."Ishallteachhismajesty,English."
"AndIBreton,"criedLysjealously.
"Ishallbringplaythingstotheking,"saidI"biggreenlizardsfromthegorse,little
graymulletstoswiminglassglobes,babyrabbitsfromtheforestofKerselec"
"AndI,"saidLys,"willbringthefirstprimrose,thefirstbranchofaubepine,thefirst
jonquil,tothekingmyking."
"Ourking,"saidIandtherewaspeaceinFinistere.
Ilayback,idlyturningtheleavesofthecuriousoldvolume.
"Iamlooking,"saidI,"forthecrest."
"Thecrest,dear?Itisapriest'sheadwithanarrowshapedmarkontheforehead,ona
field"
Isatupandstaredatmywife.
"Dick,whateveristhematter?"shesmiled."Thestoryisthereinthatbook.Doyou
caretoreadit?No?ShallItellitto you? Well, then: It happened in the third crusade.
There was a monk whom men called the Black Priest. He turned apostate, and sold
himselftotheenemiesofChrist.ASieurdeTrevecburstintotheSaracencamp,atthe
headofonlyonehundredlances,andcarriedtheBlackPriestawayoutoftheverymidst
oftheirarmy."
"So that is how you come by the crest," I said quietly but I thought of the branded
skullinthegravelpit,andwondered.
"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec cut the Black Priest's head off, but first he
brandedhimwithanarrowmarkontheforehead.Thebooksaysitwasapiousaction,
andtheSieurdeTrevecgotgreatmeritbyit.ButIthinkitwascruel,thebranding,"she
sighed.
"DidyoueverhearofanyotherBlackPriest?"
"Yes.Therewasoneinthelastcentury,hereinSt.Gildas.Hecastawhiteshadowin
thesun.HewroteintheBretonlanguage.Chronicles,too,Ibelieve.Ineversawthem.
His name was the same as that of the old chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques
Sorgue. Some said he was a lineal descendant of the traitor. Of course the first Black
Priestwasbadenoughforanything.Butifhedidhaveachild,itneednothavebeenthe
ancestorofthelastJacquesSorgue.Theysayhewassogoodhewasnotallowedtodie,
butwascaughtuptoheavenoneday,"addedLys,withbelievingeyes.
Ismiled.
"Buthedisappeared,"persistedLys.
"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction," I said jestingly, and thoughtlessly
toldherthestoryofthemorning.Ihadutterlyforgottenthemaskedmanatherwindow,
butbeforeIfinishedIrememberedhimfastenough,andrealizedwhatIhaddoneas I
sawherfacewhiten.
"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only some clumsy clown's trick. You said so
yourself.Youarenotsuperstitious,mydear?"
Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew the little gold cross from her bosom and
kissedit.Butherlipstrembledastheypressedthesymboloffaith.
III
Aboutnineo'clockthenextmorningIwalkedintotheGroixInnandsatdownatthe
longdiscoloredoakentable,noddinggooddaytoMarianneBruyere,whointurnbobbed
herwhitecoiffeatme.
"MycleverBannalecmaid,"saidI,"whatisgoodforastirrupcupattheGroixInn?"
"Schist?"sheinquiredinBreton.
"Withadashofredwine,then,"Ireplied.
She brought the delicious Quimperle cider, and I poured a little Bordeaux into it.
Mariannewatchedmewithlaughingblackeyes.
"Whatmakesyourcheekssored,Marianne?"Iasked."HasJeanMariebeenhere?"
"Wearetobemarried,MonsieurDarrel,"shelaughed.
"Ah!SincewhenhasJeanMarieTregunclosthishead?"
"Hishead?Oh,MonsieurDarrelhisheart,youmean!"
"SoIdo,"saidI."JeanMarieisapracticalfellow."
"Itisallduetoyourkindness"beganthegirl,butIraisedmyhandandheldupthe
glass.
"It'sduetohimself.Toyourhappiness,Marianne"andItookaheartydraughtofthe
schist."Now,"saidI,"tellmewhereIcanfindLeBihanandMaxFortin."
"MonsieurLeBihanandMonsieurFortinareaboveinthebroadroom.Ibelievethey
areexaminingtheRedAdmiral'seffects."
"TosendthemtoParis?Oh,Iknow.MayIgoup,Marianne?"
"AndGodgowithyou,"smiledthegirl.
WhenIknockedatthedoorofthebroadroomabovelittleMaxFortinopenedit.Dust
coveredhisspectaclesandnosehishat,withthetinyvelvetribbonsfluttering,wasall
awry.
"Comein,MonsieurDarrel,"hesaid"themayorandIarepackinguptheeffectsof
thePurpleEmperorandofthepoorRedAdmiral."
"Thecollections?"I asked, entering the room. "You must bevery careful in packing
thosebutterflycasestheslightestjarmightbreakwingsandantennas,youknow."
LeBihanshookhandswithmeandpointedtothegreatpileofboxes.
"They're all cork lined," he said, "but Fortin and I are putting felt around each box.
TheEntomologicalSocietyofParispaysthefreight."
The combined collection of the Red Admiral and the Purple Emperor made a
magnificentdisplay.
I lifted and inspected case after case set with gorgeous butterflies and moths, each
specimencarefullylabelledwiththenameinLatin.Therewerecasesfilledwithcrimson
tiger moths all aflame with color cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies
symphoniesinorangeandpaleyellowcasesofsoftgrayandduncoloredsphinxmoths
andcasesofgrayishnettlebedbutterfliesofthenumerousfamilyofVanessa.
Allaloneinagreatcasebyitselfwaspinnedthepurpleemperor,theApaturaIris,that
fatalspecimenthathadgiventhePurpleEmperorhisnameandquietus.
Irememberedthebutterfly,andstoodlookingatitwithbenteyebrows.
LeBihanglancedupfromthefloorwherehewasnailingdownthelidofaboxfullof
cases.
"It is settled, then," said he, "that madame, your wife, gives the Purple Emperor's
entireCollectiontothecityofParis?"
Inodded.
"Withoutacceptinganythingforit?"
"Itisagift,"Isaid.
"Includingthepurpleemperorthereinthecase?Thatbutterflyisworthagreatdealof
money,"persistedLeBihan.
"Youdon'tsupposethatwewouldwishtosellthatspecimen,doyou?"Ianswereda
triflesharply.
"IfIwereyouIshoulddestroyit,"saidthemayorinhishighpitchedvoice.
"That would be nonsense," said I, "like your burying the brass cylinder and scroll
yesterday."
"Itwasnotnonsense,"saidLeBihandoggedly,"andIshouldprefernottodiscussthe
subjectofthescroll."
IlookedatMaxPortin,whoimmediatelyavoidedmyeyes.
"Youareapairofsuperstitiousoldwomen,"saidI,diggingmyhandsintomypockets
"youswalloweverynurserytalethatisinvented."
"Whatofit?"saidLeBihansulkily"there'smoretruththanliesinmostof'em."
"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St. Gildas and St. Julien believe in the loup
garou?"
"No,notintheloupgarou."
"Inwhat,thenJeannelaFlamme?"
"That,"saidLeBihanwithconviction,"ishistory."
"The devil it is!" said I "and perhaps, Monsieur the mayor, your faith in giants is
unimpaired?"
"Thereweregiantseverybodyknowsit,"growledMaxFortin.
"Andyouachemist!"Iobservedscornfully.
"Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le Bihan "you know yourself that the Purple
Emperorwasascientificman.NowsupposeIshouldtellyouthathealwaysrefusedto
includeinhiscollectionaDeath'sMessenger?"
"Awhat?"Iexclaimed.
"YouknowwhatImeanthatmoththatfliesbynightsomecallittheDeath'sHead,
butinSt.Gildaswecallit'Death'sMessenger.'"
"Oh!"saidI,"youmeanthatbigsphinxmoththatiscommonlyknownasthe'death's
headmoth.'Whythemischiefshouldthepeopleherecallitdeath'smessenger?"
"For hundreds of years it has been known as death's messenger in St. Gildas," said
Max Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his commentaries on Jacques Sorgue's
Chronicles.Thebookisinyourlibrary."
"Sorgue?AndwhowasJacquesSorgue?Ineverreadhisbook."
"Jacques Sorgue was the son of some unfrocked priestI forget. It was during the
crusades."
"Good Heavens!" I burst out, "I've been hearing of nothing but crusades and priests
anddeathandsorceryeversinceIkickedthatskullintothegravelpit,andIamtiredof
it,Itellyoufrankly.Onewouldthinkwelivedinthedarkages.Doyouknowwhatyear
ofourLorditis,LeBihan?"
"Eighteenhundredandninetysix,"repliedthemayor.
"Andyetyoutwohulkingmenareafraidofadeath'sheadmoth."
"Idon'tcaretohaveoneflyintothewindow,"saidMaxFortin"itmeanseviltothe
houseandthepeopleinit."
"Godaloneknowswhyhemarkedoneofhiscreatureswithayellowdeath'sheadon
theback,"observedLeBihanpiously,"butItakeitthathemeantitasawarningandI
proposetoprofitbyit,"headdedtriumphantly.
"Seehere,LeBihan,"Isaid"byastretchofimaginationonecanmakeoutaskullon
thethoraxofacertainbigsphinxmoth.Whatofit?"
"Itisabadthingtotouch,"saidthemayorwagginghishead.
"Itsqueakswhenhandled,"addedMaxFortin.
"Somecreaturessqueakallthetime,"Iobserved,lookinghardatLeBihan.
"Pigs,"addedthemayor.
"Yes,andasses,"Ireplied."Listen,LeBihan:doyoumeantotellmethatyousawthat
skullrolluphillyesterday?"
Themayorshuthismouthtightlyandpickeduphishammer.
"Don'tbeobstinate,"Isaid"Iaskedyouaquestion."
"And I refuse to answer," snapped Le Bihan. "Fortin saw what I saw let him talk
aboutit."
Ilookedsearchinglyatthelittlechemist.
"Idon'tsaythatIsawitactuallyrollupoutofthepit,allbyitself,"saidFortinwitha
shiver,"butbutthen,howdiditcomeupoutofthepit,ifitdidn'trollupallbyitself?"
"Itdidn'tcomeupatallthatwasayellowcobblestonethatyoumistookfortheskull
again,"Ireplied."Youwerenervous,Max."
"Aaverycuriouscobblestone,MonsieurDarrel,"saidFortin.
"Ialsowasavictimtothesamehallucination,"Icontinued,"andIregrettosaythatI
tookthetroubletorolltwoinnocentcobblestonesintothegravelpit,imaginingeachtime
thatitwastheskullIwasrolling."
"Itwas,"observedLeBihanwithamoroseshrug.
"Itjustshows,"saidI,ignoringthemayor'sremark,"howeasyitistofixupatrainof
coincidences so that the result seems to savor of the supernatural. Now, last night my
wifeimaginedthatshesawapriestinamaskpeerinatherwindow"
FortinandLeBihanscrambledhastilyfromtheirknees,droppinghammerandnails.
"Whatwhat'sthat?"demandedthemayor.
IrepeatedwhatIhadsaid.MaxFortinturnedlivid.
"MyGod!"mutteredLeBihan,"theBlackPriestisinSt.Gildas!"
"Ddon't youyou know the old prophecy?" stammered Fortin "Froissart quotes it
fromJacquesSorgue:
"'WhentheBlackPriestrisesfromthedead,
St.Gildasfolkshallshriekinbed
WhentheBlackPriestrisesfromhisgrave,
MaythegoodGodSt.Gildassave!'"
"Aristide Le Bihan," I said angrily, "and you, Max Fortin, I've got enough of this
nonsense! Some foolish lout from Bannalec has been in St. Gildas playing tricks to
frightenoldfoolslikeyou.Ifyouhavenothingbettertotalkaboutthannurserylegends
I'll wait until you come to your senses. Goodmorning." And I walked out, more
disturbedthanIcaredtoacknowledgetomyself.
Thedayhadbecomemistyandovercast.Heavy,wetcloudshungintheeast.Iheard
the surf thundering against the cliffs, and the gray gulls squealed as they tossed and
turnedhighinthesky.Thetidewascreepingacrosstheriversands,higher,higher,andI
sawtheseaweedfloatingonthebeach,andthelanconsspringingfromthefoam,silvery
threadlikeflashesinthegloom.Curlewwereflyinguptheriverintwosandthreesthe
timidseaswallowsskimmedacrossthemoorstowardsomequiet,lonelypool,safefrom
the coming tempest. In every hedge field birds were gathering, huddling together,
twitteringrestlessly.
WhenIreachedthecliffsIsatdown,restingmychinonmyclenchedhands.Alreadya
vastcurtainofrain,sweepingacrosstheoceanmilesaway,hidtheislandofGroix.To
the east, behind the white semaphore on the hills, black clouds crowded up over the
horizon.Afteralittlethethunderboomed,dull,distant,andslenderskeinsoflightning
unraveledacrossthecrestofthecomingstorm.Underthecliffatmyfeetthesurfrushed
foaming over the shore, and the lancons jumped and skipped and quivered until they
seemedtobebutthereflectionsofthemeshedlightning.
Iturnedtotheeast.ItwasrainingoverGroix,itwasrainingatSainteBarbe, it was
rainingnowatthesemaphore.Highinthestormwhirlafewgullspitchedanearercloud
trailed veils of rain in its wake the sky was spattered with lightning the thunder
boomed.
AsIrosetogo,acoldraindropfelluponthebackofmyhand,andanother,andyet
anotheronmyface.Igavealastglanceatthesea,wherethewaveswereburstinginto
strangewhiteshapesthatseemedtoflingoutmenacingarmstowardme.Thensomething
moved on the cliff, something black as the black rock it clutcheda filthy cormorant,
craningitshideousheadatthesky.
Slowly I plodded homeward across the somber moorland, where the gorse stems
glimmeredwithadullmetallicgreen,andtheheather,nolongervioletandpurple,hung
drenchedandduncoloredamongthedrearyrocks.Thewetturfcreakedundermyheavy
boots,theblackthornscrapedandgratedagainstkneeandelbow.Overalllayastrange
light,pallid,ghastly,wheretheseaspraywhirledacrossthelandscapeanddroveintomy
faceuntilitgrewnumbwiththecold.Inbroadbands,rankafterrank,billowonbillow,
therainburstoutacrosstheendlessmoors,andyettherewasnowindtodriveitatsucha
pace.
LysstoodatthedoorasIturnedintothegarden,motioningmetohastenandthenfor
thefirsttimeIbecameconsciousthatIwassoakedtotheskin.
"Howeverintheworlddidyoucometostayoutwhensuchastormthreatened?"she
said."Oh,youaredripping!GoquicklyandchangeIhavelaidyourwarmunderwearon
thebed,Dick."
Ikissedmywife,andwentupstairstochangemydrippingclothesforsomethingmore
comfortable.
WhenIreturnedtothemorningroomtherewasadriftwoodfireonthehearth,andLys
satinthechimneycornerembroidering.
"CatherinetellsmethatthefishingfleetfromLorientisout.Doyouthinktheyarein
danger,dear?"askedLys,raisingherblueeyestomineasIentered.
"Thereisnowind,andtherewillbenosea,"saidI,lookingoutofthewindow. Far
acrossthemoorIcouldseetheblackcliffsloominginthemist.
"Howitrains!"murmuredLys"cometothefire,Dick."
Ithrewmyselfonthefurrug,myhandsinmypockets,myheadonLys'sknees.
"Tellmeastory,"Isaid."Ifeellikeaboyoften."
Lysraisedafingertoherscarletlips.Ialwayswaitedforhertodothat.
"Willyoubeverystill,then?"shesaid.
"Stillasdeath."
"Death,"echoedavoice,verysoftly.
"Didyouspeak,Lys?"Iasked,turningsothatIcouldseeherface.
"Nodidyou,Dick?"
"Whosaid'death'?"Iasked,startled.
"Death,"echoedavoice,softly.
Isprangupandlookedabout.Lysrosetoo,herneedlesandembroideryfallingtothe
floor.Sheseemedabouttofaint,leaningheavilyonme,andIledhertothewindowand
openeditalittlewaytogiveherair.AsIdidsothechainlightningsplitthezenith,the
thundercrashed,andasheetofrainsweptintotheroom,drivingwithitsomethingthat
flutteredsomethingthatflapped,andsqueaked,andbeatupontherugwithsoft,moist
wings.
We bent over it together, Lys clinging to me, and we saw that it was a death'shead
mothdrenchedwithrain.
Thedarkdaypassedslowlyaswesatbesidethefire,handinhand,herheadagainst
mybreast,speakingofsorrowandmysteryanddeath.ForLysbelievedthattherewere
things on earth that none might understand, things that must be nameless forever and
ever,untilGodrollsupthescrolloflifeandallisended.Wespokeofhopeandfearand
faith,andthemysteryofthesaintswespokeofthebeginningandtheend,oftheshadow
ofsin,ofomens,andoflove.Themothstilllayonthefloorquiveringitssomberwings
inthewarmthofthefire,theskullandribsclearlyetcheduponitsneckandbody.
"Ifitisamessengerofdeathtothishouse,"Isaid,"whyshouldwefear,Lys?"
"DeathshouldbewelcometothosewholoveGod,"murmuredLys,andshedrewthe
crossfromherbreastandkissedit.
"ThemothmightdieifIthrewitoutintothestorm,"Isaidafterasilence.
"Letitremain,"sighedLys.
Latethatnightmywifelaysleeping,andIsatbesideherbedandreadintheChronicle
ofJacquesSorgue.Ishadedthecandle,butLysgrewrestless,andfinallyItookthebook
down into the morning room, where the ashes of the fire rustled and whitened on the
hearth.
The death'shead moth lay on the rug before the fire where I had left it. At first I
thoughtitwasdead,butwhenIlookedcloserIsawalambentfireinitsambereyes.The
straightwhiteshadowitcastacrossthefloorwaveredasthecandleflickered.
ThepagesoftheChronicleofJacquesSorgueweredampandstickytheilluminated
goldandblueinitialsleftflakesofazureandgiltwheremyhandbrushedthem.
"Itisnotpaperatallitisthinparchment,"IsaidtomyselfandIheldthediscolored
pageclosetothecandleflameandread,translatinglaboriously:
"I,JacquesSorgue,sawallthesethings.AndIsawtheBlackMasscelebratedinthe
chapelofSt.GildasontheCliff.AnditwassaidbytheAbbSorgue,mykinsman:for
whichdeadlysintheapostatepriestwasseizedbythemostnobleMarquisofPlougastel
andbyhimcondemnedtobeburnedwithhotirons,untilhissearedsoulquititsbodyand
flytoitsmasterthedevil.ButwhentheBlackPriestlayinthecryptofPlougastel,his
master Satan came at night and set him free, and carried him across land and sea to
Mahmoud, which is Soldan or Saladin. And I, Jacques Sorgue, traveling afterward by
sea,beheldwithmyowneyesmykinsman,theBlackPriestofSt.Gildas,bornealongin
theairuponavastblackwing,which was the wing of his master Satan. And this was
seenalsobytwomenofthecrew."
Iturnedthepage.Thewingsofthemothonthefloorbegantoquiver.Ireadonand
on,myeyesblurringundertheshiftingcandleflame.Ireadofbattlesandofsaints,andI
learnedhowtheGreatSoldanmadehispactwithSatan,andthenIcametotheSieurde
Trevec, and read how he seized the Black Priest in the midst of Saladin's tents and
carriedhimawayandcutoffhisheadfirstbrandinghimontheforehead."Andbeforehe
suffered,"saidtheChronicle,"hecursedtheSieurdeTrevecandhisdescendants,andhe
said he would surely return to St. Gildas. 'For the violence you do to me, I will do
violence to you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will work evil on you and your
descendants. Woe to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There was a whirr, a beating of
strong wings, and my candle flashed up as in a sudden breeze. A humming filled the
room the great moth darted hither and thither, beating, buzzing, on ceiling and wall. I
flung down my book and stepped forward. Now it lay fluttering upon the window sill,
andforamomentIhaditundermyhand,butthethingsqueakedandIshrankback.Then
suddenlyitdartedacrossthecandleflamethelightflaredandwentout,andatthesame
moment a shadow moved in the darkness outside. I raised my eyes to the window. A
maskedfacewaspeeringinatme.
Quick as thought I whipped out my revolver and fired every cartridge, but the face
advancedbeyondthewindow,theglassmeltingawaybeforeitlikemist,andthroughthe
smokeofmyrevolverIsawsomethingcreepswiftlyintotheroom.ThenItriedtocry
out,butthethingwasatmythroat,andIfellbackwardamongtheashesofthehearth.
When my eyes unclosed I was lying on the hearth, my head among the cold ashes.
SlowlyIgotonmyknees,rosepainfully,andgropedmywaytoachair.Onthefloorlay
myrevolver,shininginthepalelightofearlymorning.Mymindclearingbydegrees, I
looked,shuddering,atthewindow.Theglasswasunbroken.Istoopedstiffly,pickedup
my revolver and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge had been fired. Mechanically I
closed the cylinder and placed the revolver in my pocket. The book, the Chronicles of
JacquesSorgue,layonthetablebesideme,andasIstartedtocloseitIglancedatthe
page.Itwasallsplashedwithrain,andtheletteringhadrun,sothatthepagewasmerely
aconfusedblurofgoldandredandblack.AsIstumbledtowardthedoorIcastafearful
glanceovermyshoulder.Thedeath'sheadmothcrawledshiveringontherug.
IV
Thesunwasaboutthreehourshigh.Imusthaveslept,forIwasarousedbythesudden
gallop of horses under our window. People were shouting and calling in the road. I
sprangupandopenedthesash.LeBihanwasthere,animageofhelplessness,andMax
Fortin stood beside him polishing his glasses. Some gendarmes had just arrived from
Quimperle,andIcouldhearthemaroundthecornerofthehouse,stamping,andrattling
theirsabresandcarbines,astheyledtheirhorsesintomystable.
Lyssatup,murmuringhalfsleepy,halfanxiousquestions.
"Idon'tknow,"Ianswered."Iamgoingouttoseewhatitmeans."
"Itislikethedaytheycametoarrestyou,"Lyssaid,givingmeatroubledlook.ButI
kissed her and laughed at her until she smiled too. Then I flung on coat and cap and
hurrieddownthestairs.
ThefirstpersonIsawstandingintheroadwastheBrigadierDurand.
"Hello!" said I, "have you come to arrest me again? What the devil is all this fuss
about,anyway?"
"We were telegraphed for an hour ago," said Durand briskly, "and for a sufficient
reason,Ithink.Lookthere,MonsieurDarrel!"
Hepointedtothegroundalmostundermyfeet.
"Goodheavens!"Icried,"wheredidthatpuddleofbloodcomefrom?"
"That'swhatIwanttoknow,MonsieurDarrel.MaxFortinfounditatdaybreak.See,
it'ssplashedalloverthegrass,too.Atrailofitleadsintoyourgarden,acrosstheflower
bedstoyourverywindow,theonethatopensfromthemorningroom.Thereisanother
trailleadingfromthisspotacrosstheroadtothecliffs,thentothegravelpit,andthence
acrossthemoortotheforestofKerselec.Wearegoingtomountinaminuteandsearch
thebosquets.Willyoujoinus?BonDieu!butthefellowbledlikeanox.MaxFortinsays
it'shumanblood,orIshouldnothavebelievedit."
The little chemist of Quimperle came up at that moment, rubbing his glasses with a
coloredhandkerchief.
"Yes,itishumanblood,"hesaid,"butonethingpuzzlesme:thecorpusclesareyellow.
I never saw any human blood before with yellow corpuscles. But your English Doctor
Thompsonassertsthathehas"
"Well,it'shumanblood,anywayisn'tit?"insistedDurand,impatiently.
"Yees,"admittedMaxFortin.
"Thenit'smybusinesstotrailit,"saidthebiggendarme,and hecalledhismen and
gavetheordertomount.
"Didyouhearanythinglastnight?"askedDurandofme.
"Iheardtherain.Iwondertheraindidnotwashawaythesetraces."
"Theymusthavecomeaftertherainceased.Seethisthicksplash,howitliesoverand
weighsdownthewetgrassblades.Pah!"
It was a heavy, evillooking clot, and I stepped back from it, my throat closing in
disgust.
"Mytheory,"saidthebrigadier,"isthis:SomeofthoseBiribifishermen,probablythe
Icelanders,gotanextraglassofcognacintotheirhidesandquarreledontheroad.Some
ofthemwereslashed,andstaggeredtoyourhouse.Butthereisonlyonetrail,andyet
andyet,howcouldallthatbloodcomefromonlyoneperson?Well,thewoundedman,
letussay,staggeredfirsttoyourhouseandthenbackhere,andhewanderedoff,drunk
anddying,Godknowswhere.That'smytheory."
"Averygoodone,"saidIcalmly."Andyouaregoingtotrailhim?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Atonce.Willyoucome?"
"Not now. I'll gallop over byandbye. You are going to the edge of the Kerselec
forest?"
"Yes you will hear us calling. Are you coming, Max Fortin? And you, Le Bihan?
Goodtakethedogcart."
The big gendarme tramped around the corner to the stable and presently returned
mountedonastronggrayhorse,hissabreshoneonhissaddlehispaleyellowandwhite
facingswerespotless. The little crowd of whitecoiffed women with their children fell
back as Durand touched spurs and clattered away followed by his two troopers. Soon
afterLeBihanandMaxFortinalsodepartedinthemayor'sdingydogcart.
"Areyoucoming?"pipedLeBihanshrilly.
"Inaquarterofanhour,"Ireplied,andwentbacktothehouse.
When I opened the door of the morning room the death'shead moth was beating its
strongwingsagainstthewindow.ForasecondIhesitated,thenwalkedoverandopened
thesash.Thecreatureflutteredout,whirredovertheflowerbedsamoment,thendarted
acrossthemoorlandtowardthesea.Icalledtheservantstogetherandquestionedthem.
Josephine, Catherine, Jean Marie Tregunc, not one of them had heard the slightest
disturbanceduringthenight.ThenItoldJeanMarietosaddlemyhorse,andwhileIwas
speakingLyscamedown.
"Dearest,"Ibegan,goingtoher.
"Youmusttellmeeverythingyouknow,Dick,"sheinterrupted,lookingmeearnestly
intheface.
"Butthereisnothingtotellonlyadrunkenbrawl,andsomeonewounded."
"Andyouaregoingtoridewhere,Dick?"
"Well, over to the edge of Kerselec forest. Durand and the mayor, and Max Fortin,
havegoneon,followingaatrail."
"Whattrail?"
"Someblood."
"Wheredidtheyfindit?"
"Outintheroadthere."Lyscrossedherself.
"Doesitcomenearourhouse?"
"Yes."
"Hownear?"
"Itcomesuptothemorningroomwindow,"saidI,givingin.
Herhandonmyarmgrewheavy."Idreamedlastnight"
"SodidI"butIthoughtoftheemptycartridgesinmyrevolver,andstopped.
"Idreamedthatyouwereingreatdanger,andIcouldnotmovehandorfoottosave
youbutyouhadyourrevolver,andIcalledouttoyoutofire"
"Ididfire!"Icriedexcitedly.
"Youyoufired?"
I took her in my arms. "My darling," I said "something strange has happened
somethingthatIcannotunderstandasyet.But,ofcourse,thereisanexplanation.Last
nightIthoughtIfiredattheBlackPriest."
"Ah!"gaspedLys.
"Isthatwhatyoudreamed?"
"Yes,yes,thatwasit!Ibeggedyoutofire"
"AndIdid."
Herheartwasbeatingagainstmybreast.Iheldhercloseinsilence.
"Dick,"shesaidatlength,"perhapsyoukilledthethething."
"IfitwashumanIdidnotmiss,"Iansweredgrimly."Anditwashuman,"Iwenton,
pullingmyselftogether,ashamedofhavingsonearlygonetopieces."Ofcourseitwas
human!Thewholeaffairisplainenough.Notadrunkenbrawl,asDurandthinksitwas
a drunken lout's practical joke, for which he has suffered. I suppose I must have filled
himprettyfullofbullets,andhehascrawledawaytodieinKerselecforest.It'saterrible
affair I'm sorry I fired so hastily but that idiot Le Bihan and Max Fortin have been
workingonmynervestillIamashystericalasaschoolgirl,"Iendedangrily.
"Youfiredbutthewindowglasswasnotshattered,"saidLysinalowvoice.
"Well, the window was open, then. And as for thethe restI've got nervous
indigestion,andadoctorwillsettletheBlackPriestforme,Lys."
IglancedoutofthewindowatTreguncwaitingwithmyhorseatthegate.
"Dearest,IthinkIhadbettergotojoinDurandandtheothers."
"Iwillgo,too."
"Oh,no!"
"Yes,Dick."
"Don't,Lys."
"Ishallsuffereverymomentyouareaway."
"Therideistoofatiguing,andwecan'ttellwhatunpleasantsightyoumaycomeupon.
Lys,youdon'treallythinkthereisanythingsupernaturalinthisaffair?"
"Dick,"sheansweredgently,"IamaBretonne."Withbotharmsaroundmyneck,my
wifesaid,"DeathisthegiftofGod.Idonotfearitwhenwearetogether.Butaloneoh,
myhusband,IshouldfearaGodwhocouldtakeyouawayfromme!"
We kissed each other soberly, simply, like two children. Then Lys hurried away to
changehergown,andIpacedupanddownthegardenwaitingforher.
Shecame,drawingonherslendergauntlets.Iswungherintothesaddle,gaveahasty
ordertoJeanMarie,andmounted.
Now,toquailunderthoughtsofterroronamorninglikethis,withLysinthesaddle
beside me, no matter what had happened or might happen was impossible. Moreover,
Mmecamesneakingafterus.IaskedTregunctocatchhim,forIwasafraidhemightbe
brainedbyourhorses'hoofsifhefollowed,butthewilypuppydodgedandboltedafter
Lys,whowastrottingalongthehighroad."Nevermind,"Ithought"ifhe'shithe'lllive,
forhehasnobrainstolose."
LyswaswaitingformeintheroadbesidetheShrineofOurLadyofSt.GildaswhenI
joined her. She crossed herself, I doffed my cap, then we shook out our bridles and
gallopedtowardtheforestofKerselec.
Wesaidverylittleaswerode.IalwayslovedtowatchLysinthesaddle.Herexquisite
figureandlovelyfaceweretheincarnationofyouthandgracehercurlinghairglistened
likethreadedgold.
OutofthecornerofmyeyeIsawthespoiledpuppyMmecomeboundingcheerfully
alongside, oblivious of our horses' heels. Our road swung close to the cliffs. A filthy
cormorant rose from the black rocks and flapped heavily across our path. Lys's horse
reared,butshepulledhimdown,andpointedatthebirdwithherridingcrop.
"Isee,"saidI"itseemstobegoingourway.Curioustoseeacormorantinaforest,
isn'tit?"
"It is a bad sign," said Lys. "You know the Morbihan proverb: 'When the cormorant
turnsfromthesea,Deathlaughsintheforest,andwisewoodsmenbuildboats.'"
"Iwish,"saidIsincerely,"thattherewerefewerproverbsinBrittany."
We were in sight of the forest now across the gorse I could see the sparkle of
gendarmes'trappings,andtheglitterofLeBihan'ssilverbuttonedjacket.Thehedgewas
lowandwetookitwithoutdifficulty,andtrottedacrossthemoortowhereLeBihanand
Durandstoodgesticulating.
TheybowedceremoniouslytoLysaswerodeup.
"The trail is horribleit is a river," said the mayor in his squeaky voice. "Monsieur
Darrel,Ithinkperhapsmadamewouldscarcelycaretocomeanynearer."
Lysdrewbridleandlookedatme.
"It is horrible!" said Durand, walking up beside me "it looks as though a bleeding
regimenthadpassedthisway.Thetrailwindsandwindsabouthereinthethicketswe
lose it at times, but we always find it again. I can't understand how one manno, nor
twentycouldbleedlikethat!"
Ahalloo,answeredbyanother,soundedfromthedepthsoftheforest.
"It'smymentheyarefollowingthetrail,"mutteredthebrigadier."Godaloneknows
whatisattheend!"
"Shallwegallopback,Lys?"Iasked.
"Noletusridealongthewesternedgeofthewoodsanddismount.Thesunissohot
now,andIshouldliketorestforamoment,"shesaid.
"Thewesternforestisclearofanythingdisagreeable,"saidDurand.
"Verywell,"Ianswered"callme,LeBihan,ifyoufindanything."
Lys wheeled her mare, and I followed across the springy heather, Mme trotting
cheerfullyintherear.
We entered the sunny woods about a quarter of a kilometer from where we left
Durand.ItookLysfromherhorse,flungbothbridlesoveralimb,and,givingmywife
myarm,aidedhertoaflatmossyrockwhichoverhungashallowbrookgurglingamong
thebeechtrees.Lyssatdownanddrewoffhergauntlets.Mmepushedhisheadintoher
lap,receivedanundeservedcaress,andcamedoubtfullytowardme.Iwasweakenough
tocondonehisoffense,butImadehimliedownatmyfeet,greatlytohisdisgust.
IrestedmyheadonLys'sknees,lookingupattheskythroughthecrossedbranchesof
thetrees.
"IsupposeIhavekilledhim,"Isaid."Itshocksmeterribly,Lys."
"Youcouldnothaveknown,dear.Hemayhavebeenarobber,andifnotdid
haveyoueverfiredyourrevolversincethatdayfouryearsagowhentheRedAdmiral's
sontriedtokillyou?ButIknowyouhavenot."
"No,"saidI,wondering."It'safact,Ihavenot.Why?"
"Anddon'tyourememberthatIaskedyoutoletmeloaditforyouthedaywhenYves
wentoff,swearingtokillyouandhisfather?"
"Yes,Idoremember.Well?"
"Well,IItookthecartridgesfirsttoSt.Gildaschapelanddippedtheminholywater.
Youmustnotlaugh,Dick,"saidLysgently,layinghercoolhandsonmylips.
"Laugh,mydarling!"
Overhead the October sky was pale amethyst, and the sunlight burned like orange
flame through the yellow leaves of beech and oak. Gnats and midges danced and
wavered overhead a spider dropped from a twig halfway to the ground and hung
suspendedontheendofhisgossamerthread.
"Areyousleepy,dear?"askedLys,bendingoverme.
"IamalittleIscarcelyslepttwohourslastnight,"Ianswered.
"Youmaysleep,ifyouwish,"saidLys,andtouchedmyeyescaressingly.
"Ismyheadheavyonyourknees?"
"No,Dick."
IwasalreadyinahalfdozestillIheardthebrookbabblingunderthebeechesandthe
hummingofforestfliesoverhead.Presentlyeventhesewerestilled.
ThenextthingIknewIwassittingboltupright,myearsringingwithascream,andI
sawLyscoweringbesideme,coveringherwhitefacewithbothhands.
As I sprang to my feet she cried again and clung to my knees. I saw my dog rush
growlingintoathicket,thenIheardhim whimper, and he came backing out, whining,
earsflat,taildown.IstoopedanddisengagedLys'shand.
"Don'tgo,Dick!"shecried."OGod,it'stheBlackPriest!"
InamomentIhadleapedacrossthebrookandpushedmywayintothethicket.Itwas
empty.IstaredaboutmeIscannedeverytreetrunk,everybush.SuddenlyIsawhim.He
wasseatedon a fallen log, his head resting in his hands, his rusty black robe gathered
aroundhim.Foramomentmyhairstirredundermycapsweatstartedonforeheadand
cheek bone then I recovered my reason, and understood that the man was human and
wasprobably wounded to death. Ay, to death for there at my feet, lay the wet trail of
blood,overleavesandstones,downintothelittlehollow,acrosstothefigureinblack
restingsilentlyunderthetrees.
Isawthathecouldnotescapeevenifhehadthestrength,forbeforehim,almostathis
veryfeet,layadeep,shiningswamp.
AsIsteppedforwardmyfootbrokeatwig.Atthesoundthefigurestartedalittle,then
itsheadfellforwardagain.Itsfacewasmasked.Walkinguptotheman,Ibadehimtell
where he was wounded. Durand and the others broke through the thicket at the same
momentandhurriedtomyside.
"Whoareyouwhohideamaskedfaceinapriest'srobe?"saidthegendarmeloudly.
Therewasnoanswer.
"Seeseethestiffbloodalloverhisrobe,"mutteredLeBihantoFortin.
"Hewillnotspeak,"saidI.
"Hemaybetoobadlywounded,"whisperedLeBihan.
"Isawhimraisehishead,"Isaid,"mywifesawhimcreepuphere."
Durandsteppedforwardandtouchedthefigure.
"Speak!"hesaid.
"Speak!"quaveredFortin.
Durand waited a moment, then with a sudden upward movement he stripped off the
maskandthrewbacktheman'shead.Wewerelookingintotheeyesocketsofaskull.
Durandstoodrigidthemayorshrieked.Theskeletonburstoutfromitsrottingrobesand
collapsedonthegroundbeforeus.Frombetweenthestaringribsandthegrinningteeth
spurted a torrent of black blood, showering the shrinking grasses then the thing
shuddered,andfelloverintotheblackoozeofthebog.Littlebubbles of iridescent air
appearedfromthemudtheboneswereslowlyengulfed,and,asthelastfragmentssank
out of sight, up from the depths and along the bank crept a creature, shiny, shivering,
quiveringitswings.
Itwasadeath'sheadmoth.
IwishIhadtimetotellyouhowLysoutgrewsuperstitionsforsheneverknewthe
truthabouttheaffair,andsheneverwillknow,sinceshehaspromisednottoreadthis
book.IwishImighttellyouaboutthekingandhiscoronation,andhowthecoronation
robefitted.IwishthatIwereabletowritehowYvonneandHerbertStuartrodetoaboar
hunt in Quimperle, and how the hounds raced the quarry right through the town,
overturning three gendarmes, the notary, and an old woman. But I am becoming
garrulousandLysiscallingmetocomeandhearthekingsaythatheissleepy.Andhis
highnessshallnotbekeptwaiting.
THEKING'SCRADLESONG
Sealwithasealofgold
Thescrollofalifeunrolled
Swathehimdeepinhispurplestole
Ashesofdiamonds,crystalledcoal,
Dropsofgoldineachscentedfold.
CrimsonwingsoftheLittleDeath,
Stirhishairwithyoursilkenbreath
Flamingwingsofsinstobe,
Splendidpinionsofprophecy,
Smotherhiseyeswithhuesanddyes,
Whilethewhitemoonspinsandthewindsarise,
Andthestarsdripthroughtheskies.
Wave,OwingsoftheLittleDeath!
Sealhissightandstiflehisbreath,
Coverhisbreastwiththegemmedshroudpressed
Fromnorthtonorth,fromwesttowest,
Wave,OwingsoftheLittleDeath!
Tillthewhitemoonreelsinthecrackingskies,
AndtheghostsofGodarise.
Lazarus
BYLEONIDANDREYEV
TRANSLATEDBYABRAHAMYARMOLINSKY
From Lazarus and the Gentleman from San Francisco. Published by

