Men die nightly in their
beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors and looking them
piteously in the eyes--die with despair of heart and convulsion of
throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer
themselves to be revealed.
beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors and looking them
piteously in the eyes--die with despair of heart and convulsion of
throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer
themselves to be revealed.
Poe - 5
In less than half
a minute the whole eight ourang-outangs were blazing fiercely, amid the
shrieks of the multitude who gazed at them from below, horror-stricken,
and without the power to render them the slightest assistance.
At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence, forced the
jester to climb higher up the chain, to be out of their reach; and, as
he made this movement, the crowd again sank, for a brief instant, into
silence. The dwarf seized his opportunity, and once more spoke:
"I now see distinctly. " he said, "what manner of people these maskers
are. They are a great king and his seven privy-councillors,--a king who
does not scruple to strike a defenceless girl and his seven councillors
who abet him in the outrage. As for myself, I am simply Hop-Frog, the
jester--and this is my last jest. "
Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which
it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech
before the work of vengeance was complete. The eight corpses swung in
their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistinguishable
mass. The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the
ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light.
It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon,
had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that,
together, they effected their escape to their own country: for neither
was seen again.
THE MAN OF THE CROWD.
Ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir etre seul.
_La Bruyere_.
IT was well said of a certain German book that "_er lasst sich nicht
lesen_"--it does not permit itself to be read. There are some secrets
which do not permit themselves to be told.
Men die nightly in their
beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors and looking them
piteously in the eyes--die with despair of heart and convulsion of
throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer
themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man
takes up a burthen so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only
into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.
Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in autumn, I sat at the
large bow window of the D----- Coffee-House in London. For some months
I had been ill in health, but was now convalescent, and, with returning
strength, found myself in one of those happy moods which are so
precisely the converse of ennui--moods of the keenest appetency, when
the film from the mental vision departs--the [Greek phrase]--and the
intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its every-day condition,
as does the vivid yet candid reason of Leibnitz, the mad and flimsy
rhetoric of Gorgias. Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and I derived
positive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources of pain. I
felt a calm but inquisitive interest in every thing. With a cigar in
my mouth and a newspaper in my lap, I had been amusing myself for the
greater part of the afternoon, now in poring over advertisements, now
in observing the promiscuous company in the room, and now in peering
through the smoky panes into the street.
This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and had
been very much crowded during the whole day. But, as the darkness came
on, the throng momently increased; and, by the time the lamps were well
lighted, two dense and continuous tides of population were rushing past
the door. At this particular period of the evening I had never before
been in a similar situation, and the tumultuous sea of human heads
filled me, therefore, with a delicious novelty of emotion. I gave up,
at length, all care of things within the hotel, and became absorbed in
contemplation of the scene without.
At first my observations took an abstract and generalizing turn.
I looked at the passengers in masses, and thought of them in their
aggregate relations. Soon, however, I descended to details, and regarded
with minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure, dress, air,
gait, visage, and expression of countenance.
By far the greater number of those who went by had a satisfied
business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their
way through the press.
a minute the whole eight ourang-outangs were blazing fiercely, amid the
shrieks of the multitude who gazed at them from below, horror-stricken,
and without the power to render them the slightest assistance.
At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence, forced the
jester to climb higher up the chain, to be out of their reach; and, as
he made this movement, the crowd again sank, for a brief instant, into
silence. The dwarf seized his opportunity, and once more spoke:
"I now see distinctly. " he said, "what manner of people these maskers
are. They are a great king and his seven privy-councillors,--a king who
does not scruple to strike a defenceless girl and his seven councillors
who abet him in the outrage. As for myself, I am simply Hop-Frog, the
jester--and this is my last jest. "
Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which
it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech
before the work of vengeance was complete. The eight corpses swung in
their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistinguishable
mass. The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the
ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light.
It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon,
had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that,
together, they effected their escape to their own country: for neither
was seen again.
THE MAN OF THE CROWD.
Ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir etre seul.
_La Bruyere_.
IT was well said of a certain German book that "_er lasst sich nicht
lesen_"--it does not permit itself to be read. There are some secrets
which do not permit themselves to be told.
Men die nightly in their
beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors and looking them
piteously in the eyes--die with despair of heart and convulsion of
throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer
themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man
takes up a burthen so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only
into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.
Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in autumn, I sat at the
large bow window of the D----- Coffee-House in London. For some months
I had been ill in health, but was now convalescent, and, with returning
strength, found myself in one of those happy moods which are so
precisely the converse of ennui--moods of the keenest appetency, when
the film from the mental vision departs--the [Greek phrase]--and the
intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its every-day condition,
as does the vivid yet candid reason of Leibnitz, the mad and flimsy
rhetoric of Gorgias. Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and I derived
positive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources of pain. I
felt a calm but inquisitive interest in every thing. With a cigar in
my mouth and a newspaper in my lap, I had been amusing myself for the
greater part of the afternoon, now in poring over advertisements, now
in observing the promiscuous company in the room, and now in peering
through the smoky panes into the street.
This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and had
been very much crowded during the whole day. But, as the darkness came
on, the throng momently increased; and, by the time the lamps were well
lighted, two dense and continuous tides of population were rushing past
the door. At this particular period of the evening I had never before
been in a similar situation, and the tumultuous sea of human heads
filled me, therefore, with a delicious novelty of emotion. I gave up,
at length, all care of things within the hotel, and became absorbed in
contemplation of the scene without.
At first my observations took an abstract and generalizing turn.
I looked at the passengers in masses, and thought of them in their
aggregate relations. Soon, however, I descended to details, and regarded
with minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure, dress, air,
gait, visage, and expression of countenance.
By far the greater number of those who went by had a satisfied
business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their
way through the press.
