at all this trouble for nothing, sir,"
said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for
the finding of the animal--that is to say, any thing in reason."
"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me
think!--what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be
this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these
murders in the Rue Morgue."
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just as
quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key in
his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it, without
the least flurry, upon the table.
The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation.
He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the next moment he
fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance
of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my
"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself
unnecessarily--you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge
you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you no
injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities
in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some
measure implicated in them. From what I have already said, you must know
that I have had means of information about this matter--means of which
you could never have dreamed. Now the thing stands thus. You have done
nothing which you could have avoided--nothing, certainly, which renders
you culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have
robbed with impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason
for concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle
of honor to confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned,
charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while
Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all
"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all I
know about this affair;--but I do not expect you to believe one half I
say--I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will
make a clean breast if I die for
" _Frederick Juengling.Page 2
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he.Page 3
_ "'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!'" .Page 4
Of all these mystical cadences, the plaint of _The Raven_, vibrating through the portal, chiefly has impressed the outer world.Page 6
Still, one of these lyrics, in its smaller way, affects us with a sense of uniqueness, as surely as the sublimer works of a supernatural cast,--Marlowe's "Faustus," the "Faust" of Goethe, "Manfred," or even those ethereal masterpieces, "The Tempest" and "A Midsummer Night's Dream.Page 7
" This is still my belief; and yet, upon a fresh study of this poem, it impresses me more than at any time since my boyhood.Page 8
The hit stimulated and encouraged him.Page 9
The "standard" Griswold collection of the poet's works abounds with errors.Page 10
" Here Poe assumed a privilege for which he roughly censured Longfellow, and which no one ever sought on his own premises without swift detection and chastisement.Page 12
This must be allied to Beauty.Page 13
" The components of _The Raven_ are few and simple: a man, a bird, and the phantasmal memory at a woman.Page 14
The impulse of genius is to guard the secrets of its creative hour.Page 15
Doubtless his environment was not one to guard a fine-grained, ill-balanced nature from perils without and within.Page 16
The Rime afforded him a prolonged story, with many shiftings of the scene.Page 17
"'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this, and nothing more.Page 18
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore,-- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" .Page 20
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.Page 21
thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.