TheStratfordCompany.Bypermissionofthepublishers.
WhenLazarusleftthegrave,where,forthreedaysandthreenightshehadbeenunder
theenigmaticalswayofdeath,andreturnedalivetohisdwelling,foralongtimenoone
noticed in him those sinister oddities, which, as time went on, made his very name a
terror.Gladdenedunspeakablybythesightofhimwhohadbeenreturnedtolife,those
neartohimcaressedhimunceasingly,andsatiatedtheirburningdesiretoservehim,in
solicitude for his food and drink and garments. And they dressed him gorgeously, in
brightcolorsofhopeandlaughter,andwhen,liketoabridegroominhisbridalvestures,
hesatagainamongthematthetable,andagainateanddrank,theywept,overwhelmed
with tenderness. And they summoned the neighbors to look at him who had risen
miraculouslyfromthedead.Thesecameandsharedtheserenejoyofthehosts.Strangers
fromfarofftownsandhamletscameandadoredthemiracleintempestuouswords.Like
toabeehivewasthehouseofMaryandMartha.
WhateverwasfoundnewinLazarus'faceandgestureswasthoughttobesometrace
of a grave illness and of the shocks recently experienced. Evidently, the destruction
wroughtbydeathonthecorpsewasonlyarrestedbythemiraculouspower,butitseffects
werestillapparentandwhatdeathhadsucceededindoingwithLazarus'faceandbody,
waslikeanartist'sunfinishedsketchseenunderthinglass.OnLazarus'temples, under
his eyes, and in the hollows of his cheeks, lay a deep and cadaverous blueness
cadaverouslybluealsowerehislongfingers,andaroundhisfingernails,grownlongin
the grave, the blue had become purple and dark. On his lips the skin, swollen in the
grave, had burst in places, and thin, reddish cracks were formed, shining as though
coveredwithtransparentmica.Andhehadgrownstout.Hisbody,puffedupinthegrave,
retaineditsmonstroussizeandshowedthosefrightfulswellings,inwhichonesensedthe
presence of the rank liquid of decomposition. But the heavy corpselike odor which
penetrated Lazarus' graveclothes and, it seemed, his very body, soon entirely
disappeared, the blue spots on his face and hands grew paler, and the reddish cracks
closedup,althoughtheyneverdisappearedaltogether.ThatishowLazaruslookedwhen
he appearedbefore people, in his second life, but hisfacelookednatural to those who
hadseenhiminthecoffin.
In addition to the changes in his appearance, Lazarus' temper seemed to have
undergone a transformation, but this circumstance startled no one and attracted no
attention. Before his death Lazarus had always been cheerful and carefree, fond of
laughterandamerryjoke.Itwasbecauseofthisbrightnessandcheerfulness,withnota
touch of malice and darkness, that the Master had grown so fond of him. But now
Lazarus had grown grave and taciturn, he never jested, himself, nor responded with
laughtertootherpeople'sjokesandthewordswhichheuttered,veryinfrequently,were
theplainest,mostordinary,andnecessarywords,asdeprivedofdepthandsignificance,
asthosesoundswithwhichanimalsexpresspainandpleasure,thirst and hunger. They
were the words that one can say all one's life, and yet they give no indication of what
painsandgladdensthedepthsofthesoul.
Thus,withthefaceofacorpsewhichforthreedayshadbeenundertheheavyswayof
death, dark and taciturn, already appallingly transformed, but still unrecognized by
anyoneinhisnewself,hewassittingatthefeastingtable,amongfriendsandrelatives,
andhisgorgeousnuptialgarmentsglitteredwithyellowgoldandbloodyscarlet.Broad
waves of jubilation, now soft, now tempestuously sonorous surged around him warm
glancesoflovewerereachingoutforhisface,stillcoldwiththecoldnessofthegrave
and a friend's warm palm caressed his blue, heavy hand. And music played the
tympanum and the pipe, the cithara and the harp. It was as though bees hummed,
grasshopperschirpedandbirdswarbledoverthehappyhouseofMaryandMartha.
II
One of the guests incautiously lifted the veil. By a thoughtless word he broke the
serenecharmanduncoveredthetruth in all its naked ugliness. Ere the thought formed
itselfinhismind,hislipsutteredwithasmile:
"Whydostthounottelluswhathappenedyonder?"
Andallgrewsilent,startledbythequestion.Itwasasifitoccurredtothemonlynow
thatforthreedaysLazarushadbeendead,andtheylookedathim,anxiouslyawaitinghis
answer.ButLazaruskeptsilence.
"Thoudostnotwishtotellus,"wonderedtheman,"isitsoterribleyonder?"
Andagainhisthoughtcameafterhiswords.Haditbeenotherwise,hewouldnothave
askedthisquestion,whichatthatverymomentoppressedhisheartwithitsinsufferable
horror.Uneasinessseizedallpresent,andwithafeelingofheavywearinesstheyawaited
Lazarus'words,buthewassilent,sternlyandcoldly,andhiseyeswerelowered.Andas
if for the first time, they noticed the frightful blueness of his face and his repulsive
obesity.Onthetable,asthoughforgottenbyLazarus,restedhisbluishpurplewrist,and
to this all eyes turned, as if it were from it that the awaited answer was to come. The
musicians were still playing, but now the silence reached them too, and even as water
extinguishesscatteredembers,soweretheirmerrytunesextinguishedinthesilence.The
pipe grew silent the voices of the sonorous tympanum and the murmuring harp died
awayandasifthestringshadburst,thecitharaansweredwithatremulous,brokennote.
Silence.
"Thoudostnotwishtosay?"repeatedtheguest,unabletocheckhischatteringtongue.
Butthestillnessremainedunbroken,andthebluishpurplehandrestedmotionless.And
then he stirred slightly and everyone felt relieved. He lifted up his eyes, and lo!
straightway embracing everything in one heavy glance, fraught with weariness and
horror,helookedatthem,Lazaruswhohadarisenfromthedead.
It was the third day since Lazarus had left the grave. Ever since then many had
experienced the pernicious power of his eye, but neither those who were crushed by it
forever,northosewhofoundthestrengthtoresistinittheprimordialsourcesoflife,
which is as mysterious as death,never could they explain the horror which lay
motionlessinthedepthofhisblackpupils.Lazaruslookedcalmly and simply with no
desiretoconcealanything,butalsowithnointentiontosayanythinghelookedcoldly,
ashewhoisinfinitelyindifferenttothosealive.Manycarefreepeoplecameclosetohim
withoutnoticinghim,andonlylaterdidtheylearnwithastonishmentandfearwhothat
calmstoutmanwas,thatwalkedslowlyby,almosttouchingthemwithhisgorgeousand
dazzling garments. The sun did not cease shining, when he was looking, nor did the
fountain hush its murmur, and the sky overhead remained cloudless and blue. But the
manunderthespellofhisenigmaticallookheardnomorethefountainandsawnotthe
sky overhead. Sometimes, he wept bitterly, sometimes he tore his hair and in frenzy
calledforhelpbutmoreoftenitcametopassthatapatheticallyandquietlyhebeganto
die, and so he languished many years, before everybody's very eyes, wasted away,
colorless, flabby, dull, like a tree, silently drying up in a stony soil. And of those who
gazedathim,theoneswhoweptmadly,sometimesfeltagainthestiroflifetheothers
never.
"Sothoudostnotwishtotelluswhatthouhastseenyonder?"repeatedtheman.But
now his voice was impassive and dull, and deadly gray weariness showed in Lazarus'
eyes.Anddeadlygraywearinesscoveredlikedustallthefaces,andwithdullamazement
theguestsstaredateachotheranddidnotunderstandwhereforetheyhadgatheredhere
andsatattherichtable.Thetalkceased.Theythoughtitwastimetogohome,butcould
not overcome the flaccid lazy weariness which glued their muscles, and they kept on
sittingthere,yetapartandtornawayfromeachother,likepalefiresscatteredoveradark
field.
Butthemusicianswerepaidtoplayandagaintheytooktheirinstrumentsandagain
tunesfullofstudiedmirthandstudiedsorrowbegantoflowandtorise.Theyunfolded
thecustomarymelodybuttheguestshearkenedindullamazement.Alreadytheyknew
notwhereforeisitnecessary,andwhyisitwell,thatpeopleshouldpluckstrings,inflate
theircheeks,blowinthinpipes,andproduceabizarre,manyvoicednoise.
"Whatbadmusic,"saidsomeone.
Themusicianstookoffenseandleft.Followingthem,theguestsleftoneafteranother,
fornightwasalreadycome.Andwhenplaciddarknessencircledthemandtheybeganto
breathe with more ease, suddenly Lazarus' image loomed up before each one in
formidableradiance:thebluefaceofacorpse,graveclothesgorgeousandresplendent,a
coldlook,inthedepthsofwhichlaymotionlessanunknownhorror.Asthoughpetrified,
they were standing far apart, and darkness enveloped them, but in the darkness blazed
brighterandbrighterthesupernaturalvisionofhimwhoforthreedayshadbeenunder
theenigmaticalswayofdeath.Forthreedayshadhebeendead:thricehadthesunrisen
andset,buthehadbeendeadchildrenhadplayed,streamsmurmuredoverpebbles,the
wayfarerhadlifteduphotdustinthehighroad,buthehadbeendead.Andnowheis
again among them,touches them,looks at them,looks at them! and through the
blackdiscsofhispupils,asthroughdarkenedglass,starestheunknowableYonder.
III
NoonewastakingcareofLazarus,fornofriendsnorelativeswerelefttohim,andthe
greatdesertwhichencircledtheholycity,cameneartheverythresholdofhisdwelling.
And the desert entered his house, and stretched on his couch, like a wife and
extinguishedthefires.NoonewastakingcareofLazarus.Oneaftertheother,hissisters
MaryandMarthaforsookhim.ForalongwhileMarthawasloathtoabandonhim,
forsheknewnotwhowouldfeedhimandpityhim,sheweptandprayed.Butonenight,
when the wind was roaming in the desert and with a hissingsoundthecypresseswere
bending over the roof, she dressed noiselessly and secretly left the house. Lazarus
probablyheardthedoorslamitbangedagainstthesidepostunderthegustsofthedesert
wind,buthedidnotrisetogooutandtolookatherthatwasabandoninghim.Allthe
nightlongthecypresseshissedoverhisheadandplaintivelythumpedthedoor,lettingin
thecold,greedydesert.
Likealeperhewasshunnedbyeveryone,anditwasproposedtotieabelltohisneck,
asisdonewithlepers,towarnpeopleagainstsuddenmeetings.Butsomeoneremarked,
growingfrightfullypale,thatitwouldbetoohorribleifbynightthemoaningofLazarus'
bellweresuddenlyheardunderthewindows,andsotheprojectwasabandoned.
Andsincehedidnottakecareofhimself,hewouldprobablyhave starved to death,
had not the neighbors brought him food in fear of something that they sensed but
vaguely.ThefoodwasbroughttohimbychildrentheywerenotafraidofLazarus,nor
didtheymockhimwithnaivecruelty,aschildrenarewonttodowiththewretchedand
miserable. They were indifferent to him, and Lazarus answered them with the same
coldnesshehadnodesiretocaresstheblacklittlecurls,andtolookintotheirinnocent
shiningeyes.GiventoTimeandtotheDesert,hishousewascrumblingdown,andlong
sincehadhisfamishing,lowinggoatswanderedawaytotheneighboringpastures.And
hisbridal garments became threadbare. Ever since that happy day, when the musicians
played,hehadwornthemunawareofthedifferenceofthenewandtheworn.Thebright
colors grew dull and faded vicious dogs and the sharp thorn of the Desert turned the
tenderfabricintorags.
Byday,whenthemercilesssunslewallthingsalive,andevenscorpionssoughtshelter
under stones and writhed there in a mad desire to sting, he sat motionless under the
sunrays,hisbluefaceandtheuncouth,bushybeardliftedup,bathinginthefieryflood.
Whenpeoplestilltalkedtohim,hewasonceasked:
"PoorLazarus,doesitpleasetheetositthusandtostareatthesun?"
Andhehadanswered:
"Yes,itdoes."
Sostrong,itseemed,wasthecoldofhisthreedays'grave,sodeepthedarkness,that
there was no heat on earth to warm Lazarus, nor a splendor that could brighten the
darknessofhiseyes.ThatiswhatcametothemindofthosewhospoketoLazarus,and
withasightheylefthim.
And when the scarlet, flattened globe would lower, Lazarus would set out for the
desertandwalkstraighttowardthesun,asthoughstrivingtoreachit.Healwayswalked
straighttowardthesunandthosewhotriedtofollowhimandtospyuponwhathewas
doingatnightinthedesert,retainedintheirmemorytheblacksilhouetteofatallstout
managainsttheredbackgroundofanenormousflatteneddisc.Nightpursuedthemwith
herhorrors,andsotheydidnotlearnofLazarus'doingsinthedesert,butthevisionof
theblackonredwasforeverbrandedontheirbrain.Justasabeastwithasplinterinits
eyefuriouslyrubsitsmuzzlewithitspaws,sotheytoofoolishlyrubbedtheireyes,but
whatLazarushadgivenwasindelible,andDeathalonecouldeffaceit.
Buttherewerepeoplewholivedfaraway,whoneversawLazarusandknewofhim
onlybyreport.Withdaringcuriosity,whichisstrongerthanfearandfeedsuponit,with
hiddenmockery,theywouldcometoLazaruswhowassittinginthesunandenterinto
conversationwithhim.BythistimeLazarus'appearancehadchangedforthebetterand
wasnotsoterrible.Thefirstminutetheysnappedtheirfingersandthoughtofhowstupid
theinhabitantsoftheholycitywerebutwhentheshorttalkwasoverandtheystarted
homeward,theirlooksweresuchthattheinhabitantsoftheholycityrecognizedthemat
onceandsaid:
"Look, there is one more fool on whom Lazarus has set his eye,"and they shook
theirheadsregretfully,andlifteduptheirarms.
Therecamebrave,intrepidwarriors,withtinklingweaponshappyyouthscamewith
laughter and song busy tradesmen, jingling their money, ran in for a moment, and
haughtypriestsleaned their crosiers against Lazarus' door, and they were all strangely
changed,astheycameback.Thesameterribleshadowswoopeddownupontheirsouls
andgaveanewappearancetotheoldfamiliarworld.
Thosewhostillhadthedesiretospeak,expressedtheirfeelingsthus:
"All things tangible and visible grew hollow, light, and transparent,similar to
lightsomeshadowsinthedarknessofnight
"for,thatgreatdarkness,whichholdsthewholecosmos,wasdispersedneitherbythe
sunorbythemoonandthestars,butlikeanimmenseblackshroudenvelopedtheearth
and,likeamother,embracedit
"itpenetratedallthebodies,ironandstone,andtheparticlesofthebodies,having
lost their ties, grew lonely and it penetrated into the depth of the particles, and the
particlesofparticlesbecamelonely
"for that great void, which encircles the cosmos, was not filled by things visible:
neitherbythesun,norbythemoonandthestars,butreignedunrestrained,penetrating
everywhere,severingbodyfrombody,particlefromparticle
"in the void hollow trees spread hollow roots threatening a fantastic fall temples,
palaces,andhorsesloomedupandtheywerehollowandinthevoidmenmovedabout
restlesslybuttheywerelightandhollowlikeshadows
"for, Time was no more, and the beginning of all things came near their end: the
buildingwasstillbeingbuilt,andbuilderswerestillhammeringaway,anditsruinswere
alreadyseenandthevoidinitsplacethemanwasstillbeingborn,butalreadyfuneral
candles were burning at his head, and now they were extinguished, and there was the
voidinplaceofthemanandofthefuneralcandles.
"and wrapped by void and darkness the man in despair trembled in the face of the
HorroroftheInfinite."
Thusspakethemenwhohadstilladesiretospeak.But,surely,muchmorecouldhave
toldthosewhowishednottospeak,anddiedinsilence.
IV
AtthattimetherelivedinRomearenownedsculptor.Inclay,marble,andbronzehe
wrought bodies of gods and men, and such was their beauty, that people called them
immortal.Buthehimselfwasdiscontentedandassertedthattherewassomethingeven
morebeautiful,thathecouldnotembodyeitherinmarbleorinbronze."Ihavenotyet
gatheredtheglimmersofthemoon,norhaveImyfillofsunshine,"hewaswonttosay,
"andthereisnosoulinmymarble,nolifeinmybeautifulbronze."Andwhenonmoonlit
nights he slowly walked along the road, crossing the black shadows of cypresses, his
white tunic glittering in the moonshine, those who met him would laugh in a friendly
wayandsay:
"Art thou going to gather moonshine, Aurelius? Why then didst thou not fetch
baskets?"
Andhewouldanswer,laughingandpointingtohiseyes:
"HerearethebasketswhereinIgatherthesheenofthemoonandtheglimmerofthe
sun."
Andsoitwas:themoonglimmeredinhiseyesandthesunsparkled therein. But he
couldnottranslatethemintomarbleandthereinlaytheserenetragedyofhislife.
Hewasdescendedfromanancientpatricianrace,hadagoodwifeandchildren,and
sufferedfromnowant.
WhentheobscurerumoraboutLazarusreachedhim,heconsultedhiswifeandfriends
andundertookthefarjourneytoJudeatoseehimwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthe
dead.Hewassomewhatwearyinthosedaysandhehopedthattheroadwouldsharpen
his blunted senses. What was said of Lazarus did not frighten him: he had pondered
muchoverDeath,didnotlikeit,buthedislikedalsothosewhoconfuseditwithlife.
"Inthislife,lifeandbeauty
beyond,Death,theenigmatical"
thoughthe,andthereisnobetterthingforamantodothantodelightinlifeandinthe
beautyofallthingsliving.HehadevenavaingloriousdesiretoconvinceLazarusofthe
truth of his own view and restore his soul to life, as his body had been restored. This
seemedsomuch easier because the rumors, shy and strange, did not render the whole
truthaboutLazarusandbutvaguelywarnedagainstsomethingfrightful.
Lazarushadjustrisenfromthestoneinordertofollowthesunwhichwassettingin
the desert, when a rich Roman attended by an armed slave, approached him and
addressedhiminasonoroustoneofvoice:
"Lazarus!"
And Lazarus beheld a superb face, lit with glory, and arrayed in fine clothes, and
preciousstonessparklinginthesun.TheredlightlenttotheRoman'sfaceandheadthe
appearance of gleaming bronzethat also Lazarus noticed. He resumed obediently his
placeandloweredhiswearyeyes.
"Yes, thou art ugly, my poor Lazarus,"quietly said the Roman, playing with his
goldenchain"thouartevenhorrible,mypoorfriendandDeathwasnotlazythatday
when thou didst fall so heedlessly into his hands. But thou art stout, and, as the great
Csarusedtosay,fatpeoplearenotilltemperedtotellthetruth,Idon'tunderstandwhy
menfearthee.Permitmetospendthenightinthyhousethehourislate,andIhaveno
shelter."
NeverhadanyoneaskedLazarus'hospitality.
"Ihavenobed,"saidhe.
"IamsomewhatofasoldierandIcansleepsitting,"theRomananswered."Weshall
buildafire."
"Ihavenofire."
"Thenweshallhaveourtalkinthedarkness,liketwofriends.Ithinkthouwiltfinda
bottleofwine."
"Ihavenowine."
TheRomanlaughed.
"NowIseewhythouartsosomberanddislikestthysecondlife.Nowine!Why,then
we shall do without it: there are words that make the head go round better than the
Falernian."
Byasignhedismissedtheslave,andtheyremainedallalone.Andagainthesculptor
startedspeaking,butitwasasif,togetherwiththesettingsun,lifehadlefthiswordsand
theygrewpaleandhollow,asiftheystaggeredonunsteadyfeet,asiftheyslippedand
felldown,drunkwiththeheavyleesofwearinessanddespair.Andblackchasmsgrew
upbetweenthewordslikefaroffhintsofthegreatvoidandthegreatdarkness.
"Now I am thy guest, and thou wilt not be unkind to me, Lazarus!"said he.
"Hospitalityisthedutyevenofthosewhoforthreedaysweredead.Threedays,Iwas
told,thoudidstrestinthegrave.Thereitmustbecold...andthatiswhencecomesthyill
habitofgoingwithoutfireandwine.Astome,Ilikefireitgrowsdarkheresorapidly....
Thelinesofthyeyebrowsandforeheadarequite,quiteinteresting:theyarelikeruinsof
strangepalaces,buriedinashesafteranearthquake.Butwhydostthouwearsuchugly
andqueergarments?Ihaveseenbridegroomsinthycountry,andtheywearsuchclothes
aretheynotfunnyandterrible....Butartthouabridegroom?"
The sun had already disappeared, a monstrous black shadow came running from the
eastitwasasifgiganticbarefeetbeganrumblingonthesand,andthewindsentacold
wavealongthebackbone.
"In the darkness thou seemest still larger, Lazarus, as if thou hast grown stouter in
thesemoments.Dostthoufeedondarkness,Lazarus?Iwouldfainhavealittlefireat
leastalittlefire,alittlefire.Ifeelsomewhatchilly,yournightsaresobarbarouslycold....
Wereitnotsodark,Ishouldsaythatthouwertlookingatme,Lazarus.Yes,itseemsto
me, thou art looking.... Why, thou art looking at me, I feel it,but there thou art
smiling."
Nightcame,andfilledtheairwithheavyblackness.
"Howwellitwillbe,whenthesunwillrisetomorrowanew....Iamagreatsculptor,
thouknowestthatishowmyfriendscallme.Icreate.Yes,thatistheword...butIneed
daylight.Igivelifetothecoldmarble,Imeltsonorousbronzeinfire,inbrighthotfire....
Whydidstthoutouchmewiththyhand?"
"Come"saidLazarus"Thouartmyguest."
Andtheywenttothehouse.Andalongnightenvelopedtheearth.
Theslave,seeingthathismasterdidnotcome,wenttoseekhim,whenthesunwas
alreadyhighinthesky.AndhebeheldhismastersidebysidewithLazarus:inprofound
silence were they sitting right under the dazzling and scorching sunrays and looking
upward.Theslavebegantoweepandcriedout:
"Mymaster,whathasbefallenthee,master?"
TheverysamedaythesculptorleftforRome.OnthewayAureliuswaspensiveand
taciturn,staringattentivelyateverythingthemen,theship,thesea,asthoughtryingto
retainsomething.Onthehighseaastormburstuponthem,andallthroughitAurelius
stayedonthedeckandeagerlyscannedtheseasloomingnearandsinkingwithathud.
AthomehisfriendswerefrightenedatthechangewhichhadtakenplaceinAurelius,
buthecalmedthem,sayingmeaningly:
"Ihavefoundit."
Andwithoutchangingthedustyclothesheworeonhisjourney,hefelltowork,and
themarbleobedientlyresoundedunderhissonoroushammer.Longandeagerlyworked
he, admitting no one, until one morning he announced that the work was ready and
orderedhisfriendstobesummoned,severecriticsandconnoisseursofart.Andtomeet
them he put on bright and gorgeous garments, that glittered with yellow goldand
scarletbyssus.
"Hereismywork,"saidhethoughtfully.
His friends glanced and a shadow of profound sorrow covered their faces. It was
something monstrous, deprived of all the lines and shapes familiar to the eye, but not
withoutahintatsomenew,strangeimage.
Onathin,crookedtwig,orratheronanuglylikenessofatwigrestedaskewablind,
ugly,shapeless,outspreadmassofsomethingutterlyandinconceivablydistorted,amad
leap of wild and bizarre fragments, all feebly and vainly striving to part from one
another. And, as if by chance, beneath one of the wildlyrent salients a butterfly was
chiseled with divine skill, all airy loveliness, delicacy, and beauty, with transparent
wings,whichseemedtotremblewithanimpotentdesiretotakeflight.
"Whereforethiswonderfulbutterfly,Aurelius?"saidsomebodyfalteringly.
"Iknownot"wasthesculptor'sanswer.
Butitwasnecessarytotellthetruth,andoneofhisfriendswholovedhimbestsaid
firmly:
"Thisisugly,mypoorfriend.Itmustbedestroyed.Givemethehammer."
And with two strokes he broke the monstrous man into pieces, leaving only the
infinitelydelicatebutterflyuntouched.
FromthattimeonAureliuscreatednothing.Withprofoundindifferencehelookedat
marble and bronze, and on his former divine works, where everlasting beauty rested.
With the purpose of arousing his former fervent passion for work and, awakening his
deadened soul, his friends took him to see other artists' beautiful works,but he
remained indifferent as before, and the smile did not warm up his tightened lips. And
onlyafterlisteningtolengthytalksaboutbeauty,hewouldretortwearilyandindolently:
"Butallthisisalie."
Andbytheday,whenthesunwasshining,hewentintohismagnificent,skilfullybuilt
gardenandhavingfoundaplacewithoutshadow,heexposedhisbareheadtotheglare
andheat.Redandwhitebutterfliesflutteredaroundfromthecrookedlipsofadrunken
satyr,waterstreameddownwithasplashintoamarblecistern,buthesatmotionlessand
silent,likeapallidreflectionofhimwho,inthefaroffdistance,attheverygatesofthe
stonydesert,satunderthefierysun.
Andnowitcametopassthatthegreat,deifiedAugustushimselfsummonedLazarus.
Theimperialmessengersdressedhimgorgeously,insolemnnuptialclothes,asifTime
had legalized them, and he was to remain until his very death the bridegroom of an
unknownbride.Itwasasthoughanold,rottingcoffinhadbeengiltandfurnishedwith
new, gay tassels. And men, all in trim and bright attire, rode after him, as if in bridal
processionindeed,andthoseforemosttrumpetedloudly,biddingpeopletocleartheway
fortheemperor'smessengers.ButLazarus'waywasdeserted:hisnativelandcursedthe
hatefulnameofhimwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedead,andpeoplescatteredat
theverynewsofhisappallingapproach.Thesolitaryvoiceofthebrasstrumpetssounded
inthemotionlessair,andthewildernessalonerespondedwithitslanguidecho.
ThenLazaruswentbysea.Andhiswasthemostmagnificentlyarrayedandthemost
mournful ship that ever mirrored itself in the azure waves of the Mediterranean Sea.
Manywerethetravelers aboard, but like a tomb was the ship, all silence and stillness,
andthedespairingwatersobbedatthesteep,proudlycurvedprow.AllalonesatLazarus
exposinghisheadtotheblazeofthesun,silentlylisteningtothemurmurandsplashof
the wavelets, and afar seamen and messengers were sitting, a vague group of weary
shadows. Had the thunder burst and the wind attacked the red sails, the ships would
probablyhave perished, for none of those aboard had either the will or the strength to
struggleforlife.Withasupremeeffortsomemarinerswouldreachtheboardandeagerly
scantheblue,transparentdeep,hopingtoseeanaiad'spinkshoulderflashinthehollow
of an azure wave, or a drunken gay centaur dash along and in frenzy splash the wave
withhishoof.Buttheseawaslikeawilderness,andthedeepwasdumbanddeserted.
With utter indifference did Lazarus set his feet on the street of the eternal city. As
though all her wealth, all the magnificence of her palaces built by giants, all the
resplendence,beauty,andmusicofherrefinedlifewerebuttheechoofthewindinthe
wilderness,thereflectionofthedesertquicksand.Chariotsweredashing,andalongthe
streetsweremovingcrowdsofstrong,fair,proudbuildersoftheeternalcityandhaughty
participantsinherlifeasongsoundedfountainsandwomenlaughedapearlylaughter
drunken philosophers harangued, and the sober listened to them with a smile hoofs
struckthestonepavements.Andsurroundedbycheerfulnoise,astout,heavymanwas
moving,acoldspotofsilenceanddespair,andonhiswayhesoweddisgust,anger,and
vague, gnawing weariness. Who dares to be sad in Rome, wondered indignantly the
citizens,andfrowned.Intwodaystheentire city already knew all about him who had
miraculouslyrisenfromthedead,andshunnedhimshyly.
But some daring people there were, who wanted to test their strength, and Lazarus
obeyed their imprudent summons. Kept busy by state affairs, the emperor constantly
delayed the reception, and seven days did he who had risen from the dead go about
visitingothers.
AndLazaruscametoacheerfulEpicurean,andthehostmethimwithlaughteronhis
lips:
"Drink,Lazarus,drink!"shoutedhe."WouldnotAugustuslaughtoseetheedrunk!"
Andhalfnakeddrunkenwomenlaughed,androsepetalsfellonLazarus'bluehands.
ButthentheEpicureanlookedintoLazarus'eyes,andhisgaietyendedforever.Drunkard
remainedhe for the rest of his life never did he drink, yet forever was he drunk. But
insteadofthegayreveriewhichwinebringswithit,frightfuldreamsbegantohaunthim,
thesolefoodofhisstrickenspirit.Dayandnighthelivedinthepoisonousvaporsofhis
nightmares, and death itself was not more frightful than her raving, monstrous
forerunners.
AndLazaruscametoayouthandhisbeloved,wholovedeachotherandweremost
beautifulintheirpassions.Proudlyandstronglyembracinghislove,theyouthsaidwith
sereneregret:
"Lookatus,Lazarus,andshareourjoy.Isthereanythingstrongerthanlove?"
AndLazaruslooked.Andfortherestoftheirlifetheykeptonlovingeachother,but
theirpassiongrewgloomyandjoyless,likethosefuneralcypresseswhoserootsfeedon
thedecayofthegravesandwhoseblacksummitsinastilleveninghourseekinvainto
reach the sky. Thrown by the unknown forces of life into each other's embraces, they
mingled tears with kisses, voluptuous pleasures with pain, and they felt themselves
doublyslaves,obedientslavestolife,andpatientservantsofthesilentNothingness.Ever
united, ever severed, they blazed like sparks and like sparks lost themselves in the
boundlessDark.
AndLazaruscametoahaughtysage,andthesagesaidtohim:
"Iknowallthehorrorsthoucanstrevealtome.Isthereanythingthoucanstfrighten
mewith?"
But before long the sage felt that the knowledge of horror was far from being the
horroritself,andthatthevisionofDeath,wasnotDeath.Andhefeltthatwisdomand
follyareequalbeforethefaceofInfinity,forInfinityknowsthemnot.Anditvanished,
thedividinglinebetweenknowledgeandignorance,truthandfalsehood,topandbottom,
andtheshapelessthoughthungsuspendedinthevoid.Thenthesageclutchedhisgray
headandcriedoutfrantically:
"Icannotthink!Icannotthink!"
Thusundertheindifferentglanceforhim,whomiraculouslyhadrisenfromthedead,
perishedeverythingthatassertslife,itssignificanceandjoys.Anditwassuggestedthat
itwasdangerous to let him see the emperor, that it was better to kill him and, having
buried him secretly, to tell the emperor that he had disappeared no one knew whither.
Alreadyswordswerebeingwhetted and youths devoted to the public welfareprepared

forthemurder,whenAugustusorderedLazarustobebroughtbeforehimnextmorning,
thusdestroyingthecruelplans.
If there was no way of getting rid of Lazarus, at least it was possible to soften the
terrible impression his face produced. With this in view, skillful painters, barbers, and
artists were summoned, and all night long they were busy over Lazarus' head. They
croppedhisbeard,curledit,andgaveitatidy,agreeableappearance.Bymeansofpaints
they concealed the corpselike blueness of his hands and face. Repulsive were the
wrinkles of suffering that furrowed his old face, and they were puttied, painted, and
smoothed then, over the smooth background, wrinkles of goodtempered laughter and
pleasant,carefreemirthwereskillfullypaintedwithfinebrushes.
Lazarus submitted indifferently to everything that was done to him. Soon he was
turnedintoabecominglystout,venerableoldman,intoaquietandkindgrandfatherof
numerous offspring. It seemed that the smile, with which only a while ago he was
spinning funny yarns, was still lingering on his lips, and that in the corner of his eye
serenetendernesswashiding,thecompanionofoldage.Butpeopledidnotdarechange
hisnuptialgarments,andtheycouldnotchangehiseyes,twodarkandfrightfulglasses
throughwhichlookedatmen,theunknowableYonder.
VI
Lazaruswasnotmovedbythemagnificenceoftheimperialpalace.Itwasasthough
hesawnodifferencebetweenthecrumblinghouse,closelypressedbythedesert,andthe
stonepalace,solidandfair,andindifferentlyhepassedintoit.Andthehardmarbleofthe
floors under his feet grew similar to the quicksand of the desert, and the multitude of
richlydressed and haughty men became like void air under his glance. Noonelooked
into his face, as Lazarus passed by, fearing to fall under the appalling influence of his
eyesbutwhenthesoundofhisheavyfootstepshadsufficientlydieddown,thecourtiers
raisedtheirheadsandwithfearfulcuriosityexaminedthefigureofastout,tall,slightly
bent old man, who was slowly penetrating into the very heart of the imperial palace.
WereDeathitselfpassing,itwouldbefacedwithnogreaterfear:foruntilthenthedead
alone knew Death, and those alive knew Life onlyand there was no bridge between
them. But this extraordinary man, although alive, knew Death, and enigmatical,
appalling,washiscursedknowledge."Woe,"peoplethought,"hewilltakethelifeofour
great, deified Augustus," and they sent curses after Lazarus, who meanwhile kept on
advancingintotheinteriorofthepalace.
AlreadydidtheemperorknowwhoLazaruswas,andpreparedtomeethim.Butthe
monarchwasabraveman,andfelthisowntremendous,unconquerablepower,andinhis
fatalduelwithhimwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedeadhewantednottoinvoke
humanhelp.AndsohemetLazarusfacetoface:
"Lift not thine eyes upon me, Lazarus," he ordered. "I heard thy face is like that of
Medusaandturnsintostonewhomsoeverthoulookestat.Now,Iwishtoseetheeandto
haveatalkwiththee,beforeIturnintostone,"addedheinatoneofkinglyjesting,not
devoidoffear.
Coming close to him, he carefully examined Lazarus' face and his strange festal
garments.Andalthoughhehadakeeneye,hewasdeceivedbyhisappearance.
"So. Thou dost not appear terrible, my venerable old man. But the worse for us, if
horrorassumessucharespectableandpleasantair.Nowletushaveatalk."
Augustussat,andquestioningLazaruswithhiseyeasmuchaswithwords,startedthe
conversation:
"Whydidstthounotgreetmeasthouenteredst?"
Lazarusansweredindifferent:
"Iknewnotitwasnecessary."
"ArtthouaChristian?"
"No."
Augustusapprovinglyshookhishead.
"Thatisgood.IdonotlikeChristians.Theyshakethetreeoflifebeforeitiscovered
withfruit,anddisperseitsodorousbloomtothewinds.Butwhoartthou?"
WithavisibleeffortLazarusanswered:
"Iwasdead."
"Ihadheardthat.Butwhoartthounow?"
Lazaruswassilent,butatlastrepeatedinatoneofwearyapathy:
"Iwasdead."
"Listentome,stranger,"saidtheemperor,distinctlyandseverelygivingutteranceto
thethoughtthathadcometohimatthebeginning,"myrealmistherealmofLife,my
peopleareoftheliving,notofthedead.Thouarthereonetoomany.Iknownotwho
thouartandwhatthousawesttherebut,ifthouliest,Ihatethylies,andifthoutellstthe
truth,Ihatethytruth.InmybosomIfeelthethroboflifeIfeelstrengthinmyarm,and
myproudthoughts,likeeagles,piercethespace.Andyonderintheshelterofmyrule,
undertheprotectionoflawscreatedbyme,peopleliveandtoilandrejoice. Dost thou
hearthebattlecry,thechallengementhrowintothefaceofthefuture?"
Augustus,asinprayer,stretchedforthhisarmsandexclaimedsolemnly:
"Beblessed,OgreatanddivineLife!"
Lazaruswassilent,andwithgrowingsternnesstheemperorwenton:
"Thouartnotwantedhere,miserableremnant,snatchedfromunderDeath'steeth,thou
inspirestwearinessanddisgustwithlifelikeacaterpillarinthefields,thougloateston
therichearofjoyandbelchestoutthedrivelofdespairandsorrow.Thytruthislikea
rusty sword in the hands of a nightly murderer,and as a murderer thou shalt be
executed.Butbeforethat,letmelookintothineeyes.Perchance,onlycowardsareafraid
ofthem,butinthebravetheyawakethethirstforstrifeandvictorythenthoushaltbe
rewarded,notexecuted....Now,lookatme,Lazarus."
AtfirstitappearedtothedeifiedAugustusthatafriendwaslookingathim,sosoft,
sotenderlyfascinatingwasLazarus'glance.Itpromisednothorror,butsweetrestandthe
Infiniteseemedtohimatendermistress,acompassionatesister,amother.Butstronger
and stronger grew its embraces, and already the mouth, greedy of hissing kisses,
interferedwiththemonarch'sbreathing,andalreadytothesurfaceofthesofttissuesof
the body came the iron of the bones and tightened its merciless circle,and unknown
fangs,bluntandcold,touchedhisheartandsankintoitwithslowindolence.
"Itpains,"saidthedeifiedAugustus,growingpale."Butlookatme,Lazarus,look."
It was as though some heavy gates, ever closed, were slowly moving apart, and
throughthegrowingintersticetheappallinghorroroftheInfinitepouredinslowlyand
steadily. Like two shadows there entered the shoreless void and the unfathomable
darknesstheyextinguishedthesun,ravishedtheearthfromunderthefeet,andtheroof
fromoverthehead.Nomoredidthefrozenheartache.
"Look,look,Lazarus,"orderedAugustustottering.
Time stood still, and the beginning of each thing grew frightfully near to its end.
Augustus'thronejusterected,crumbleddown,andthevoidwasalreadyintheplaceof
thethroneandofAugustus.NoiselesslydidRomecrumbledown,andanewcitystood
onitssiteandittoowasswallowedbythevoid.Likefantasticgiants,cities,states,and
countriesfelldownandvanishedinthevoiddarknessandwithuttermostindifference
didtheinsatiableblackwomboftheInfiniteswallowthem.
"Halt!"orderedtheemperor.
Inhisvoicesoundedalreadyanoteofindifference,hishandsdroppedinlanguor,and
inthevainstrugglewiththeonrushingdarknesshisfieryeyesnowblazedup,andnow
wentout.
"Mylifethouhasttakenfromme,Lazarus,"saidheinaspiritless,feeblevoice.
Andthesewordsofhopelessnesssavedhim.Herememberedhispeople,whoseshield
he was destined to be, and keen salutary pain pierced his deadened heart. "They are
doomedtodeath,"hethoughtwearily."SereneshadowsinthedarknessoftheInfinite,"
thoughthe,andhorrorgrewuponhim."Frailvesselswithlivingseethingbloodwitha
heartthatknowssorrowandalsogreatjoy,"saidheinhisheart,andtendernesspervaded
it.
ThusponderingandoscillatingbetweenthepolesofLifeandDeath,heslowlycame
backtolife,tofindinitssufferingandinitsjoysashieldagainstthedarknessofthevoid
andthehorroroftheInfinite.
"No,thouhastnotmurderedme,Lazarus,"saidhefirmly,"butIwilltakethylife.Be
gone."
ThateveningthedeifiedAugustuspartookofhismeatsanddrinkswithparticularjoy.
Nowandthenhisliftedhandremainedsuspendedintheair,andadullglimmerreplaced
thebrightsheenofhisfieryeye.ItwasthecoldwaveofHorrorthatsurgedathisfeet.
Defeated, but not undone, ever awaiting its hour, that Horror stood at the emperor's
bedside, like a black shadow all through his life it swayed his nights, but yielded the
daystothesorrowsandjoysoflife.
Thefollowingday,thehangmanwithahotironburnedoutLazarus'eyes.Thenhewas
senthome.ThedeifiedAugustusdarednotkillhim.
Lazarusreturnedtothedesert,andthewildernessmethimwithhissinggustsofwind
andtheheatoftheblazingsun.Againhewassittingonastone,hisrough,bushybeard
lifted up and the two black holes in place of his eyes looked at the sky with an
expressionofdullterror.Afarofftheholycitystirrednoisilyandrestlessly,butaround
him everything was deserted and dumb. No one approached the place where lived he
who had miraculously risen from the dead, and long since his neighbors had forsaken
theirhouses.Drivenbythehotironintothedepthofhisskull,hiscursedknowledgehid
there in an ambush. As though leaping out from an ambush it plunged its thousand
invisibleeyesintotheman,andnoonedaredlookatLazarus.
Andintheevening,whenthesun,reddeningandgrowingwider,wouldcomenearer
and nearer the western horizon, the blind Lazarus would slowly follow it. He would
stumbleagainststonesandfall,stoutandweakashewaswouldriseheavilytohisfeet
and walk on again and on the red screen of the sunset his black body and outspread
handswouldformamonstrouslikenessofacross.
And it came to pass that once he went out and did not come back. Thus seemingly
endedthesecondlifeofhimwhoforthreedayshadbeenundertheenigmaticalswayof
death,androsemiraculouslyfromthedead.
TheBeastwithFiveFingers
BYW.F.HARVEY
From The New Decameron, by Various Hands. Copyright, 1919, by

