Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

by Volume 01-05 (lit)

  burning glances of scorn or reproach cast upon me by the less

  abandoned of the party. I will even own that an intolerable weight of

  anxiety was for a brief instant lifted from my bosom by the sudden

  and extraordinary interruption which ensued. The wide, heavy folding

  doors of the apartment were all at once thrown open, to their full

  extent, with a vigorous and rushing impetuosity that extinguished, as

  if by magic, every candle in the room. Their light, in dying, enabled

  us just to perceive that a stranger had entered, about my own height,

  and closely muffled in a cloak. The darkness, however, was now total;

  and we could only feel that he was standing in our midst. Before any

  one of us could recover from the extreme astonishment into which this

  rudeness had thrown all, we heard the voice of the intruder.

  "Gentlemen," he said, in a low, distinct, and never-to-be-forgotten

  whisper which thrilled to the very marrow of my bones, "Gentlemen, I

  make no apology for this behaviour, because in thus behaving, I am

  but fulfilling a duty. You are, beyond doubt, uninformed of the true

  character of the person who has to-night won at ecarte a large sum of

  money from Lord Glendinning. I will therefore put you upon an

  expeditious and decisive plan of obtaining this very necessary

  information. Please to examine, at your leisure, the inner linings of

  the cuff of his left sleeve, and the several little packages which

  may be found in the somewhat capacious pockets of his embroidered

  morning wrapper."

  While he spoke, so profound was the stillness that one might have

  heard a pin drop upon the floor. In ceasing, he departed at once, and

  as abruptly as he had entered. Can I -- shall I describe my

  sensations? -- must I say that I felt all the horrors of the damned?

  Most assuredly I had little time given for reflection. Many hands

  roughly seized me upon the spot, and lights were immediately

  reprocured. A search ensued. In the lining of my sleeve were found

  all the court cards essential in ecarte, and, in the pockets of my

  wrapper, a number of packs, facsimiles of those used at our sittings,

  with the single exception that mine were of the species called,

  technically, arrondees; the honours being slightly convex at the

  ends, the lower cards slightly convex at the sides. In this

  disposition, the dupe who cuts, as customary, at the length of the

  pack, will invariably find that he cuts his antagonist an honor;

  while the gambler, cutting at the breadth, will, as certainly, cut

  nothing for his victim which may count in the records of the game.

  Any burst of indignation upon this discovery would have affected me

  less than the silent contempt, or the sarcastic composure, with which

  it was received.

  "Mr. Wilson," said our host, stooping to remove from beneath his feet

  an exceedingly luxurious cloak of rare furs, "Mr. Wilson, this is

  your property." (The weather was cold; and, upon quitting my own

  room, I had thrown a cloak over my dressing wrapper, putting it off

  upon reaching the scene of play.) "I presume it is supererogatory to

  seek here (eyeing the folds of the garment with a bitter smile) for

  any farther evidence of your skill. Indeed, we have had enough. You

  will see the necessity, I hope, of quitting Oxford -- at all events,

  of quitting instantly my chambers."

  Abased, humbled to the dust as I then was, it is probable that I

  should have resented this galling language by immediate personal

  violence, had not my whole attention been at the moment arrested by a

  fact of the most startling character. The cloak which I had worn was

  of a rare description of fur; how rare, how extravagantly costly, I

  shall not venture to say. Its fashion, too, was of my own fantastic

  invention; for I was fastidious to an absurd degree of coxcombry, in

  matters of this frivolous nature. When, therefore, Mr. Preston

  reached me that which he had picked up upon the floor, and near the

  folding doors of the apartment, it was with an astonishment nearly

  bordering upon terror, that I perceived my own already hanging on my

  arm, (where I had no doubt unwittingly placed it,) and that the one

  presented me was but its exact counterpart in every, in even the

  minutest possible particular. The singular being who had so

  disastrously exposed me, had been muffled, I remembered, in a cloak;

  and none had been worn at all by any of the members of our party with

  the exception of myself. Retaining some presence of mind, I took the

  one offered me by Preston; placed it, unnoticed, over my own; left

  the apartment with a resolute scowl of defiance; and, next morning

  ere dawn of day, commenced a hurried journey from Oxford to the

  continent, in a perfect agony of horror and of shame.

  I fled in vain. My evil destiny pursued me as if in exultation, and

  proved, indeed, that the exercise of its mysterious dominion had as

  yet only begun. Scarcely had I set foot in Paris ere I had fresh

  evidence of the detestable interest taken by this Wilson in my

  concerns. Years flew, while I experienced no relief. Villain! -- at

  Rome, with how untimely, yet with how spectral an officiousness,

  stepped he in between me and my ambition! At Vienna, too -- at Berlin

  -- and at Moscow! Where, in truth, had I not bitter cause to curse

  him within my heart? From his inscrutable tyranny did I at length

  flee, panic-stricken, as from a pestilence; and to the very ends of

  the earth I fled in vain.

  And again, and again, in secret communion with my own spirit, would I

  demand the questions "Who is he? -- whence came he? -- and what are

  his objects?" But no answer was there found. And then I scrutinized,

  with a minute scrutiny, the forms, and the methods, and the leading

  traits of his impertinent supervision. But even here there was very

  little upon which to base a conjecture. It was noticeable, indeed,

  that, in no one of the multiplied instances in which he had of late

  crossed my path, had he so crossed it except to frustrate those

  schemes, or to disturb those actions, which, if fully carried out,

  might have resulted in bitter mischief. Poor justification this, in

  truth, for an authority so imperiously assumed! Poor indemnity for

  natural rights of self-agency so pertinaciously, so insultingly

  denied!

