Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe - Complete Tales and Poems

To hedge round a grave with respect, what choice is there, between the relinquished wealth and honors of the world, and the story of such a woman’s unrewarded devotion! Risking what we do, in delicacy, by making it public, we feel—other reasons aside—that it betters the world to make known that there are such ministrations to its erring and gifted. What we have said will speak to some hearts. There are those who will be glad to know how the lamp, whose light of poetry has beamed on their far-away recognition, was watched over with care and pain, that they may send to her, who is more darkened than they by its extinction, some token of their sympathy. She is destitute and alone. If any, far or near, will send to us what may aid and cheer her through the remainder of her life, we will joyfully place it in her hands.

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T H E W O R K S O F

T H E T A L E S

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The texts follow:

Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe , Vol. 2 & 3: Tales and Sketches, ed. by Thomas Ollive Mabbott, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachussetts, & London, England, 1978. except “The Unparalleled Adventure of one Hans Pfaall:” The Imaginary Voyages, ed. by Burton R. Pollin, The Gordian Press, New York 1994. — — —

Contents

 Table of Contents The Intro T H E W O R K S O F The Tales T H E W O R K S O F The Poems The Novels The Essays The Miscellanea The Play The Criticism The Letters Index

METZENGERSTEIN.

THE DUC DE L’OMELETTE.

A TALE OF JERUSALEM.

LOSS OF BREATH.

BON-BON.

MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE.

THE ASSIGNATION.

BERENICE.

MORELLA.

LIONIZING.

THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS PFAALL.

KING PEST.

SHADOW.—A PARABLE.

FOUR BEASTS IN ONE; THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD.

MYSTIFICATION.

SILENCE—A FABLE.

LIGEIA.

HOW TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE.

THE DEVIL IN THE BELFRY.

THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP.

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER.

WILLIAM WILSON.

THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION.

WHY THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN WEARS HIS HAND IN A SLING.

THE BUSINESS MAN.

THE MAN OF THE CROWD.

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE.

A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRÖM.

THE ISLAND OF THE FAY.

THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA.

NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD.

ELEONORA.

THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK.

THE OVAL PORTRAIT.

THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH.

THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN.

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM.

THE TELL-TALE HEART.

THE GOLD-BUG.

THE BLACK CAT.

DIDDLING CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.

THE SPECTACLES.

A TALE OF THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS.

THE PREMATURE BURIAL.

MESMERIC REVELATION.

THE OBLONG BOX.

THE ANGEL OF THE ODD.

“THOU ART THE MAN.”

THE LITERARY LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ.

THE PURLOINED LETTER.

THE THOUSAND-AND-SECOND TALE OF SCHEHERAZADE.

SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY.

THE POWER OF WORDS.

THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE.

THE SYSTEM OF DOCTOR TARR AND PROFESSOR FETHER.

THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF M. VALDEMAR.

THE SPHINX.

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO.

THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM.

MELLONTA TAUTA.

HOP-FROG.

VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY.

X-ING A PARAGRAB.

LANDOR’S COTTAGE.

Pestis eram vivus—moriens tua mors ero.

Martin Luther .

Horror and fatality have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why then give a date to the story I have to tell? Let it suffice to say, that at the period of which I speak, there existed, in the interior of Hungary, a settled although hidden belief in the doctrines of the Metempsychosis. Of the doctrines themselves—that is, of their falsity, or of their probability—I say nothing. I assert, however, that much of our incredulity (as La Bruyère says of all our unhappiness) “ vient de ne pouvoir être seuls .” (†)

But there were some points in the Hungarian superstition which were fast verging to absurdity. They—the Hungarians—differed very essentially from their Eastern authorities. For example. ·19· “ The soul ,” said the former—I give the words of an acute and intelligent Parisian—“ ne demeure qu’un [E: qu’une] seule fois dans un corps sensible: au reste—un cheval, un chien, un homme même, n’est que la ressemblance peu tangible de ces animaux .”

The families of Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had been at variance for centuries. Never before were two houses so illustrious, mutually embittered by hostility so deadly. The origin of this enmity seems to be found in the words of an ancient prophecy—“A lofty name shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider over his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph over the immortality of Berlifitzing.”

To be sure the words themselves had little or no meaning. But more trivial causes have given rise—and that no long while ago—to consequences equally eventful. Besides, the estates, which were contiguous, had long exercised a rival influence in the affairs of a busy government. Moreover, near neighbors are seldom friends; and the inhabitants of the Castle Berlifitzing might look, from their lofty buttresses, into the very windows of the Palace Metzengerstein. Least of all had the more than feudal magnificence, thus discovered, a tendency to allay the irritable feelings of the less ancient and less wealthy Berlifitzings. What wonder, then, that the words, however silly, of that prediction, should have succeeded in setting and keeping at variance two families already predisposed to quarrel by every instigation of hereditary jealousy? The prophecy seemed to imply—if it implied anything—a final triumph on the part of the already more powerful house; and was of course ·20· remembered with the more bitter animosity by the weaker and less influential.

Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily descended, was, at the epoch of this narrative, an infirm and doting old man, remarkable for nothing but an inordinate and inveterate personal antipathy to the family of his rival, and so passionate a love of horses, and of hunting, that neither bodily infirmity, great age, nor mental incapacity, prevented his daily participation in the dangers of the chase.

Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet of age. His father, the Minister G——, died young. His mother, the Lady Mary, followed him quickly. Frederick was, at that time, in his eighteenth year. In a city, eighteen years are no long period: but in a wilderness—in so magnificent a wilderness as that old principality, the pendulum vibrates with a deeper meaning.

From some peculiar circumstances attending the administration of his father, the young Baron, at the decease of the former, entered immediately upon his vast possessions. Such estates were seldom held before by a nobleman of Hungary. His castles were without ·21· number. The chief in point of splendor and extent was the “Palace Metzengerstein.” The boundary line of his dominions was never clearly defined; but his principal park embraced a circuit of fifty miles.

Upon the succession of a proprietor so young, with a character so well known, to a fortune so unparalleled, little speculation was afloat in regard to his probable course of conduct. And, indeed, for the space of three days, the behaviour of the heir out-heroded Herod, and fairly surpassed the expectations of his most enthusiastic admirers. Shameful debaucheries—flagrant treacheries—unheard-of atrocities—gave his trembling vassals quickly to understand that no servile submission on their part—no punctilios of conscience on his own—were thenceforward to prove any security against the remorseless fangs of a petty Caligula. On the night of the fourth day, the stables of the Castle Berlifitzing were discovered to be on fire; and the unanimous opinion of the neighborhood added the crime of the incendiary to the already hideous list of the Baron’s misdemeanors and enormities.