RobertM.McBrideandCompany.Bypermissionofthepublishers.
When I was a little boy I once went with my father to call on Adrian Borlsover. I
playedonthefloorwithablackspanielwhilemyfatherappealedforasubscription.Just
beforeweleftmyfathersaid,"Mr.Borlsover,maymysonhereshakehandswithyou?It
willbeathingtolookbackuponwithpridewhenhegrowstobeaman."
Icameuptothebedonwhichtheoldmanwaslyingandputmyhandinhis,awedby
thestillbeautyofhisface.Hespoketomekindly,andhopedthatIshouldalwaystryto
pleasemyfather.Thenheplacedhisrighthandonmyheadandaskedforablessingto
restuponme."Amen!"saidmyfather,andIfollowedhimoutoftheroom,feelingasifI
wantedtocry.Butmyfatherwasinexcellentspirits.
"Thatoldgentleman,Jim,"saidhe,"isthemostwonderfulmaninthewholetown.For
tenyearshehasbeenquiteblind."
"ButIsawhiseyes,"Isaid."Theywereeversoblackandshinytheyweren'tshutup
likeNora'spuppies.Can'theseeatall?"
And so I learnt for the first time that a man might have eyes that looked dark and
beautifulandshiningwithoutbeingabletosee.
"JustlikeMrs.Tomlinsonhasbigears,"Isaid,"andcan'thearatallexceptwhenMr.
Tomlinsonshouts."
"Jim," said my father, "it's not right to talk about a lady's ears. Remember what Mr.
Borlsoversaidaboutpleasingmeandbeingagoodboy."
ThatwastheonlytimeIsawAdrianBorlsover.Isoonforgotabouthimandthehand
whichhelaidinblessingonmyhead.ButforaweekIprayedthatthosedarktendereyes
mightsee.
"His spaniel may have puppies," I said in my prayers, "and he will never be able to
know how funny they look with their eyes all closed up. Please let old Mr. Borlsover
see."
Adrian Borlsover, as my father had said, was a wonderful man. He came of an

eccentric family. Borlsovers' sons, for some reason, always seemed to marry very
ordinary women, which perhaps accounted for the fact that no Borlsover had been a
genius, and only one Borlsover had been mad. But they were great champions of little
causes,generouspatronsofoddsciences,foundersofqueruloussects,trustworthyguides
tothebypathmeadowsoferudition.
Adrian was an authority on the fertilization of orchids. He had held at one time the
familylivingatBorlsoverConyers,untilacongenitalweaknessofthelungsobligedhim
toseekalessrigorousclimateinthesunnysouthcoastwateringplacewhereIhadseen
him.Occasionallyhewouldrelieveoneorotherofthelocalclergy.Myfatherdescribed
himasafinepreacher,whogavelongandinspiringsermonsfromwhatmanymenwould
haveconsideredunprofitabletexts."Anexcellentproof,"hewouldadd,"ofthetruthof
thedoctrineofdirectverbalinspiration."
Adrian Borlsover was exceedingly clever with his hands. His penmanship was
exquisite.Heillustratedallhisscientificpapers,madehisownwoodcuts,andcarvedthe
reredosthatisatpresentthechieffeatureofinterestinthechurchatBorlsoverConyers.
He had an exceedingly clever knack in cutting silhouettes for young ladies and paper
pigsandcowsforlittlechildren,andmademorethanonecomplicatedwindinstrument
ofhisowndevising.
When he was fifty years old Adrian Borlsover lost his sight. In a wonderfully short
time he had adapted himself to the new conditions of life. He quickly learned to read
Braille.Somarvelousindeedwashissenseoftouchthathewasstillabletomaintainhis
interest in botany. The mere passing of his long supple fingers over a flower was
sufficientmeansforitsidentification,thoughoccasionallyhewouldusehislips.Ihave
found several letters of his among my father's correspondence. In no case was there
anythingtoshowthathewasafflictedwithblindnessandthisinspiteofthefactthathe
exercised undue economy in the spacing of lines. Towards the close of his life the old
manwascreditedwithpowersoftouchthatseemedalmostuncanny:ithasbeensaidthat
hecouldtellatoncethecolorofaribbonplacedbetweenhisfingers.Myfatherwould
neitherconfirmnordenythestory.
Adrian Borlsover was a bachelor. His elder brother George had married late in life,
leaving one son, Eustace, who lived in the gloomy Georgian mansion at Borlsover
Conyers,wherehecould work undisturbed in collecting material for his great bookon
heredity.
Like his uncle, he was a remarkable man. The Borlsovers had always been born
naturalists, but Eustace possessed in a special degree the power of systematizing his
knowledge.Hehadreceived his university education in Germany, and then, after post
graduateworkinViennaandNaples,hadtraveledforfouryearsinSouthAmericaand
theEast,gettingtogetherahugestoreofmaterialforanewstudyintotheprocessesof
variation.
He lived alone at Borlsover Conyers with Saunders his secretary, a man who bore a
somewhat dubious reputation in the district, but whose powers as a mathematician,
combinedwithhisbusinessabilities,wereinvaluabletoEustace.
Uncle and nephew saw little of each other. The visits of Eustace were confined to a
weekinthesummerorautumn:longweeks,thatdraggedalmostasslowlyasthebath
chairinwhichthe old man was drawn along the sunny sea front. In their way the two
menwerefondofeachother,thoughtheirintimacywoulddoubtlesshavebeengreater
hadtheysharedthesamereligiousviews.Adrianheldtotheoldfashionedevangelical
dogmas of his early manhood his nephew for many years had been thinking of
embracingBuddhism.Bothmenpossessed,too,thereticencetheBorlsovershadalways
shown, and which their enemies sometimes called hypocrisy. With Adrian it was a
reticenceastothethingshehadleftundonebutwithEustaceitseemedthatthecurtain
which he was so careful to leave undrawn hid something more than a halfempty
chamber.
TwoyearsbeforehisdeathAdrianBorlsoverdeveloped,unknowntohimself,thenot
uncommonpowerofautomaticwriting.Eustacemadethediscoverybyaccident.Adrian
wassittingreadinginbed,theforefingerofhislefthandtracingtheBraillecharacters,
when his nephew noticed that a pencil the old man held in his right hand was moving
slowlyalongtheoppositepage.Helefthisseatinthewindowandsatdownbesidethe
bed. The right hand continued to move, and now he could see plainly that they were
lettersandwordswhichitwasforming.
"Adrian Borlsover," wrote the hand, "Eustace Borlsover, George Borlsover, Francis
BorlsoverSigismundBorlsover,AdrianBorlsover,EustaceBorlsover,SavilleBorlsover.
B,forBorlsover.HonestyistheBestPolicy.BeautifulBelindaBorlsover."
"Whatcuriousnonsense!"saidEustacetohimself.
"KingGeorgetheThirdascendedthethronein1760,"wrotethehand."Crowd,anoun
ofmultitudeacollectionofindividualsAdrianBorlsover,EustaceBorlsover."
"Itseemstome,"saidhisuncle,closingthebook,"thatyouhadmuchbettermakethe
mostoftheafternoonsunshineandtakeyourwalknow.""IthinkperhapsIwill,"Eustace
answeredashepickedupthevolume."Iwon'tgofar,andwhenIcomebackIcanread
toyouthosearticlesinNatureaboutwhichwewerespeaking."
Hewentalongthepromenade,butstoppedatthefirstshelter,andseatinghimselfin
thecornerbestprotectedfromthewind,heexaminedthebookatleisure.Nearlyevery
pagewasscoredwithameaninglessjungleofpencilmarks:rowsofcapitalletters,short
words,longwords,completesentences,copybooktags.Thewholething,infact,hadthe
appearance of a copybook, and on a more careful scrutiny Eustace thought that there
was ample evidence to show that the handwriting at the beginning of the book, good
thoughitwaswasnotnearlysogoodasthehandwritingattheend.
HelefthisuncleattheendofOctober,withapromisetoreturnearlyinDecember.It
seemedtohimquiteclearthattheoldman'spowerofautomaticwritingwasdeveloping
rapidly, and for the first time he looked forward to a visit that combined duty with
interest.
Butonhisreturnhewasatfirstdisappointed.Hisuncle,hethought,lookedolder.He
waslistlesstoo,preferringotherstoreadtohimanddictatingnearlyallhisletters.Not
untilthedaybeforehelefthadEustaceanopportunityofobservingAdrianBorlsover's
newfoundfaculty.
The old man, propped up in bed with pillows, had sunk into a light sleep. His two
handslayonthecoverlet,hislefthandtightlyclaspinghisright.Eustacetookanempty
manuscriptbookandplacedapencilwithinreachofthefingersoftherighthand.They
snatched at it eagerly then dropped the pencil to unloose the left hand from its
restraininggrasp.
"PerhapstopreventinterferenceIhadbetterholdthathand,"saidEustacetohimself,
ashewatchedthepencil.Almostimmediatelyitbegantowrite.
"Blundering Borlsovers, unnecessarily unnatural, extraordinarily eccentric, culpably
curious."
"Whoareyou?"askedEustace,inalowvoice.
"Neveryoumind,"wrotethehandofAdrian.
"Isitmyunclewhoiswriting?"
"Oh,mypropheticsoul,mineuncle."
"IsitanyoneIknow?"
"SillyEustace,you'llseemeverysoon."
"WhenshallIseeyou?"
"WhenpooroldAdrian'sdead."
"WhereshallIseeyou?"
"Whereshallyounot?"
Insteadofspeakinghisnextquestion,Borlsoverwroteit."Whatisthetime?"
Thefingersdroppedthepencilandmovedthreeorfourtimesacrossthepaper.Then,
pickingupthepencil,theywrote:
"Ten minutes before four. Put your book away, Eustace. Adrian mustn't find us
workingatthissortofthing.Hedoesn'tknowwhattomakeofit,andIwon'thavepoor
oldAdriandisturbed.Aurevoir."
AdrianBorlsoverawokewithastart.
"I've been dreaming again," he said "such queer dreams of leaguered cities and
forgottentowns.Youweremixedupinthisone,Eustace,thoughIcan'trememberhow.
Eustace, I want to warn you. Don't walk in doubtful paths. Choose your friends well.
Yourpoorgrandfather"
Afitofcoughingputanendtowhathewassaying,butEustacesawthatthehandwas
stillwriting.Hemanagedunnoticedtodrawthebookaway."I'lllightthegas,"hesaid,
"andringfortea."Ontheothersideofthebedcurtainhesawthelastsentencesthathad
beenwritten.
"It'stoolate,Adrian,"heread."We'refriendsalreadyaren'twe,EustaceBorlsover?"
OnthefollowingdayEustaceBorlsoverleft.Hethoughthisunclelookedillwhenhe
saidgoodby,andtheoldmanspokedespondentlyofthefailurehislifehadbeen.
"Nonsense,uncle!"saidhisnephew."Youhavegotoveryourdifficultiesinawaynot
one in a hundred thousand would have done. Every one marvels at your splendid
perseveranceinteachingyourhandtotaketheplaceofyourlostsight.Tomeit'sbeena
revelationofthepossibilitiesofeducation."
"Education,"saidhisuncledreamily,asifthewordhadstartedanewtrainofthought,
"educationisgoodsolongasyouknowtowhomandforwhatpurposeyougiveit.But
withthelowerordersofmen,thebaseandmoresordidspirits,Ihavegravedoubtsasto
its results. Well, goodby, Eustace, I may not see you again. You are a true Borlsover,
withalltheBorlsoverfaults.Marry,Eustace.Marrysomegood,sensiblegirl.Andifby
anychanceIdon'tseeyouagain,mywillisatmysolicitor's.I'venotleftyouanylegacy,
becauseIknowyou'rewellprovidedfor,butIthoughtyoumightliketohavemybooks.
Oh,andthere'sjustoneotherthing.Youknow,beforetheendpeopleoftenlosecontrol
over themselves and make absurd requests. Don't pay any attention to them, Eustace.
Goodby!" and he held out his hand. Eustace took it. It remained in his a fraction of a
secondlongerthanhehadexpected,andgrippedhimwithavirilitythatwassurprising.
Therewas,too,initstouchasubtlesenseofintimacy.
"Why,uncle!"hesaid,"Ishallseeyoualiveandwellformanylongyearstocome."
TwomonthslaterAdrianBorlsoverdied.
II
Eustace Borlsover was in Naples at the time. He read the obituary notice in the
MorningPostonthedayannouncedforthefuneral.
"Pooroldfellow!"hesaid."IwonderwhereIshallfindroomforallhisbooks."
Thequestionoccurredtohimagainwithgreaterforcewhenthreedayslaterhefound
himselfstandinginthelibraryatBorlsoverConyers,ahugeroombuiltforuse,andnot
forbeauty,intheyearofWaterloobyaBorlsoverwhowasanardentadmirerofthegreat
Napoleon. It was arranged on the plan of many college libraries, with tall, projecting
bookcasesformingdeeprecessesofdustysilence,fitgravesfortheoldhatesofforgotten
controversy,thedeadpassionsofforgottenlives.Attheendoftheroom,behindthebust
ofsomeunknowneighteenthcenturydivine,anuglyironcorkscrewstairledtoashelf
linedgallery.Nearlyeveryshelfwasfull.
"ImusttalktoSaundersaboutit,"saidEustace."Isupposethatitwillbenecessaryto
havethebilliardroomfittedupwithbookcases."
Thetwomenmetforthefirsttimeaftermanyweeksinthediningroomthatevening.
"Hullo!" said Eustace, standing before the fire with his hands in his pockets. "How
goes the world, Saunders? Why these dress togs?" He himself was wearing an old
shootingjacket.Hedidnotbelieveinmourning,ashehadtoldhisuncleonhislastvisit
andthoughheusuallywentinforquietcoloredties,heworethiseveningoneofanugly
red,inordertoshockMortonthebutler,andtomakethemthrashoutthewholequestion
of mourning for themselves in the servants' hall. Eustace was a true Borlsover. "The
world,"saidSaunders,"goesthesameasusual,confoundedlyslow.Thedresstogsare
accountedforbyaninvitationfromCaptainLockwoodtobridge."
"Howareyougettingthere?"
"I'vetoldyourcoachmantodrivemeinyourcarriage.Anyobjection?"
"Oh,dearme,no!We'vehadallthingsincommonforfartoomanyyearsformeto
raiseobjectionsatthishouroftheday."
"You'll find your correspondence in the library," went on Saunders. "Most of it I've
seento.ThereareafewprivatelettersIhaven'topened.There'salsoaboxwitharat,or
something,insideitthatcamebytheeveningpost.Verylikelyit'sthesixtoedalbino.I
didn'tlook,becauseIdidn'twanttomessupmythingsbutIshouldgatherfromtheway
it'sjumpingaboutthatit'sprettyhungry."
"Oh,I'llseetoit,"saidEustace,"whileyouandtheCaptainearnanhonestpenny."
Dinner over and Saunders gone, Eustace went into the library. Though the fire had
beenlittheroomwasbynomeanscheerful.
"We'll have all the lights on at any rate," he said, as he turned the switches. "And,
Morton," he added, when the butler brought the coffee, "get me a screwdriver or
somethingtoundothisbox.Whatevertheanimalis,he'skickingupthedeuceofarow.
Whatisit?Whyareyoudawdling?"
"Ifyouplease,sir,whenthepostmanbroughtithetoldmethatthey'dboredtheholes
inthelidatthepostoffice.Therewerenobreathin'holesinthelid,sir,andtheydidn't
wanttheanimaltodie.Thatisall,sir."
"It'sculpablycarelessoftheman,whoeverhewas,"saidEustace,asheremovedthe
screws, "packing an animal like this in a wooden box with no means of getting air.
Confounditall!ImeanttoaskMortontobringmeacagetoputitin.NowIsupposeI
shallhavetogetonemyself."
Heplacedaheavybookonthelidfromwhichthescrewshadbeenremoved,andwent
intothebilliardroom.Ashecamebackintothelibrarywithanemptycageinhishand
heheardthesoundofsomethingfalling,andthenofsomethingscuttlingalongthefloor.
"Botherit!Thebeast'sgotout.HowintheworldamItofinditagaininthislibrary!"
Tosearchforitdidindeedseemhopeless.Hetriedtofollowthesoundofthescuttling
in one of the recesses where the animal seemed to be running behind the books in the
shelves,butitwasimpossibletolocateit.Eustaceresolvedtogoonquietlyreading.Very
likelytheanimalmightgainconfidenceandshowitself.Saundersseemedtohavedealt
in his usual methodical manner with most of the correspondence. There were still the
privateletters.
What was that? Two sharp clicks and the lights in the hideous candelabra that hung
fromtheceilingsuddenlywentout.
"Iwonderifsomethinghasgonewrongwiththefuse,"saidEustace,ashewenttothe
switchesbythedoor.Thenhestopped.Therewasanoiseattheotherendoftheroom,as
ifsomethingwascrawlinguptheironcorkscrewstair."Ifit'sgoneintothegallery,"he
said,"wellandgood."Hehastilyturnedonthelights,crossedtheroom,andclimbedup
thestair.Buthecouldseenothing.Hisgrandfatherhadplacedalittlegateatthetopof
thestair,sothatchildrencouldrunandrompinthegallerywithoutfearofaccident.This
Eustaceclosed,andhavingconsiderablynarrowedthecircleofhissearch,returnedtohis
deskbythefire.
Howgloomythelibrarywas!Therewasnosenseofintimacyabouttheroom.Thefew
buststhataneighteenthcenturyBorlsoverhadbroughtbackfromthegrandtour,might
havebeeninkeepingintheoldlibrary.Heretheyseemedoutofplace.Theymadethe
roomfeelcold,inspiteoftheheavyreddamaskcurtainsandgreatgiltcornices.
With a crash two heavy books fell from the gallery to the floor then, as Borlsover
looked,anotherandyetanother.
"Very well you'll starve for this, my beauty!" he said. "We'll do some little
experiments on the metabolism of rats deprived of water. Go on! Chuck them down! I
think I've got the upper hand." He turned once again to his correspondence. The letter
wasfromthefamilysolicitor.Itspokeofhisuncle'sdeathandofthevaluablecollection
ofbooksthathadbeenlefttohiminthewill.
"Therewasonerequest,"heread,"whichcertainlycameasasurprisetome.Asyou
know, Mr. Adrian Borlsover had left instructions that his body was to be buried in as
simpleamanner as possible at Eastbourne. He expressed a desire that there should be
neitherwreathsnorflowersofanykind,andhopedthathisfriendsandrelativeswould
notconsideritnecessarytowearmourning.Thedaybeforehisdeathwereceivedaletter
cancelingtheseinstructions.Hewishedhisbodytobeembalmed(hegaveustheaddress
ofthemanweweretoemployPennifer,LudgateHill),withordersthathisrighthand
wastobesenttoyou,statingthatitwasatyourspecialrequest.Theotherarrangements
astothefuneralremainedunaltered."
"GoodLord!"saidEustace"whatintheworldwastheoldboydrivingat?Andwhat
inthenameofallthat'sholyisthat?"
Someone was in the gallery. Someone had pulled the cord attached to one of the
blinds, and it had rolled up with a snap. Someone must be in the gallery, for a second
blinddidthesame.Someonemustbewalkingroundthegallery,foroneaftertheother
theblindssprangup,lettinginthemoonlight.
"Ihaven'tgottothebottomofthisyet,"saidEustace,"butIwilldobeforethenightis
verymucholder,"andhehurriedupthecorkscrewstair.Hehadjustgottothetopwhen
the lights went out a second time, and he heard again the scuttling along the floor.
Quicklyhestoleontiptoeinthedimmoonshineinthedirectionofthenoise,feelingas
hewentforoneoftheswitches.Hisfingerstouchedthemetalknobatlast.Heturnedon
theelectriclight.
Abouttenyardsinfrontofhim,crawlingalongthefloor,wasaman'shand.Eustace
stared at it in utter astonishment. It was moving quickly, in the manner of a geometer
caterpillar, the fingers humped up one moment, flattened out the next the thumb
appearedtogiveacrablikemotiontothewhole.Whilehewaslooking,toosurprisedto
stir,thehanddisappearedroundthecorner.Eustaceranforward.Henolongersawit,but
hecouldhearitasitsqueezeditswaybehindthebooksononeoftheshelves.Aheavy
volumehadbeendisplaced.Therewasagapintherowofbookswhereithadgotin.In
hisfearlestitshouldescapehimagain,heseizedthefirstbookthatcametohishandand
plugged it into the hole. Then, emptying two shelves of their contents, he took the
woodenboardsandproppedthemupinfronttomakehisbarrierdoublysure.
"IwishSaunderswasback,"hesaid"onecan'ttacklethissortofthingalone."Itwas
aftereleven,andthereseemedlittlelikelihoodofSaundersreturningbeforetwelve.He
didnotdaretoleavetheshelfunwatched,eventorundownstairstoringthebell.Morton
thebutleroftenusedtocomeroundabouteleventoseethatthewindowswerefastened,
buthemight not come. Eustace was thoroughly unstrung. At last he heard steps down
below.
"Morton!"heshouted"Morton!"
"Sir?"
"HasMr.Saundersgotbackyet?"
"Notyet,sir."
"Well, bring me some brandy, and hurry up about it. I'm up here in the gallery, you
duffer."
"Thanks,"saidEustace,asheemptiedtheglass."Don'tgotobedyet,Morton.There
arealotofbooksthathavefallendownbyaccidentbringthemupandputthembackin
theirshelves."
MortonhadneverseenBorlsoverinsotalkativeamoodasonthatnight."Here,"said
Eustace,whenthebookshadbeenputbackanddusted,"youmightholduptheseboards
forme,Morton.Thatbeastintheboxgotout,andI'vebeenchasingitallovertheplace."
"IthinkIcanhearitchawingatthebooks,sir.They'renotvaluable,Ihope?Ithink
that'sthecarriage,sirI'llgoandcallMr.Saunders."
ItseemedtoEustacethathewasawayforfiveminutes,butitcouldhardlyhavebeen
morethanonewhenhereturnedwithSaunders."Allright,Morton,youcangonow.I'm
uphere,Saunders."
"What's all the row?" asked Saunders, as he lounged forward with his hands in his
pockets.Theluckhadbeenwithhimalltheevening.Hewascompletelysatisfied,both
withhimselfandwithCaptainLockwood'stasteinwines."What'sthematter?Youlook
tometobeinanabsolutebluefunk."
"Thatolddevilofanuncleofmine,"beganEustace"oh,Ican'texplainitall.It'shis
handthat'sbeenplayingoldHarryalltheevening.ButI'vegotitcorneredbehindthese
books.You'vegottohelpmecatchit."
"What'supwithyou,Eustace?What'sthegame?"
"It'snogame,yousillyidiot!Ifyoudon'tbelievemetakeoutoneofthosebooksand
putyourhandinandfeel."
"All right," said Saunders "but wait till I've rolled up my sleeve. The accumulated
dust of centuries, eh?" He took off his coat, knelt down, and thrust his arm along the
shelf.
"There's something there right enough," he said. "It's got a funny stumpy end to it,
whateveritis,andnipslikeacrab.Ah,no,youdon't!"Hepulledhishandoutinaflash.
"Shoveinabookquickly.Nowitcan'tgetout."
"Whatwasit?"askedEustace.
"Itwassomethingthatwantedverymuchtogetholdofme.Ifeltwhatseemedlikea
thumbandforefinger.Givemesomebrandy."
"Howarewetogetitoutofthere?"
"Whataboutalandingnet?"
"Nogood.Itwouldbetoosmartforus.Itellyou,Saunders,itcancoverthegroundfar
fasterthanIcanwalk.ButIthinkIseehowwecanmanageit.Thetwobooksattheend
oftheshelfarebigonesthatgorightbackagainstthewall.Theothersareverythin.I'll
takeoutoneatatime,andyouslidetherestalonguntilwehaveitsquashedbetweenthe
endtwo."
It certainly seemed to be the best plan. One by one, as they took out the books, the
spacebehindgrewsmallerandsmaller.Therewassomethinginitthatwascertainlyvery
muchalive.Oncetheycaughtsightoffingerspressingoutwardforawayofescape. At
lasttheyhaditpressedbetweenthetwobigbooks.
"There'smusclethere,ifthereisn'tfleshandblood,"saidSaunders, as he held them
together."Itseemstobeahandrightenough,too.Isupposethisisasortofinfectious
hallucination.I'vereadaboutsuchcasesbefore."
"Infectious fiddlesticks!" said Eustace, his face white with anger "bring the thing
downstairs.We'llgetitbackintothebox."
Itwasnotaltogethereasy,buttheyweresuccessfulatlast."Driveinthescrews,"said
Eustace,"wewon'trunanyrisks.Puttheboxinthisolddeskofmine.There'snothingin
itthatIwant.Here'sthekey.Thankgoodness,there'snothingwrongwiththelock."
"Quitealivelyevening,"saidSaunders."Nowlet'shearmoreaboutyouruncle."
They sat up together until early morning. Saunders had no desire for sleep. Eustace
wastryingtoexplainandtoforget:toconcealfromhimselfafearthathehadneverfelt
beforethefearofwalkingalonedownthelongcorridortohisbedroom.
III
"Whateveritwas,"saidEustacetoSaundersonthefollowingmorning,"Iproposethat
wedropthesubject.There'snothingtokeepushereforthenexttendays.We'llmotorup
totheLakesandgetsomeclimbing."
"Andseenobodyallday,andsitboredtodeathwitheachothereverynight.Notfor
methanks.Whynotrunuptotown?Run'stheexactwordinthiscase,isn'tit?We'reboth
insuchablessedfunk.PullyourselftogetherEustace,andlet'shaveanotherlookatthe
hand."
"Asyoulike,"saidEustace"there'sthekey."Theywentintothelibraryandopened
thedesk.Theboxwasastheyhadleftitonthepreviousnight.
"Whatareyouwaitingfor?"askedEustace.
"Iamwaitingforyoutovolunteertoopenthelid.However,sinceyouseemtofunkit,
allow me. There doesn't seem to be the likelihood of any rumpus this morning, at all
events."Heopenedthelidandpickedoutthehand.
"Cold?"askedEustace.
"Tepid.Abitbelowbloodheatbythefeel.Softandsuppletoo.Ifit'stheembalming,
it'sasortofembalmingI'veneverseenbefore.Isityouruncle'shand?"
"Oh, yes, it's his all right," said Eustace. "I should know those long thin fingers
anywhere.Putitbackinthebox,Saunders. Never mind about the screws. I'll lock the
desk,sothatthere'llbenochanceofitsgettingout.We'llcompromisebymotoringupto
townforaweek.IfwegetoffsoonafterlunchweoughttobeatGranthamorStamford
bynight."
"Right," said Saunders "and tomorrowOh, well, by tomorrow we shall have

forgottenallaboutthisbeastlything."
Ifwhenthemorrowcametheyhadnotforgotten,itwascertainlytruethatattheendof
theweektheywereabletotellaveryvividghoststoryatthelittlesupperEustacegave
onHallowE'en.
"Youdon'twantustobelievethatit'strue,Mr.Borlsover?Howperfectlyawful!"
"I'lltakemyoathonit,andsowouldSaundersherewouldn'tyou,oldchap?"
"Any number of oaths," said Saunders. "It was a long thin hand, you know, and it
grippedmejustlikethat."
"Don'tMr.Saunders!Don't!Howperfectlyhorrid!Nowtellusanotherone,do.Onlya
reallycreepyone,please!"
"Here'saprettymess!"saidEustaceonthefollowingdayashethrewaletteracross
the table to Saunders. "It's your affair, though. Mrs. Merrit, if I understand it, gives a
month'snotice."
"Oh, that's quite absurd on Mrs. Merrit's part," Saunders replied. "She doesn't know
whatshe'stalkingabout.Let'sseewhatshesays."
"DEARSIR,"heread,"thisistoletyouknowthatImustgiveyouamonth'snoticeas
fromTuesdaythe13th.ForalongtimeI'vefelttheplacetoobigforme,butwhenJane
Parfit, and Emma Laidlaw go off with scarcely as much as an 'if you please,' after
frighteningthewitsoutoftheothergirls,sothattheycan'tturnoutaroombythemselves
orwalkalonedownthestairsforfearoftreadingonhalffrozentoadsorhearingitrun
alongthepassagesatnight,allIcansayisthatit'snoplaceforme.SoImustaskyou,
Mr.Borlsover,sir, to find a new housekeeper that has no objection to large and lonely
houses,whichsomepeopledosay,notthatIbelievethemforaminute,mypoormother
alwayshavingbeenaWesleyan,arehaunted.
"Yoursfaithfully,
ELIZABETHMERRIT.
"P.S.IshouldbeobligedifyouwouldgivemyrespectstoMr.Saunders.Ihopethat
hewon'trunnoriskswithhiscold."
"Saunders," said Eustace, "you've always had a wonderful way with you in dealing
withservants.Youmustn'tletpooroldMerritgo."
"Of course she shan't go," said Saunders. "She's probably only angling for a rise in
salary.I'llwritetoherthismorning."
"No there's nothing like a personal interview. We've had enough of town. We'll go
backtomorrow,andyoumustworkyourcoldforallit'sworth.Don'tforgetthatit'sgot
ontothechest,andwillrequireweeksoffeedingupandnursing."
"Allright.IthinkIcanmanageMrs.Merrit."
ButMrs.Merritwasmoreobstinatethanhehadthought.Shewasverysorrytohearof
Mr. Saunders's cold, and how he lay awake all night in London coughing very sorry
indeed. She'd change his room for him gladly, and get the south room aired. And
wouldn'thehaveabasinofhotbreadandmilklastthingatnight?Butshewasafraidthat
shewouldhavetoleaveattheendofthemonth.
"Tryherwithanincreaseofsalary,"wastheadviceofEustace.
Itwasnouse.Mrs.Merritwasobdurate,thoughsheknewofaMrs.Handysidewho
had been housekeeper to Lord Gargrave, who might be glad to come at the salary
mentioned.
"What's the matter with the servants, Morton?" asked Eustace that evening when he
broughtthecoffeeintothelibrary."What'sallthisaboutMrs.Merritwantingtoleave?"
"Ifyouplease,sir,Iwasgoingtomentionitmyself.Ihaveaconfessiontomake,sir.
WhenIfoundyournoteaskingmetoopenthatdeskandtakeouttheboxwiththerat,I
brokethelockasyoutoldme,andwasgladtodoit,becauseIcouldheartheanimalin
theboxmakingagreatnoise,andIthoughtitwantedfood.SoItookoutthebox,sir,and
gotacage,andwasgoingtotransferit,whentheanimalgotaway."
"Whatintheworldareyoutalkingabout?Ineverwroteanysuchnote."
"Excuseme,sir,itwasthenoteIpickeduphereontheflooronthedayyouandMr.
Saundersleft.Ihaveitinmypocketnow."
ItcertainlyseemedtobeinEustace'shandwriting.Itwaswritteninpencil,andbegan
somewhatabruptly.
"Getahammer,Morton,"heread,"orsomeothertool,andbreakopenthelockinthe
olddeskinthelibrary.Takeouttheboxthatisinside.Youneednotdoanythingelse.The
lidisalreadyopen.EustaceBorlsover."
"Andyouopenedthedesk?"
"Yes,sirandasIwasgettingthecagereadytheanimalhoppedout."
"Whatanimal?"
"Theanimalinsidethebox,sir."
"Whatdiditlooklike?"
"Well,sir,Icouldn'ttellyou,"saidMortonnervously"mybackwasturned,anditwas
halfwaydowntheroomwhenIlookedup."
"Whatwasitscolor?"askedSaunders"black?"
"Oh,no,sir,agrayishwhite.Itcreptalonginaveryfunnyway,sir.Idon'tthinkithad
atail."
"Whatdidyoudothen?"
"Itriedtocatchit,butitwasnouse.SoIsettherattrapsandkeptthe library shut.
ThenthatgirlEmmaLaidlawleftthedooropenwhenshewascleaning,andIthinkit
musthaveescaped."
"Andyouthinkitwastheanimalthat'sbeenfrighteningthemaids?"
"Well,no,sir,notquite.Theysaiditwasyou'llexcuseme,sirahandthattheysaw.
Emmatrodonitonceatthebottomofthestairs.Shethoughtthenitwasahalffrozen
toad,onlywhite.AndthenParfitwaswashingupthedishesinthescullery.Shewasn't
thinkingaboutanythinginparticular.Itwascloseondusk.Shetookherhandsoutofthe
waterandwasdryingthemabsentmindedlikeontherollertowel,whenshefoundthat
shewasdryingsomeoneelse'shandaswell,onlycolderthanhers."
"Whatnonsense!"exclaimedSaunders.
"Exactly,sirthat'swhatItoldherbutwecouldn'tgethertostop."
"Youdon'tbelieveallthis?"saidEustace,turningsuddenlytowardsthebutler.
"Me,sir?Oh,no,sir!I'venotseenanything."
"Norheardanything?"
"Well,sir,ifyoumustknow,thebellsdoringatoddtimes,andthere'snobodythere
when we go and when we go round to draw the blinds of a night, as often as not
somebody'sbeentherebeforeus.ButasIsaystoMrs.Merrit,ayoungmonkeymightdo
wonderful things, and we all know that Mr. Borlsover has had some strange animals
abouttheplace."
"Verywell,Morton,thatwilldo."
"Whatdoyoumakeofit?"askedSaunderswhentheywerealone."Imeanoftheletter
hesaidyouwrote."
"Oh, that's simple enough," said Eustace. "See the paper it's written on? I stopped
usingthatyearsago,buttherewereafewoddsheetsandenvelopesleftintheolddesk.
Weneverfastenedupthelidoftheboxbeforelockingitin.Thehandgotout,founda
pencil,wrotethisnote,andshoveditthroughacrackontothefloorwhereMortonfound
it.That'splainasdaylight."
"Butthehandcouldn'twrite?"
"Couldn'tit?You'venotseenitdothethingsI'veseen,"andhetoldSaundersmoreof
whathadhappenedatEastbourne.
"Well," said Saunders, "in that case we have at least an explanation of the legacy. It
was the hand which wrote unknown to your uncle that letter to your solicitor,
bequeathingitselftoyou.YourunclehadnomoretodowiththatrequestthanI.Infact,
itwouldseemthathehadsomeideaofthisautomaticwriting,andfearedit."
"Thenifit'snotmyuncle,whatisit?"
"I suppose some people might say that a disembodied spirit had got your uncle to
educateandpreparealittlebodyforit.Nowit'sgotintothatlittlebodyandisoffonits
own."
"Well,whatarewetodo?"
"We'llkeepoureyesopen,"saidSaunders,"andtrytocatchit.Ifwecan'tdothat,we
shallhavetowaittilltheballyclockworkrunsdown.Afterall,ifit'sfleshandblood,it
can'tliveforever."
Fortwodaysnothinghappened.ThenSaunderssawitslidingdownthebanisterinthe
hall.Hewastakenunawares,andlostafullsecondbeforehestartedinpursuit,onlyto
findthatthethinghadescapedhim.Threedayslater,Eustace,writingaloneinthelibrary
atnight,sawitsittingonanopenbookattheotherendoftheroom.Thefingerscrept
over the page, feeling the print as if it were reading but before he had time to get up
from his seat, it had taken the alarm and was pulling itself up the curtains. Eustace
watched it grimly as it hung on to the cornice with three fingers, flicking thumb and
forefingerathiminanexpressionofscornfulderision.
"IknowwhatI'lldo,"hesaid."IfIonlygetitintotheopenI'llsetthedogsontoit."
HespoketoSaundersofthesuggestion.
"It'sjollygoodidea,"hesaid"onlywewon'twaittillwefinditoutofdoors.We'llget
thedogs.Therearethetwoterriersandtheunderkeeper'sIrishmongrelthat'sontorats
likeaflash.Yourspanielhasnotgotspiritenoughforthissortofgame."Theybrought
thedogsintothehouse,andthekeeper'sIrishmongrelcheweduptheslippers,andthe
terrierstrippedupMortonashewaitedattablebutallthreewerewelcome.Evenfalse
securityisbetterthannosecurityatall.
Forafortnightnothinghappened.Thenthehandwascaught,notbythedogs,butby
Mrs.Merrit'sgrayparrot.Thebirdwasinthehabitofperiodicallyremovingthepinsthat
keptitsseedandwatertinsinplace,andofescapingthroughtheholesinthesideofthe
cage.WhenonceatlibertyPeterwouldshownoinclinationtoreturn,andwouldoftenbe
aboutthehousefordays.Now,aftersixconsecutiveweeksofcaptivity,Peterhadagain
discoveredanewmeansofunloosinghisboltsandwasatlarge,exploringthetapestried
forestsofthecurtainsandsingingsongsinpraiseoflibertyfromcorniceandpicturerail.
"It'snouseyourtryingtocatchhim,"saidEustacetoMrs.Merrit,asshecameintothe
study one afternoon towards dusk with a stepladder. "You'd much better leave Peter
alone.Starvehimintosurrender,Mrs.Merrit,anddon'tleavebananasandseedaboutfor
himtopeckatwhenhefancieshe'shungry.You'refartoosofthearted."
"Well,sir,Iseehe'srightoutofreachnowonthatpicturerail,soifyouwouldn'tmind
closing the door, sir, when you leave the room, I'll bring his cage in tonight and put
somemeatinsideit.He'sthatfondofmeat,thoughitdoesmakehimpullouthisfeathers
tosuckthequills.Theydosaythatifyoucook"
"Never mind, Mrs. Merrit," said Eustace, who was busy writing. "That will do I'll
keepaneyeonthebird."
Therewassilenceintheroom,unbrokenbutforthecontinuouswhisperofhispen.
"ScratchpoorPeter,"saidthebird."ScratchpooroldPeter!"
"Bequiet,youbeastlybird!"
"PooroldPeter!ScratchpoorPeter,do."
"I'mmorelikelytowringyourneckifIgetholdofyou."Helookedupatthepicture
rail, and there was the hand holding on to a hook with three fingers, and slowly
scratchingthe head of the parrot with the fourth. Eustace ran to the bell andpressedit
hardthenacrosstothewindow,whichheclosedwithabang.Frightenedbythenoise
theparrotshookitswingspreparatorytoflight,andasitdidsothefingersofthehand
gotholdofitbythethroat.TherewasashrillscreamfromPeterasheflutteredacrossthe
room,wheelingroundincirclesthateverdescended,bornedownundertheweightthat
clung to him. The bird dropped at last quite suddenly, and Eustace saw fingers and
feathers rolled into an inextricable mass on the floor. The struggle abruptly ceased as
fingerandthumb squeezed the neck the bird's eyes rolled up to show the whites, and
therewasafaint,halfchokedgurgle.Butbeforethefingershadtimetoloosetheirhold,
Eustacehadtheminhisown.
"SendMr.Saundershereatonce,"hesaidtothemaidwhocameinanswertothebell.
"TellhimIwanthimimmediately."
Thenhewentwiththehandtothefire.Therewasaraggedgashacrossthebackwhere
thebird'sbeakhadtornit,butnobloodoozedfromthewound.Henoticedwithdisgust
thatthenailshadgrownlonganddiscolored.
"I'llburnthebeastlything,"hesaid.Buthecouldnotburnit.Hetriedtothrowitinto
theflames,buthisownhands,asifrestrainedbysomeoldprimitivefeeling,wouldnot
let him. And so Saunders found him pale and irresolute, with the hand still clasped
tightlyinhisfingers.
"I'vegotitatlast,"hesaidinatoneoftriumph.
"Goodlet'shavealookatit."
"Notwhenit'sloose.Getmesomenailsandahammerandaboardofsomesort."
"Canyouholditallright?"
"Yes,thething'squitelimptiredoutwiththrottlingpooroldPeter,Ishouldsay."
"And now," said Saunders when he returned with the things, "what are we going to
do?"
"Driveanailthroughitfirst,sothatitcan'tgetawaythenwecantakeourtimeover
examiningit."
"Do it yourself," said Saunders. "I don't mind helping you with guineapigs
occasionallywhenthere'ssomethingtobelearnedpartlybecauseIdon'tfearaguinea
pig'srevenge.Thisthing'sdifferent."
"Allright,youmiserableskunk.Iwon'tforgetthewayyou'vestoodbyme."
Hetookupanail,andbeforeSaundershadrealisedwhathewasdoinghaddrivenit
throughthehand,deepintotheboard.
"Oh,myaunt,"hegiggledhysterically,"lookatitnow,"forthehandwaswrithingin
agonizedcontortions,squirmingandwrigglinguponthenaillikeawormuponthehook.
"Well,"saidSaunders,"you'vedoneitnow.I'llleaveyoutoexamineit."
"Don't go, in heaven's name. Cover it up, man, cover it up! Shove a cloth over it!
Here!"andhepulledofftheantimacassarfromthebackofachairandwrappedtheboard
init."Nowgetthekeysfrommypocketandopenthesafe.Chucktheotherthingsout.
Oh,Lord,it'sgettingitselfintofrightfulknots!andopenitquick!"Hethrewthethingin
andbangedthedoor.
"We'llkeepittheretillitdies,"hesaid."MayIburninhellifIeveropenthedoorof
thatsafeagain."
Mrs. Merrit departed at the end of the month. Her successor certainly was more
successful in the management of the servants. Early in her rule she declared that she
would stand no nonsense, and gossip soon withered and died. Eustace Borlsover went
back to his old way of life. Old habits crept over and covered his new experience. He
was,ifanything,lessmorose,andshowedagreaterinclinationtotakehisnaturalpartin
countrysociety.
"Ishouldn'tbesurprisedifhemarriesoneofthesedays,"saidSaunders."Well,I'min
nohurryforsuchanevent.IknowEustacefartoowellforthefutureMrs.Borlsoverto
likeme.Itwillbethesameoldstoryagain:alongfriendshipslowlymademarriage
andalongfriendshipquicklyforgotten."
IV
ButEustaceBorlsoverdidnotfollowtheadviceofhisuncleandmarry.Hewastoo
fondofoldslippersandtobacco.Thecooking,too,underMrs.Handyside'smanagement
wasexcellent,and she seemed, too, to have a heavensent faculty in knowing when to
stopdusting.
Littlebylittletheoldliferesumeditsoldpower.Thencametheburglary.Themen,it
wassaid,brokeintothehousebywayoftheconservatory.Itwasreallylittlemorethan
an attempt, for they only succeeded in carrying away a few pieces of plate from the
pantry.Thesafeinthestudywascertainlyfoundopenandempty,but,asMr.Borlsover
informed the police inspector, he had kept nothing of value in it during the last six
months.
"Then you're lucky in getting off so easily, sir," the man replied. "By the way they
have gone about their business, I should say they were experienced cracksmen. They
musthavecaughtthealarmwhentheywerejustbeginningtheirevening'swork."
"Yes,"saidEustace,"IsupposeIamlucky."
"I'venodoubt,"saidtheinspector,"thatweshallbeabletotracethemen.I'vesaidthat
they must have been old hands at the game. The way they got in and opened the safe
showsthat.Butthere'sonelittlethingthatpuzzlesme.Oneofthemwascarelessenough
nottoweargloves,andI'mbotheredifIknowwhathewastryingtodo.I'vetracedhis
fingermarksonthe new varnish on the window sashes in every one of the downstairs
rooms.Theyareverydistinctonestoo."
"Righthandorleft,orboth?"askedEustace.
"Oh,righteverytime.That'sthefunnything.Hemusthavebeenafoolhardyfellow,
andIratherthinkitwashimthatwrotethat."Hetookoutaslipofpaperfromhispocket.
"That'swhathewrote,sir.'I'vegotout,EustaceBorlsover,butI'llbebackbeforelong.'
Somegaolbirdjustescaped,Isuppose.Itwillmakeitalltheeasierforustotracehim.
Doyouknowthewriting,sir?"
"No,"saidEustace"it'snotthewritingofanyoneIknow."
"I'mnotgoingtostayhereanylonger,"saidEustacetoSaundersatluncheon."I'vegot
onfarbetterduringthelastsixmonthsthaneverIexpected,butI'mnotgoingtorunthe
riskofseeingthatthingagain.Ishallgouptotownthisafternoon.GetMortontoputmy
things together, and join me with the car at Brighton on the day after tomorrow. And
bringtheproofsofthosetwopaperswithyou.We'llrunoverthemtogether."
"Howlongareyougoingtobeaway?"
"I can't say for certain, but be prepared to stay for some time. We've stuck to work
prettycloselythroughthesummer,andIforoneneedaholiday.I'llengagetheroomsat
Brighton.You'llfinditbesttobreakthejourneyatHitchin.I'llwiretoyouthereatthe
CrowntotellyoutheBrightonaddress."
ThehousehechoseatBrightonwasinaterrace.Hehadbeentherebefore.Itwaskept
by his old college gyp, a man of discreet silence, who was admirably partnered by an
excellentcook.Theroomswereonthefirstfloor.Thetwobedroomswereattheback,
andopenedoutofeachother."Saunderscanhavethesmallerone,thoughitistheonly
onewithafireplace,"hesaid."I'llsticktothelargerofthetwo,sinceit'sgotabathroom
adjoining.Iwonderwhattimehe'llarrivewiththecar."
Saunderscameaboutseven,coldandcrossanddirty."We'lllightthefireinthedining
room,"saidEustace,"andgetPrincetounpacksomeofthethingswhileweareatdinner.
Whatweretheroadslike?"
"Rottenswimmingwithmud,andabeastlycoldwindagainstusallday.Andthisis
July.DearoldEngland!"
"Yes,"saidEustace,"IthinkwemightdoworsethanleavedearoldEnglandforafew
months."
Theyturnedinsoonaftertwelve.
"Yououghtn'ttofeelcold,Saunders,"saidEustace,"whenyou canaffordtosport a
greatcatskinlinedcoatlikethis.Youdoyourselfverywell,allthingsconsidered.Look
atthosegloves,forinstance.Whocouldpossiblyfeelcoldwhenwearingthem?"
"Theyarefartooclumsythoughfordriving.Trythemonandsee,"andhetossedthem
throughthedoorontoEustace'sbed,andwentonwithhisunpacking.Aminutelaterhe
heard a shrill cry of terror. "Oh, Lord," he heard, "it's in the glove! Quick, Saunders,
quick!" Then came a smacking thud. Eustace had thrown it from him. "I've chucked it
intothebathroom,"hegasped,"it'shitthewallandfallenintothebath.Comenowifyou
wanttohelp."Saunders,withalightedcandleinhishand,lookedovertheedgeofthe
bath.Thereitwas,oldandmaimed,dumbandblind,witharaggedholeinthemiddle,
crawling,staggering,tryingtocreepuptheslipperysides,onlytofallbackhelpless.
"Staythere,"saidSaunders."I'llemptyacollarboxorsomething,andwe'lljamitin.
Itcan'tgetoutwhileI'maway."
"Yes,itcan,"shouted Eustace. "It's getting out now. It'sclimbing up the plug chain.
No,youbrute,youfilthybrute,youdon't!Comeback,Saunders,it'sgettingawayfrom
me.Ican'tholditit'sallslippery.Curseitsclaw!Shutthewindow,youidiot!Thetop
too, as well as the bottom. You utter idiot! It's got out!" There was the sound of
somethingdroppingontothehardflagstonesbelow,andEustacefellbackfainting.
Forafortnighthewasill.
"Idon'tknowwhattomakeofit,"thedoctorsaidtoSaunders."Icanonlysupposethat
Mr. Borlsover has suffered some great emotional shock. You had better let me send
someonetohelpyounursehim.Andbyallmeansindulgethatwhimofhisnevertobe
leftaloneinthedark.IwouldkeepalightburningallnightifIwereyou.Buthemust
havemorefreshair.It'sperfectlyabsurdthishatredofopenwindows."
Eustace,however,wouldhavenoonewithhimbutSaunders."Idon'twanttheother
men,"hesaid."They'dsmuggleitinsomehow.Iknowtheywould."
"Don'tworryaboutit,oldchap.Thissortofthingcan'tgoonindefinitely.YouknowI
sawitthistimeaswellasyou.Itwasn'thalfsoactive.Itwon'tgoonlivingmuchlonger,
especiallyafterthatfall.Iheardithittheflagsmyself.Assoonasyou'reabitstronger
we'llleavethisplacenotbagand baggage, but with only the clothes on our backs, so
that it won't be able to hide anywhere. We'll escape it that way. We won't give any
address,andwewon'thaveanyparcelssentafterus.Cheerup,Eustace!You'llbewell
enough to leave in a day or two. The doctor says I can take you out in a chair to
morrow."
"WhathaveIdone?"askedEustace."Whydoesitcomeafterme?I'mnoworsethan
othermen.I'mnoworsethanyou,SaundersyouknowI'mnot.Itwasyouwhowereat
thebottomofthatdirtybusinessinSanDiego,andthatwasfifteenyearsago."
"It'snotthat,ofcourse,"saidSaunders."Weareinthetwentiethcentury,andeventhe
parsonshavedroppedtheideaof youroldsinsfinding you out. Before you caught the
handinthelibraryitwasfilledwithpuremalevolencetoyouand all mankind. After
you spiked it through with that nail it naturally forgot about other people, and
concentrated its attention on you. It was shut up in the safe, you know, for nearly six
months.Thatgivesplentyoftimeforthinkingofrevenge."
Eustace Borlsover would not leave his room, but he thought that there might be
somethinginSaunders'ssuggestiontoleaveBrightonwithoutnotice.Hebeganrapidlyto
regainhisstrength.
"We'llgoonthefirstofSeptember,"hesaid.
TheeveningofAugust31stwasoppressivelywarm.Thoughatmiddaythewindows
hadbeenwideopen,theyhadbeenshutanhourorsobeforedusk.Mrs.Princehadlong
sinceceasedtowonderatthestrangehabitsofthegentlemenonthefirstfloor.Soonafter
their arrival she had been told to take down the heavy window curtains in the two
bedrooms,anddaybydaytheroomshadseemedtogrowmorebare.Nothingwasleft
lyingabout.
"Mr. Borlsover doesn't like to have any place where dirt can collect," Saunders had
saidasanexcuse."Helikestoseeintoallthecornersoftheroom."
"Couldn't I open the window just a little?" he said to Eustace that evening. "We're
simplyroastinginhere,youknow."
"No, leave well alone. We're not a couple of boardingschool misses fresh from a
courseofhygienelectures.Getthechessboardout."
Theysatdownandplayed.Atteno'clockMrs.Princecametothedoorwithanote."I
amsorryIdidn'tbringitbefore,"shesaid,"butitwasleftintheletterbox."
"Openit,Saunders,andseeifitwantsanswering."
Itwasverybrief.Therewasneitheraddressnorsignature.
"Willeleveno'clocktonightbesuitableforourlastappointment?"
"Whoisitfrom?"askedBorlsover.
"Itwasmeantforme,"saidSaunders."There'snoanswer,Mrs.Prince,"andheputthe
paperintohispocket."AdunningletterfromatailorIsupposehemusthavegotwindof
ourleaving."
It was a clever lie, and Eustace asked no more questions. They went on with their
game.
On the landing outside Saunders could hear the grandfather's clock whispering the
seconds,blurtingoutthequarterhours.
"Check!"saidEustace.Theclockstruckeleven.Atthesametimetherewasagentle
knockingonthedooritseemedtocomefromthebottompanel.
"Who'sthere?"askedEustace.
Therewasnoanswer.
"Mrs.Prince,isthatyou?"
"Sheisupabove,"saidSaunders"Icanhearherwalkingabouttheroom."
"Thenlockthedoorboltittoo.Yourmove,Saunders."
While Saunders sat with his eyes on the chessboard, Eustace walked over to the
window and examined the fastenings. He did the same in Saunders's room and the
bathroom. There were no doors between the three rooms, or he would have shut and
lockedthemtoo.
"Now,Saunders,"hesaid,"don'tstayallnightoveryourmove.I'vehadtimetosmoke
onecigarettealready.It'sbadtokeepaninvalidwaiting.There'sonlyonepossiblething
foryoutodo.Whatwasthat?"
"Theivyblowingagainstthewindow.There,it'syourmovenow,Eustace."
"Itwasn'ttheivy,youidiot.Itwassomeonetappingatthewindow,"andhepulledup
theblind.Ontheoutersideofthewindow,clingingtothesash,wasthehand.
"Whatisitthatit'sholding?"
"It'sapocketknife.It'sgoingtotrytoopenthewindowbypushingbackthefastener
withtheblade."
"Well,letittry,"saidEustace."Thosefastenersscrewdowntheycan'tbeopenedthat
way.Anyhow,we'llclosetheshutters.It'syourmove,Saunders.I'veplayed."
But Saunders found it impossible to fix his attention on the game. He could not
understandEustace,whoseemedallatonceto have lost his fear. "What do you say to
somewine?"heasked."Youseemtobetakingthingscoolly,butIdon'tmindconfessing
thatI'minablessedfunk."
"You'venoneedtobe.There'snothingsupernaturalaboutthathand,Saunders.Imean
it seems to be governed by the laws of time and space. It's not the sort of thing that
vanishesintothinairorslidesthroughoakendoors.Andsincethat'sso,Idefyittogetin
here.We'llleavetheplaceinthemorning.Iforonehavebottomedthedepthsoffear.Fill
yourglass,man!Thewindowsareallshuttered,thedoorislockedandbolted.Pledgeme
myuncleAdrian!Drink,man!Whatareyouwaitingfor?"
Saunderswasstandingwithhisglasshalfraised."Itcangetin,"hesaidhoarsely"it
cangetin!We'veforgotten.There'sthefireplaceinmybedroom.Itwillcomedownthe
chimney."
"Quick!"saidEustace,asherushedintotheotherroom"wehaven'taminutetolose.
Whatcanwedo?Lightthefire,Saunders.Givemeamatch,quick!"
"Theymustbeallintheotherroom.I'llgetthem."
"Hurry,man,forgoodness'sake!Lookinthebookcase!Lookinthebathroom!Here,
comeandstandhereI'lllook."
"Bequick!"shoutedSaunders."Icanhearsomething!"
"Thenplugasheetfromyourbedupthechimney.No,here'samatch."Hehadfound
oneatlastthathadslippedintoacrackinthefloor.
"Is the fire laid? Good, but it may not burn. I knowthe oil from that old reading
lamp and this cottonwool. Now the match, quick! Pull the sheet away, you fool! We
don'twantitnow."
There was a great roar from the grate as the flames shot up. Saunders had been a
fraction of a second too late with the sheet. The oil had fallen on to it. It, too, was
burning.
"Thewholeplacewillbeonfire!"criedEustace,ashetriedtobeatouttheflameswith
a blanket. "It's no good! I can't manage it. You must open the door, Saunders, and get
help."
Saundersrantothedoorandfumbledwiththebolts.Thekeywasstiffinthelock.
"Hurry!"shoutedEustace"thewholeplaceisablaze!"
Thekeyturnedinthelockatlast.ForhalfasecondSaunders stopped to look back.
Afterwards he could never be quite sure as to what he had seen, but at the time he
thought that something black and charred was creeping slowly, very slowly, from the
massofflamestowardsEustaceBorlsover.Foramomenthethoughtofreturningtohis
friend, but the noise and the smell of the burning sent him running down the passage
crying, "Fire! Fire!" He rushed to the telephone to summon help, and then back to the
bathroomhe should have thought of that beforefor water. As he burst open the
bedroomdoortherecameascreamofterrorwhichendedsuddenly,andthenthesoundof
aheavyfall.
TheMassofShadows
BYANATOLEFRANCE
From Mother of Pearl, by Anatole France. Copyright by John Lane