  I had also been forced to notice that my tormentor, for a very long

  period of time, (while scrupulously and with miraculous dexterity

  maintaining his whim of an identity of apparel with myself,) had so

  contrived it, in the execution of his varied interference with my

  will, that I saw not, at any moment, the features of his face. Be

  Wilson what he might, this, at least, was but the veriest of

  affectation, or of folly. Could he, for an instant, have supposed

  that, in my admonisher at Eton -- in the destroyer of my honor at

  Oxford, -- in him who thwarted my ambition at Rome, my revenge at

  Paris, my passionate love at Naples, or what he falsely termed my

  avarice in Egypt, -- that in this, my arch-enemy and evil genius,

  could fall to recognise the W
illiam Wilson of my school boy days, --

  the namesake, the companion, the rival, -- the hated and dreaded

  rival at Dr. Bransby's? Impossible! -- But let me hasten to the last

  eventful scene of the drama.

  Thus far I had succumbed supinely to this imperious domination. The

  sentiment of deep awe with which I habitually regarded the elevated

  character, the majestic wisdom, the apparent omnipresence and

  omnipotence of Wilson, added to a feeling of even terror, with which

  certain other traits in his nature and assumptions inspired me, had

  operated, hitherto, to impress me with an idea of my own utter

  weakness and helplessness, and to suggest an implicit, although

  bitterly reluctant submission to his arbitrary will. But, of late

  days, I had given myself up entirely to wine; and its maddening

  influence upon my hereditary temper rendered me more and more

  impatient of control. I began to murmur, -- to hesitate, -- to

  resist. And was it only fancy which induced me to believe that, with

  the increase of my own firmness, that of my tormentor underwent a

  proportional diminution? Be this as it may, I now began to feel the

  inspiration of a burning hope, and at length nurtured in my secret

  thoughts a stern and desperate resolution that I would submit no

  longer to be enslaved.

  It was at Rome, during the Carnival of 18 -- , that I attended a

  masquerade in the palazzo of the Neapolitan Duke Di Broglio. I had

  indulged more freely than usual in the excesses of the wine-table;

  and now the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded rooms irritated me

  beyond endurance. The difficulty, too, of forcing my way through the

  mazes of the company contributed not a little to the ruffling of my

  temper; for I was anxiously seeking, (let me not say with what

  unworthy motive) the young, the gay, the beautiful wife of the aged

  and doting Di Broglio. With a too unscrupulous confidence she had

  previously communicated to me the secret of the costume in which she

  would be habited, and now, having caught a glimpse of her person, I

  was hurrying to make my way into her presence. -- At this moment I

  felt a light hand placed upon my shoulder, and that ever-remembered,

  low, damnable whisper within my ear.

  In an absolute phrenzy of wrath, I turned at once upon him who had

  thus interrupted me, and seized him violently by tile collar. He was

  attired, as I had expected, in a costume altogether similar to my

  own; wearing a Spanish cloak of blue velvet, begirt about the waist

  with a crimson belt sustaining a rapier. A mask of black silk

  entirely covered his face.

  "Scoundrel!" I said, in a voice husky with rage, while every syllable

  I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury, "scoundrel! impostor!

  accursed villain! you shall not -- you shall not dog me unto death!

  Follow me, or I stab you where you stand!" -- and I broke my way from

  the ball-room into a small ante-chamber adjoining -- dragging him

  unresistingly with me as I went.

  Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He staggered against

  the wall, while I closed the door with an oath, and commanded him to

  draw. He hesitated but for an instant; then, with a slight sigh, drew

  in silence, and put himself upon his defence.

  The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every species of

  wild excitement, and felt within my single arm the energy and power

  of a multitude. In a few seconds I forced him by sheer strength

  against the wainscoting, and thus, getting him at mercy, plunged my

  sword, with brute ferocity, repeatedly through and through his bosom.

  At that instant some person tried the latch of the door. I hastened

  to prevent an intrusion, and then immediately returned to my dying

  antagonist. But what human language can adequately portray that

  astonishment, that horror which possessed me at the spectacle then

  presented to view? The brief moment in which I averted my eyes had

  been sufficient to produce, apparently, a material change in the

  arrangements at the upper or farther end of the room. A large mirror,

  -- so at first it seemed to me in my confusion -- now stood where

  none had been perceptible before; and, as I stepped up to it in

  extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features all pale and

  dabbled in blood, advanced to meet me with a feeble and tottering

  gait.

  Thus it appeared, I say, but was not. It was my antagonist -- it was

  Wilson, who then stood before me in the agonies of his dissolution.

  His mask and cloak lay, where he had thrown them, upon the floor. Not

  a thread in all his raiment -- not a line in all the marked and

  singular lineaments of his face which was not, even in the most

  absolute identity, mine own!

  It was Wilson; but he spoke no longer in a whisper, and I could have

  fancied that I myself was speaking while he said:

  "You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also

  dead -- dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou

  exist -- and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how

  utterly thou hast murdered thyself."

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  The Tell-Tale Heart.

  TRUE! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and

  am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my

  senses - not destroyed - not dulled them. Above all was the sense of

  hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I

  heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe

  how healthily - how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

  It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once

  conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none.

  Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me.

  He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think

  it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture - a

  pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my

  blood ran cold; and so by degrees - very gradually - I made up my

  mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye

  forever.

  Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you

  should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -

  with what caution - with what foresight - with what dissimulation I

  went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole