The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket Comprising the details of a mutiny and atrocious butchery on board the American brig Grampus, on her way to the South Seas, in the month of June, 1827.

By Edgar Allan Poe

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those gentlemen in Virginia who expressed the greatest interest
in my statement, more particularly in regard to that portion of it
which related to the Antarctic Ocean, was Mr. Poe, lately editor of the
Southern Literary Messenger, a monthly magazine, published by Mr.
Thomas W. White, in the city of Richmond. He strongly advised me, among
others, to prepare at once a full account of what I had seen and
undergone, and trust to the shrewdness and common sense of the
public--insisting, with great plausibility, that however roughly, as
regards mere authorship, my book should be got up, its very
uncouthness, if there were any, would give it all the better chance of
being received as truth.

Notwithstanding this representation, I did not make up my mind to do as
he suggested. He afterward proposed (finding that I would not stir in
the matter) that I should allow him to draw up, in his own words, a
narrative of the earlier portion of my adventures, from facts afforded
by myself, publishing it in the Southern Messenger _under the garb of
fiction_. To this, perceiving no objection, I consented, stipulating
only that my real name should be retained. Two numbers of the pretended
fiction appeared, consequently, in the Messenger for January and
February (1837), and, in order that it might certainly be regarded as
fiction, the name of Mr. Poe was affixed to the articles in the table
of contents of the magazine.

The manner in which this _ruse_ was received has induced me at length
to undertake a regular compilation and publication of the adventures in
question; for I found that, in spite of the air of fable which had been
so ingeniously thrown around that portion of my statement which
appeared in the Messenger (without altering or distorting a single
fact), the public were still not at all disposed to receive it as
fable, and several letters were sent to Mr. P.'s address distinctly
expressing a conviction to the contrary. I thence concluded that the
facts of my narrative would prove of such a nature as to carry with
them sufficient evidence of their own authenticity, and that I had
consequently little to fear on the score of popular incredulity.

This _exposé_ being made, it will be seen at once how much of what
follows I claim to be my own writing; and it will also be understood
that no fact is misrepresented in the first few pages which were
written by Mr. Poe. Even to those readers who have not seen the
Messenger, it will be unnecessary to point out where his portion ends
and my

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Text Comparison with Le Corbeau = The Raven

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_Ah! distinctement je me souviens que.
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c'était en le glacial Décembre: et chaque tison, mourant isolé, ouvrageait son spectre sur le sol.
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»_ Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
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»_ Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such a name as "Nevermore.
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»_ But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
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" _Le Corbeau induisant toute ma triste âme encore au sourire, je roulai soudain un siége à coussins en face de l'oiseau et du buste et de la porte; et m'enfonçant dans le velours, je me pris à enchaîner songerie à songerie, pensant à ce que cet augural oiseau de jadis--à ce que ce sombre, disgracieux, sinistre, maigre et augural oiseau de jadis signifiait en croassant: «Jamais plus.
Page 6
«Misérable, m'écriai-je, ton Dieu t'a prêté--il t'a envoyé, par ces anges, le répit--le répit et le népenthès dans ta mémoire de Lénore! Bois! oh! bois ce bon népenthès et oublie cette Lénore perdue!» Le Corbeau dit: «Jamais plus!»_ "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!-- Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-- On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore-- Is there--_is_ there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
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«Recule en la tempête et le rivage plutonien de Nuit! Ne laisse pas une plume noire ici comme un gage du mensonge qu'a proféré ton âme.