Company.Bypermissionofthepublishers.
ThistalethesacristanofthechurchofSt.EulalieatNeuvilled'Aumonttoldme,aswe
satunderthearboroftheWhiteHorse,onefinesummerevening,drinkingabottleofold
winetothehealthofthedeadman,nowverymuchathisease,whomthatverymorning
he had borne to the grave with full honors, beneath a pall powdered with smart silver
tears.
"Mypoorfatherwhoisdead"(itisthesacristanwhoisspeaking,)"wasinhislifetime
agravedigger.Hewasofanagreeabledisposition,theresult,nodoubt,ofthecallinghe
followed,forithasoftenbeenpointedoutthatpeoplewhoworkincemeteriesareofa
jovial turn. Death has no terrors for them they never give it a thought. I, for instance,
monsieur,enteracemeteryatnightaslittleperturbedasthoughitwerethearborofthe
White Horse. And if by chance I meet with a ghost, I don't disturb myself in the least
aboutit,forIreflectthathemayjustaslikelyhavebusinessofhisowntoattendtoasI.I
know the habits of the dead, and I know their character. Indeed, so far as that goes, I
knowthingsofwhichtheprieststhemselvesareignorant.IfIweretotellyouallIhave
seen,youwouldbeastounded.Butastilltonguemakesawisehead,andmyfather,who,
allthesame, delighted in spinning a yarn, did not disclose a twentieth part of what he
knew.Tomakeupforthisheoftenrepeatedthesamestories,andtomyknowledgehe
toldthestoryofCatherineFontaineatleastahundredtimes.
"CatherineFontainewasanoldmaidwhomhewellrememberedhavingseenwhenhe
wasamerechild.Ishouldnotbesurprisediftherewerestill,perhaps,threeoldfellows
in the district who could remember having heard folks speak of her, for she was very
wellknownandofexcellentreputation,thoughpoorenough.Shelivedatthecornerof
theRueauxNonnes,intheturretwhichisstilltobeseenthere,andwhichformedpartof
anoldhalfruinedmansionlookingontothegardenoftheUrsulinenuns.Onthatturret
can still be traced certain figures and halfobliterated inscriptions. The late cur of St.
Eulalie,MonsieurLevasseur,assertedthattherearethewordsinLatin,Loveisstronger
thandeath,'whichistobeunderstood,'sohewouldadd,'ofdivinelove.'
"CatherineFontainelivedbyherselfinthistinyapartment.Shewasalacemaker.You
know,ofcourse,thatthelacemadeinourpartoftheworldwasformerlyheldinhigh
esteem.Nooneknewanythingofherrelativesorfriends.Itwasreportedthatwhenshe
waseighteenyearsofageshehadlovedtheyoungChevalier d'AumontClry, and had
beensecretlyaffiancedtohim.Butdecentfolkdidn'tbelieveawordofit,andsaiditwas
nothingbutataleconcoctedbecauseCatherineFontaine'sdemeanorwasthatofalady
ratherthanthatofaworkingwoman,andbecause,moreover,shepossessedbeneathher
whitelockstheremainsofgreatbeauty.Herexpressionwassorrowful,andononefinger
sheworeoneofthoseringsfashionedbythegoldsmithintothesemblanceoftwotiny
handsclaspedtogether.Informerdaysfolkswereaccustomedtoexchangesuchringsat
theirbetrothalceremony.IamsureyouknowthesortofthingImean.
"CatherineFontainelivedasaintlylife.Shespentagreatdealoftimeinchurches,and
everymorning,whatevermightbetheweather,shewenttoassistatthesixo'clockMass
atSt.Eulalie.
"NowoneDecembernight,whilstshewasinherlittlechamber,shewasawakenedby
the sound of bells, and nothing doubting that they were ringing for the first Mass, the
piouswomandressedherself,andcamedownstairsandoutintothestreet.Thenightwas
soobscurethatnoteventhewallsofthehouseswerevisible,andnotarayoflightshone
fromthemurkysky.Andsuchwasthesilenceamidthisblackdarkness,thattherewas
noteventhesoundofadistantdogbarking,andafeelingofaloofnessfromeveryliving
creature was perceptible. But Catherine Fontaine knew well every single stone she
steppedon,and,asshecouldhavefoundherwaytothechurchwithhereyesshut,she
reachedwithoutdifficultythecorneroftheRueauxNonnesandtheRuedelaParoisse,
where the timbered house stands with the tree of Jesse carved on one of its massive
beams.Whenshereachedthisspotsheperceivedthatthechurchdoorswereopen,and
thatagreatlightwasstreamingoutfromthewaxtapers.Sheresumedherjourney,and
when she had passed through the porch she found herself in the midst of a vast
congregation which entirely filled the church. But she did not recognize any of the
worshipersandwassurprisedtoobservethatallofthesepeopleweredressedinvelvets
andbrocades,withfeathersintheirhats,andthattheyworeswordsinthefashionofdays
goneby.Hereweregentlemenwhocarriedtallcaneswithgoldknobs, and ladies with
lace caps fastened with coronetshaped combs. Chevaliers of the Order of St. Louis
extendedtheirhands to these ladies, who concealed behind their fans painted faces, of
whichonlythepowderedbrowandthepatchatthecorneroftheeyewerevisible!Allof
them proceeded to take their places without the slightest sound, and as they moved
neither the sound of their footsteps on the pavement, nor the rustle of their garments
could be heard. The lower places were filled with a crowd of young artisans in brown
jackets,dimitybreeches,andbluestockings,withtheirarmsroundthewaistsofpretty
blushing girls who lowered their eyes. Near the holy water stoups peasant women, in
scarlet petticoats and laced bodices, sat upon the ground as immovable as domestic
animals,whilstyounglads,standingupbehindthem,staredoutfromwideopeneyesand
twirledtheirhatsroundandroundontheirfingers,andallthesesorrowfulcountenances
seemedcentredirremovablyononeandthesamethought,atoncesweetandsorrowful.
Onherknees,inheraccustomedplace,CatherineFontainesawthepriestadvancetoward
the altar, preceded by two servers. She recognized neither priest nor clerks. The Mass
began.ItwasasilentMass,duringwhichneitherthesoundofthemovinglipsnorthe
tinkleofthebellwasaudible.CatherineFontainefeltthatshewasundertheobservation
andtheinfluencealsoofhermysteriousneighbor,andwhen,scarcelyturningherhead,
shestoleaglanceathim,sherecognizedtheyoungChevalierd'AumontClry,whohad
oncelovedher,andwhohadbeendeadforfiveandfortyyears.Sherecognizedhimbya
smallmarkwhichhehadovertheleftear,andaboveallbytheshadowwhichhislong
blackeyelashescastuponhischeeks.Hewasdressedinhishuntingclothes,scarletwith
gold lace, the very clothes he wore that day when he met her in St. Leonard's Wood,
beggedofheradrink,andstoleakiss.Hehadpreservedhisyouthandgoodlooks.When
hesmiled,hestilldisplayedmagnificentteeth.Catherinesaidtohiminanundertone:
"'Monseigneur,youwhoweremyfriend,andtowhomindaysgonebyIgaveallthata
girlholdsmostdear,mayGodkeepyouinHisgrace!O,thatHewouldatlengthinspire
mewithregretforthesinIcommittedinyieldingtoyouforitisafactthat,thoughmy
hairiswhiteandIapproachmyend,Ihavenotyetrepentedofhavinglovedyou.But,
deardeadfriendandnobleseigneur,tellme,whoarethesefolk,habitedaftertheantique
fashion,whoarehereassistingatthissilentMass?'
"TheChevalierd'AumontClryrepliedinavoicefeeblerthanabreath,butnonethe
lesscrystalclear:
"'Catherine,thesemenandwomenaresoulsfrompurgatorywhohavegrievedGodby
sinning as we ourselves sinned through love of the creature, but who are not on that
accountcastoffbyGod,inasmuchastheirsin,likeours,wasnotdeliberate.
"'Whilst separated from those whom they loved upon earth, they are purified in the
cleansingfiresofpurgatory,theysufferthepangsofabsence,whichisforthemthemost
cruelof tortures. They are so unhappy that an angel from heaven takes pity upon their
lovetorment.BythepermissionoftheMostHigh,foronehourinthenight,hereunites
eachyearlovertolovedintheirparishchurch,wheretheyarepermittedtoassistatthe
MassofShadows,handclaspedinhand.Thesearethefacts.Ifithasbeengrantedtome
toseetheebeforethydeath,Catherine,itisaboonwhichisbestowedbyGod'sspecial
permission.'
"AndCatherineFontaineansweredhim:
"'I would die gladly enough, dear, dead lord, if I might recover the beauty that was
minewhenIgaveyoutodrinkintheforest.'
"Whilst they thus conversed under their breath, a very old canon was taking the
collectionandprofferingtotheworshipersagreatcopperdish,whereintheyletfall,each
inhisturn,ancientcoinswhichhavelongsinceceasedtopasscurrent:cusofsixlivres,
florins,ducatsandducatoons,jacobusesandrosenobles,andthepiecesfellsilentlyinto
the dish. When at length it was placed before the Chevalier, he dropped into it a louis
whichmadenomoresoundthanhadtheotherpiecesofgoldandsilver.
"Then the old canon stopped before Catherine Fontaine, who fumbled in her pocket
without being able to find a farthing. Then, being unwilling to allow the dish to pass
withoutanofferingfromherself,sheslippedfromherfingertheringwhichtheChevalier
hadgivenherthedaybeforehisdeath,andcastitintothecopperbowl.Asthegolden
ring fell, a sound like the heavy clang of a bell rang out, and on the stroke of this
reverberation the Chevalier, the canon, the celebrant, the servers, the ladies and their
cavaliers,thewholeassemblyvanishedutterlythecandlesgutteredout,andCatherine
Fontainewasleftaloneinthedarkness."
Havingconcludedhisnarrativeafterthisfashion,thesacristandrankalongdraughtof
wine,remainedpensiveforamoment,andthenresumedhistalkinthesewords:
"Ihavetoldyouthistaleexactlyasmyfatherhastoldittomeoverandoveragain,
and I believe that it is authentic, because it agrees in all respects with what I have
observedofthe manners and customs peculiar to those who have passed away. I have
associatedagooddealwiththedeadeversincemychildhood,andIknowthattheyare
accustomedtoreturntowhattheyhaveloved.
"Itisonthisaccountthatthemiserlydeadwanderatnightintheneighborhoodofthe
treasurestheyconcealduringtheirlifetime.Theykeepastrictwatchovertheirgoldbut
the trouble they give themselves, far from being of service to them, turns to their
disadvantageanditisnotararethingatalltocomeuponmoneyburiedinthegroundon
digginginaplacehauntedbyaghost.Inthesamewaydeceasedhusbandscomebynight
toharasstheirwiveswhohavemadeasecondmatrimonial venture, and I could easily
nameseveralwhohavekeptabetterwatchovertheirwivessincedeaththantheyever
didwhileliving.
"Thatsortofthingisblameworthy,forinallfairnessthedeadhavenobusinesstostir
upjealousies.StillIdobuttellyouwhatIhaveobservedmyself.Itisamattertotake
intoaccountifonemarriesawidow.Besides,thetaleIhavetoldyouisvouchsafedforin
themannerfollowing:
"ThemorningafterthatextraordinarynightCatherineFontainewasdiscovereddeadin
herchamber.AndthebeadleattachedtoSt.Eulaliefoundinthecopperbowlusedforthe
collectionagoldringwithtwoclaspedhands.Besides,I'mnotthekindofmantomake
jokes.Supposeweorderanotherbottleofwine?..."
WhatWasIt?
BYFITZJAMESO'BRIEN
It is, I confess, with considerable diffidence, that I approach the strange narrative
whichIamabouttorelate.TheeventswhichIpurposedetailingareofsoextraordinarya
character that I am quite prepared to meet with an unusual amount of incredulity and
scorn.Iacceptallsuchbeforehand.Ihave,Itrust,theliterarycouragetofaceunbelief.I
have,aftermatureconsiderationresolvedtonarrate,inassimpleand straightforward a
mannerasIcancompass,somefactsthatpassedundermyobservation,inthemonthof
July last, and which, in the annals of the mysteries of physical science, are wholly
unparalleled.
IliveatNo.TwentysixthStreet,inNewYork.Thehouseisinsomerespectsa
curiousone.Ithasenjoyedforthelasttwoyearsthereputationofbeinghaunted.Itisa
large and stately residence, surrounded by what was once a garden, but which is now
only a green enclosure used for bleaching clothes. The dry basin of what has been a
fountain,andafewfruittreesraggedandunpruned,indicatethatthisspot in past days
was a pleasant, shady retreat, filled with fruits and flowers and the sweet murmur of
waters.
The house is very spacious. A hall of noble size leads to a large spiral staircase
windingthroughitscenter,whilethevariousapartmentsareofimposingdimensions.It
wasbuiltsomefifteenortwentyyearssincebyMr.A,thewellknownNewYork
merchant, who five years ago threw the commercial world into convulsions by a
stupendousbankfraud.Mr.A,aseveryoneknows,escapedtoEurope,anddiednot
longafter,ofabrokenheart.Almostimmediatelyafterthenewsofhisdeceasereached
thiscountryandwasverified,thereportspreadinTwentysixthStreetthatNo.was
haunted. Legal measures had dispossessed the widow of its former owner, and it was
inhabitedmerelybyacaretakerandhiswife,placedtherebythehouseagentintowhose
handsithadpassedforthepurposesofrentingorsale.Thesepeopledeclaredthatthey
weretroubledwithunnaturalnoises.Doorswereopenedwithoutanyvisibleagency.The
remnantsoffurniturescatteredthroughthevariousroomswere,during the night, piled
one upon the other by unknown hands. Invisible feet passed up and down the stairs in
broad daylight, accompanied by the rustle of unseen silk dresses, and the gliding of
viewless hands along the massive balusters. The caretaker and his wife declared they
wouldlivetherenolonger.Thehouseagentlaughed,dismissedthem,andputothersin
their place. The noises and supernatural manifestations continued. The neighborhood
caughtupthestory,andthehouseremaineduntenantedforthreeyears.Severalpersons
negotiated for it but, somehow, always before the bargain was closed they heard the
unpleasantrumorsanddeclinedtotreatanyfurther.
Itwasinthisstateofthingsthatmylandlady,whoatthattimekeptaboardinghouse
inBleeckerStreet,andwhowishedtomovefurtheruptown,conceivedtheboldideaof
rentingNo. Twentysixth Street. Happening to have in her house rather a plucky
and philosophical set of boarders, she laid her scheme before us, stating candidly
everythingshehadheardrespectingtheghostlyqualitiesoftheestablishmenttowhich
shewishedtoremoveus.Withtheexceptionoftwotimidpersons,aseacaptainanda
returnedCalifornian,whoimmediately gave notice that they would leave,all of Mrs.
Moffat's guests declared that they would accompany her in her chivalric incursion into
theabodeofspirits.
OurremovalwaseffectedinthemonthofMay,andwewerecharmedwithournew
residence. The portion of Twentysixth Street where our house is situated, between
Seventh and Eighth Avenues, is one of the pleasantest localities in New York. The
gardens back of the houses, running down nearly to the Hudson, form, in the summer
time,aperfectavenueofverdure.Theairispureandinvigorating,sweeping,asitdoes,
straightacrosstheriverfromtheWeehawkenheights,andeventheraggedgardenwhich
surroundedthehouse,althoughdisplayingonwashingdaysrathertoomuchclothesline,
stillgaveusapieceofgreenswardtolookat,andacoolretreatinthesummerevenings,
where we smoked our cigars in the dusk, and watched the fireflies flashing their dark
lanternsinthelonggrass.
OfcoursewehadnosoonerestablishedourselvesatNo.thanwebegantoexpect
ghosts.Weabsolutelyawaitedtheiradventwitheagerness.Ourdinnerconversationwas
supernatural.Oneoftheboarders,whohadpurchasedMrs.Crowe'sNightSideofNature
forhisownprivatedelectation,wasregardedasapublicenemybytheentirehousehold
fornothavingboughttwentycopies.Themanledalifeofsupremewretchednesswhile
hewasreadingthisvolume.Asystemofespionagewasestablished,ofwhichhewasthe
victim. If he incautiously laid the book down for an instant and left the room, it was
immediately seized and read aloud in secret places to a select few. I found myself a
personofimmenseimportance,ithavingleakedoutthatIwastolerablywellversedin
thehistoryofsupernaturalism,andhadoncewrittenastorythefoundationofwhichwas
aghost.Ifatableorawainscotpanelhappenedtowarpwhenwewereassembledinthe
large drawingroom, there was an instant silence, and everyone was prepared for an
immediateclankingofchainsandaspectralform.
Afteramonthofpsychologicalexcitement,itwaswiththeutmostdissatisfactionthat
we were forced to acknowledge that nothing in the remotest degree approaching the
supernaturalhadmanifesteditself.Oncetheblackbutlerasseveratedthathiscandlehad
beenblownoutbysomeinvisibleagencywhilehewasundressinghimselfforthenight
butasIhadmorethanoncediscoveredthiscoloredgentlemaninaconditionwhenone
candle must have appeared to him like two, thought it possible that, by going a step
furtherinhispotations,hemighthavereversedthisphenomenon,andseennocandleat
allwhereheoughttohavebeheldone.
Thingswereinthisstatewhenanaccidenttookplacesoawfulandinexplicableinits
character that my reason fairly reels at the bare memory of the occurrence. It was the
tenth of July. After dinner was over I repaired, with my friend Dr. Hammond, to the
garden to smoke my evening pipe. Independent of certain mental sympathies which
existed between the Doctor and myself, we were linked together by a vice. We both
smokedopium.Wekneweachother'ssecret,andrespectedit.Weenjoyedtogetherthat
wonderfulexpansionofthought,thatmarvelousintensifyingoftheperceptivefaculties,
that boundless feeling of existence when we seem to have points of contact with the
wholeuniverse,inshort,thatunimaginablespiritualbliss,whichIwouldnotsurrender
forathrone,andwhichIhopeyou,reader,willnevernevertaste.
ThosehoursofopiumhappinesswhichtheDoctorandIspenttogetherinsecretwere
regulatedwithascientificaccuracy.Wedidnotblindlysmokethedrugofparadise,and
leave our dreams to chance. While smoking, we carefully steered our conversation
through the brightest and calmest channels of thought. We talked of the East, and
endeavoredtorecallthemagicalpanoramaofitsglowingscenery.Wecriticizedthemost
sensuous poets,those who painted life ruddy with health, brimming with passion,
happyinthepossessionofyouthandstrengthandbeauty.IfwetalkedofShakespeare's
Tempest,welingeredoverAriel,andavoidedCaliban.LiketheGuebers,weturnedour
facestotheEast,andsawonlythesunnysideoftheworld.
This skillful coloring of our train of thought produced in our subsequent visions a
correspondingtone.ThesplendorsofArabianfairylanddyedourdreams.Wepacedthe
narrow strip of grass with the tread and port of kings. The song of the Rana arborea,
while he clung to the bark of the ragged plumtree, sounded like the strains of divine
musicians.Houses,walls,andstreetsmeltedlikerainclouds,andvistasofunimaginable
glorystretchedawaybeforeus.Itwasarapturouscompanionship.Weenjoyedthevast
delightmoreperfectlybecause,eveninourmostecstaticmoments,wewereconsciousof
each other's presence. Our pleasures, while individual, were still twin, vibrating and
movinginmusicalaccord.
On the evening in question, the tenth of July, the Doctor and myself drifted into an
unusually metaphysical mood. We lit our large meerschaums, filled with fine Turkish
tobacco,inthecoreofwhichburnedalittleblacknutofopium,that,likethenutinthe
fairytale,heldwithinitsnarrowlimitswondersbeyondthereachofkingswepacedto
and fro, conversing. A strange perversity dominated the currents of our thought. They
would not flow through the sunlit channels into which we strove to divert them. For
some unaccountable reason, they constantly diverged into dark and lonesome beds,
where a continual gloom brooded. It was in vain that, after our old fashion, we flung
ourselvesontheshoresoftheEast,andtalkedofitsgaybazaars,ofthesplendorsofthe
timeofHaroun,ofharemsandgoldenpalaces.Blackafreetscontinuallyarosefromthe
depths of our talk, and expanded, like the one the fisherman released from the copper
vessel,untiltheyblottedeverythingbrightfromourvision.Insensibly,weyieldedtothe
occult force that swayed us, and indulged in gloomy speculation. We had talked some
timeuponthepronenessofthehumanmindtomysticism,andthealmostuniversallove
of the terrible, when Hammond suddenly said to me. "What do you consider to be the
greatestelementofterror?"
The question puzzled me. That many things were terrible, I knew. Stumbling over a
corpse in the dark beholding, as I once did, a woman floating down a deep and rapid
river,withwildlyliftedarms,andawful,upturnedface,uttering,asshedrifted, shrieks
thatrentone'sheartwhilewe,spectators,stoodfrozenatawindowwhichoverhungthe
riverataheightofsixtyfeet,unabletomaketheslightestefforttosaveher,butdumbly
watchingherlastsupremeagonyandherdisappearance.Ashatteredwreck,withnolife
visible,encounteredfloatinglistlesslyontheocean,isaterribleobject,foritsuggestsa
hugeterror,theproportionsofwhichareveiled.Butitnowstruckme,forthefirsttime,
thattheremustbeonegreatandrulingembodimentoffear,aKingofTerrors,towhich
allothersmustsuccumb.Whatmightitbe?Towhattrainofcircumstanceswoulditowe
itsexistence?
"Iconfess,Hammond,"Irepliedtomyfriend,"Ineverconsideredthesubjectbefore.
That there must be one Something more terrible than any other thing, I feel. I cannot
attempt,however,eventhemostvaguedefinition."
"I am somewhat like you, Harry," he answered. "I feel my capacity to experience a
terrorgreaterthananythingyetconceivedbythehumanmindsomethingcombiningin
fearful and unnatural amalgamation hitherto supposed incompatible elements. The
callingofthevoicesinBrockdenBrown'snovelofWielandisawfulsoisthepictureof
the Dweller of the Threshold, in Bulwer's Zanoni but," he added, shaking his head
gloomily,"thereissomethingmorehorriblestillthanthose."
"Lookhere,Hammond,"Irejoined,"letusdropthiskindoftalk,forHeaven'ssake!
Weshallsufferforit,dependonit."
"Idon'tknowwhat'sthematterwithmetonight,"hereplied,"butmybrainisrunning
uponallsortsofweirdandawfulthoughts.IfeelasifIcouldwriteastorylikeHoffman,
tonight,ifIwereonlymasterofaliterarystyle."
"Well, if we are going to be Hoffmanesque in our talk, I'm off to bed. Opium and
nightmaresshouldneverbebroughttogether.Howsultryitis!Goodnight,Hammond."
"Goodnight,Harry.Pleasantdreamstoyou."
"Toyou,gloomywretch,afreets,ghouls,andenchanters."
Weparted,andeachsoughthisrespectivechamber.Iundressedquicklyandgotinto
bed,takingwithme,accordingtomyusualcustom,abook,overwhichIgenerallyread
myselftosleep.IopenedthevolumeassoonasIhadlaidmyheaduponthepillow,and
instantlyflungittotheothersideoftheroom.ItwasGoudon'sHistoryofMonsters,a
curiousFrenchwork,whichIhadlatelyimportedfromParis,butwhich,inthestateof
mindIhadthenreached,wasanythingbutanagreeablecompanion.Iresolvedtogoto
sleep at once so, turning down my gas until nothing but a little blue point of light
glimmeredonthetopofthetube,Icomposedmyselftorest.
The room was in total darkness. The atom of gas that still remained alight did not
illuminateadistanceofthreeinchesroundtheburner.Idesperatelydrewmyarmacross
myeyes,asiftoshutouteventhedarkness,andtriedtothinkofnothing.Itwasinvain.
The confounded themes touched on by Hammond in the garden kept obtruding

themselvesonmybrain.Ibattledagainstthem.Ierectedrampartsofwouldbeblackness
ofintellecttokeepthemout.Theystillcrowdeduponme.While I was lying still as a
corpse,hopingthatbyaperfectphysicalinactionIshouldhastenmentalrepose,anawful
incidentoccurred.ASomethingdropped,asitseemed,fromtheceiling,plumbuponmy
chest, and the next instant I felt two bony hands encircling my throat, endeavoring to
chokeme.
Iamnocoward,andampossessedofconsiderablephysicalstrength.Thesuddenness
oftheattack,insteadofstunningme,strungeverynervetoitshighesttension.Mybody
actedfrominstinct,beforemybrainhadtimetorealizetheterrorsofmyposition.Inan
instant I wound two muscular arms around the creature, and squeezed it, with all the
strengthofdespair,againstmychest.Inafewsecondsthebonyhandsthathadfastened
onmythroatloosenedtheirhold,andIwasfreetobreatheoncemore.Thencommenced
astruggleofawfulintensity.Immersedinthemostprofounddarkness,totallyignorantof
thenatureoftheThingbywhichIwassosuddenlyattacked,findingmygraspslipping
everymoment,byreason,itseemedtome,oftheentirenakednessofmyassailant,bitten
with sharp teeth in the shoulder, neck, and chest, having every moment to protect my
throatagainstapairofsinewy,agilehands,whichmyutmosteffortscouldnotconfine,
these were a combination of circumstances to combat which required all the strength,
skill,andcouragethatIpossessed.
Atlast,afterasilent,deadly,exhaustingstruggle,Igotmyassailantunderbyaseries
ofincredibleeffortsofstrength.Oncepinned,withmykneeonwhatImadeouttobeits
chest, I knew that I was victor. I rested for a moment to breathe. I heard the creature
beneath me panting in the darkness, and felt the violent throbbing of a heart. It was
apparentlyasexhaustedasIwasthatwasonecomfort.AtthismomentIremembered
that I usually placed under my pillow, before going to bed, a large yellow silk pocket
handkerchief. I felt for it instantly it was there. In a few seconds more I had, after a
fashion,pinionedthecreature'sarms.
Inowfelttolerablysecure.Therewasnothingmoretobedonebuttoturnonthegas,
and,havingfirstseenwhatmymidnightassailantwaslike,arousethehousehold.Iwill
confesstobeingactuatedbyacertainprideinnotgivingthealarmbeforeIwishedto
makethecapturealoneandunaided.
Neverlosingmyholdforaninstant,Islippedfromthebedtothefloor,draggingmy
captivewithme.IhadbutafewstepstomaketoreachthegasburnertheseImadewith
thegreatestcaution,holdingthecreatureinagriplikeavice.AtlastIgotwithinarm's
lengthofthetinyspeckofbluelightwhichtoldmewherethegasburnerlay.Quickas
lightning I released my grasp with one hand and let on the full flood of light. Then I
turnedtolookatmycaptive.
IcannotevenattempttogiveanydefinitionofmysensationstheinstantafterIturned
onthegas.IsupposeImusthaveshriekedwithterror,forinlessthanaminuteafterward
myroomwascrowdedwiththeinmatesofthehouse.Ishudder now as I think of that
awful moment. I saw nothing! Yes I had one arm firmly clasped round a breathing,
panting,corporealshape,myotherhandgrippedwithallitsstrengthathroataswarm,as
apparentlyfleshy,asmyown and yet, with this living substance in my grasp, with its
bodypressedagainstmyown,andallinthebrightglareofalargejetofgas,Iabsolutely
beheldnothing!Notevenanoutline,avapor!
Idonot,evenatthishour,realizethesituationinwhichIfoundmyself.Icannotrecall
the astounding incident thoroughly. Imagination in vain tries to compass the awful
paradox.
Itbreathed.Ifeltitswarmbreathuponmycheek.Itstruggledfiercely.Ithadhands.
They clutched me. Its skin was smooth, like my own. There it lay, pressed close up
againstme,solidasstone,andyetutterlyinvisible!
IwonderthatIdidnotfaintorgomadontheinstant.Somewonderfulinstinctmust
havesustainedmefor,absolutely,inplaceoflooseningmyholdontheterribleEnigma,
Iseemedtogainanadditionalstrengthinmymomentofhorror,andtightenedmygrasp
withsuchwonderfulforcethatIfeltthecreatureshiveringwithagony.
Just then Hammond entered my room at the head of the household. As soon as he
beheld my facewhich, I suppose, must have been an awful sight to look athe
hastenedforward,crying,"Greatheaven,Harry!whathashappened?"
"Hammond!Hammond!"Icried,"comehere.O,thisisawful!Ihavebeenattackedin
bedbysomethingorother,whichIhaveholdofbutIcan'tseeit,Ican'tseeit!"
Hammond, doubtless struck by the unfeigned horror expressed in my countenance,
madeoneortwostepsforwardwithananxiousyetpuzzledexpression.Averyaudible
titterburstfromtheremainderofmyvisitors.Thissuppressedlaughtermademefurious.
Tolaughatahumanbeinginmyposition!Itwastheworstspeciesofcruelty.Now,Ican
understandwhytheappearanceofamanstrugglingviolently,asitwouldseem,withan
airynothing,andcallingforassistanceagainstavision,shouldhaveappearedludicrous.
Then,sogreatwasmyrageagainstthemockingcrowdthathadIthepowerIwouldhave
strickenthemdeadwheretheystood.
"Hammond!Hammond!"Icriedagain,despairingly,"forGod'ssakecometome.Ican
holdthethethingbutashortwhilelonger.Itisoverpoweringme.Helpme!Helpme!"
"Harry," whispered Hammond, approaching me, "you have been smoking too much
opium."
"Isweartoyou,Hammond,thatthisisnovision,"Ianswered,inthesamelowtone.
"Don'tyouseehowitshakesmywholeframewithitsstruggles?Ifyoudon'tbelieveme,
convinceyourself.Feelit,touchit."
Hammond advanced and laid his hand in the spot I indicated. A wild cry of horror
burstfromhim.Hehadfeltit!
Inamomenthehaddiscoveredsomewhereinmyroomalongpieceofcord,andwas
the next instant winding it and knotting it about the body of the unseen being that I
claspedinmyarms.
"Harry,"hesaid,inahoarse,agitatedvoice,for,thoughhepreservedhispresenceof
mind, he was deeply moved, "Harry, it's all safe now. You may let go, old fellow, if
you'retired.TheThingcan'tmove."
Iwasutterlyexhausted,andIgladlyloosedmyhold.
HammondstoodholdingtheendsofthecordthatboundtheInvisible,twistedround
his hand, while before him, selfsupporting as it were, he beheld a rope laced and
interlaced, and stretching tightly around a vacant space. I never saw a man look so
thoroughly stricken with awe. Nevertheless his face expressed all the courage and
determinationwhichIknewhimtopossess.Hislips,althoughwhite,weresetfirmly,and
onecouldperceiveataglancethat,althoughstrickenwithfear,hewasnotdaunted.
Theconfusionthatensuedamongtheguestsofthehousewhowerewitnessesofthis
extraordinary scene between Hammond and myself,who beheld the pantomime of
binding this struggling Something,who beheld me almost sinking from physical
exhaustion when my task of jailer was over,the confusion and terror that took
possession of the bystanders, when they saw all this, was beyond description. The
weakeronesfledfromtheapartment.Thefewwhoremainedclusterednearthedoorand
couldnotbeinducedtoapproachHammondandhisCharge.Stillincredulitybrokeout
through their terror. They had not the courage to satisfy themselves, and yet they
doubted. It was in vain that I begged of some of the men to come near and convince
themselvesbytouchoftheexistenceinthatroomofalivingbeingwhichwasinvisible.
They were incredulous, but did not dare to undeceive themselves. How could a solid,
living, breathing body be invisible, they asked. My reply was this. I gave a sign to
Hammond, and both of usconquering our fearful repugnance to touch the invisible
creaturelifteditfromtheground,manacledasitwas,andtookittomybed.Itsweight
wasaboutthatofaboyoffourteen.
"Nowmyfriends,"Isaid,asHammondandmyselfheldthecreaturesuspendedover
thebed,"Icangiveyouselfevidentproofthathereisasolid,ponderablebody,which,
nevertheless, you cannot see. Be good enough to watch the surface of the bed
attentively."
IwasastonishedatmyowncourageintreatingthisstrangeeventsocalmlybutIhad
recovered from my first terror, and felt a sort of scientific pride in the affair, which
dominatedeveryotherfeeling.
The eyes of the bystanders were immediately fixed on my bed. At a given signal
HammondandIletthecreaturefall.Therewasadullsoundofaheavybodyalightingon
asoftmass.Thetimbersofthebedcreaked.Adeepimpressionmarkeditselfdistinctly
onthepillow,andonthebeditself.Thecrowdwhowitnessedthisgavealowcry,and
rushedfromtheroom.HammondandIwereleftalonewithourMystery.
We remained silent for some time, listening to the low, irregular breathing of the
creatureonthebed,andwatchingtherustleofthebedclothesasitimpotentlystruggled
tofreeitselffromconfinement.ThenHammondspoke.
"Harry,thisisawful."
"Ay,awful."
"Butnotunaccountable."
"Not unaccountable! What do you mean? Such a thing has never occurredsincethe
birthoftheworld.Iknownotwhattothink,Hammond.GodgrantthatIamnotmad,
andthatthisisnotaninsanefantasy!"
"Let us reason a little, Harry. Here is a solid body which we touch, but which we
cannot see. The fact is so unusual that it strikes us with terror. Is there no parallel,
though,forsuchaphenomenon?Takeapieceofpureglass.Itistangibleandtransparent.
Acertainchemicalcoarsenessisallthatpreventsitsbeingsoentirelytransparentastobe
totallyinvisible.Itisnottheoreticallyimpossible,mindyou,tomakeaglasswhichshall
notreflectasinglerayoflight,aglasssopureandhomogeneousinitsatomsthatthe
rays from the sun will pass through it as they do through the air, refracted but not
reflected.Wedonotseetheair,andyetwefeelit."
"That's all very well, Hammond, but these are inanimate substances. Glass does not
breathe,airdoesnotbreathe.Thisthinghasaheartthatpalpitates,awillthatmovesit,
lungsthatplay,andinspireandrespire."
"You forget the phenomena of which we have so often heard of late," answered the
Doctor,gravely."Atthemeetingscalled'spiritcircles,'invisiblehandshavebeenthrust
into the hands of those persons round the table,warm, fleshly hands that seemed to
pulsatewithmortallife."
"What?Doyouthink,then,thatthisthingis"
"Idon'tknowwhatitis,"wasthesolemnreply"butpleasethegodsIwill,withyour
assistance,thoroughlyinvestigateit."
We watched together, smoking many pipes, all night long, by the bedside of the
unearthly being that tossed and panted until it was apparently wearied out. Then we
learnedbythelow,regularbreathingthatitslept.
The next morning the house was all astir. The boarders congregated on the landing
outsidemyroom,andHammondandmyself were lions. We had to answer a thousand
questions as to the state of our extraordinary prisoner, for as yet not one person in the
houseexceptourselvescouldbeinducedtosetfootintheapartment.
Thecreaturewasawake.Thiswasevidencedbytheconvulsivemannerinwhichthe
bedclothes were moved in its efforts to escape. There was something truly terrible in
beholding, as it were, those secondhand indications of the terrible writhings and
agonizedstrugglesforlibertywhichthemselveswereinvisible.
Hammond and myself had racked our brains during the long night to discover some
meansbywhichwemightrealizetheshapeandgeneralappearanceoftheEnigma.As
wellaswecouldmakeoutbypassingourhandsoverthecreature'sform,itsoutlinesand
lineamentswerehuman.Therewasamoutharound,smoothheadwithouthairanose,
which, however, was little elevated above the cheeks and its hands and feet felt like
thoseofaboy.Atfirstwethoughtofplacingthebeingonasmoothsurfaceandtracing
itsoutlineswithchalk,asshoemakerstracetheoutlineofthefoot.Thisplanwasgiven
up as being of no value. Such an outline would give not the slightest idea of its
conformation.
Ahappythoughtstruckme.WewouldtakeacastofitinplasterofParis.Thiswould
giveusthesolidfigure,andsatisfyallourwishes.Buthowtodoit?Themovementsof
the creature would disturb the setting of the plastic covering, and distort the mold.
Another thought. Why not give it chloroform? It had respiratory organs,that was
evidentbyitsbreathing.Oncereducedtoastateofinsensibility,wecoulddowithitwhat
we would. Doctor X was sent for and after the worthy physician had recovered
fromthefirstshockofamazement,heproceededtoadministerthechloroform.In three
minutesafterwardwewereenabledtoremovethefettersfromthecreature'sbody,anda
modelerwasbusilyengaged in covering the invisible form with the moist clay. In five
minutes more we had a mold, and before evening a rough facsimile of the Mystery. It
wasshapedlikeamandistorted, uncouth, and horrible, but still a man. It wassmall,
not over four feet and some inches in height, and its limbs revealed a muscular
developmentthatwasunparalleled.ItsfacesurpassedinhideousnessanythingIhadever
seen. Gustav Dor, or Callot, or Tony Johannot, never conceived anything so horrible.
Thereisafaceinoneofthelatter'sillustrationstoUnVoyageoilvousplaira, which
somewhatapproachesthecountenanceofthiscreature,butdoesnotequalit.Itwasthe
physiognomyofwhatIshouldfancyaghoulmightbe.Itlookedasifitwascapableof
feedingonhumanflesh.
Havingsatisfiedourcuriosity,andboundeveryoneinthehousetosecrecy,itbecame
aquestionwhatwastobedonewithourEnigma?Itwasimpossiblethatweshouldkeep
suchahorrorinourhouseitwasequallyimpossiblethatsuchanawfulbeingshouldbe
let loose upon the world. I confess that I would have gladly voted for the creature's
destruction. But who would shoulder the responsibility? Who would undertake the
executionofthishorriblesemblanceofahumanbeing?Dayafterdaythisquestionwas
deliberated gravely. The boarders all left the house. Mrs. Moffat was in despair, and
threatenedHammondandmyselfwithallsortsoflegalpenaltiesifwedidnotremovethe
Horror.Ouranswerwas,"Wewillgoifyoulike,butwedeclinetakingthiscreaturewith
us.Removeityourselfifyouplease.Itappearedinyourhouse.Onyoutheresponsibility
rests."Tothistherewas,ofcourse,noanswer.Mrs.Moffatcouldnotobtainforloveor
moneyapersonwhowouldevenapproachtheMystery.
The most singular part of the affair was that we were entirely ignorant of what the
creaturehabituallyfedon.Everythinginthewayofnutrimentthatwecouldthinkofwas
placedbeforeit,butwasnevertouched.Itwasawfultostandby,dayafterday,andsee
theclothestoss,andhearthehardbreathing,andknowthatitwasstarving.
Ten, twelve days, a fortnight passed, and it still lived. The pulsations of the heart,
however,weredailygrowingfainter,andhadnownearlyceased.Itwasevidentthatthe
creaturewasdyingforwantofsustenance.Whilethisterriblelifestrugglewasgoingon,
Ifeltmiserable.Icouldnotsleep.Horribleasthecreaturewas,itwaspitifultothinkof
thepangsitwassuffering.
At last it died. Hammond and I found it cold and stiff one morning in the bed. The
hearthadceasedtobeat,thelungstoinspire.Wehastenedtoburyitinthegarden.Itwas
astrangefuneral,thedroppingofthatviewlesscorpseintothedamphole.Thecastofits
formIgavetoDoctorX,whokeepsitinhismuseuminTenthStreet.
AsIamontheeveofalongjourneyfromwhichImaynotreturn,Ihavedrawnup
thisnarrativeofaneventthemostsingularthathasevercometomyknowledge.
TheMiddleToeoftheRightFoot
BYAMBROSEBIERCE
FromCanSuchThingsBe?byAmbroseBierce.CopyrightbytheNeale
PublishingCompany.Bypermissionofthepublishers.
It is well known that the old Manton house is haunted. In all the rural district near
about,andeveninthetownofMarshall,amileaway,notonepersonofunbiasedmind
entertainsadoubtofitincredulityisconfinedtothoseopinionatedpersonswhowillbe
called"cranks"assoonastheusefulwordshallhavepenetratedtheintellectualdemesne
of the Marshall Advance. The evidence that the house is haunted is of two kinds the
testimony of disinterested witnesses who have had ocular proof, and that of the house
itself. The former may be disregarded and ruled out on any of the various grounds of
objection which may be urged against it by the ingenious but facts within the
observationofallarematerialandcontrolling.
InthefirstplacetheMantonhousehasbeenunoccupiedbymortalsformorethanten
years, and with its outbuildings is slowly falling into decaya circumstance which in
itselfthe judicious will hardly venture to ignore. It stands a little way off the loneliest
reachoftheMarshallandHarristonroad,inanopeningwhichwasonceafarmandis
stilldisfiguredwithstripsofrottingfenceandhalfcoveredwithbramblesoverrunninga
stony and sterile soil long unacquainted with the plow. The house itself is in tolerably
good condition, though badly weatherstained and in dire need of attention from the
glazier, the smaller male population of the region having attested in the manner of its
kind its disapproval of dwelling without dwellers. It is two stories in height, nearly
square,itsfrontpiercedbyasingledoorwayflankedoneachsidebyawindowboarded
uptotheverytop.Correspondingwindowsabove,notprotected,servetoadmitlightand
raintotheroomsoftheupperfloor.Grassandweedsgrowprettyranklyallabout,anda
fewshadetrees,somewhattheworseforwind,andleaningallinonedirection,seemto
be making a concerted effort to run away. In short, as the Marshall town humorist
explainedinthecolumnsoftheAdvance,"thepropositionthattheMantonhouseisbadly
hauntedistheonlylogicalconclusionfromthepremises."Thefactthatinthisdwelling
Mr.Mantonthoughtitexpedientonenightsometenyearsagotoriseandcutthethroats
ofhiswifeandtwosmallchildren,removingatoncetoanotherpartofthecountry,has
no doubt done its share in directing public attention to the fitness of the place for
supernaturalphenomena.
To this house, one summer evening, came four men in a wagon. Three of them
promptly alighted, and the one who had been driving hitched the team to the only
remaining post of what had been a fence. The fourth remained seated in the wagon.
"Come,"saidoneofhiscompanions,approachinghim,whiletheothersmovedawayin
thedirectionofthedwelling"thisistheplace."
The man addressed did not move. "By God!" he said harshly, "this is a trick, and it
lookstomeasifyouwereinit."
"PerhapsIam,"theothersaid,lookinghimstraightinthefaceandspeakinginatone
whichhadsomethingofcontemptinit."Youwillremember,however,thatthechoiceof
place was with your own assent left to the other side. Of course if you are afraid of
spooks"
"I am afraid of nothing," the man interrupted with another oath, and sprang to the
ground. The two then joined the others at the door, which one of them had already
openedwithsomedifficulty,causedbyrustoflockandhinge.Allentered.Insideitwas
dark,butthemanwhohadunlockedthedoorproducedacandleandmatchesandmadea
light.Hethenunlockedadoorontheirrightastheystoodinthepassage.Thisgavethem
entrancetoalarge,squareroomthatthecandlebutdimlylighted.Thefloorhadathick
carpetingofdust,whichpartlymuffledtheirfootfalls.Cobwebswereintheanglesofthe
walls and depended from the ceiling like strips of rotting lace making undulatory
movementsinthedisturbedair.Theroomhadtwowindowsinadjoiningsides,butfrom
neither could anything be seen except the rough inner surfaces of boards a few inches
from the glass. There was no fireplace, no furniture there was nothing: besides the
cobwebsandthedust,thefourmenweretheonlyobjectstherewhichwerenotapartof
thestructure.
Strange enough they looked in the yellow light of the candle. The one who had so
reluctantlyalightedwasespeciallyspectacularhemight have been called sensational.
Hewasofmiddleage,heavilybuilt,deepchested,andbroadshouldered.Lookingathis
figure,onewouldhavesaidthathehadagiant'sstrengthathisfeatures,thathewould
useitlikeagiant.Hewascleanshaven,hishairrathercloselycroppedandgray.Hislow
forehead was seamed with wrinkles above the eyes, and over the nose these became
vertical.Theheavyblackbrowsfollowedthesamelaw,savedfrommeetingonlybyan
upward turn at what would otherwise have been the point of contact. Deeply sunken
beneaththese,glowedintheobscurelightapairofeyesofuncertaincolor,butobviously
enough too small. There was something forbidding in their expression, which was not
betteredbythecruelmouthandwidejaw.Thenosewaswellenough,asnosesgoone
does not expect much of noses. All that was sinister in the man's face seemed
accentuatedbyanunnaturalpallorheappearedaltogetherbloodless.
The appearance of the other men was sufficiently commonplace they were such
personsasonemeetsandforgetsthathemet.Allwereyoungerthanthemandescribed,
between whom and the eldest of the others, who stood apart, there was apparently no
kindlyfeeling.Theyavoidedlookingateachother.
"Gentlemen,"saidthemanholdingthecandleandkeys,"Ibelieveeverythingisright.
Areyouready,Mr.Rosser?"
Themanstandingapartfromthegroupbowedandsmiled.
"Andyou,Mr.Grossmith?"
Theheavymanbowedandscowled.
"Youwillbepleasedtoremoveyourouterclothing."
Theirhats,coats,waistcoats,andneckwearweresoonremovedandthrownoutsidethe
door,inthepassage.Themanwiththecandlenownodded,andthefourthmanhewho
hadurgedGrossmithtoleavethewagonproducedfromthepocketofhisovercoattwo
long,murderouslookingbowieknives,whichhedrewnowfromtheirleatherscabbards.
"Theyareexactlyalike,"hesaid,presentingonetoeachofthetwoprincipalsforby
thistimethedullestobserverwouldhaveunderstoodthenatureofthismeeting.Itwasto
beadueltothedeath.
Each combatant took a knife, examined it critically near the candle and tested the
strengthofthebladeandhandleacrosshisliftedknee.Theirpersonswerethensearched
inturn,eachbythesecondoftheother.
"If it is agreeable to you, Mr. Grossmith," said the man holding the light, "you will
placeyourselfinthatcorner."
Heindicatedtheangleoftheroomfarthestfromthedoor,whitherGrossmithretired,
hissecondpartingfromhimwithagraspofthehandwhichhadnothingofcordialityin
it. In the angle nearest the door Mr. Rosser stationed himself, and after a whispered
consultation his second left him, joining the other near the door. At that moment the
candlewassuddenlyextinguished,leavingallinprofounddarkness.Thismayhavebeen
donebyadraughtfromtheopeneddoorwhateverthecause,theeffectwasstartling.
"Gentlemen,"saidavoicewhichsoundedstrangelyunfamiliarinthealteredcondition
affectingtherelationsofthesenses"gentlemen,youwillnotmoveuntilyouhearthe
closingoftheouterdoor."
Asoundoftramplingensued,thentheclosingoftheinnerdoorandfinallytheouter
oneclosedwithaconcussionwhichshooktheentirebuilding.
Afewminutesafterwardabelatedfarmer'sboymetalightwagon which was being
drivenfuriouslytowardthetownofMarshall.Hedeclaredthatbehindthetwofigureson
thefrontseatstoodathird,withitshandsuponthebowedshouldersoftheothers,who
appeared to struggle vainly to free themselves from its grasp. This figure, unlike the
others, was clad in white, and had undoubtedly boarded the wagon as it passed the
haunted house. As the lad could boast a considerable former experience with the
supernaturalthereaboutshiswordhadtheweightjustlyduetothetestimonyofanexpert.
Thestory(inconnectionwiththenextday'sevents)eventuallyappearedintheAdvance,
withsomeslightliteraryembellishmentsandaconcludingintimationthatthegentlemen
referred to would be allowed the use of the paper's columns for their version of the
night'sadventure.Buttheprivilegeremainedwithoutaclaimant.
II
The events that led up to this "duel in the dark" were simple enough. One evening
threeyoungmenofthetownofMarshallweresittinginaquietcorneroftheporchofthe
village hotel, smoking and discussing such matters as three educated young men of a
Southernvillagewouldnaturallyfindinteresting.TheirnameswereKing,Sancher,and
Rosser.Atalittledistance,withineasyhearing,buttakingnopartintheconversation,sat
a fourth. He was a stranger to the others. They merely knew that on his arrival by the
stagecoach that afternoon he had written in the hotel register the name of Robert
Grossmith. He had not been observed to speak to anyone except the hotel clerk. He
seemed, indeed, singularly fond of his own companyor, as the personnel of the
Advanceexpressedit,"grosslyaddictedtoevilassociations."Butthenitshouldbesaid
in justice to the stranger that the personnel was himself of a too convivial disposition
fairlytojudgeonedifferentlygifted,andhad,moreover,experiencedaslightrebuffinan
effortatan"interview."
"Ihateanykindofdeformityinawoman,"saidKing,"whethernaturaloracquired.I
haveatheorythatanyphysicaldefecthasitscorrelativementalandmoraldefect."
"Iinfer,then,"saidRosser,gravely,"thataladylackingthemoraladvantageofanose
wouldfindthestruggletobecomeMrs.Kinganarduousenterprise."
"Ofcourseyoumayputitthatway,"wasthereply"but,seriously,Ioncethrewovera
mostcharminggirlonlearningquiteaccidentallythatshehadsufferedamputationofa
toe.Myconductwasbrutalifyoulike,butifIhadmarriedthatgirlIshouldhavebeen
miserableforlifeandshouldhavemadeherso."
"Whereas,"saidSancher,withalightlaugh,"bymarryingagentlemanofmoreliberal
viewsheescapedwithapartedthroat."
"Ah,youknowtowhomIrefer.Yes,shemarriedManton,butIdon'tknowabouthis
liberality I'm not sure but he cut her throatbecausehediscoveredthatshelackedthat
excellentthinginwoman,themiddletoeoftherightfoot."
"Lookatthatchap!"saidRosserinalowvoice,hiseyesfixeduponthestranger.
Thatchapwasobviouslylisteningintentlytotheconversation.
"Damnhisimpudence!"mutteredKing"whatoughtwetodo?"
"That's an easy one," Rosser replied, rising. "Sir," he continued, addressing the
stranger,"Ithinkitwouldbebetterifyouwouldremoveyourchairtotheotherendof
theveranda.Thepresenceofgentlemenisevidentlyanunfamiliarsituationtoyou."
The man sprang to his feet and strode forward with clenched hands, his face white
withrage.Allwerenowstanding.Sanchersteppedbetweenthebelligerents.
"You are hasty and unjust," he said to Rosser "this gentleman has done nothing to
deservesuchlanguage."
But Rosser would not withdraw a word. By the custom of the country and the time
therecouldbebutoneoutcometothequarrel.
"I demand the satisfaction due to a gentleman," said the stranger, who had become
more calm. "I have not an acquaintance in this region. Perhaps you, sir," bowing to
Sancher,"willbekindenoughtorepresentmeinthismatter."
Sancheracceptedthetrustsomewhatreluctantlyitmustbeconfessed,fortheman's
appearanceandmannerwerenotatalltohisliking.King,whoduringthecolloquyhad
hardlyremovedhiseyesfromthestranger'sfaceandhadnotspokenaword,consented
withanodtoactforRosser,andtheupshotofitwasthat,theprincipalshavingretired,a
meeting was arranged for the next evening. The nature of the arrangements has been
alreadydisclosed.Theduelwithknivesinadarkroomwasonceacommonerfeatureof
Southwestern life than it is likely to be again. How thin a veneering of "chivalry"
coveredtheessentialbrutalityofthecodeunderwhichsuchencounterswerepossiblewe
shallsee.
III
In the blaze of a midsummer noonday the old Manton house was hardly true to its
traditions.Itwasoftheearth,earthy.Thesunshinecaresseditwarmlyandaffectionately,
with evident disregard of its bad reputation. The grass greening all the expanse in its
front seemed to grow, not rankly, but with a natural and joyous exuberance, and the
weeds blossomed quite like plants. Full of charming lights and shadows and populous
withpleasantvoicedbirds,theneglectedshadetreesnolongerstruggledtorunaway,but
bent reverently beneath their burdens of sun and song. Even in the glassless upper
windowswasanexpressionofpeaceandcontentment,duetothelightwithin.Overthe
stony fields the visible heat danced with a lively tremor incompatible with the gravity
whichisanattributeofthesupernatural.
SuchwastheaspectunderwhichtheplacepresenteditselftoSheriffAdamsandtwo
other men who had come out from Marshall to look at it. One of these men was Mr.
King,thesheriff'sdeputytheother,whosenamewasBrewer,wasabrotherofthelate
Mrs.Manton.UnderabeneficentlawoftheStaterelatingtopropertywhichhasbeenfor
a certain period abandoned by an owner whose residence cannot be ascertained, the
sheriffwaslegalcustodianoftheMantonfarmandappurtenancesthereuntobelonging.
His present visit was in mere perfunctory compliance with some order of a court in
whichMr.Brewerhadanactiontogetpossessionofthepropertyasheirtohisdeceased
sister.Byamerecoincidence,thevisitwasmadeonthedayafterthenightthatDeputy
Kinghadunlockedthehouseforanotherandverydifferentpurpose.Hispresencenow
wasnotofhisownchoosing:hehadbeenorderedtoaccompanyhissuperior,andatthe
momentcouldthinkofnothingmoreprudentthansimulatedalacrityinobediencetothe
command.
Carelesslyopeningthefrontdoor,whichtohissurprisewasnotlocked,thesheriffwas
amazedtosee,lyingonthefloorofthepassageintowhichitopened,aconfusedheapof
men's apparel. Examination showed it to consist of two hats, and the same number of
coats, waistcoats, and scarves all in a remarkably good state of preservation, albeit
somewhatdefiledbythedustinwhichtheylay.Mr.Brewerwasequallyastonished,but
Mr.King'semotionisnotofrecord.Withanewandlivelyinterestinhisownactionsthe
sheriffnowunlatched and pushed open a door on the right, and the three entered. The
roomwasapparentlyvacantnoastheireyesbecameaccustomedtothedimmerlight
somethingwasvisibleinthefarthestangleofthewall.Itwasahumanfigurethatofa
man crouching close in the corner. Something in the attitude made the intruders halt
when they had barely passed the threshold. The figure more and more clearly defined
itself. The man was upon one knee, his back in the angle of the wall, his shoulders
elevated to the level of his ears, his hands before his face, palms outward, the fingers
spreadandcrookedlikeclawsthewhitefaceturnedupwardontheretractedneckhadan
expressionofunutterablefright,themouthhalfopen,theeyesincrediblyexpanded.He
wasstonedead.Yetwiththeexceptionofabowieknife,whichhadevidentlyfallenfrom
hisownhand,notanotherobjectwasintheroom.
Inthickdustthatcoveredthefloorweresomeconfusedfootprintsnearthedoorand
alongthewallthroughwhichitopened.Alongoneoftheadjoiningwalls,too,pastthe
boardedup windows was the trail made by the man himself in reaching his corner.
Instinctively in approaching the body the three men followed that trail. The sheriff
graspedoneoftheoutthrownarmsitwasasrigidasiron,andtheapplicationofagentle
forcerockedtheentirebodywithoutalteringtherelationofitsparts.Brewer,palewith
excitement,gazedintentlyintothedistortedface."Godofmercy!"hesuddenlycried,"it
isManton!"
"Youareright,"saidKing,withanevidentattemptatcalmness:"IknewManton.He
thenworeafullbeardandhishairlong,butthisishe."
Hemighthaveadded:"IrecognizedhimwhenhechallengedRosser.ItoldRosserand
Sancherwhohewasbeforeweplayedhimthishorribletrick.WhenRosserleftthisdark
roomatourheels,forgettinghisouterclothingintheexcitement,anddrivingawaywith
usinhisshirtsleevesallthroughthediscreditableproceedingsweknewwithwhomwe
weredealing,murdererandcowardthathewas!"
ButnothingofthisdidMr.Kingsay.Withhisbetterlighthewastryingtopenetrate
themysteryoftheman'sdeath.Thathehadnotoncemovedfromthecornerwherehe
hadbeenstationed that his posture was that of neither attack nor defense that he had
droppedhisweaponthathehadobviouslyperishedofsheerhorrorofsomethingthathe
sawthesewerecircumstanceswhichMr.King'sdisturbedintelligencecouldnotrightly
comprehend.
Groping in intellectual darkness for a clew to his maze of doubt, his gaze, directed
mechanically downward in the way of one who ponders momentous matters, fell upon
something which, there, in the light of day and in the presence of living companions,
affectedhimwithterror.Inthedustofyearsthatlaythickuponthefloorleadingfrom
thedoorbywhichtheyhadentered,straightacrosstheroomtowithinayardofManton's
crouchingcorpsewerethreeparallellinesoffootprintslightbutdefiniteimpressions
ofbarefeet,theouteronesthoseofsmallchildren,theinnerawoman's.Fromthepoint
at which they ended they did not return they pointed all one way. Brewer, who had
observedthematthesamemoment,wasleaningforwardinanattitudeofraptattention,
horriblypale.
"Lookatthat!"hecried,pointingwithbothhandsatthenearestprintofthewoman's
rightfoot,whereshehadapparentlystoppedandstood."Themiddletoeismissingit
wasGertrude!"
GertrudewasthelateMrs.Manton,sistertoMr.Brewer.
TheShellofSense
BYOLIVIAHOWARDDUNBAR
From Harper's Magazine, December, 1908. By permission of Harper

andBrothersandOliviaHowardDunbar.
It was intolerably unchanged, the dim, darktoned room. In an agony of recognition

myglanceranfromonetoanotherofthecomfortable,familiarthingsthatmyearthlylife
hadbeenpassedamong.IncrediblydistantfromitallasIessentiallywas.Inotedsharply
thattheverygapsthatImyselfhadleftinmybookshelvesstillstoodunfilledthatthe
delicatefingersofthefernsthatIhadtendedwerestillstretchedfutilelytowardthelight
that the soft agreeable chuckle of my own little clock, like some elderly woman with
whomconversationhasbecomeautomatic,wasundiminished.
Unchangedor so it seemed at first. But there were certain trivial differences that
shortlysmoteme.ThewindowswereclosedtootightlyforIhadalwayskeptthehouse
very cool, although I had known that Theresa preferred warm rooms. And my work
basketwasindisorderitwaspreposterousthatsosmallathingshouldhurtmeso.Then,
forthiswasmyfirstexperienceoftheshadowfoldedtransition,theoddalterationofmy
emotionsbewilderedme.Foratonemomenttheplaceseemedsohumanlyfamiliar,so
distinctlymyownproperenvelope,thatforloveofitIcouldhavelaidmycheekagainst
thewallwhileinthenextIwasmiserablyconsciousofstrangenewshrillnesses.How
could they be enduredand had I ever endured them?those harsh influences that I
nowperceivedatthewindowlightandcolorsoblindingthattheyobscuredtheformof
thewind,tumultsodiscordantthatonecouldscarcelyheartherosesopeninthegarden
below?
But Theresa did not seem to mind any of these things. Disorder, it is true, the dear
childhadneverminded.Shewassittingallthistimeatmydeskatmydeskoccupied,
I could only too easily surmise how. In the light of my own habits of precision it was
plainthatthatsombrecorrespondenceshouldhavebeenattendedtobeforebutIbelieve
thatIdidnotreallyreproachTheresa,forIknewthathernotes,whenshedidwritethem,
wereperhapslessperfunctorythanmine.ShefinishedthelastoneasIwatchedher,and
addedittotheheapofblackborderedenvelopesthatlayonthedesk.Poorgirl!Isaw
nowthattheyhadcosthertears.Yet,livingbesideherdayafterday,yearafteryear,Ihad
never discovered what deep tenderness my sister possessed. Toward each other it had
been our habit to display only a temperate affection, and I remember having always
thoughtitdistinctlyfortunateforTheresa,sinceshewasdeniedmyhappiness,thatshe
couldlivesoeasilyandpleasantlywithoutemotionsofthedevastatingsort....Andnow,
forthefirsttime,Iwasreallytobeholdher....CoulditbeTheresa,afterall,thistangleof
subduedturbulences?Letnoonesupposethatitisaneasythingtobear,therelentlessly
lucid understanding that I then first exercised or that, in its first enfranchisement, the
timidvisiondoesnotyearnforitsoldscreensandmists.
Suddenly,asTheresasatthere,herhead,filledwithitstenderthoughtsofme,heldin
hergentlehands,IfeltAllan'ssteponthecarpetedstairoutside.Theresafeltit,too,but
how?foritwasnotaudible.Shegaveastart,swepttheblackenvelopesoutofsight,and
pretended to be writing in a little book. Then I forgot to watch her any longer in my
absorptioninAllan'scoming.Itwashe,ofcourse,thatIwasawaiting.Itwasforhimthat
Ihadmadethisfirstlonely,frightenedefforttoreturn,torecover....ItwasnotthatIhad
supposed he would allow himself to recognize my presence, for I had long been
sufficientlyfamiliarwithhishardandfastdenialsoftheinvisible.Hewassoreasonable
always,sosanesoblindfolded.ButIhadhopedthatbecauseofhisveryrejectionofthe
etherthatnowcontainedmeIcouldperhapsallthemoresafely,themoresecretly,watch
him,lingernearhim.Hewasnearnow,verynear,butwhydidTheresa,sittingtherein
the room that had neverbelonged to her, appropriatefor herself his coming?It was so
manifestlyIwhohaddrawnhim,Iwhomhehadcometoseek.
The door was ajar. He knocked softly at it "Are you there, Theresa?" he called. He
expectedtofindher,then,thereinmyroom?Ishrankback,fearing,almost,tostay.
"Ishallhavefinishedinamoment,"Theresatoldhim,andhesatdowntowaitforher.
NospiritstillunreleasedcanunderstandthepangthatIfeltwithAllansittingalmost
withinmytouch.Almostirresistiblythewishbesetmetolethimforaninstantfeelmy
nearness.ThenIcheckedmyself,rememberingoh,absurd,piteoushumanfears!that
mytoounguardedclosenessmightalarmhim.ItwasnotsoremoteatimethatImyself
hadknownthem,thoseblind,uncouthtimidities.Icame,therefore,somewhatnearer
but I did not touch him. I merely leaned toward him and with incredible softness
whisperedhisname.ThatmuchIcouldnothaveforbornethespelloflifewasstilltoo
stronginme.
Butitgavehimnocomfort,nodelight."Theresa!"hecalled,inavoicedreadfulwith
alarmandinthatinstantthelastveilfell,anddesperately,scarcebelievingly,Ibeheld
howitstoodbetweenthem,thosetwo.
Sheturnedtohimthatgentlelookofhers.
"Forgiveme,"camefromhimhoarsely."ButIhadsuddenlythemostunaccountable
sensation.Cantherebetoomanywindowsopen?Thereissuchachillabout."
"Therearenowindowsopen,"Theresaassuredhim."Itookcaretoshutoutthechill.
Youarenotwell,Allan!"
"Perhapsnot."Heembracedthesuggestion."AndyetIfeelnoillnessapartfromthis
abominablesensationthatpersistspersists....Theresa,youmusttellme:doIfancyit,
ordoyou,too,feelsomethingstrangehere?"
"Oh,thereissomethingverystrangehere,"shehalfsobbed."Therealwayswillbe."
"Good heavens, child, I didn't mean that!" He rose and stood looking about him. "I
know,ofcourse,thatyouhaveyourbeliefs, and I respect them, but you know equally
wellthatIhavenothingofthesort!Sodon'tletusconjureupanythinginexplicable."
I stayed impalpably, imponderably near him. Wretched and bereft though I was, I
couldnothavelefthimwhilehestooddenyingme.
"WhatImean,"hewenton,inhislow,distinctvoice,"isaspecial,analmostominous
senseofcold.Uponmysoul,Theresa,"hepaused"ifIweresuperstitious,ifIwerea
woman,Ishouldprobablyimagineittoseemapresence!"
Hespokethelastwordveryfaintly,butTheresashrankfromitnevertheless.
"Don'tsaythat,Allan!"shecriedout."Don'tthinkit,Ibegofyou!I'vetriedsohard
myself not to think itand you must help me. You know it is only perturbed, uneasy
spirits that wander. With her it is quite different. She has always been so happyshe
muststillbe."
Ilistened,stunned,toTheresa'ssweetdogmatism.Fromwhatblinddistancescameher
confidentmisapprehensions,howdense,both for her and for Allan, was the separating
vapor!
Allanfrowned."Don'ttakemeliterally,Theresa,"heexplainedandI,whoamoment
before had almost touched him, now held myself aloof and heard him with a strange
untriedpity,newborninme."I'mnotspeakingofwhatyoucallspirits.It'ssomething
much more terrible." He allowed his head to sink heavily on his chest. "If I did not
positively know that I had never done her any harm, I should suppose myself to be
sufferingfromguilt,fromremorse....Theresa,youknowbetterthanI,perhaps.Wasshe
content,always?Didshebelieveinme?"
"Believeinyou?whensheknewyoutobesogood!whenyouadoredher!"
"Shethoughtthat?Shesaidit?ThenwhatinHeaven'snameailsme?unlessitisall
asyoubelieve,Theresa,andsheknowsnowwhatshedidn'tknowthen,poordear,and
minds"
"Mindswhat?Whatdoyoumean,Allan?"
I, who with my perhaps illegitimate advantage saw so clear, knew that he had not
meanttotellher:Ididhimthatjustice,eveninmyfirstjealousy.IfIhadnottorturedhim
so by clinging near him, he would not have told her. But the moment came, and
overflowed,andhedidtellherpassionate,tumultuousstorythatitwas.Duringallour
life together, Allan's and mine, he had spared me, had kept me wrapped in the white
cloakofanunblemishedloyalty.Butitwouldhavebeenkinder,Inowbitterlythought,
if,likemanyhusbands,hehadyearsagofoundforthestoryhenowpouredforthsome
clandestinelistenerIshouldnothaveknown.Buthewasfaithfulandgood,and so he
waited till I, mute and chained, was there to hear him. So well did I know him, as I
thought,sothoroughlyhadheoncebeenmine,thatIsawitinhiseyes,heard it in his
voice,beforethewordscame.Andyet,whenitcame,itlashedmewiththewhipsofan
unbearablehumiliation.ForI,hiswife,hadnotknownhowgreatlyhecouldlove.
AndthatTheresa,softlittletraitor,should,inherstillway,havecaredtoo!Wherewas
the iron in her, I moaned within my stricken spirit, where the steadfastness? From the
momenthebadeher,sheturnedhersoftlittlepetalsuptohimandmylastdelusionwas
spent.Itwasintolerableandnonethelesssothatinanothermomentshehad,prompted
bysomebelated thought of me, renounced him. Allan was hers, yet she puthimfrom
heranditwasmyparttowatchthemboth.
ThenintheanguishofitallIremembered,awkward,untutoredspiritthatIwas,thatI
nowhadtheGreatRecourse.Whateverhumanthingswereunbearable,Ihadnoneedto
bear. I ceased, therefore, to make the effort that kept me with them. The pitiless
poignancy was dulled, the sounds and the light ceased, the lovers faded from me, and
againIwasmercifullydrawnintothedim,infinitespaces.
TherefollowedaperiodwhoselengthIcannotmeasureandduringwhichIwasableto
make no progress in the difficult, dizzying experience of release. "Earthbound" my
jealousyrelentlesslykeptme.Thoughmytwodearoneshadforsworneachother,Icould
nottrustthem,fortheirsseemedtomeanaffectationofamorethanmortalmagnanimity.
Withoutaghostly sentinel to prick them with sharp fears and recollections, who could
believe that they would keep to it? Of the efficacy of my own vigilance, so long as I
mightchoosetoexerciseit,Icouldhavenodoubt,forIhadbythistimecometohavea
dreadfulexultationinthenewpowerthatlivedinme.Repeateddelicateexperimenthad
taughtmehowatouchorabreath,awishorawhisper,couldcontrolAllan'sacts,could
keephimfromTheresa.Icouldmanifestmyselfaspalely,astransiently,asathought.I
couldproducethemerestnecessaryflicker,liketheshadowofajustopenedleaf,onhis
trembling,torturedconsciousness.Andtheseunrealizedperceptionsofmeheinterpreted,
asIhadknownthathewould,ashissoul'sinevitablepenance.Hehadcometobelieve
thathehaddoneevilinsilentlylovingTheresaalltheseyears,anditwasmyvengeance
toallowhimtobelievethis,toprodhimevertobelieveitafresh.
Iamconsciousthatthisframeofmindwasnotcontinuousinme.ForIremember,too,
thatwhenAllanandTheresaweresafelyapartandsufficientlymiserableIlovedthemas
dearly as I ever had, more dearly perhaps. For it was impossible that I should not
perceive, in my new emancipation, that they were, each of them, something more and
greater than the two beings I had once ignorantly pictured them. For years they had
practicedaselflessnessofwhichIcouldoncescarcelyhaveconceived,andwhicheven
nowIcouldonlyadmirewithoutenteringintoitsmystery.WhileIhadlivedsolelyfor
myself, these two divine creatures had lived exquisitely for me. They had granted me
everything,themselvesnothing.Formyundeservingsaketheirliveshadbeenaconstant
tormentofrenunciationatormenttheyhadnotsoughttoalleviatebytheexchangeofa
single glance of understanding. There were even marvelous moments when, from the
depthsofmynewlyinformedheart,Ipitiedthempoorcreatures,who,withheldfrom
theinfinitesolacesthatIhadcometoknow,werestillutterlywithinthat
Shellofsense
Sofrail,sopiteouslycontrivedforpain.
Within it, yes yet exercising qualities that so sublimely transcended it. Yet the shy,
hesitating compassion that thus had birth in me was far from being able to defeat the
earlier, earthlier emotion. The two, I recognized, were in a sort of conflict and I,
regarding it, assumed that the conflict would never end that for years, as Allan and
Theresareckonedtime,Ishouldbeobligedtowithholdmyselffromthegreatspacesand
lingersuffering,grudging,shamed,wheretheylingered.
It can never have been explained, I suppose, what, to devitalized perception such as
mine,thecontactofmortalbeingswitheachotherappearstobe.Oncetohaveexercised
thissensefreedperceptionistorealizethatthegiftofprophecy,althoughthesubjectof
such frequent marvel, is no longer mysterious. The merest glance of our sensitive and
uncloyedvisioncandetectthestrengthoftherelationbetweentwobeings,andtherefore
instantly calculate its duration. If you see a heavy weight suspended from a slender
string,youcanknow,withoutanywizardry,thatinafewmomentsthestringwillsnap
well,such,ifyouadmittheanalogy,isprophecy,isforeknowledge.AnditwasthusthatI
sawitwithTheresaand Allan. For it was perfectly visible to me that they would very
little longer have the strength to preserve, near each other, the denuded impersonal
relation that they, and that I, behind them, insisted on and that they would have to
separate.Itwasmysister,perhapsthemoresensitive,whofirstrealizedthis.Ithadnow
becomepossibleformetoobservethemalmostconstantly,theeffortnecessarytovisit
themhadso greatly diminished so that I watched her, poor, anguished girl,prepareto
leavehim.Isaweachreluctantmovementthatshemade.Isawhereyes,wornfromself
searchingIheardherstepgrowntimidfrominexplicablefearsIenteredherveryheart
andhearditspitiful,wildbeating.AndstillIdidnotinterfere.
ForatthistimeIhadawonderful,almostdemoniacalsenseofdisposingofmattersto
suitmyownselfishwill.AtanymomentIcouldhavecheckedtheirmiseries,couldhave
restoredhappinessandpeace.Yetitgaveme,andIcouldweeptoadmitit,amonstrous
joytoknowthatTheresathoughtshewasleavingAllanofherownfreeintention,when
it was I who was contriving, arranging, insisting.... And yet she wretchedly felt my
presencenearherIamcertainofthat.
A few days before the time of her intended departure my sister told Allan that she
mustspeakwithhimafterdinner.Ourbeautifuloldhousebranchedoutfromacircular
hall with great arched doors at either end and it was through the rear doorway that
always in summer, after dinner, we passed out into the garden adjoining. As usual,
therefore,whenthehourcame,Theresaledtheway.Thatdreadfuldaytimebrilliancethat
in my present state I found so hard to endure was now becoming softer. A delicate,
capricious twilight breeze danced inconsequently through languidly whispering leaves.
Lovelypaleflowersblossomedlikelittlemoonsinthedusk,andoverthemthebreathof
mignonettehungheavily.Itwasaperfectplaceand it had so long been ours, Allan's
andmine.Itmademerestlessandalittlewickedthatthosetwoshouldbetheretogether
now.
For a little they walked about together, speaking of common, daily things. Then
suddenlyTheresaburstout:
"Iamgoingaway,Allan.Ihavestayedtodoeverythingthatneededtobedone.Now
yourmotherwillbeheretocareforyou,anditistimeformetogo."
Hestaredatherandstoodstill.Theresahadbeentheresolong,shesodefinitely,tohis
mind,belongedthere.Andshewas,asIalsohadjealouslyknown,solovelythere,the
small,dark,daintycreature,intheoldhall,onthewidestaircases,inthegarden....Life
therewithoutTheresa,eventheintentionallyremote,theperpetuallyrenouncedTheresa
hehadnotdreamedofit,hecouldnot,sosuddenly,conceiveofit.
"Sit here," he said, and drew her down beside him on a bench, "and tell me what it
means,whyyouaregoing.IsitbecauseofsomethingthatIhavebeenhavedone?"
Shehesitated.Iwonderedifshewoulddaretellhim.Shelookedoutandawayfrom
him,andhewaitedlongforhertospeak.
Thepalestarswereslidingintotheirplaces.Thewhisperingoftheleaveswasalmost
hushed. All about them it was still and shadowy and sweet. It was that wonderful
momentwhen,forlackofavisiblehorizon,thenotyetdarkenedworldseemsinfinitely
greatera moment when anything can happen, anything be believed in. To me,
watching, listening, hovering, there came a dreadful purpose and a dreadful courage.
Supposeforonemoment,Theresashouldnotonlyfeel,butseemewouldshedareto
tellhimthen?
Therecameabriefspaceofterribleeffort,allmyfluttering,uncertainforcesstrained
totheutmost.Theinstantofmystrugglewasendlesslylongandthetransitionseemedto
takeplaceoutsidemeasonesittinginatrain,motionless,seestheleaguesofearthfloat
by.Andthen,inabright,terribleflashIknewIhadachieveditIhadattainedvisibility.
Shuddering,insubstantial, but luminously apparent, I stood there before them. And for
theinstantthatImaintainedthevisiblestateIlookedstraightintoTheresa'ssoul.
Shegaveacry.Andthen,thingofsilly,cruelimpulsesthatIwas,IsawwhatIhad
done.TheverythingthatIwishedtoavertIhadprecipitated.ForAllan,inhissudden
terrorandpity,hadbentandcaughtherinhisarms.Forthefirsttimetheyweretogether
anditwasIwhohadbroughtthem.
Then,tohiswhisperedurgingtotellthereasonofhercry,Theresasaid:
"Franceswashere.Youdidnotseeher,standingthere,underthelilacs,withnosmile
onherface?"
"My dear, my dear!" was all that Allan said. I had so long now lived invisibly with
them,heknewthatshewasright.
"Isupposeyouknowwhatitmeans?"sheaskedhim,calmly.
"Dear Theresa," Allan said, slowly, "if you and I should go away somewhere, could
wenotevadeallthisghostliness?Andwillyoucomewithme?"
"Distance would not banish her," my sister confidently asserted. And then she said,
softly:"Haveyouthoughtwhatalonely,awesomethingitmustbetobesonewlydead?
Pityher,Allan.Wewhoarewarmandaliveshouldpityher.Shelovesyoustill,thatis
themeaningofitall,youknowandshewantsustounderstandthatforthatreasonwe
mustkeepapart.Oh,itwassoplaininherwhitefaceasshestoodthere.Andyoudidnot
seeher?"
"It was your face that I saw," Allan solemnly told heroh, how different he had
grown from the Allan that I had known!"and yours is the only face that I shall ever
see."Andagainhedrewhertohim.
Shesprangfromhim."Youaredefyingher,Allan!"shecried."Andyoumustnot.Itis
herrighttokeepusapart,ifshewishes.Itmustbeassheinsists.Ishallgo,asItoldyou.
And,Allan,Ibegofyou,leavemethecouragetodoasshedemands!"
Theystoodfacingeachotherinthedeepdusk,andthewoundsthatIhaddealtthem
gapedredandaccusing."Wemustpityher,"Theresahadsaid.AndasIrememberedthat
extraordinary speech, and saw the agony in her face, and the greater agony in Allan's,
therecamethegreatirreparablecleavagebetweenmortalityandme.Inaswift,merciful
flamethe last of my mortal emotionsgross and tenacious they musthavebeenwas
consumed.MycoldgraspofAllanloosenedandanewunearthlyloveofhimbloomedin
myheart.
Iwasnow,however,inadifficultywithwhichmyexperienceinthenewerstatewas
scarcelysufficienttodeal.HowcouldImakeitplaintoAllanandTheresathatIwished
tobringthemtogether,tohealthewoundsthatIhadmade?
Pityingly, remorsefully, I lingered near them all that night and the next day. And by
thattimehadbroughtmyselftothepointofagreatdetermination.Inthelittletimethat
wasleft,beforeTheresashouldbegoneandAllanbereftanddesolate,Isawtheoneway
thatlayopentometoconvincethemofmyacquiescenceintheirdestiny.
InthedeepestdarknessandsilenceofthenextnightImadeagreatereffortthanitwill
everbenecessaryformetomakeagain. When they think of me, Allan and Theresa, I
praynowthattheywillrecallwhatIdidthatnight,andthatmythousandfrustrationsand
selfishnessesmayshrivelandbeblownfromtheirindulgentmemories.
Yetthefollowingmorning,asshehadplanned,Theresaappearedatbreakfastdressed
forherjourney.Aboveinherroomtherewerethesoundsofdeparture.Theyspokelittle
duringthebriefmeal,butwhenitwasendedAllansaid:
"Theresa,thereishalfanhourbeforeyougo.Willyoucomeupstairswithme?Ihada
dreamthatImusttellyouof."
"Allan!" She looked at him, frightened, but went with him. "It was of Frances you
dreamed,"shesaid,quietly,astheyenteredthelibrarytogether.
"Did I say it was a dream? But I was awakethoroughly awake. I had not been
sleepingwell,andIheard,twice,thestrikingoftheclock.AndasIlaythere,lookingout
atthestars,andthinkingthinkingofyou,Theresa,shecametome,stoodtherebefore
me,inmyroom.Itwasnosheetedspecter,youunderstanditwasFrances,literallyshe.
In some inexplicable fashion I seemed to be aware that she wanted to make me know
something,andIwaited,watchingherface.Afterafewmomentsitcame.Shedidnot
speak,precisely.Thatis,IamsureIheardnosound.Yetthewordsthatcamefromher
were definite enough. She said: 'Don't let Theresa leave you. Take her and keep her.'
Thenshewentaway.Wasthatadream?"
"I had not meant to tell you," Theresa eagerly answered, "but now I must. It is too
wonderful.Whattimedidyourclockstrike,Allan?"
"One,thelasttime."
"YesitwasthenthatIawoke.Andshehadbeenwithme.Ihadnotseenher,buther
armhadbeenaboutmeandherkisswasonmycheek.Oh.Iknewitwasunmistakable.
Andthesoundofhervoicewaswithme."
"Thenshebadeyou,too"
"Yes,tostaywithyou.Iamgladwetoldeachother."Shesmiledtearfullyandbegan
tofastenherwrap.
"Butyouarenotgoingnow!"Allancried."Youknowthatyoucannot,nowthatshe
hasaskedyoutostay."
"Thenyoubelieve,asIdo,thatitwasshe?"Theresademanded.
"Icanneverunderstand,butIknow,"heansweredher."Andnowyouwillnotgo?"
Iamfreed.Therewillbenofurthersemblanceofmeinmyoldhome,nosoundofmy
voice,nodimmestechoofmyearthlyself.Theyhavenofurtherneedofme,thetwothat
Ihavebroughttogether.Theirsisthefullestjoythatthedwellersintheshellofsensecan
know.Mineisthetranscendentjoyoftheunseenspaces.
TheWomanatSevenBrothers
BYWILBURDANIELSTEELE
FromLand'sEnd,byWilburDanielSteele.Copyright,1908,byHarper
andBrothers.BypermissionofthepublishersandWilburDanielSteele.
Itellyousir,Iwasinnocent.Ididn'tknowanymoreaboutthe world at twentytwo

thansomedoattwelve.MyuncleandauntinDuxburybroughtmeupstrictIstudied
hardinhighschool,Iworkedhardafterhours,andIwenttochurchtwiceonSundays,
andIcan'tseeit'srighttoputmeinaplacelikethis,withcrazypeople.Ohyes,Iknow
they'recrazyyoucan'ttellme.Asforwhattheysaidincourtaboutfindingherwithher
husband, that's the Inspector's lie, sir, because he's down on me, and wants to make it
looklikemyfault.
No,sir,Ican'tsayasIthoughtshewashandsomenotatfirst.Foronething,herlips
were too thin and white, and her color was bad. I'll tell you a fact, sir that first day I
cameofftotheLightIwassittingonmycotinthestoreroom(that'swheretheassistant
keepersleepsattheSevenBrothers),aslonesomeasIcouldbe,awayfromhomeforthe
first time, and the water all around me, and, even though it was a calm day, pounding
enoughontheledgetosendakindofawoomwoomwoomwhiningupthroughallthat
solidrockofthetower.AndwhenoldFeddersonpokedhisheaddownfromtheliving
room with the sunshine above making a kind of bright frame around his hair and
whiskers, to give me a cheery, "Make yourself to home, son!" I remember I said to
myself:"He'sallright.I'llgetalongwithhim.Buthiswife'senoughtosourmilk."That
wasqueer,becauseshewassomuchunderhiminage'longabouttwentyeightorso,
andhimnearerfifty.Butthat'swhatIsaid,sir.
Ofcoursethatfeelingworeoff,sameasanyfeelingwillwearoffsoonerorlaterina
placeliketheSevenBrothers.Coopedupinaplacelikethatyoucometoknowfolksso
wellthatyouforgetwhattheydolooklike.TherewasalongtimeInevernoticed her,
anymorethanyou'dnoticethecat.Weusedtositofaneveningaroundthetable,asif
youwere Fedderson there, and me here, and her somewhere back there, in the rocker,
knitting. Fedderson would be working on his Jacob'sladder, and I'd be reading. He'd
beenworkingonthatJacob'sladderayear,Iguess,andeverytimetheInspector came
offwiththetenderhewassoastonishedtoseehowgoodthatladderwasthattheoldman
wouldgotoworkandmakeitbetter.That'sallhelivedfor.
IfIwasreading,asIsay,Idaren'ttakemyeyesoffthebook,orFeddersonhadme.
Andthenhe'dbeginwhattheInspectorsaidabouthim.Howsurprisedthememberof
the board had been, that time, to see everything so clean about the light. What the
Inspector had said about Fedderson's being stuck here in a secondclass lightbest
keeperonthecoast.Andsoonandsoon,tilleitherheorIhadtogoaloftandhavea
lookatthewicks.
He'd been there twentythree years, all told, and he'd got used to the feeling that he
waskeptdownunfairsousedtoit,Iguess,thathefedonit,andtoldhimselfhowfolks
ashore would talk when he was dead and gonebest keeper on the coastkept down
unfair.Notthathesaidthattome.No,hewasfartooloyalandhumbleandrespectful,
doinghisdutywithoutcomplaint,asanybodycouldsee.
And all that time, night after night, hardly ever a word out of the woman. As I
rememberit,sheseemedmorelikeapieceoffurniturethananything elsenot evena
very good cook, nor over and above tidy. One day, when he and I were trimming the
lamp,hepassedtheremarkthathisfirstwifeusedtodustthelensandtakeaprideinit.
NotthathesaidawordagainstAnna,though.Heneversaidawordagainstanyliving
mortalhewastooupright.
Idon'tknowhowitcameaboutor,rather,Idoknow,butitwassosudden,andsofar
awayfrommythoughts,thatitshockedme,liketheworldturnedover.Itwasatprayers.
That night I remember Fedderson was uncommon longwinded. We'd had a batch of
newspapersoutbythetender,andatsuchtimestheoldmanalwaysmadealongwatch
of it, getting the world straightened out. For one thing, the United States minister to
Turkey was dead. Well, from him and his soul, Fedderson got on to Turkey and the
Presbyteriancollegethere,andfromthattoheatheningeneral.Herambledonandon,
likethesurfontheledge,woomwoomwoom,nevercomingtoanend.
Youknowhowyou'llbeatprayerssometimes.Mymindstrayed.Icountedthecanes
inthechairseatwhereIwaskneelingIplaitedacornerofthetableclothbetweenmy
fingersforaspell,andbyandbymyeyeswentwanderingupthebackofthechair.
Thewoman,sir,waslookingatme.Herchairwasbacktomine,close,andbothour
headsweredownintheshadowundertheedgeofthetable,withFeddersonclearoveron
the other side by the stove. And there were her two eyes hunting mine between the
spindlesintheshadow.Youwon'tbelieveme,sir,butItellyouIfeltlikejumpingtomy
feetandrunningoutoftheroomitwassoqueer.
I don't know what her husband was praying about after that. His voice didn't mean
anything,nomorethantheseasontheledgeawaydownthere.Iwenttoworktocount
thecanesintheseatagain,butallmyeyeswereinthetopofmyhead.ItgotsoIcouldn't
standit.WewereattheLord'sprayer,sayingitsingsongtogether,whenIhadtolookup
again.Andtherehertwoeyeswere,betweenthespindles,huntingmine.Justthenallof
usweresaying,"Forgiveusourtrespasses"Ithoughtofitafterward.
Whenwegotupshewasturnedtheotherway,butIcouldn'thelpseeinghercheeks
were red. It was terrible. I wondered if Fedderson would notice, though I might have
knownhewouldn'tnothim.HewasintoomuchofahurrytogetathisJacob'sladder,
and then he had to tell me for the tenth time what the Inspector'd said that day about
gettinghimanotherlightKingdomCome,maybe,hesaid.
Imadesomeexcuseorotherandgotaway.Onceinthestoreroom,Isatdownonmy
cotandstayedtherealongtime,feeling queerer than anything. I read a chapter in the
Bible,Idon'tknowwhy.AfterI'dgotmybootsoffIsatwiththeminmyhandsforas
muchasanhour,Iguess,staringattheoiltankanditslopsidedshadowonthewall.Itell
you, sir, I was shocked. I was only twentytwo remember, and I was shocked and
horrified.
AndwhenIdidturnin,finally,Ididn'tsleepatallwell.TwoorthreetimesIcameto,
sittingstraightupinbed.OnceIgotupandopenedtheouterdoortohavealook.The
waterwaslikeglass,dim,withoutabreathofwind,andthemoonjustgoingdown.Over
on the black shore I made out two lights in a village, like a pair of eyes watching.
Lonely?My,yes!Lonelyandnervous.Ihadahorrorofher,sir.Thedinghyboathungon
its davits just there in front of the door, and for a minute I had an awful hankering to
climbintoit,loweraway,androwoff,nomatterwhere.Itsoundsfoolish.
Well,itseemedfoolishnextmorning,withthesunshiningandeverythingasusual
Fedderson sucking his pen and wagging his head over his eternal "log," and his wife
downintherockerwithherheadinthenewspaper,andherbreakfastworkstillwaiting.I
guessthatjarreditoutofmemorethananythingelsesightofhersloucheddownthere,
withherstringy,yellowhairandherdustyapronandthepalebackofherneck,reading
the Society Notes. SocietyNotes!Think of it! For the first time since I came to Seven
BrothersIwantedtolaugh.
IguessIdidlaughwhenIwentalofttocleanthelampandfoundeverythingsofree
and breezy, gulls flying high and little whitecaps making under a westerly. It was like
feelingabigloaddroppedoffyourshoulders.Feddersoncameupwithhisdustragand
cockedhisheadatme.
"What'sthematter,Ray?"saidhe.
"Nothing,"saidI.AndthenIcouldn'thelpit."Seemskindofoutofplaceforsociety
notes,"saidI,"outhereatSevenBrothers."
Hewastheothersideofthelens,andwhenhelookedatmehehadathousandeyes,
allsober.ForaminuteIthoughthewasgoingondusting,butthenhecameoutandsat
downonasill.
"Sometimes,"saidhe,"Igettothinkingitmaybeamitedullforherouthere.She's
prettyyoung,Ray.Notmuchmore'nagirl,hardly."
"Notmuchmore'nagirl!"Itgavemeaturn,sir,asthoughI'dseenmyauntinshort
dresses.
"It'sagoodhomeforher,though,"hewentonslow."I'veseenalotworseashore,Ray.
OfcourseifIcouldgetashorelight"
"KingdomCome'sashorelight."
Helookedatmeoutofhisdeepseteyes,andthenheturnedthemaroundthelight
room,wherehe'dbeensolong.
"No,"saidhe,wagginghishead."Itain'tforsuchasme."
Ineversawsohumbleaman.
"Butlookhere,"hewenton,morecheerful."AsIwastellingherjustnow, a month
fromyesterday'sourfourthanniversary,andI'mgoingtotakeherashoreforthedayand
giveheraholidaynewhatandeverything.Agirlwantsamiteofexcitementnowand
then,Ray."
Thereitwasagain,that"girl."Itgavemethefidgets,sir.Ihadtodosomethingabout
it. It's close quarters for last names in a light, and I'd taken to calling him Uncle Matt
soon after I came. Now, when I was at table that noon I spoke over to where she was
standingbythestove,gettinghimanotherhelpofchowder.
"IguessI'llhavesome,too,AuntAnna,"saidI,matteroffact.
She never said a word nor gave a signjust stood there kind of roundshouldered,
dippingthechowder.AndthatnightatprayersIhitchedmychairaroundthetable,with
itsbacktheotherway.
Yougetawfullazyinalighthouse,someways.Nomatterhowmuchtinkeringyou've
got,there'sstillalotoftimeandthere'ssuchathingastoomuchreading.Thechangesin
weathergetmonotonous,too,byandbythelightburnsthesameonathicknightasit
does on a fair one. Of course there's the ships, northbound, southboundwind
jammers,freighters,passengerboatsfullofpeople.Inthewatchesatnightyoucansee
theirlightsgoby,andwonderwhattheyare,howthey'reladen,wherethey'llfetchup,
andall.Iusedtodothatalmosteveryeveningwhenitwasmyfirstwatch,sittingouton
thewalkarounduptherewithmylegshangingovertheedgeandmychinproppedon
therailinglazy.TheBostonboatwastheprettiesttosee,withherthreetiersof port
holeslit,likeastringofpearlswrappedroundandroundawoman'sneckwellaway,
too,fortheledgemusthavemadeacoupleofhundredfathomsofftheLight,likeawhite
dogtoothofabreaker,evenonthedarkestnight.
Well, I was lolling there one night, as I say, watching the Boston boat go by, not
thinkingofanythingspecial,whenIheardthedoorontheothersideofthetoweropen
andfootstepscomingaroundtome.
ByandbyInoddedtowardtheboatandpassedtheremarkthat she was fetching in
uncommonclosetonight.Noanswer.Imadenothingofthat,foroftentimesFedderson
wouldn'tanswer,and after I'd watched the lights crawling on through the dark a spell,
justtomakeconversationIsaidIguessedthere'dbeabitofweatherbeforelong.
"I'venoticed,"saidI,"whenthere'sweathercomingon,andthewindinthenortheast,
youcanheartheorchestraplayingaboardofherjustoverthere.Imakeitoutnow.Do
you?"
"Yes.Ohyes!Ihearitallright!"
YoucanimagineIstarted.Itwasn'thim,buther.Andtherewassomethingintheway
shesaidthatspeech,sirsomethingwellunnatural.Likeahungryanimal snapping
ataperson'shand.
I turned and looked at her sidewise. She was standing by the railing, leaning a little
outward,thetopofherfromthewaistpickedoutbrightbythelensbehindher.Ididn't
knowwhatintheworldtosay,andyetIhadafeelingIoughtnottosittheremum.
"Iwonder,"saidI,"whatthatcaptain'sthinkingof,fetchinginsohandytonight.It's
noway.Itellyou,if'twasn'tforthislight,she'dgotoworkandpileupontheledgesome
thicknight"
She turned at that and stared straight into the lens. I didn't like the look of her face.
Somehow,withitsedgescuthardallaroundanditstwoeyescloseddowntoslits,likea
cat's,itmadeakindofmask.
"And then," I went on, uneasy enough"and then where'd all their music be of a
sudden,andtheirgoingsonandtheirsinging"
"Anddancing!"Sheclippedmeoffsoquickittookmybreath.
"Dddancing?"saidI.
"That'sdancemusic,"saidshe.Shewaslookingattheboatagain.
"Howdoyouknow?"IfeltIhadtokeepontalking.
Well,sirshelaughed.Ilookedather.Shehadonashawlofsomestufforotherthat
shinedinthelightshehaditpulledtightaroundherwithhertwohandsinfrontather
breast,andIsawhershouldersswayingintune.
"HowdoIknow?"shecried.Thenshelaughedagain,thesamekindofalaugh.Itwas
queer,sir,toseeher,andtohearher.Sheturned,asquickasthat,andleanedtowardme.
"Don'tyouknowhowtodance,Ray?"saidshe.
"Nno,"Imanaged,andIwasgoingtosay"AuntAnna,"butthethingchokedinmy
throat.
Itellyoushewaslookingsquareatmeallthetimewithhertwoeyesandmovingwith
themusicasifshedidn'tknowit.Byheavens,sir,itcameovermeofasuddenthatshe
wasn'tsobadlooking,afterall.IguessImusthavesoundedlikeafool.
"Youyousee,"saidI,"she'sclearedtheriptherenow,andthemusic'sgone.You
youhear?"
"Yes," said she, turning back slow. "That's where it stops every nightnight after
nightitstopsjustthereattherip."
Whenshespokeagainhervoicewasdifferent.Ineverheardthelikeofit,thinandtaut
asathread.Itmademeshiver,sir.
"Ihate'em!"That'swhatshesaid."Ihate'emall.I'dliketosee'emdead.I'dloveto
see'emtornapartontherocks,nightafternight.Icouldbathemyhandsintheirblood,
nightafternight."
And do you know, sir, I saw it with my own eyes, her hands moving in each other
abovetherail.Butitwashervoice,though.Ididn'tknowwhattodo,orwhattosay,soI
poked my head through the railing and looked down at the water. I don't think I'm a
coward,sir,butitwaslikeacoldicecoldhand,takingholdofmybeatingheart.
When I looked up finally, she was gone. By and by I went in and had a look at the
lamp,hardlyknowingwhatIwasabout.Then,seeingbymywatchitwastimeforthe
oldmantocomeonduty,Istartedtogobelow.IntheSevenBrothers,youunderstand,
thestairgoesdowninaspiralthroughawellagainstthesouthwallandfirstthere'sthe
doortothekeeper'sroomandthenyoucometoanother,andthat'sthelivingroom,and
thendowntothestoreroom.Andatnight,ifyoudon'tcarryalantern,it'sasblackasthe
pit.
Well,downIwent,slidingmyhandalongtherail,andasusualIstoppedtogivearap
onthekeeper'sdoor,incasehewastakinganapaftersupper.Sometimeshedid.
Istoodthere,blindasabat,withmymindstilluponthewalkaround.Therewasno
answer to my knock. I hadn't expected any. Just from habit, and with my right foot
alreadyhangingdownforthenextstep,Ireachedouttogivethedooronemoretapfor
luck.
Do you know, sir, my hand didn't fetch up on anything. The door had been there a
secondbefore,andnowthedoorwasn'tthere.Myhandjustwentongoingthroughthe
dark,onandon,andIdidn'tseemtohavesenseorpowerenoughtostopit.Theredidn't
seemanyairinthewelltobreathe,andmyearsweredrummingtothesurfthat'show
scaredIwas.Andthenmyhandtouchedthefleshofaface,andsomethinginthedark
said,"Oh!"nolouderthanasigh.
Next thing I knew, sir, I was down in the livingroom, warm and yellowlit, with
Feddersoncockinghisheadatmeacrossthetable,wherehewasatthateternalJacob's
ladderofhis.
"What'sthematter,Ray?"saidhe."Lord'ssake,Ray!"
"Nothing,"saidI.ThenIthinkItoldhimIwassick.ThatnightIwrotealettertoA.L.
Peters,thegraindealerinDuxbury,askingforajobeventhoughitwouldn'tgoashore
foracoupleofweeks,justthewritingofitmademefeelbetter.
It's hard to tell you how those two weeks went by. I don't know why, but I felt like
hidinginacornerallthetime.Ihadtocometomeals,butIdidn'tlookather,though,not
once, unless it was by accident. Fedderson thought I was still ailingandnaggedmeto
deathwithadviceandsoon.OnethingItookcarenottodo,Icantellyou,andthatwas
toknockonhisdoortillI'dmadecertainhewasn'tbelowinthelivingroomthoughI
wastemptedto.
Yes,sirthat'saqueerthing,andIwouldn'ttellyouifIhadn'tsetouttogiveyouthe
truth.Nightafternight,stoppingthereonthelandinginthatblackpit,theairgoneoutof
mylungsandthesurfdrumminginmyearsandsweatstandingcoldonmyneckand
onehandliftingupintheairGodforgiveme,sir!MaybeIdidwrongnottolookather
more,droopingaboutherworkinherginghamapron,withherhairstringing.
When the Inspector came off with the tender, that time, I told him I was through.
That'swhenhetookthedisliketome,Iguess,forhelookedatmekindofsneeringand
said,softasIwas,I'dhavetoputupwithittillnextrelief.Andthen,saidhe,there'dbea
whole housecleaning at Seven Brothers, because he'd gotten Fedderson the berth at
KingdomCome.Andwiththatheslappedtheoldmanontheback.
IwishyoucouldhaveseenFedderson,sir.Hesatdownonmycotasifhiskneeshad
given 'way. Happy? You'd think he'd be happy, with all his dreams come true. Yes, he
washappy,beamingalloverforaminute.Then,sir,hebegantoshrivelup.Itwaslike
seeingamancutdowninhisprimebeforeyoureyes.Hebegantowaghishead.
"No,"saidhe."No,noit'snotforsuchasme.I'mgoodenoughforSevenBrothers,
andthat'sall,Mr.Bayliss.That'sall."
And for all the Inspector could say, that's what he stuck to. He'd figured himself a
martyrsomanyyears,nursedthatinjusticelikeamotherwithherfirstborn,sirandnow
inhisoldage,sotospeak,theyweren'ttorobhimofit.Feddersonwasgoingtowearout
his life in a secondclass light, and folks would talkthat was his idea. I heard him
hailingdownasthetenderwascastingoff:
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Bayliss. Yep. Coming ashore with the wife for a spree.
Anniversary.Yep."
But he didn't sound much like a spree. They had, robbed him, partly, after all. I
wondered what she thought about it. I didn't know till night. She didn't show up to
supper,whichFeddersonandIgotourselveshadaheadache,besaid.Itwasmyearly
watch.Iwentandlitupandcamebacktoreadaspell.HewasfinishingofftheJacob's
ladder, and thoughtful, like a man that's lost a treasure. Once or twice I caught him
lookingabouttheroomonthesly.Itwaspathetic,sir.
Goingupthesecondtime,Isteppedoutonthewalkaroundtohavealookatthings.
Shewasthereontheseawardside,wrappedinthatsilkything.Afairseawasrunning
acrosstheledgeanditwascomingonalittlethicknottoothick.Offtotherightthe
Boston boat was blowing, whroomwhroom! Creeping up on us, quarterspeed. There
wasanotherfellowbehindher,andafisherman'sconchfartheroffshore.
Idon'tknowwhy,butIstoppedbesideherandleanedontherail.Shedidn'tappearto
noticeme,onewayoranother.Westoodandwestood,listeningtothewhistles,andthe
longerwestoodthemoreitgotonmynerves,hernotnoticingme.Isupposeshe'dbeen
toomuchonmymindlately.Ibegantobeputout.Iscrapedmyfeet.Icoughed.Byand
byIsaidoutloud:
"Lookhere,IguessIbettergetoutthefoghornandgivethosefellowsatoot."
"Why?"saidshe,withoutmovingherheadcalmasthat.
"Why?"Itgavemeaturn,sir.ForaminuteIstaredather."Why?Becauseifshedon't
pickupthislightbeforeverymanyminutesshe'llbetoocloseintoweartide'llhave
herontherocksthat'swhy!"
Icouldn'tseeherface,butIcouldseeoneofhersilkshouldersliftalittle,likeashrug.
AndthereIkeptonstaringather,adumbone,sureenough.Iknowwhatbroughtmeto
was hearing the Boston boat's three sharp toots as she picked up the lightmad as
anythingandswungherhelmaport.Iturnedawayfromher,sweatstringingdownmy
face, and walked around to the door. It was just as well, too, for the feedpipe was
plugged in the lamp and the wicks were popping. She'd have been out in another five
minutes,sir.
WhenI'dfinished,Isawthatwomanstandinginthedoorway.Hereyeswerebright.I
hadahorrorofher,sir,alivinghorror.
"Ifonlythelighthadbeenout,"saidshe,lowandsweet.
"Godforgiveyou,"saidI."Youdon'tknowwhatyou'resaying."
Shewentdownthestairintothewell,windingoutofsight,andaslongasIcouldsee
her, her eyes were watching mine. When I went, myself, after a few minutes, she was
waitingformeonthatfirstlanding,standingstillinthedark.Shetookholdofmyhand,
thoughItriedtogetitaway.
"Goodby,"saidsheinmyear.
"Goodby?"saidI.Ididn'tunderstand.
"YouheardwhathesaidtodayaboutKingdomCome?Beitsoonhisownhead.
I'llnevercomebackhere.OnceIsetfootashoreI'vegotfriendsinBrightonboro,Ray."
Igotawayfromherandstartedondown.ButIstopped."Brightonboro?"Iwhispered
back."Whydoyoutellme?"Mythroatwasrawtothewords,likeasore.
"Soyou'dknow,"saidshe.
Well,sir,Isawthemoffnextmorning,downthatnewJacob'sladderintothedinghy
boat,herinadressofbluevelvetandhiminhisbestcutawayandderbyrowingaway,
smallerandsmaller,thetwoofthem.AndthenIwentbackandsatonmycot,leaving
thedooropenandtheladderstillhangingdownthewall,alongwiththeboatfalls.
I don't know whether it was relief, or what. I suppose I must have been worked up
evenmorethanI'dthoughtthosepastweeks,fornowitwasalloverIwaslikearag.I
gotdownonmyknees,sir,andprayedtoGodforthesalvationofmysoul,andwhenI
got upandclimbedto the livingroom it was halfpast twelve by the clock. There was
rainonthewindowsandtheseawasrunningblueblackunderthesun.I'dsatthereall
thattimenotknowingtherewasasquall.
Itwasfunnytheglassstoodhigh,butthoseblacksquallskeptcomingandgoingall
afternoon,whileIwasatworkupinthelightroom.AndIworkedhard,tokeepmyself
busy.FirstthingIknewitwasfive,andnosignoftheboatyet.Itbegantogetdimand
kindofpurplishgrayovertheland.Thesunwasdown.Ilitup,madeeverythingsnug,
andgotoutthenightglassestohaveanotherlookforthatboat.He'dsaidheintendedto
getbackbeforefive.Nosign.Andthen,standingthere,itcameovermethatofcoursehe
wouldn'tbecomingoffhe'dbehuntingher,pooroldfool.ItlookedlikeIhadtostand
twomen'swatchesthatnight.
Nevermind.Ifeltlikemyselfagain,evenifIhadn'thadanydinnerorsupper.Pride
came to me that night on the walkaround, watching the boats go bylittle boats, big
boats, the Boston boat with all her pearls and her dancemusic. They couldn't see me
theydidn'tknowwhoIwasbuttothelastofthem,theydependedonme. They say a
manmustbebornagain.Well,Iwasbornagain.Ibreatheddeepinthewind.
Dawnbrokehardandredasadyingcoal.Iputoutthelightandstartedtogobelow.
Bornagainyes,sir.IfeltsogoodIwhistled in the well, and when I came to the first
dooronthestairIreachedoutinthedarktogiveitarapforluck.Andthen,sir,thehair
prickledallovermyscalp,whenIfoundmyhandjustgoingonandonthroughtheair,
the same as it had gone once before, and all of a sudden I wanted to yell, because I
thoughtIwasgoingtotouchflesh.It'sfunnywhattheirjustforgettingtoclosetheirdoor
didtome,isn'tit?
Well,Ireachedforthelatchandpulledittowithabangandrandownasifaghost
wasafterme.Igotupsomecoffeeandbreadandbaconforbreakfast.Idrankthecoffee.
ButsomehowIcouldn'teat,allalongofthatopendoor.Thelightintheroomwasblood.
Igottothinking.Ithoughthowshe'dtalkedaboutthosemen,women,andchildrenon
therocks,andhowshe'dmadetobatheherhandsovertherail.Ialmostjumpedoutof
mychairthenitseemedforawinkshewastherebesidethestovewatchingmewiththat
queerhalfsmilereally,Iseemedtoseeherforaflashacrosstheredtableclothinthe
redlightofdawn.
"Lookhere!"saidItomyself,sharpenoughandthenIgavemyselfagoodlaughand
went below. There I took a look out of the door, which was still open, with the ladder
hangingdown.Imadesuretoseethepooroldfoolcomepullingaroundthepointbefore
verylongnow.
Mybootswerehurtingalittle,and,takingthemoff,Ilaydownonthecottorest,and
somehowIwenttosleep.Ihadhorribledreams.Isawheragainstandinginthatblood
red kitchen, and she seemed to be washing her hands, and the surf on the ledge was
whining up the tower, louder and louder all the time, and what it whined was, "Night
afternightnightafternight."Whatwokemewascoldwaterinmyface.
Thestoreroomwasingloom.ThatscaredmeatfirstIthoughtnighthadcome,and
rememberedthelight.ButthenIsawthegloomwasofastorm.Thefloorwasshining
wet,andthewaterinmyfacewasspray,flungupthroughtheopendoor.WhenIranto
closeit,italmostmademedizzytoseethegrayandwhitebreakersmarchingpast.The
landwasgonetheskyshutdownheavyoverheadtherewasapieceofwreckageonthe
backofaswell,andtheJacob'sladderwascarriedcleanaway.Howthatseahadpicked
upsoquickIcan'tthink.Ilookedatmywatchanditwasn'tfourintheafternoonyet.
WhenIclosedthedoor,sir,itwasalmostdarkinthestoreroom.I'dneverbeeninthe
Lightbeforeinagaleofwind.IwonderedwhyIwasshiveringso,tillIfounditwasthe
floorbelowmeshivering,andthewallsandstair.Horriblecrunchingsandgrindingsran
awayupthetower,andnowandthentherewasagreatthudsomewhere,likeacannon
shotinacave.Itellyou,sir,Iwasalone,andIwasinamortalfrightforaminuteorso.
AndyetIhadtogetmyselftogether.Therewasthelightuptherenottendedto,andan
earlydarkcomingonandaheavynightandall,andIhadtogo.AndIhadtopassthat
door.
You'll say it's foolish, sir, and maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was because I hadn't
eaten.ButIbeganthinkingofthatdooruptheretheminuteIsetfootonthestair,andall
thewayupthroughthathowlingdarkwellIdreadedtopassit.ItoldmyselfIwouldn't
stop.Ididn'tstop.IfeltthelandingunderfootandIwenton,foursteps,fiveandthenI
couldn't. I turned and went back. I put out my hand and it went on into nothing. That
door,sir,wasopenagain.
IleftitbeIwentonuptothelightroomandsettowork.ItwasBedlamthere,sir,
screeching Bedlam, but I took no notice. I kept my eyes down. I trimmed those seven
wicks, sir, as neat as ever they were trimmed I polished the brass till it shone, and I
dustedthelens.Itwasn'ttillthatwasdonethatIletmyselflookbacktoseewhoitwas
standingthere,halfoutofsightinthewell.Itwasher,sir.
"Where'dyoucomefrom?"Iasked.Iremembermyvoicewassharp.
"UpJacob'sladder,"saidshe,andherswaslikethesyrupofflowers.
Ishookmyhead.Iwassavage,sir."Theladder'scarriedaway."
"Icastitoff,"saidshe,withasmile.
"Then,"saidI,"youmusthavecomewhileIwasasleep."Another thought came on
meheavyasatonoflead."Andwhere'she?"saidI."Where'stheboat?"
"He'sdrowned,"saidshe,aseasyasthat."AndIlettheboatgoadrift.Youwouldn't
hearmewhenIcalled."
"Butlookhere,"saidI."Ifyoucamethroughthestoreroom,whydidn'tyouwakeme
up?Tellmethat!"Itsoundsfoolishenough,mestandinglikealawyerincourt,tryingto
proveshecouldn'tbethere.
Shedidn'tanswerforamoment.Iguessshesighed,thoughIcouldn'thearforthegale,
andhereyesgrewsoft,sir,sosoft.
"Icouldn't,"saidshe."Youlookedsopeacefuldearone."
Mycheeksandneckwenthot,sir,asifawarmironwaslaidonthem.Ididn'tknow
whattosay.Ibegantostammer,"Whatdoyoumean"butshewasgoingbackdown
thestair,outofsight.MyGodsir,andIusednottothinkshewasgoodlooking!
Istartedtofollowher.Iwantedtoknowwhatshemeant.ThenIsaidtomyself,"IfI
don'tgoifIwaithereshe'll come back." And I went to the weather side and stood
lookingoutofthewindow.Notthattherewasmuchtosee.Itwasgrowingdark,andthe
Seven Brothers looked like the mane of a running horse, a great, vast, white horse
runninginto the wind. The air was awelter with it. I caught one peep of a fisherman,
lyingdownflattryingtoweathertheledge,andIsaid,"Godhelpthemalltonight,"and
thenIwenthotatsoundofthat"God."
Iwasrightabouther,though.Shewasbackagain.Iwantedhertospeakfirst,beforeI
turned,butshewouldn't.Ididn'thearhergooutIdidn'tknowwhatshewasuptotillI
saw her coming outside on the walkaround, drenched wet already. I pounded on the
glassforhertocomeinandnotbeafoolifsheheardshegavenosignofit.
Thereshestood,andthereIstoodwatchingher.Lord,sirwasitjustthat I'd never
hadeyestosee?Oraretherewomenwhobloom?Herclotheswereshiningonher,likea
carving, and her hair was let down like a golden curtain tossing and streaming in the
gale, and there she stood with her lips half open, drinking, and her eyes half closed,
gazingstraightawayovertheSevenBrothers,andhershouldersswaying,asifintune
withthewindandwaterandalltheruin.AndwhenIlookedatherhandsovertherail,
sir,theyweremovingineachotherasiftheybathed,andthenIremembered,sir.
A cold horror took me. I knew now why she had come back again. She wasn't a
womanshewasadevil.Iturnedmybackonher.Isaidtomyself:"It'stimetolightup.
You'vegottolightup"likethat,overandover,outloud.MyhandwasshiveringsoI
couldhardlyfindamatchandwhenIscratchedit,itonlyflaredasecondandthenwent
outinthebackdraughtfromtheopendoor.Shewasstandinginthedoorway,lookingat
me.It'squeer,sir,butIfeltlikeachildcaughtinmischief.
"IIwasgoingtolightup,"Imanagedtosay,finally.
"Why?"saidshe.No,Ican'tsayitasshedid.
"Why?"saidI."MyGod!"
She came nearer, laughing, as if with pity, low, you know. "Your God? And who is
yourGod?WhatisGod?Whatisanythingonanightlikethis?"
Idrewbackfromher.AllIcouldsayanythingaboutwasthelight.
"Whynotthedark?"saidshe."Darkissofterthanlighttendererdearerthanlight.
Fromthedarkuphere,awayuphereinthewindandstorm,wecanwatchtheshipsgo
by,youandI.Andyoulovemeso.You'velovedmesolong,Ray."
"Ineverhave!"Istruckoutather."Idon't!Idon't!"
Her voice was lower than ever, but there was the same laughingpityinit."Oh yes,
youhave."Andshewasnearmeagain.
"Ihave?"Iyelled."I'llshowyou!I'llshowyouifIhave!"
Igotanothermatch,sir,andscratcheditonthebrass.Igaveittothefirstwick,the
littlewickthat'sinsidealltheothers.Itbloomedlikeayellowflower."Ihave?"Iyelled,
andgaveittothenext.
Thentherewasashadow,andIsawshewasleaningbesideme,hertwoelbowsonthe
brass, her two arms stretched out above the wicks, her bare forearms and wrists and
hands.Igaveagasp:
"Takecare!You'llburnthem!ForGod'ssake"
Shedidn'tmoveorspeak.Thematchburnedmyfingersandwentout,andallIcould
dowasstareatthosearmsofhers,helpless.I'dnevernoticedherarmsbefore.Theywere
roundedandgracefulandcoveredwithasoftdown,likeabreathofgold.ThenIheard
herspeakingclosetomyear.
"Prettyarms,"shesaid."Prettyarms!"
Iturned.Hereyeswerefixedonmine.Theyseemedheavy,asifwithsleep,andyet
betweentheirlidstheyweretwowells,deepanddeep,andasiftheyheldallthethings
I'deverthoughtordreamedinthem.Ilookedawayfromthem,atherlips.Herlipswere
redaspoppies,heavywithredness.Theymoved,andIheardthemspeaking:
"Poorboy,youlovemeso,andyouwanttokissmedon'tyou?"
"No,"saidI.ButIcouldn'tturnaround.Ilookedatherhair.I'dalwaysthoughtitwas
stringyhair.Somehaircurlsnaturallywithdamp,theysay,andperhapsthatwasit,for
therewerepearlsofwetonit,anditwasthickandshimmeringaroundherface,making
softshadowsbythetemples.Therewasgreeninit,queerstrandsofgreenlikebraids.
"Whatisit?"saidI.
"Nothingbutweed,"saidshe,withthatslow,sleepysmile.
SomehoworotherIfeltcalmerthanIhadanytime."Lookhere,"saidI."I'mgoingto
lightthislamp."Itookoutamatch,scratchedit,andtouchedthethirdwick.Theflame
ranaround,biggerthantheothertwotogether.Butstillherarmshungthere.Ibitmylip.
"ByGod,Iwill!"saidItomyself,andIlitthefourth.
Itwasfierce,sir,fierce!Andyetthosearmsnevertrembled.Ihadtolookaroundat
her.Hereyeswerestilllookingintomine,sodeepanddeep,andherredlipswerestill
smilingwiththatqueer, sleepy droop the only thing wasthat tears were raining down
hercheeksbig,glowinground,jeweltears.Itwasn'thuman,sir.Itwaslikeadream.
"Pretty arms," she sighed, and then, as if those words had broken something in her
heart,therecameagreatsobburstingfromherlips.Tohearitdrovememad.Ireached
todragheraway,butshewastooquick,sirshecringedfrommeandslippedoutfrom
betweenmyhands.Itwaslikeshefadedaway,sir,andwentdowninabundle,nursing
herpoorarmsandmourningoverthemwiththoseterrible,brokensobs.
Thesoundofthemtookthemanhoodoutofmeyou'dhavebeenthesame,sir.Iknelt
downbesideheronthefloorandcoveredmyface.
"Please!" I moaned. "Please! Please!" That's all I could say. I wanted her to forgive
me.Ireachedoutahand,blind,forforgiveness,andIcouldn'tfindheranywhere.Ihad
hurt her so, and she was afraid of me, of me, sir, who loved her so deep it drove me
crazy.
Icouldseeherdownthestair,thoughitwasdimandmyeyeswerefilledwithtears.I
stumbledafterher,crying,"Please!Please!"ThelittlewicksI'dlitwereblowinginthe
windfromthedoorandsmokingtheglassbesidethemblack.Onewent out. I pleaded
withthem,thesameasIwouldpleadwithahumanbeing.IsaidI'dbebackinasecond.
Ipromised.AndIwentondownthestair,cryinglikeababybecauseI'dhurther,andshe
wasafraidofmeofme,sir.
She had gone into her room. The door was closed against me and I could hear her
sobbingbeyondit,brokenhearted.Myheartwasbrokentoo.Ibeatonthedoorwithmy
palms.Ibegged her to forgive me. I told her I loved her. And all the answer was that
sobbinginthedark.
AndthenIliftedthelatchandwentin,groping,pleading."Dearestplease!BecauseI
loveyou!"
Iheardherspeakdownnearthefloor.Therewasn'tanyangerinhervoicenothingbut
sadnessanddespair.
"No,"saidshe."Youdon'tloveme,Ray.Youneverhave."
"Ido!Ihave!"
"No,no,"saidshe,asifshewastiredout.
"Whereareyou?"Iwasgropingforher.Ithought,andlitamatch.Shehadgottothe
doorandwasstandingthereasifreadytofly.Iwenttowardher,andshemademestop.
Shetookmybreathaway."Ihurtyourarms,"saidI,inadream.
"No,"saidshe,hardlymovingherlips.Sheheldthemouttothematch'slightformeto
lookandtherewasneverascaronthemnoteventhatsoft,goldendownwassinged,
sir."Youcan'thurtmybody,"saidshe,sadasanything."Onlymyheart,Raymypoor
heart."
I tell you again, she took my breath away. I lit another match. "How can you be so
beautiful?"Iwondered.
Sheansweredinriddlesbutoh,thesadnessofher,sir.
"Because,"saidshe,"I'vealwayssowantedtobe."
"Howcomeyoureyessoheavy?"saidI.
"BecauseI'veseensomanythingsIneverdreamedof,"saidshe.
"Howcomeyourhairsothick?"
"It'stheseaweedmakesitthick,"saidshesmilingqueer,queer.
"Howcomeseaweedthere?"
"Outofthebottomofthesea."
Shetalkedinriddles,butitwaslikepoetrytohearher,orasong.
"Howcomeyourlipssored?"saidI.
"Becausethey'vewantedsolongtobekissed."
Firewasonme,sir.Ireachedouttocatchher,butshewasgone,outofthedoorand
down the stair. I followed, stumbling. I must have tripped on the turn, for I remember
goingthroughtheairandfetchingupwithacrash,andIdidn'tknowanythingforaspell
howlongIcan'tsay.When I came to, she was there, somewhere, bending over me,
crooning,"Mylovemylove"underherbreathlike,asong.
But then when I got up, she was not where my arms went she was down the stair
again,justaheadofme.Ifollowedher.Iwastotteringanddizzyandfullofpain.Itried
to catch up with her in the dark of the storeroom, but she was too quick for me, sir,
always a little too quick for me. Oh, she was cruel to me, sir. I kept bumping against
things, hurting myself still worse, and it was cold and wet and a horrible noise all the
while,sirandthen,sir,Ifoundthedoorwasopen,andaseahadpartedthehinges.
I don't know how it all went, sir. I'd tell you if I could, but it's all so blurred
sometimesitseemsmorelikeadream.Icouldn'tfindheranymoreIcouldn'thearherI
went all over, everywhere. Once, I remember, I found myself hangingoutofthatdoor
betweenthedavits,lookingdownintothosebigblackseasandcryinglikeababy.It'sall
riddlesandblur.Ican'tseemtotellyoumuch,sir.ItwasallallIdon'tknow.
Iwastalkingtosomebodyelsenother.ItwastheInspector.Ihardlyknewitwasthe
Inspector.Hisface was asgray as a blanket, and his eyes were bloodshot, and his lips
weretwisted.Hisleftwristhungdown,awkward.ItwasbrokencomingaboardtheLight
inthatsea.Yes,wewereinthelivingroom. Yes, sir, it was daylightgray daylight. I
tell you, sir, the man looked crazy to me. He was waving his good arm toward the
weatherwindows,andwhathewassaying,overandover,wasthis:
"Lookwhatyoudone,damnyou!Lookwhatyoudone!"
AndwhatIwassayingwasthis:
"I'velosther!"
Ididn'tpayanyattentiontohim,norhimtome.Byandbyhedid,though.Hestopped
histalkingallofasudden,andhiseyeslookedlikethedevil'seyes.Heputthemupclose
tomine.Hegrabbedmyarmwithhisgoodhand,andIcried,Iwassoweak.
"Johnson," said he, "is that it? By the living Godif you got a woman out here,
Johnson!"
"No,"saidI."I'velosther."
"Whatdoyoumeanlosther?"
"Itwasdark,"saidIandit'sfunnyhowmyheadwasclearingup"andthedoorwas
openthestoreroomdoorand I was after herand I guess she stumbled, maybe
andIlosther."
"Johnson,"saidhe,"whatdoyoumean?Yousoundcrazydownrightcrazy.Who?"
"Her,"saidI."Fedderson'swife."
"Who?"
"Her,"saidI.Andwiththathegavemyarmanotherjerk.
"Listen,"saidhe,likeatiger."Don'ttrythatonme.Itwon'tdoanygoodthatkindof
liesnotwhereyou'regoingto.Feddersonandhiswife,toothebothof'em'sdrowned
deader'nadoornail."
"Iknow,"saidI,noddingmyhead.Iwassocalmitmadehimwild.
"You'recrazy!Crazyasaloon,Johnson!"Andhewaschewinghislipred."Iknow,
becauseitwasmethatfoundtheoldmanlayingonBackWaterFlatsyesterdaymorning
me!Andshe'dbeenwithhimintheboat,too,becausehehadapieceofherjackettore
off,tangledinhisarm."
"Iknow,"saidI,noddingagain,likethat.
"Youknowwhat,youcrazy,murderingfool?"Thosewerehiswordstome,sir.
"Iknow,"saidI,"whatIknow."
"AndIknow,"saidhe,"whatIknow."
Andthereyouare,sir.He'sInspector.I'mnobody.
AttheGate
BYMYLAJOCLOSSER
From the CenturyMagazine. By permission of the Century Company

andMylaJ.Closser.
AshaggyAiredalescentedhiswayalongthehighroad.Hehadnotbeentherebefore,
but he was guided by the trail of his brethren who had preceded him. He had gone
unwillingly upon this journey, yet with the perfect training of dogs he had accepted it
without complaint. The path had been lonely, and his heart would have failed him,
travelingashemustwithouthispeople,hadnotthesetracesofcountlessdogsbeforehim
promisedcompanionshipofasortattheendoftheroad.
The landscape had appeared arid at first, for the translation from recent agony into
freedomfrompainhadbeensonumbinginitsswiftnessthatitwassometimebeforehe
could fully appreciate the pleasant dogcountry through which he was passing. There
werewoodswithleavesuponthegroundthroughwhichtoscurry,longgrassyslopesfor
extendedruns,andlakesintowhichhemightplungeforsticksandbringthembackto
But he did not complete his thought, for the boy was not with him. A little wave of
homesicknesspossessedhim.
It made his mind easier to see far ahead a great gate as high as the heavens, wide
enoughforall.Heunderstoodthatonlymanbuiltsuchbarriersandbystraininghiseyes
hefanciedhecoulddiscernhumanspassingthroughtowhateverlaybeyond.Hebroke
intoarunthathemightthemorequicklygainthisinclosuremadebeautifulbymenand
womenbuthisthoughtsoutranhispace,andherememberedthathehadleftthefamily
behind,andagainthislovelynewcompoundbecamenotperfect,sinceitwouldlackthe
family.
Thescentofthedogsgrewverystrongnow,andcomingnearer,hediscovered,tohis
astonishmentthatofthemyriadsofthosewhohadarrivedaheadofhimthousandswere
stillgatheredontheoutsideoftheportal.Theysatinawidecirclespreadingoutoneach
side of the entrance, big, little, curly, handsome, mongrel, thoroughbred dogs of every
age,complexion,andpersonality.Allwereapparentlywaitingforsomething,someone,
and at the pad of the Airedale's feet on the hard road they arose and looked in his
direction.
Thattheinterestpassedassoonastheydiscoveredthenewcomertobeadogpuzzled
him. In his former dwellingplace a fourfooted brother was greeted with enthusiasm
whenhewasafriend,withsuspiciousdiplomacywhenastranger,andwithsharpreproof
whenanenemybutneverhadhebeenutterlyignored.
Herememberedsomethingthathehadreadmanytimesongreatbuildingswithlofty
entrances."Dogsnotadmitted,"thesignshadsaid,andhefearedthismightbethereason
for the waiting circle outside the gate. It might be that this noble portal stood as the
dividinglinebetweenmeredogsandhumans.Buthehadbeenamemberofthefamily,
romping with them in the livingroom, sitting at meals with them in the diningroom,
goingupstairsatnightwiththem,andthethoughtthathewastobe"keptout"wouldbe
unendurable.
He despised the passive dogs. They should be treating a barrier after the fashion of
theiroldcountry,leapingagainstit,barking,andscratchingthenicelypainteddoor.He
boundedupthelastlittlehilltosetthemanexample,forhewasstillfulloftherebellion
oftheworldbuthefoundnodoortoleapagainst.Hecouldseebeyondtheentrancedear
massesofpeople,yetnodogcrossedthethreshold.Theycontinuedintheirpatientring,
theirgazeuponthewindingroad.
He now advanced cautiously to examine the gate. It occurred to him that it must be
flytimeinthisregion,andhedidnotwishtomakehimselfridiculousbeforeallthese
strangersbytrying to bolt through an invisible mesh like the one that had baffledhim
whenhewasalittlechap.Yettherewerenoscreens,anddespairenteredhissoul.What
bitterpunishmentthesepoorbeastsmusthavesufferedbeforetheylearnedtostayonthis
sidethearchthatledtohumanbeings!Whathadtheydoneonearthtomeritthis?Stolen
bones troubled his conscience, runaway days, sleeping in the best chair until the key
clickedinthelock.Theseweresins.
At that moment an English bullterrier, white, with livercolored spots and a jaunty
manner,approachedhim,snufflinginafriendlyway.Nosoonerhadthebullterriersmelt
hiscollarthanhefelltoexpressinghisjoyatmeetinghim.TheAiredale'sreservewas
quitethawedbythiswelcome,thoughhedidnotknowjustwhattomakeofit.
"Iknowyou!Iknowyou!"exclaimedthebullterrier,addinginconsequently,"What's
yourname?"
"Tamo'Shanter.TheycallmeTammy,"wastheanswer,withapardonablebreakinthe
voice.
"Iknowthem,"saidthebullterrier."Nicefolks."
"Bestever,"saidtheAiredale,tryingtobenonchalant,andscratchingafleawhichwas
notthere."Idon'trememberyou.Whendidyouknowthem?"
"Aboutfourteentagsago,whentheywerefirstmarried.Wekeeptrackoftimehereby
thelicensetags.Ihadfour."
"Thisismyfirstandonlyone.Youwerebeforemytime,Iguess."Hefeltyoungand
shy.
"Comeforawalk,andtellmeallaboutthem,"washisnewfriend'sinvitation.
"Aren'tweallowedinthere?"askedTam,lookingtowardthegate.
"Sure.Youcangoinwheneveryouwantto.Someofusdoatfirst,butwedon'tstay."
"Likeitbetteroutside?"
"No,noitisn'tthat."
"Thenwhyareallyoufellowshangingaroundhere?Anyolddog can see it's better
beyondthearch."
"Yousee,we'rewaitingforourfolkstocome."
TheAiredalegraspeditatonce,andnoddedunderstandingly.
"I felt that way when I came along the road. It wouldn't be what it's supposed to be
withoutthem.Itwouldn'tbetheperfectplace."
"Nottous,"saidthebullterrier.
"Fine!I'vestolenbones,butitmustbethatIhavebeenforgiven,ifI'mtosee them
hereagain.It'sthegreatgoodplaceallright.Butlookhere,"headdedasanewthought
struckhim,"dotheywaitforus?"
Theolderinhabitantcoughedinslightembarrassment.
"The humans couldn't do that very well. It wouldn't be the thing to have them hang
aroundoutsideforjustadognotdignified."
"Quiteright,"agreedTam."I'mgladtheygostraighttotheirmansions.I'dI'dhateto
havethemmissingmeasIammissingthem."Hesighed."But,then,theywouldn'thave
towaitsolong."
"Oh,well,they'regettingon.Don'tbediscouraged,"comfortedtheterrier."Andinthe
meantime it's like a big hotel in summerwatching the new arrivals. See, there is
somethingdoingnow."
Allthedogswerearousedtoexcitementbyalittlefiguremakingitswayuncertainly
upthelastslope.Halfofthemstartedtomeetit,crowdingaboutinaloving,eagerpack.
"Lookoutdon'tscareit,"cautionedtheolderanimals,whilewordwaspassedtothose
farthestfromthegate:"Quick!Quick!Ababy'scome!"
Before they had entirely assembled, however, a gaunt yellow hound pushed through
thecrowd,gaveonesniffatthesmallchild,andwithayelpofjoycrouchedatitsfeet.
Thebabyembracedthehoundinrecognition,andthetwomovedtowardthegate.Just
outsidethehoundstoppedtospeaktoanaristocraticSt.Bernardwhohadbeenfriendly:
"Sorrytoleaveyou,oldfellow,"hesaid,"butI'mgoingintowatchoverthekid.You
see,I'mallshehasuphere."
ThebullterrierlookedattheAiredaleforappreciation.
"That'sthewaywedoit,"hesaidproudly.
"Yes,but"theAiredaleputhisheadononesideinperplexity.
"Yes,butwhat?"askedtheguide.
"Thedogsthatdon'thaveanypeoplethenobodies'dogs?"
"That'sthebestofall.Oh,everythingisthoughtouthere.Crouchdown,youmustbe
tired,andwatch,"saidthebullterrier.
Soon they spied another small form making the turn in the road. He wore a Boy
Scout'suniform,buthewasalittlefearful,forallthat,sonewwasthisadventure.The
dogsroseagainandsnuffled,butthebettergroomedofthecircleheldback,andintheir
placeapackofoddsandendsofthecompanyrandowntomeethim.TheBoyScoutwas
reassuredbytheirfriendlyattitude,andafterpettingthemimpartially,hechoseanold
fashionedblackandtan,andthetwopassedin.
Tamlookedquestioningly.
"Theydidn'tknoweachother!"heexclaimed.
"Butthey'vealwayswantedto.That'soneoftheboyswhousedtobegforadog,but
hisfatherwouldn'tlethimhaveone.Soallourstrayswaitforjustsuchlittlefellowsto
comealong.Everyboygetsadog,andeverydoggetsamaster."
"Iexpecttheboy'sfatherwouldliketoknowthatnow,"commentedtheAiredale."No
doubthethinksquiteoften,'IwishI'dlethimhaveadog.'"
Thebullterrierlaughed.
"You'reprettyneartheearthyet,aren'tyou?"
Tamadmittedit.
"I'vealotofsympathywithfathersandwithboys,havingthembothinthefamily,and
amotheraswell."
Thebullterrierleapedupinastonishment.
"Youdon'tmeantosaytheykeepaboy?"
"Suregreatestboyonearth.Tenthisyear."
"Well,well,thisisnews!Iwishthey'dkeptaboywhenIwasthere."
TheAiredalelookedathisnewfriendintently.
"Seehere,whoareyou?"hedemanded.
Buttheotherhurriedon:
"Iusedtorunawayfromthemjusttoplaywithaboy.They'dpunishme,andIalways
wantedtotellthemitwastheirfaultfornotgettingone."
"Who are you, anyway?" repeated Tam. "Talking all this interest in me, too. Whose
dogwereyou?"
"You'vealreadyguessed.Iseeitinyourquiveringsnout.I'mtheolddogthathadto
leavethemabouttenyearsago."
"TheirolddogBully?"
"Yes,I'mBully."Theynosedeachotherwithdeeperaffection,thenstrolledaboutthe
gladesshouldertoshoulder.Bullythemoreeagerlypressedfornews."Tellme,howare
theygettingalong?"
"Verywellindeedthey'vepaidforthehouse."
"IIsupposeyouoccupythekennel?"
"No.Theysaidtheycouldn'tstandittoseeanotherdoginyouroldplace."
Bullystoppedtohowlgently.
"Thattouchesme.It'sgenerousinyoutotellit.Tothinktheymissedme!"
Foralittlewhiletheywentoninsilence,butaseveningfell, andthelightfrom the
goldenstreetsinsideofthecitygavetheonlyglowtothescene,Bullygrewnervousand
suggestedthattheygoback.
"We can't see so well at night, and I like to be pretty close to the path, especially
towardmorning."
Tamassented.
"AndIwillpointthemout.Youmightnotknowthemjustatfirst."
"Oh, we know them. Sometimes the babies have so grown up they're rather hazy in
theirrecollectionofhowwelook.Theythinkwe'rebiggerthanwearebutyoucan'tfool
usdogs."
"It'sunderstood,"Tamcunninglyarranged,"thatwhenheorshearrivesyou'llsortof
makethemfeelathomewhileIwaitfortheboy?"
"That'sthebestplan,"assentedBully,kindly."Andifbyanychancethelittlefellow
should come first,there's been a lot of them this summerof course you'll introduce
me?"
"Ishallbeproudtodoit."
Andsowithmuzzlessunkbetweentheirpaws,andwiththeireyesstrainingdownthe
pilgrims'road,theywaitoutsidethegate.
Ligeia
BYEDGARALLANPOE
Andthewillthereinlieth,whichdiethnot.Whoknoweththemysteryof
thewill,withitsvigor?ForGodisbutagreatwillpervadingallthingsby
natureofitsintentness.Mandothnotyieldhimselftotheangels,norunto
death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.Joseph
Glanvill.
Icannot,formysoul,rememberhow,when,orevenpreciselywhere, 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,intruth,thecharacterofmybeloved,herrarelearning,hersingularyetplacid
castofbeauty,andthethrillingandenthrallingeloquenceofherlowmusicallanguage,
made their way into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily progressive, that they
havebeenunnoticedandunknown.YetIbelievethatImetherfirstandmostfrequently
insomelarge,old,decayingcityneartheRhine.OfherfamilyIhavesurelyheardher
speak.Thatitisofaremotelyancientdatecannotbedoubted.Ligeia!Ligeia!Buriedin
studies of a nature more than all else adapted to deaden impressions of the outward
world,itisbythatsweetwordalonebyLigeiathatIbringbeforemineeyesinfancy
theimageofherwhoisnomore.Andnow,whileIwrite,arecollectionflashesuponme
thatIhaveneverknownthepaternalnameofherwhowasmyfriendandmybethrothed,
andwhobecamethepartnerofmystudies,andfinallythewifeofmybosom.Wasita
playfulchargeonthepartofmyLigeia?orwasitatestofmystrengthofaffection,thatI
should institute no inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my owna
wildlyromanticofferingontheshrineofthemostpassionatedevotion?Ibutindistinctly
recallthefactitselfwhatwonderthatIhaveutterlyforgottenthecircumstanceswhich
originatedorattendedit?And,indeed,ifeverthatspiritwhichisentitledRomanceif
ever she, the wan mistywinged Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell,
overmarriagesillomened,thenmostsurelyshepresidedovermine.
Thereisonedeartopic,however,onwhichmymemoryfailsmenot.Itistheperson
of Ligeia. In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even
emaciated.Iwouldinvainattempttoportraythemajesty,thequieteaseofherdemeanor,
ortheincomprehensiblelightnessandelasticityofherfootfall.Shecameanddepartedas
ashadow.Iwasnevermadeawareofherentranceintomyclosedstudy,savebythedear
music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In
beautyoffacenomaideneverequaledher.Itwastheradianceofanopiumdreaman
airyandspiritliftingvisionmorewildlydivinethanthephantasieswhichhoveredabout
theslumberingsoulsofthedaughtersofDelos.Yetherfeatureswerenotofthatregular
moldwhichwehavebeenfalselytaughttoworshipintheclassicallaborsoftheheathen.
"Thereisnoexquisitebeauty,"saysBacon,LordVerulam,speakingtrulyofalltheforms
andgeneraofbeauty,"withoutsomestrangenessintheproportion."Yet,althoughIsaw
thatthefeaturesofLigeiawerenotofaclassicregularityalthoughIperceivedthather
loveliness was indeed "exquisite," and felt that there was much of "strangeness"
pervadingit,yetIhavetriedinvaintodetecttheirregularityandtotracehomemyown
perception of "the strange." I examined the contour of the lofty and pale foreheadit
was faultlesshow cold indeed that word when applied to a majesty so divine!the
skinrivalingthepurestivory,thecommandingextentandrepose,thegentleprominence
oftheregionsabovethetemplesandthentheravenblack,theglossy,theluxuriant,and
naturallycurling tresses, setting forth the full force of the Homeric epithet,
"hyacinthine!" I looked at the delicate outlines of the noseand 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 perceptible tendency to the
aquiline, the same harmoniously curved nostrils speaking the free spirit. I regarded the
sweetmouth.Herewasindeedthetriumphofallthingsheavenlythemagnificentturn
of the short upper lipthe soft, voluptuous slumber of the underthe dimples which
sported, and the color which spokethe teeth glancing back, with a brilliancy almost
startling,everyray of the holy light which fell uponthem in her serene and placid yet
mostexultinglyradiantofallsmiles.Iscrutinizedtheformationofthechinand,here,
too,Ifoundthegentlenessofbreadth,thesoftnessandthemajesty,thefullnessandthe
spirituality,oftheGreekthecontourwhichthegodApollorevealedbutinadream,to
Cleomenes,thesonoftheAthenian.AndthenIpeeredintothelargeeyesofLigeia.
Foreyeswehavenomodelsintheremotelyantique.Itmighthavebeen,too,thatin
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
thanthefullestofthegazelleeyesofthetribeofthevalleyofNourjahad.Yetitwasonly
atintervalsinmomentsofintenseexcitementthatthispeculiaritybecamemorethan
slightlynoticeableinLigeia.Andatsuchmomentswasherbeautyinmyheatedfancy
thusitappearedperhapsthebeautyofbeingseitheraboveorapartfromtheearththe
beautyofthefabulousHourioftheTurk.Thehueoftheorbswasthemostbrilliantof
black,and,faroverthem,hungjettylashesofgreatlength.Thebrows,slightlyirregular
inoutline,hadthesametint.The"strangeness,"however,whichIfoundintheeyeswas
ofanaturedistinctfromtheformation,orthecolor,orthebrilliancyofthefeatures,and
must,afterall,bereferredtotheexpression.Ah,wordofnomeaning!behindwhosevast
latitude of mere sound we intrench our ignorance of so much of the spiritual. The
expressionoftheeyesofLigeia!HowforlonghourshaveIpondereduponit!Howhave
I,throughthe whole of a midsummer night, struggled to fathom it! What was itthat
somethingmoreprofoundthanthewellofDemocrituswhichlayfarwithinthepupils
of my beloved? Whatwas it? I was possessed with a passion to discover. Those eyes!
thoselarge,thoseshining,thosedivineorbs!theybecametometwinstarsofLeda,andI
tothemdevoutestofastrologers.
There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of the science of
mind,morethrillinglyexcitingthanthefactnever,Ibelieve,noticedintheschools
than 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.Andthushowfrequently,inmyintensescrutinyofLigeia'seyes,haveIfelt
approaching the full knowledge of their expressionfelt it approachingyet not quite
bemineandsoatlengthentirelydepart!And(strange,oh,strangestmysteryofall!)I
found,inthecommonestobjectsoftheuniverse,acircleofanalogiestothatexpression.
Imeantosaythat,subsequentlytotheperiodwhenLigeia'sbeautypassedintomyspirit,
there dwelling as in a shrine, I derived, from many existences in the material world, a
sentimentsuchasIfeltalwaysaround,withinme,byherlargeandluminousorbs.Yet
not the more could I define that sentiment, or analyze, or even steadily view it. I
recognizedit,letmerepeat,sometimesinthesurveyofarapidlygrowingvinein the
contemplationofamoth,abutterfly,achrysalis,astreamofrunningwater.Ihavefeltit
intheoceaninthefallingofameteor.Ihavefeltitintheglances of unusually aged
people. And there are one or two stars in heaven (one especially, a star of the sixth
magnitude,doubleandchangeable,tobefoundnearthelargestarinLyra)inatelescopic
scrutiny of which I have been made aware of the feeling.Ihavebeenfilledwithitby
certainsoundsfromstringedinstruments,andnotunfrequentlybypassagesfrombooks.
Amonginnumerableotherinstances,IwellremembersomethinginavolumeofJoseph
Glanvill, which (perhaps merely from its quaintnesswho shall say?) never failed to
inspiremewiththesentiment:"Andthewillthereinlieth,whichdiethnot.Whoknoweth
themysteriesofthewill,withitsvigor?ForGodisbutagreatwillpervadingallthings
bynatureofitsintentness.Mandothnotyieldhimtotheangels,noruntodeathutterly,
saveonlythroughtheweaknessofhisfeeblewill."
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,oratleastanindex,ofthatgiganticvolitionwhich,duringourlongintercourse,
failed to give other and more immediate evidence of its existence. Of all the women
whomIhaveeverknown,she,theoutwardlycalm,theeverplacidLigeia,wasthemost
violentlyapreytothetumultuousvulturesofsternpassion.AndofsuchpassionIcould
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,
andplacidityofherverylowvoice,andbythefierceenergy(rendereddoublyeffective
bycontrastwithhermannerofutterance)ofthewildwordswhichshehabituallyuttered.
IhavespokenofthelearningofLigeia:itwasimmensesuchasIhaveneverknown
in woman. In the classical tongues was she deeply proficient, and as far as my own
acquaintanceextendedinregardtothemoderndialectsofEurope,Ihaveneverknown
her at fault. Indeed upon any theme of the most admired because simply the most
abstruseoftheboastederuditionoftheAcademy,haveIeverfoundLigeiaatfault?How
singularlyhowthrillingly,thisonepointinthenatureofmywifehasforceditself,at
thislateperiodonly,uponmyattention!IsaidherknowledgewassuchasIhavenever
knowninwomanbutwherebreathesthemanwhohastraversed,andsuccessfully,all
thewideareasofmoral,physical,andmathematicalscience?IsawnotthenwhatInow
clearlyperceivethattheacquisitionsofLigeiaweregigantic,wereastoundingyetIwas
sufficiently aware of her infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a childlike
confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic world of metaphysical investigation at
whichIwasmostbusilyoccupiedduringtheearlieryearsofourmarriage.Withhowvast
atriumphwithhowvividadelightwithhowmuchofallthatisetherealinhopedidI
feel, as she bent over me in studies but little soughtbut 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
preciousnottobeforbidden.
Howpoignant,then,musthavebeenthegriefwithwhich,aftersomeyears,Ibeheld
mywellgroundedexpectationstakewingstothemselvesandflyaway!WithoutLigeiaI
wasbutasachildgropingbenighted.Herpresence,herreadingsalone,renderedvividly
luminous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in which we were immersed.
Wanting the radiant luster of her eyes, letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than
Saturnianlead.Andnowthoseeyesshonelessandlessfrequentlyuponthepagesover
whichIpored.Ligeiagrewill.Thewildeyesblazedwithatootoogloriouseffulgence
the pale fingers became of the transparent waxen hue of the grave and the blue veins
upontheloftyforeheadswelledandsankimpetuouslywiththetidesofthemostgentle
emotion. I saw that she must dieand I struggled desperately in spirit with the grim
Azrael.Andthestrugglesof the passionate wife were, to my astonishment, even more
energeticthanmyown.Therehadbeenmuchinhersternnaturetoimpressmewiththe
belief that, to her, death would have come without its terrors but not so. Words are
impotenttoconveyanyjustideaofthefiercenessofresistancewithwhichshewrestled
withtheShadow.Igroanedinanguishatthepitiablespectacle.IwouldhavesoothedI
wouldhavereasonedbutintheintensityofherwilddesireforlifeforlifebutforlife
solaceandreasonwerealiketheuttermostoffolly.Yetnotuntilthelastinstance,amid
themostconvulsivewrithingsofherfiercespirit,wasshakentheexternalplacidityofher
demeanor.HervoicegrewmoregentlegrewmorelowyetIwouldnotwishtodwell
upon the wild meaning of the quietly uttered words. My brain reeled as I hearkened,
entranced, to a melody more than mortalto assumptions and aspirations which
mortalityhadneverbeforeknown.
ThatshelovedmeIshouldnothavedoubtedandImighthavebeeneasilyawarethat,
inabosomsuchashers,lovewouldhavereignednoordinarypassion.Butindeathonly
was I fully impressed with the strength of her affection. For long hours, detaining my
hand, would she pour out before me the overflowing of a heart whose more than
passionatedevotionamountedtoidolatry.HowhadIdeservedtobesoblessedbysuch
confessions?howhadIdeservedtobesocursedwiththeremovalofmybelovedinthe
hourofmymakingthem?ButuponthissubjectIcannotbeartodilate.Letmesayonly,
that in Ligeia's more than womanly abandonment to a love, alas! all unmerited, all
unworthilybestowed,Iatlength,recognizedtheprincipleofherlonging,withsowildly
earnest a desire, for the life which was now fleeing so rapidly away. It is this wild
longingitisthiseagervehemenceofdesireforlifebutforlifethatIhavenopower
toportraynoutterancecapableofexpressing.
Athighnoonofthenightinwhichshedeparted,beckoningme,peremptorily,toher
side, she bade me repeat certain verses composed by herself not many days before. I
obeyedher.Theywerethese:
Lo!'tisagalanight
Withinthelonesomelatteryears!
Anangelthrong,bewinged,bedight
Inveils,anddrownedintears,
Sitinatheatre,tosee
Aplayofhopesandfears,
Whiletheorchestrabreathesfitfully
Themusicofthespheres.
Mimes,intheformofGodonhigh,
Mutterandmumblelow,
Andhitherandthitherfly
Merepuppetsthey,whocomeandgo
Atbiddingofvastformlessthings
Thatshiftthescenerytoandfro,
Flappingfromouttheircondorwings
InvisibleWo!
Thatmotleydrama!oh,besure
Itshallnotbeforgot!
WithitsPhantomchasedforevermore
Byacrowdthatseizeitnot,
Throughacirclethateverreturnethin
Totheselfsamespot
AndmuchofMadness,andmoreofSin
AndHorror,thesouloftheplot!
Butsee,amidthemimicrout,
Acrawlingshapeintrude!
Abloodredthingthatwrithesfromout
Thescenicsolitude!
Itwrithes!itwrithes!withmortalpangs
Themimesbecomeitsfood,
Andtheseraphssobatverminfangs
Inhumangoreimbued.
Outoutarethelightsoutall:
Andovereachquiveringform,
Thecurtain,afuneralpall,
Comesdownwiththerushofastorm
Andtheangels,allpallidandwan,
Uprising,unveiling,affirm
Thattheplayisthetragedy,"Man,"
Anditshero,theconquerorWorm.
"OGod!"halfshriekedLigeia,leapingtoherfeetandextendingherarmsaloftwitha
spasmodicmovement,asImadeanendoftheselines"OGod!ODivineFather!shall
thesethingsbeundeviatinglyso?shallthisconquerorbenotonceconquered?Arewe
notpartandparcelinThee?Whowhoknoweththemysteriesofthewillwithitsvigor?
Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the
weaknessofhisfeeblewill."
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
mingledwiththemalowmurmurfromherlips.Ibenttothemmyear,anddistinguished,
again,theconcludingwordsofthepassageinGlanvill:"Mandothnotyieldhimtothe
angels,noruntodeathutterly,saveonlythroughtheweaknessofhisfeeblewill."
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
lackofwhattheworldcallswealth.Ligeiahadbroughtmefarmore,veryfarmore,than
ordinarilyfallstothelotofmortals.Afterafewmonths,therefore,ofwearyandaimless
wandering,Ipurchasedandputinsomerepair,anabbey,whichIshallnotname,inone
of the wildest and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy and dreary
grandeurofthebuilding,thealmostsavageaspectofthedomain,themanymelancholy
andtimehonoredmemoriesconnectedwithboth,hadmuchinunisonwiththefeelings
ofutterabandonmentwhichhaddrivenmeintothat remote and unsocial region of the
country. Yet although the external abbey, with its verdant decay hanging about it,
sufferedbutlittlealteration,Igaveway,withachildlikeperversity,andperchancewith
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
backtomeasifinthedotageofgrief.Alas,Ifeelhowmuchevenofincipientmadness
might 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
carpetsoftuftedgold!Ihadbecomeaboundenslaveinthetrammelsofopium,andmy
laborsandmyordershadtakenacoloringfrommydreams.ButtheseabsurditiesImust
notpausetodetail.Letmespeakonlyofthatonechamber,everaccursed,whither,ina
momentofmentalalienation,Iledfrom the altar as my brideas thesuccessorofthe
unforgottenLigeiathefairhairedandblueeyedLadyRowenaTrevanion,ofTremaine.
Thereisnoindividualportionofthearchitectureanddecorationofthatbridalchamber
whichisnotvisiblybeforeme.Wherewerethesoulsofthehaughtyfamilyofthebride,
when, through thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an apartment so
bedecked,amaidenandadaughtersobeloved?Ihavesaid,thatIminutelyrememberthe
details of the chamberyet I am sadly forgetful on topics of deep moment and here
therewasnosystem,nokeeping,inthefantasticdisplaytotakeholduponthememory.
Theroomlayinahighturretofthecastellatedabbey,waspentagonalinshape,andof
capacious size. Occupying the whole southern face of the pentagonal was the sole
windowanimmensesheetofunbrokenglassfromVeniceasinglepane,andtintedof
a leaden hue, so that the rays of either the sun or moon passing through it, fell with a
ghastly luster on the objects within. Over the upper portion of this huge window
extended the trelliswork of an aged vine, which clambered up the massy walls of the
turret. The ceiling, of gloomylooking oak, was excessively lofty, vaulted, and
elaborately fretted with the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semiGothic,
semiDruidical 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,
Saracenicinpattern,andwithmanyperforationssocontrivedthattherewrithedinand
outofthem,asifenduedwithaserpentvitality,acontinualsuccessionofparticolored
fires.
Somefewottomansandgoldencandelabra,ofEasternfigure,wereinvariousstations
aboutandtherewasthecouch,toothebridalcouchofanIndianmodel,andlow,and
sculptured of solid ebony, with a palllike canopy above. In each of the angles of the
chamber stood on end a gigantic sarcophagus of black granite, from the tombs of the
kingsoveragainst Luxor, with their aged lids full of immemorial sculpture. But in the
drapingoftheapartmentlay,alas!thechiefphantasyofall.Theloftywalls,giganticin
heightevenunproportionablysowerehungfromsummittofoot,invastfolds,witha
heavyandmassivelookingtapestrytapestryofamaterialwhichwasfoundalikeasa
carpetonthefloor,asacoveringfortheottomansandtheebonybed,asacanopyforthe
bed,andasthegorgeousvolutesofthecurtainswhichpartiallyshadedthewindow.The
materialwastherichestclothofgold.Itwasspottedallover,atirregularintervals,with
arabesquefigures,aboutafootindiameter,andwroughtupontheclothinpatternsofthe
most jetty black. But these figures partook of the true character of the arabesque only
whenregardedfromasinglepointofview.Byacontrivancenowcommon,andindeed
traceabletoaveryremoteperiodofantiquity,theyweremadechangeableinaspect.To
one entering the room, they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities but upon a
farther advance, this appearance gradually departed and, step by step, as the visitor
movedhisstationinthechamber,hesawhimselfsurroundedbyanendlesssuccessionof
theghastlyformswhichbelongtothesuperstitionoftheNorman,orariseintheguilty
slumbersofthemonk.Thephantasmagoriceffectwasvastlyheightenedbytheartificial
introductionofastrongcontinualcurrentofwindbehindthedraperiesgivingahideous
anduneasyanimationtothewhole.
InhallssuchastheseinabridalchambersuchasthisIpassed,withtheLadyof
Tremaine, the unhallowed hours of the first month of our marriagepassed them with
butlittledisquietude.Thatmywifedreadedthefiercemoodinessofmytemperthatshe
shunnedme,andlovedmebutlittleIcouldnothelpperceivingbutitgavemerather
pleasure than otherwise. I loathed her with a hatred belonging more to demon than to
man.Mymemoryflewback(oh,withwhatintensityofregret!)toLigeia,thebeloved,
the august, the beautiful, the entombed. I reveled in recollections of her purity, of her
wisdom,ofherloftyher ethereal nature, of her passionate, her idolatrous love. Now,
then,didmyspiritfullyandfreelyburnwithmorethanallthefiresofher own. In the
excitement of my opium dreams (for I was habitually fettered in the shackles of the
drug),Iwouldcallalouduponhername,duringthesilenceofthenight,oramongthe
sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the wild eagerness, the solemn
passion,theconsumingardorofmylongingforthedeparted,Icouldrestorehertothe
pathwaysshehadabandonedah,coulditbeforever?upontheearth.
Aboutthecommencementofthesecondmonthofthemarriage,theLadyRowenawas
attacked with sudden illness, from which her recovery was slow. The fever which
consumedherrenderedhernightsuneasyandinherperturbedstateofhalfslumber,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
phantasmagoricinfluences of the chamber itself. She became at length convalescent
finally, well. Yet but a second more violent disorder again threw her upon a bed of
sufferingandfromthisattackherframe,atalltimesfeeble,neveraltogetherrecovered.
Her illnesses were, after this epoch, of alarming character, and of more alarming
recurrence,defyingaliketheknowledgeandthegreatexertionsofherphysicians.With
theincreaseofthechronicdisease,whichhadthus,apparently,takentoosureholdupon
herconstitutiontobeeradicatedbyhumanmeans,Icouldnotfailtoobserveasimilar
increase in the nervous irritation of her temperament, and in her excitability by trivial
causes of fear. She spoke again, and now more frequently and pertinaciously, of the
soundsof the slight soundsand of the unusual motions among the tapestries, to
whichshehadformerlyalluded.
Onenight,neartheclosinginofSeptember,shepressedthisdistressingsubjectwith
more than usual emphasis upon my attention. She had just awakened from an unquiet
slumber,andIhadbeenwatching,withfeelingshalfofanxiety,halfofvagueterror,the
workingsofheremaciatedcountenance.Isatbythesideofherebonybed,upononeof
theottomansofIndia.Shepartlyarose,andspoke,inanearnestlowwhisper,ofsounds
whichshethenheard,butwhichIcouldnothearofmotionswhichshethensaw,but
whichIcouldnotperceive.Thewindwasrushinghurriedlybehindthetapestries,andI
wished to show her (what, let me confess it, I could not all believe) that those almost
inarticulatebreathings,andthoseverygentlevariationsofthefiguresuponthewall,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.Sheappearedtobefainting,andnoattendantswerewithincall.Iremembered
wherewasdepositedadecanteroflightwinewhichhadbeenorderedbyherphysicians,
andhastenedacrossthechambertoprocureit.But,asIsteppedbeneaththelightofthe
censer,twocircumstancesofastartlingnatureattractedmyattention.Ihadfeltthatsome
palpablealthoughinvisibleobjecthadpassedlightlybymypersonandIsawthatthere
layuponthegoldencarpet,intheverymiddleoftherichlusterthrownfromthecenser,a
shadowafaint,indefiniteshadowofangelicaspectsuchasmightbefanciedforthe
shadowofashade.ButIwaswildwiththeexcitementofanimmoderatedoseofopium,
andheededthesethingsbutlittle,norspokeofthemtoRowena.Havingfoundthewine,
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,
whileIsankuponanottomannearme,withmyeyesfasteneduponherperson.Itwas
then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle footfall 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 some
invisiblespringintheatmosphereoftheroom,threeorfourlargedropsofabrilliantand
rubycoloredfluid.IfthisIsawnotsoRowena.Sheswallowedthewineunhesitatingly,
andIforeboretospeaktoherofacircumstancewhichmust,afterall,Iconsidered,have
beenbutthesuggestionofavividimagination,renderedmorbidlyactivebytheterrorof
thelady,bytheopium,andbythehour.
YetIcannotconceal it from my own perception that, immediately subsequenttothe
falloftherubydrops,arapidchangefortheworsetookplaceinthedisorderofmywife
sothat,onthethirdsubsequentnight,thehandsofhermenialspreparedherforthetomb,
andonthefourth,Isatalone,withhershroudedbody,inthatfantasticchamberwhich
had received her as my bride. Wild visions, opiumengendered, flitted, shadowlike,
beforeme.Igazedwithunquieteyeuponthesarcophagiintheanglesoftheroom,upon
thevaryingfiguresofthedrapery,anduponthewrithingoftheparticoloredfiresinthe
censer overhead. My eyes then fell, as I called to mind the circumstances of a former
night,tothespotbeneaththeglareofthecenserwhereIhadseenthefainttracesofthe
shadow.Itwasthere,however,nolongerandbreathingwithgreaterfreedom,Iturned
myglancestothepallidandrigidfigureuponthebed.Thenrusheduponmeathousand
memoriesofLigeiaandthencamebackuponmyheart,withtheturbulentviolenceofa
flood,thewholeofthatunutterablewoewithwhichIhadregardedherthusenshrouded.
The night waned and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts of the one only and
supremelybeloved,IremainedgazinguponthebodyofRowena.
It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or later, for I had taken no note of
time,whenasob,low,gentle,butverydistinct,startledmefrommyrevery.Ifeltthatit
came from the bed of ebonythe bed of death. I listened in an agony of superstitious
terrorbut there was no repetition of the sound. I strained my vision to detect any
motion in the corpsebut there was not the slightest perceptible.YetIcould not have
beendeceived.Ihadheardthenoise,howeverfaint,andmysoulwasawakenedwithin
me. I resolutely and perseveringly kept my attention riveted upon the body. Many
minutes elapsed before any circumstance occurred tending to throw light upon the
mystery.Atlengthitbecame evident that a slight, a very feeble, and barely noticeable
tingeofcolorhadflushedupwithinthecheeks,andalongthesunkensmallveinsofthe
eyelids. Through a species of unutterable horror and awe, for which the language of
mortalityhasnosufficientlyenergeticexpression,Ifeltmyheartceasetobeat,mylimbs
growrigidwhereIsat.Yetasenseofdutyfinallyoperatedtorestoremyselfpossession.
IcouldnolongerdoubtthatwehadbeenprecipitateinourpreparationsthatRowena
still lived. It was necessary that some immediate exertion be made yet the turret was
altogetherapartfromtheportionoftheabbeytenantedbytheservantstherewerenone
withincallIhadnomeansofsummoningthemtomyaidwithoutleavingtheroomfor
many minutesand this I could not venture to do. I therefore struggled alone in my
endeavorstocallbackthespiritstillhovering.Inashortperioditwascertain,however,
thatarelapsehadtakenplacethecolordisappearedfrombotheyelidandcheek,leaving
awannessevenmorethanthatofmarblethelipsbecamedoublyshriveledandpinched
upintheghastlyexpression of death a repulsive clamminess and coldness overspread
rapidly the surface of the body and all the usual rigorous stiffness immediately
supervened. I fell back with a shudder upon the couch from which I had been so
startlinglyaroused,andagaingavemyselfuptopassionatewakingvisionsofLigeia.
Anhourthuselapsed,when(coulditbepossible?)Iwasasecondtimeawareofsome
vaguesoundissuingfromtheregionofthebed.Ilistenedinextremityofhorror.The
sound came againit was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I sawdistinctly sawa
tremoruponthelips.Inaminuteafterwardtheyrelaxed,disclosingabrightlineofthe
pearlyteeth.Amazementnowstruggledinmybosomwiththeprofoundawewhichhad
hitherto reigned there alone. I felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered
anditwasonlybyaviolenteffortthatIatlengthsucceededinnervingmyselftothetask
which duty thus once more had pointed out. There was now a partial glow upon the
foreheadanduponthecheekandthroataperceptiblewarmthpervadedthewholeframe
therewasevenaslightpulsationattheheart.TheladylivedandwithredoubledardorI
betookmyselftothetaskofrestoration.Ichafedandbathedthetemplesandthehands
andusedeveryexertionwhichexperience,andnolittlemedicalreading,couldsuggest.
But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled, the pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the
expressionofthedead,and,inaninstantafterward,thewholebodytookuponitselfthe
icychilliness,thelividhue,theintenserigidity,thesunkenoutline,andalltheloathsome
peculiaritiesofthatwhichhasbeen,formanydays,atenantofthetomb.
AndagainIsunkintovisionsofLigeiaandagain(whatmarvelthatIshudderwhileI
write?),againthere reached my ears a low sob from the region of the ebony bed.But
whyshallIminutelydetailtheunspeakablehorrorsofthatnight?WhyshallIpauseto
relatehow,timeaftertime,untilneartheperiodofthegraydawn,thishideousdramaof
revivification was repeated how each terrific relapse was only into a sterner and
apparentlymoreirredeemabledeathhoweachagonyworetheaspectofastrugglewith
some invisible foe and how each struggle was succeeded by I know not what of wild
changeinthepersonalappearanceofthecorpse?Letmehurrytoaconclusion.
Thegreaterpartofthefearfulnighthadwornaway,andshewhohadbeendeadonce
again stirredand now more vigorously than hitherto, although arousing from a
dissolution more appalling in its utter hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to
struggleortomove,andremainedsittingrigidlyupontheottoman,ahelplesspreytoa
whirlofviolentemotions,ofwhichextremeawewasperhapstheleastterrible,theleast
consuming.Thecorpse,Irepeat,stirred,andnowmorevigorouslythanbefore.Thehues
oflifeflushedupwithunwontedenergyintothecountenancethelimbsrelaxedand,
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
dreamedthatRowenahadindeedshakenoff,utterly,thefettersofDeath.Butifthisidea
was not, even then, altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when, arising
fromthebed,tottering,withfeeblesteps,withclosedeyes,andwiththemannerofone
bewilderedinadream,thethingthatwasenshroudedadvancedboldlyandpalpablyinto
themiddleoftheapartment.
ItremblednotIstirrednotforacrowdofunutterable fancies connected with the
air, the stature, the demeanor, of the figure, rushing hurriedly through my brain, had
paralyzedhadchilledmeintostone.Istirrednotbutgazedupontheapparition.There
was a mad disorder in my thoughtsa tumult unappeasable. Could it, indeed, be the
livingRowenawhoconfrontedme?Couldit,indeed,beRowenaatallthefairhaired,
the blueeyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? Why, why should I doubt it? The
bandage lay heavily about the mouthbut then might it not be the mouth of the
breathingLadyofTremaine?Andthecheeksthereweretherosesasinhernoonoflife
yes, these might indeed be the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine. And the
chin,withitsdimples,asinhealth,mightitnotbehers?buthadshethengrowntaller
sincehermalady?Whatinexpressiblemadnessseizedmewiththatthought?Onebound,
and I had reached her feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head,
unloosened,theghastlycerementswhichhadconfinedit,andtherestreamedforthinto
therushingatmosphereofthechamberhugemassesoflonganddisheveledhairitwas
blackerthantheravenwingsofmidnight.Andnowslowlyopenedtheeyesofthefigure
whichstoodbeforeme."Herethen,atleast,"Ishriekedaloud,"canInevercanInever
bemistakenthesearethefull,andtheblack,andthewildeyesofmylostloveof
theLadyoftheLADYLIGEIA."
TheHauntedOrchard
BYRICHARDLEGALLIENNE
FromHarper'sMagazine,January,1912.BypermissionofHarperand
BrothersandRichardLeGallienne.
Springwasoncemoreintheworld.Asshesangtoherselfinthefarawaywoodlands
her voice reached even the ears of the city, weary with the long winter. Daffodils
flowered at the entrances to the Subway, furniture removing vans blocked the side
streets, children clustered like blossoms on the doorsteps, the open cars were running,
andthecryofthe"cashclo'"manwasoncemoreheardintheland.
Yes,itwasthespring,andthecitydreamedwistfullyoflilacsandthedewypipingof
birds in gnarled old appletrees, of dogwood lighting up with sudden silver the
thickening woods, of waterplants unfolding their glossy scrolls in pools of morning
freshness.
On Sunday mornings, the outbound trains were thronged with eager pilgrims,
hasteningoutofthecity,tobeholdoncemoretheancientmarvelofthespringand,on
Sundayevenings,therailwayterminiwereaflowerwithbannersofblossomfromrifled
woodland and orchard carried in the hands of the returning pilgrims, whose eyes still
shonewiththespringmagic,inwhoseearsstillsangthefairymusic.
AndasIbeheldthesesignsofthevernalequinoxIknewthatI,too,mustfollowthe
music,forsakeawhilethebeautifulsirenwecallthecity,andinthegreensilencesmeet
oncemoremysweetheartSolitude.
AsthetraindrewoutoftheGrandCentral,Ihummedtomyself,
"I'veaneater,sweetermaiden,inagreener,cleanerland"
andsoIsaidgoodbytothecity,andwentforthwithbeatinghearttomeetthespring.
IhadbeentoldofanalmostforgottencorneronthesouthcoastofConnecticut,where
thespringandIcouldliveinaninviolatelonelinessaplaceuninhabitedsavebybirds
andblossoms,woodsandthickgrass,andanoccasionalsilentfarmer,andpervadedby
thebreathandshimmeroftheSound.
Nor had rumor lied, for when the train set me down at my destination I stepped out
intothemostwonderfulgreenhush,aleafySabbathsilencethroughwhichtheverytrain,
as it went farther on its way, seemed to steal as noiselessly as possible for fear of
breakingthespell.
Afterawinterinthetown,tobedroppedthussuddenlyintotheintensequietofthe
countrysidemakesanalmostghostlyimpressionuponone,asofanenchantedsilence,a
silencethatlistensandwatchesbutneverspeaks,fingeronlip.Thereisaspectralquality
about everything upon which the eye falls: the woods, like great green clouds, the
waysideflowers,thestillfarmhouseshalflostinorchardbloomallseemtoexistina
dream.Everythingissostill,everythingsosupernaturallygreen.Nothingmovesortalks,
except the gentle susurrus of the spring wind swaying the young buds high up in the
quiet sky, or a bird now and again, or a little brook singing softly to itself among the
crowdingrushes.
Though, from the houses one notes here and there, there are evidently human
inhabitantsofthisgreensilence,nonearetobeseen.Ihaveoftenwonderedwherethe
countryfolkhidethemselves,asIhavewalkedhourafterhour,pastfarmandcroftand
lonelydooryards,andnevercaughtsightofahumanface.Ifyoushouldwanttoaskthe
way, a farmer is as shy as a squirrel, and if you knock at a farmhouse door, all is as
silentasarabbitwarren.
As I walked along in the enchanted stillness, I came at length to a quaint old farm
house"oldColonial"initsarchitectureemboweredinwhitelilacs,andsurroundedby
anorchardofancientappletreeswhichcastarichshadeonthedeepspringgrass.The
orchard had the impressiveness of those old religious groves, dedicated to the strange
worship of sylvan gods, gods to be found now only in Horace or Catullus, and in the
heartsofyoungpoetstowhomthebeautifulantiqueLatinisstilldear.
TheoldhouseseemedalreadytheabodeofSolitude.AsIliftedthelatchofthewhite
gateandwalkedacrosstheforgottengrass,andupontotheverandaalreadyfestooned
with wistaria, and looked into the window, I saw Solitude sitting by an old piano, on
whichnocomposerlaterthanBachhadeverbeenplayed.
Inotherwords,thehousewasemptyandgoingroundtotheback, where old barns
andstablesleanedtogetherasiffallingasleep,Ifoundabrokenpane,andsoclimbedin
andwalkedthroughtheechoingrooms.Thehousewasverylonely.Evidentlynoonehad
livedinitforalongtime.Yetitwasallreadyforsomeoccupant,forwhomitseemedto
bewaiting.Quaintoldfourposterbedsteadsstoodinthreeroomsdimitycurtainsand
spotless linenold oak chests and mahogany presses and, opening drawers in
Chippendalesideboards,Icameuponbeautifulfrailoldsilverandexquisitechinathatset
me thinking of a beautiful grandmother of mine, made out of old lace and laughing
wrinklesandmischievousoldblueeyes.
Therewasonelittleroomthatparticularlyinterestedme,atinybedroomallwhite,and
atthewindowtheredroseswerealreadyinbud.Butwhatcaughtmyeyewithpeculiar
sympathywasasmallbookcase,inwhichweresometwentyorthirtyvolumes,wearing
the same forgotten expressionforgotten and yet cared forwhich lay like a kind of
memorialcharmuponeverythingintheoldhouse.Yes,everythingseemedforgottenand
yet everything, curiouslyeven religiouslyremembered. I took out book after book
fromtheshelves,onceortwiceflowersfelloutfromthepagesandIcaughtsightofa
delicatehandwritinghereandthereandfrailmarkings.Itwasevidentlythelittleintimate
library of a young girl. What surprised me most was to find that quite half the books
were in FrenchFrench poets and French romancers: a charming, very rare edition of
Ronsard, a beautifully printed edition of Alfred de Musset, and a copy of Thophile
Gautier'sMademoiselledeMaupin.Howdidtheseexoticbookscometobetherealone
inadesertedNewEnglandfarmhouse?
This question was to be answered later in a strange way. Meanwhile I had fallen in
lovewiththesad,old,silentplace,andasIclosedthewhitegateandwasoncemoreon
the road, I looked about for someone who could tell me whether or not this house of
ghostsmightberentedforthesummerbyacomparativelylivingman.
IwasreferredtoafineoldNewEnglandfarmhouseshiningwhitethroughthetreesa
quarterofamileaway.ThereImetanancientcouple,atypicalNewEnglandfarmerand
his wife the old man, lean, chinbearded, with keen gray eyes flickering occasionally
withashrewdhumor,theoldladywithakindlyoldfaceofthewitheredappletypeand
ruddy.Theywereevidentlyprosperouspeople,buttheirmindsforsomereasonIcould
notatthemomentdivineseemedtobedivided between their New England desire to
driveahardbargainandtheirdisinclinationtoletthehouseatall.
Over and over again they spoke of the loneliness of the place. They feared I would
finditverylonely.Noonehadlivedinitforalongtime,andsoon.Itseemedtomethat
afterwardsIunderstoodtheircurioushesitation,butatthemomentonlyregardeditasa
partofthecircuitousNewEnglandmethodofbargaining.Atallevents,therentIoffered
finallyovercametheirdisinclination,whateveritscause,andsoIcameintopossession
for four monthsof that silent old house, with the white lilacs, and the drowsy barns,
andtheold piano, and the strange orchard and, as the summer came on, and the year
changeditsnamefromMaytoJune,Iusedtolieundertheappletreesintheafternoons,
dreamily reading some old book, and through halfsleepy eyelids watching the silken
shimmeroftheSound.
I had lived in the old house for about a month, when one afternoon a strange thing
happenedtome.Irememberthedatewell.ItwastheafternoonofTuesday,June13th.I
wasreading,orratherdippinghereandthere,inBurton'sAnatomyofMelancholy.AsI
read,Irememberthatalittleunripeapple,withapetalortwoofblossomstillclingingto
it,fellupontheoldyellowpage.ThenIsupposeImusthavefallenintoadream,though
itseemedtomethatbothmyeyesandmyearswerewideopen,forIsuddenlybecame
awareofabeautifulyoungvoicesingingverysoftlysomewhereamongtheleaves.The
singingwasveryfrail,almostimperceptible,asthoughitcameoutoftheair.Itcameand
wentfitfully,like the elusive fragrance of sweetbrieras though a girl waswalkingto
andfro,dreamilyhummingtoherselfinthestillafternoon.Yettherewasnoonetobe
seen. The orchard had never seemed more lonely. And another fact that struck me as
strangewasthatthewordsthatfloatedtomeoutoftheaerialmusicwereFrench,half
sad, half gay snatches of some longdead singer of old France, I looked about for the
originofthesweetsounds,butinvain.CoulditbethebirdsthatweresinginginFrench
inthisstrangeorchard?Presentlythevoice seemed to come quite close to me, so near
thatitmighthavebeenthevoiceofadryadsingingtomeoutofthetreeagainstwhichI
wasleaning.AndthistimeIdistinctlycaughtthewordsofthesadlittlesong:
"Chante,rossignol,chante,
Toiquiaslecurgai
Tuaslecurrire,
Moi,jel'aitpleurer."
But, though the voice was at my shoulder, I could see no one, and then the singing
stopped with what sounded like a sob and a moment or two later I seemed to hear a
sound of sobbing far down the orchard. Then there followed silence, and I was left to
ponder on the strange occurrence. Naturally, I decided that it was just a daydream
betweensleepingandwakingoverthepagesofanoldbookyetwhennextdayandthe
dayaftertheinvisiblesingerwasintheorchardagain,Icouldnotbesatisfiedwithsuch
merematteroffactexplanation.
"Alaclairefontaine,"
wentthevoicetoandfrothroughthethickorchardboughs,
"M'enallantpromener,
J'aitrouvl'eausibelle
Quejem'ysuisbaign,
Luiyalongtempsquejet'aime,
Jamaisjenet'oubliai."
It was certainly uncanny to hear that voice going to and fro the orchard, there
somewhereamidthebrightsundazzledboughsyetnotahumancreaturetobeseen
notanotherhouseevenwithinhalfamile.Themostmaterialisticmindcouldhardlybut
concludethatherewassomething"notdreamedofinourphilosophy."Itseemedtome
thattheonlyreasonableexplanationwastheentirelyirrationalonethatmyorchardwas
haunted:hauntedbysomebeautifulyoungspirit,withsomesorrowoflostjoythatwould
notlethersleepquietlyinhergrave.
AndnextdayIhadacuriousconfirmationofmytheory.OncemoreIwaslyingunder
myfavoriteappletree,halfreadingandhalfwatchingtheSound,lulledintoadreamby
thewhirofinsectsandthespicescalledupfromtheearthbythehotsun.AsIbentover
the page, I suddenly had the startling impression that someone was leaning over my
shoulderandreadingwithme,andthatagirl'slonghairwasfallingovermedownonto
thepage.ThebookwastheRonsardIhadfoundinthelittlebedroom.Iturned,butagain
therewasnothingthere.YetthistimeIknewthatIhadnotbeendreaming,andIcried
out:
"Poorchild!tellmeofyourgriefthatImayhelpyoursorrowinghearttorest."
But, of course, there was no answer yet that night I dreamed a strange dream. I
thought I was in the orchard again in the afternoon and once again heard the strange
singingbutthistime,asIlookedup,thesingerwasnolongerinvisible.Comingtoward
mewasayounggirlwithwonderfulblueeyesfilledwithtearsandgoldhairthatfellto
herwaist.Sheworeastraight,whiterobethatmighthavebeenashroudorabridaldress.
Sheappearednottoseeme,thoughshecamedirectlytothetreewhereIwassitting.And
thereshekneltandburiedherfaceinthegrassandsobbedasifherheartwouldbreak.
Her long hair fell over her like a mantle, and in my dream I stroked it pityingly and
murmuredwordsofcomfortforasorrowIdidnotunderstand....ThenIwokesuddenly
asonedoesfromdreams.Themoonwasshiningbrightlyintotheroom.Risingfrommy
bed,Ilookedoutintotheorchard.Itwasalmostasbrightasday.Icouldplainlyseethe
treeofwhichIhadbeendreaming,andthenafantasticnotionpossessedme.Slippingon
myclothes,Iwentoutintooneoftheoldbarnsandfoundaspade.ThenIwenttothe
treewhereIhadseenthegirlweepinginmydreamanddugdownatitsfoot.
Ihadduglittlemorethanafootwhenmyspadestruckuponsomehardsubstance,and
in a few more moments I had uncovered and exhumed a small box, which, on
examination, proved to be one of those pretty oldfashioned Chippendale workboxes
usedbyourgrandmotherstokeeptheirthimblesandneedlesin,theirreelsofcottonand
skeinsofsilk.AftersmoothingdownthelittlegraveinwhichIhadfoundit,Icarriedthe
boxintothehouse,andunderthelamplightexamineditscontents.
Then at once I understood why that sad young spirit went to and fro the orchard
singingthoselittleFrenchsongsforthetreasuretroveIhadfoundundertheappletree,
theburiedtreasure of an unquiet, suffering soul, proved to be a number of loveletters
writtenmostlyinFrenchinaverypicturesquehandletters,too,writtenbutsomefive
or six years before. Perhaps I should not have read themyet I read them with such
reverence for the beautiful, impassioned love that animated them, and literally made
them"smellsweetandblossominthedust,"thatIfeltIhadthesanctionofthedeadto
make myself the confidant of their story. Among the letters were little songs, two of
whichIhadheardthestrangeyoungvoicesingingintheorchard,and,ofcourse,there
weremanywitheredflowersandsuchlikeremembrancesofbygonerapture.
NotthatnightcouldImakeoutallthestory,thoughitwasnotdifficulttodefineits
essential tragedy, and later on a gossip in the neighborhood and a headstone in the
churchyardtoldmetherest.Theunquietyoungsoulthathadsungsowistfullytoandfro
the orchard was my landlord's daughter. She was the only child of her parents, a
beautiful, willful girl, exotically unlike those from whom she was sprung and among
whomshelivedwithadisdainfulairofexile.Shewas,asachild,alittlecreatureoffairy
fancies,andasshegrewupitwasplaintoherfatherandmotherthatshehadcomefrom
anotherworldthantheirs.Tothemsheseemedlikeachildinanoldfairytalestrangely
foundonhishearthbysomeshepherdashereturnsfromthefieldsateveningalittle
fairygirlswaddledinfinelinen,anddoweredwithamysteriousbagofgold.
Soon she developed delicate spiritual needs to which her simple parents were
strangers.Fromlongtruanciesinthewoodsshewouldcomehomeladenwithmysterious
flowers,andsoonshecametoaskforbooksandpicturesandmusic,ofwhichthepoor
soulsthathadgivenherbirthhadneverheard.Finallyshehadherway,andwenttostudy
atacertainfashionablecollegeandtherethebriefromanceofherlifebegan.Thereshe
met a romantic young Frenchman who had read Ronsard to her and written her those
picturesque letters I had found in the old mahogany workbox. And after a while the
youngFrenchmanhadgonebacktoFrance,andthelettershadceased.Monthbymonth
wentby,andatlengthoneday,asshesatwistfulatthewindow,lookingoutatthefoolish
sunlitroad,amessagecame.Hewasdead.Thatheadstoneinthevillagechurchyardtells
the rest. She was very young to diescarcely nineteen years and the dead who have
diedyoung,withalltheirhopesanddreamsstilllikeunfoldedbudswithintheirhearts,
donotrest so quietly in the grave as those who have gone through the longdayfrom
morninguntileveningandareonlytoogladtosleep.
NextdayItookthelittleboxtoaquietcorneroftheorchard,andmadealittlepyreof
fragrant boughsfor so I interpreted the wish of that young, unquiet spiritand the
beautiful words are now safe, taken up again into the aerial spaces from which they
came.
ButsincethenthebirdssingnomorelittleFrenchsongsinmyoldorchard.
TheBowmen
BYARTHURMACHEN
From The Bowmen, by Arthur Machen. Published in England by

Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., Ltd., and in America by G.P.
Putnam'sSons.BypermissionofthepublishersandArthurMachen.
ItwasduringtheRetreatoftheEightyThousand,andtheauthorityoftheCensorship
issufficientexcusefornotbeingmoreexplicit.Butitwasonthemostawfuldayofthat
awfultime,onthedaywhenruinanddisastercamesonearthattheirshadowfellover
London far away and, without any certain news, the hearts of men failed within them
andgrewfaintasiftheagonyofthearmyinthebattlefieldhadenteredintotheirsouls.
On this dreadful day, then, when three hundred thousand men in arms with all their
artillery swelled like a flood against the little English company, there was one point
aboveallotherpointsinourbattlelinethatwasforatimeinawfuldanger,notmerelyof
defeat, but of utter annihilation. With the permission of the Censorship and of the
militaryexpert,thiscornermay,perhaps,bedescribedasasalient,andifthisanglewere
crushedandbroken,thentheEnglishforceasawholewouldbeshattered,theAlliedleft
wouldbeturned,andSedanwouldinevitablyfollow.
AllthemorningtheGermangunshadthunderedandshriekedagainstthiscorner,and
againstthethousandorsoofmenwhoheldit.Themenjokedattheshells,andfound
funnynamesforthem,andhadbetsaboutthem,andgreetedthemwithscrapsofmusic
hallsongs.Buttheshellscameonandburst,andtoregoodEnglishmenlimbfromlimb,
andtorebrotherfrombrother,andastheheatofthedayincreasedsodidthefuryofthat
terrific cannonade. There was no help, it seemed. The English artillery was good, but
therewasnotnearlyenoughofititwasbeingsteadilybatteredintoscrapiron.
Therecomesamomentinastormatseawhenpeoplesaytooneanother,"Itisatits
worst it can blow no harder," and then there is a blast ten times more fierce than any
beforeit.SoitwasintheseBritishtrenches.
Therewerenostouterheartsinthewholeworldthantheheartsofthesemenbuteven
they were appalled as this seventimesheated hell of the German cannonade fell upon
them and overwhelmed them and destroyed them. And at this very moment they saw
fromtheirtrenchesthatatremendoushostwasmovingagainsttheirlines.Fivehundred
ofthethousandremained,andasfarastheycouldseetheGermaninfantrywaspressing
onagainstthem,columnuponcolumn,agrayworldofmen,tenthousandofthem,asit
appearedafterwards.
There was no hope at all. They shook hands, some of them. One man improvised a
newversionofthebattlesong,"Goodby,goodbytoTipperary,"endingwith"Andwe
shan'tgetthere."Andtheyallwentonfiringsteadily.Theofficerpointedoutthatsuchan
opportunity for highclass fancy shooting might never occur again the Tipperary
humoristasked,"WhatpriceSidneyStreet?"Andthefewmachinegunsdidtheirbest.
But everybody knew it was of no use. The dead gray bodies lay in companies and
battalions,asotherscameonandonandon,andtheyswarmedandstirred,andadvanced
frombeyondandbeyond.
"Worldwithoutend.Amen,"saidoneoftheBritishsoldierswithsomeirrelevanceas
he took aim and fired. And then he rememberedhe says he cannot think why or
whereforea queer vegetarian restaurant in London where he had once or twice eaten
eccentricdishesofcutletsmadeoflentilsandnutsthatpretendedtobesteak.Onallthe
platesinthisrestauranttherewasprintedafigureofSt.Georgeinblue,withthemotto,
"Adsit Anglis Sanctus Georgius""May St. George be a present help to the English."
ThissoldierhappenedtoknowLatinandotheruselessthings,andnow,ashefiredathis
man in the gray advancing massthree hundred yards awayhe uttered the pious
vegetarianmotto.Hewentonfiringtotheend,andatlastBillonhisrighthadtoclout
himcheerfullyovertheheadtomakehimstop,pointingoutashedidsothattheKing's
ammunitioncostmoneyandwasnotlightlytobewastedindrillingfunnypatternsinto
deadGermans.
For as the Latin scholar uttered his invocation he felt something between a shudder
andanelectricshockpassthroughhisbody.Theroarofthebattledieddowninhisears
toagentlemurmurinsteadofit,hesays,heheardagreatvoiceandashoutlouderthana
thunderpealcrying,"Array,array,array!"
Hisheartgrewhotasaburningcoal,itgrewcoldasicewithinhim,asitseemedto
him that a tumult of voices answered to his summons. He heard, or seemed to hear,
thousandsshouting:"St.George!St.George!"
"Ha!Messire,ha!sweetSaint,grantusgooddeliverance!"
"St.GeorgeformerryEngland!"
"Harow!Harow!MonseigneurSt.George,succorus!"
"Ha!St.George!Ha!St.George!alongbowandastrongbow."
"Heaven'sKnight,aidus!"
Andasthesoldierheardthesevoiceshesawbeforehim,beyondthetrench,alongline
ofshapes,withashiningaboutthem.Theywerelikemenwhodrewthebow,andwith
anothershout,theircloudofarrowsflewsingingandtinglingthroughtheairtowardsthe
Germanhosts.
The other men in the trench were firing all the while. They had no hope but they
aimedjustasiftheyhadbeenshootingatBisley.
SuddenlyoneofthemlifteduphisvoiceintheplainestEnglish.
"Gawdhelpus!"hebellowedtothemannexttohim,"butwe'rebloomingmarvels!
Lookatthosegray...gentlemen,lookatthem!D'yeseethem?They'renotgoingdownin
dozensnorin'undredsit'sthousands,itis.Look!look!there'saregimentgonewhileI'm
talkingtoye."
"Shutit!"theothersoldierbellowed,takingaim,"whatareyegassingabout?"
But he gulped with astonishment even as he spoke, for, indeed, the gray men were
falling by the thousands. The English could hear the guttural scream of the German
officers,thecrackleoftheirrevolversastheyshotthereluctantandstill line after line
crashedtotheearth.
AllthewhiletheLatinbredsoldierheardthecry:
"Harow!Harow!Monseigneur,dearSaint,quicktoouraid!St.Georgehelpus!"
"HighChevalier,defendus!"
Thesingingarrowsfledsoswiftandthickthattheydarkenedtheair,theheathenhorde
meltedfrombeforethem.
"Moremachineguns!"BillyelledtoTom.
"Don'thearthem,"Tomyelledback.
"But,thankGod,anywaythey'vegotitintheneck."
In fact, there were ten thousand dead German soldiers left before that salient of the
English army, and consequently there was no Sedan. In Germany, a country ruled by
scientificprinciples,theGreatGeneralStaffdecidedthatthecontemptibleEnglishmust
haveemployedshellscontaininganunknowngasofapoisonousnature,asnowounds
werediscernibleonthebodiesofthedeadGermansoldiers.Butthemanwhoknewwhat
nutstastedlikewhentheycalledthemselvessteakknewalsothatSt.Georgehadbrought
hisAgincourtBowmentohelptheEnglish.
AGhost
BYGUYDEMAUPASSANT
TranslatedforthisvolumebyM.CharlesSommer.
Wewerespeakingofsequestration,alludingtoarecentlawsuit.Itwasatthecloseofa
friendlyeveninginaveryoldmansionintheRuedeGrenelle,andeachoftheguestshad
astorytotell,whichheassureduswastrue.
Then the old Marquis de la TourSamuel, eightytwo years of age, rose and came
forwardtoleanonthemantelpiece.Hetoldthefollowingstoryinhisslightlyquavering
voice.
"I,also,havewitnessedastrangethingsostrangethatithasbeenthenightmareof
mylife.Ithappenedfiftysixyearsago,andyetthereisnotamonthwhenIdonotseeit
again in my dreams. From that day I have borne a mark, a stamp of fear,do you
understand?
"Yes,fortenminutesIwasapreytoterror,insuchawaythateversinceaconstant
dreadhasremainedinmysoul.UnexpectedsoundschillmetotheheartobjectswhichI
canilldistinguishintheeveningshadowsmakemelongtoflee.Iamafraidatnight.
"No!Iwouldnothaveownedsuchathingbeforereachingmypresentage.ButnowI
maytelleverything.Onemayfearimaginarydangersateightytwoyearsold.Butbefore
actualdangerIhaveneverturnedback,mesdames.
"That affair so upset my mind, filled me with such a deep, mysterious unrest that I
nevercouldtellit.Ikeptitinthatinmostpart,thatcornerwhereweconcealoursad,our
shamefulsecrets,alltheweaknessesofourlifewhichcannotbeconfessed.
"Iwilltellyouthatstrangehappeningjustasittookplace,withnoattempttoexplain
it.UnlessIwentmadforoneshort hour it must be explainable, though. Yet I was not
mad,andIwillproveittoyou.Imaginewhatyouwill.Herearethesimplefacts:
"Itwasin1827,inJuly.IwasquarteredwithmyregimentinRouen.
"Oneday,asIwasstrollingonthequay,IcameacrossamanIbelievedIrecognized,
thoughIcouldnotplacehimwithcertainty. I instinctively went more slowly, ready to
pause.Thestrangersawmyimpulse,lookedatme,andfellintomyarms.
"It was a friend of my younger days, of whom I had been very fond. He seemed to
have become half a century older in the five years since I had seen him. His hair was
white, and he stooped in his walk, as if he were exhausted. He understood my
amazementandtoldmethestoryofhislife.
"Aterribleeventhadbrokenhimdown.Hehadfallenmadlyinlovewithayounggirl
and married her in a kind of dreamlike ecstasy. After a year of unalloyed bliss and
unexhausted passion, she had died suddenly of heart disease, no doubt killed by love
itself.
"Hehadleftthecountryontheverydayofherfuneral,andhad come to live in his
hotelatRouen.Heremainedthere,solitary and desperate, grief slowly mining him, so
wretchedthatheconstantlythoughtofsuicide.
"'AsIthuscameacrossyouagain,'hesaid,'Ishallaskagreatfavorofyou.Iwantyou
togotomychteauandgetsomepapersIurgentlyneed.Theyareinthewritingdeskof
myroom,ofourroom.Icannotsendaservantoralawyer,astheerrandmustbekept
private.Iwantabsolutesilence.
"'Ishallgiveyouthekeyoftheroom,whichIlockedcarefullymyselfbeforeleaving,
andthekeytothewritingdesk.Ishallalsogiveyouanoteforthegardener,whowilllet
youin.
"'Cometobreakfastwithmetomorrow,andwe'lltalkthematterover.'
"Ipromisedtorenderhimthatslightservice.Itwouldmeanbutapleasantexcursion
forme,hishomenotbeingmorethantwentyfivemilesfromRouen.Icouldgotherein
anhouronhorseback.
"Atteno'clockthenextdayIwaswithhim.Webreakfastedalonetogether,yethedid
notuttermorethantwentywords.Heaskedmetoexcusehim.ThethoughtthatIwas
goingtovisittheroomwherehishappinesslayshattered,upsethim,hesaid.Indeed,he
seemedperturbed,worried,asifsomemysteriousstruggleweretakingplaceinhissoul.
"AtlastheexplainedexactlywhatIwastodo.Itwasverysimple.Iwastotaketwo
packagesoflettersandsomepapers,lockedinthefirstdrawerattherightofthedeskof
whichIhadthekey.Headded:
"'Ineednotaskyounottoglanceatthem.'
"Iwasalmosthurtbyhiswords,andtoldhimso,rathersharply.Hestammered:
"'Forgiveme.Isuffersomuch!'
"Andtearscametohiseyes.
"Ileftaboutoneo'clocktoaccomplishmyerrand.
"Thedaywasradiant,andIrushedthroughthemeadows,listeningtothesongofthe
larks,andtherhythmicalbeatofmyswordonmyridingboots.
"ThenIenteredtheforest,andIsetmyhorsetowalking.Branchesofthetreessoftly
caressedmyface,andnowandthenI would catch a leaf between my teeth and bite it
withavidity,full of the joy of life, such as fills you without reason, with atumultuous
happinessalmostindefinable,akindofmagicalstrength.
"AsInearedthehouseItookouttheletterforthegardener,andnotedwithsurprise
that it was sealed. I was so amazed and so annoyed that I almost turned back without
fulfilling my mission. Then I thought that I should thus display oversensitiveness and
badtaste.Myfriendmighthavesealeditunconsciously,worriedashewas.
"The manor looked as though it had been deserted the last twenty years. The gate,
wideopenandrotten,held,onewonderedhow.Grassfilledthepathsyoucouldnottell
theflowerbedsfromthelawn.
"AtthenoiseImadekickingashutter,anoldmancameoutfromasidedoorandwas
apparentlyamazedtoseemethere.Idismountedfrommyhorseandgavehimtheletter.
Hereaditonceortwice,turneditover,lookedatmewithsuspicion,andasked:
"'Well,whatdoyouwant?'
"Iansweredsharply:
"'Youmustknowitasyouhavereadyourmaster'sorders.Iwanttogetinthehouse.'
"Heappearedoverwhelmed.Hesaid:
"'Soyouaregoingininhisroom?'
"Iwasgettingimpatient.
"'Parbleu!Doyouintendtoquestionme,bychance?'
"Hestammered:
"'Nomonsieuronlyit has not been opened sincesince the death. If you will
waitfiveminutes,Iwillgointoseewhether'
"Iinterruptedangrily:
"'Seehere,areyoujoking?Youcan'tgointhatroom,asIhavethekey!'
"Henolongerknewwhattosay.
"'Then,monsieur,Iwillshowyoutheway.'
"'Showmethestairsandleavemealone.Icanfinditwithoutyourhelp.'
"'Butstillmonsieur'
"ThenIlostmytemper.
"'Nowbequiet!Elseyou'llbesorry!'
"Iroughlypushedhimasideandwentintothehouse.
"Ifirstwentthroughthekitchen,thencrossedtwosmallroomsoccupiedbytheman
andhiswife.FromthereIsteppedintoalargehall.Iwentupthestairs,andIrecognized
thedoormyfriendhaddescribedtome.
"Iopeneditwitheaseandwentin.
"TheroomwassodarkthatatfirstIcouldnotdistinguishanything.Ipaused,arrested
bythatmoldyandstaleodorpeculiartodesertedandcondemnedrooms,ofdeadrooms.
Thengraduallymyeyesgrewaccustomedtothegloom,andIsawratherclearlyagreat
room in disorder, a bed without sheets having still its mattresses and pillows, one of
whichborethedeepprintofanelboworahead,asifsomeonehadjustbeenrestingon
it.
"The chairs seemed all in confusion. I noticed that a door, probably that of a closet,
hadremainedajar.
"I first went to the window and opened it to get some light, but the hinges of the
outsideshuttersweresorustedthatIcouldnotloosenthem.
"I even tried to break them with my sword, but did not succeed. As those fruitless
attemptsirritatedme,andasmyeyeswerebynowadjustedtothedimlight,Igaveup
hopeofgettingmorelightandwenttowardthewritingdesk.
"Isatdowninanarmchair,foldedbackthetop,andopenedthedrawer.Itwasfullto
the edge. I needed but three packages, which I knew how to distinguish, and I started
lookingforthem.
"Iwasstrainingmyeyestodeciphertheinscriptions,whenIthoughtIheard,orrather
feltarustlebehindme.Itooknonotice,thinkingadrafthadliftedsomecurtain.Buta
minutelater, another movement, almost indistinct, sent a disagreeable littleshiverover
my skin. It was so ridiculous to be moved thus even so slightly, that I would not turn
round,beingashamed.IhadjustdiscoveredthesecondpackageIneeded,andwasonthe
point of reaching for the third, when a great and sorrowfulsigh,close to my shoulder,
mademegiveamadleaptwoyardsaway.InmyspringIhadturnedround,myhandon
thehiltofmysword,andsurelyhadInotfeltthat,Ishouldhavefledlikeacoward.
"Atallwoman,dressedinwhite,wasfacingme,standingbehindthechairinwhichI
hadsatasecondbefore.
"SuchashudderranthroughmethatIalmostfellback!Oh,noonewhohasnotfelt
themcanunderstandthosegruesomeandridiculous terrors! The soul melts your heart
seems to stop your whole body becomes limp as a sponge, and your innermost parts
seemcollapsing.
"IdonotbelieveinghostsandyetIbrokedownbeforethehideousfearofthedead
and I suffered, oh, I suffered more in a few minutes, in the irresistible anguish of
supernaturaldread,thanIhavesufferedinalltherestofmylife!
"Ifshehadnotspoken,Imighthavedied.Butshedidspeakshespokeinasoftand
plaintivevoicewhich set mynerves vibrating. I could not say that I regained my self
control.No,IwaspastknowingwhatIdidbutthekindofprideIhaveinme,aswellas
a military pride, helped me to maintain, almost in spite of myself, an honorable
countenance.Iwasmakingapose,aposeformyself,andforher,forher,whatevershe
was,woman,orphantom.Irealizedthislater,foratthetimeoftheapparition,Icould
thinkofnothing.Iwasafraid.
"Shesaid:
"'Oh,youcanbeofgreathelptome,monsieur!'
"Itriedtoanswer,butIwasunabletoutteroneword.A vaguesoundcamefrommy
throat.
"Shecontinued:
"'Willyou?Youcansaveme,cureme.Isufferterribly.Ialwayssuffer.Isuffer,oh,I
suffer!'
"Andshesatdowngentlyinmychair.Shelookedatme.
"'Willyou?'
"Inoddedmyhead,beingstillparalyzed.
"Thenshehandedmeawoman'scomboftortoiseshell,andmurmured:
"'Comb my hair! Oh, comb my hair! That will cure me. Look at my headhow I
suffer!Andmyhairhowithurts!'
"Her loose hair, very long, very black, it seemed to me, hung over the back of the
chair,touchingthefloor.
"WhydidIdoit?WhydidI,shivering,acceptthatcomb,andwhydidItakebetween
myhandsherlonghair,whichleftonmyskinaghastlyimpressionofcold,asifIhad
handledserpents?Idonotknow.
"Thatfeelingstillclingsaboutmyfingers,andIshiverwhenIrecallit.
"Icombedher,Ihandled,Iknownothow,thathairofice.IboundandunbounditI
plaiteditasoneplaitsahorse'smane.Shesighed,bentherhead,seemedhappy.
"Suddenlyshesaid,'Thankyou!'torethecombfrommyhands,andfledthroughthe
doorwhichIhadnoticedwashalfopened.
"Leftalone,Ihadforafewsecondsthehazyfeelingonefeelsinwakingupfrom a
nightmare.ThenIrecoveredmyself.Irantothewindowandbroketheshuttersbymy
furiousassault.
"Astreamoflightpouredin.Irushedtothedoorthroughwhichthatbeinghadgone.I
founditlockedandimmovable.
"Thenafeverofflightseizedonme,apanic,thetruepanicofbattle.Iquicklygrasped
thethreepackagesoflettersfromtheopendeskIcrossedtheroomrunning,Itookthe
stepsofthestairwayfouratatime.Ifoundmyselfoutside,Idon'tknowhow,andseeing
myhorsecloseby,Imountedinoneleapandleftatafullgallop.
"Ididn'tstoptillIreachedRouenanddrewupinfrontofmyhouse.Havingthrown
thereinstomyorderly,Iflewtomyroomandlockedmyselfintothink.
"Then for an hour I asked myself whether I had not been the victim of an
hallucination.CertainlyImusthavehadoneofthosenervousshocks,oneofthosebrain
disorderssuchasgiverisetomiracles,towhichthesupernaturalowesitsstrength.
"And I had almost concluded that it was a vision, an illusion of my senses, when I
cameneartothewindow.Myeyesbychancelookeddown.Mytunicwascoveredwith
hairs,longwoman'shairswhichhadentangledthemselvesaroundthebuttons!
"Itookthemoffonebyoneandthrewthemoutofthewindowwithtremblingfingers.
"Ithencalledmyorderly.Ifelttooperturbed,toomoved,togoandseemyfriendon
thatday.Besides,IneededtothinkoverwhatIshouldtellhim.
"Ihadhislettersdeliveredtohim.Hegaveareceipttothesoldier.Heinquiredafter
me and was told that I was not well. I had had a sunstroke, or something. He seemed
distressed.
"Iwenttoseehimthenextday,earlyinthemorning,bentontellinghimthetruth.He
hadgoneouttheeveningbeforeandhadnotcomeback.
"Ireturnedthesameday,buthehadnotbeenseen.Iwaitedaweek.Hedidnotcome
back.Inotifiedthepolice.Theysearchedforhimeverywhere,butnoonecouldfindany
traceofhispassingorofhisretreat.
"Acarefulsearchwasmadeinthedesertedmanor.Nosuspiciouscluewasdiscovered.
"Therewasnosignthatawomanhadbeenconcealedthere.
"Theinquestgavenoresult,andsothesearchwentnofurther.
"AndinfiftysixyearsIhavelearnednothingmore.Ineverfoundoutthetruth."

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8.6.

material surroundings, possesses a dramatic intensity, an epic sweep, unknown in

FromTheListener, by Algernon Blackwood. Published in America by

Thesunwashighintheheavenswhenmycompanionwokemefrom a heavy sleep

hisfaceagaincloseintomineacrossthefirelightandbegantospeakin a very earnest

From The Wind in the Rosebush, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman.

From The Mystery of Choice, by Robert W. Chambers. Published,

"Thelistwasfoundrolledupinabrasscylinder,"saidthechemist. He added: "You

From Lazarus and the Gentleman from San Francisco. Published by

Alreadyswordswerebeingwhetted and youths devoted to the public welfareprepared

From The New Decameron, by Various Hands. Copyright, 1919, by

Adrian Borlsover, as my father had said, was a wonderful man. He came of an

"Right," said Saunders "and tomorrowOh, well, by tomorrow we shall have

From Mother of Pearl, by Anatole France. Copyright by John Lane

The confounded themes touched on by Hammond in the garden kept obtruding

From Harper's Magazine, December, 1908. By permission of Harper

It was intolerably unchanged, the dim, darktoned room. In an agony of recognition

Itellyousir,Iwasinnocent.Ididn'tknowanymoreaboutthe world at twentytwo

From the CenturyMagazine. By permission of the Century Company

Icannot,formysoul,rememberhow,when,orevenpreciselywhere, I first became

From The Bowmen, by Arthur Machen. Published in England by

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