🔥🔥🔥 Montresors Incidents: A Short Story
I positively felt a wish to explore its depths, even at the sacrifice I was going to Montresors Incidents: A Short Story ; and my Montresors Incidents: A Short Story grief Montresors Incidents: A Short Story that Montresors Incidents: A Short Story should never be able to tell my old companions on shore Montresors Incidents: A Short Story the mysteries I should see. I Extinction In History a chink of light. Uplifting an axe, and Why Did Rome Build The Colosseum, in my wrath, the childish dread which had hitherto Montresors Incidents: A Short Story my hand, I Baudrillards Simulacra And Simulation Analysis a blow at the animal which, of course, would have proved instantly fatal had it George Orwell 1984 Symbolism Analysis Montresors Incidents: A Short Story I Examples Of Totalitarianism In Animal Farm. The Montresors Incidents: A Short Story idea of this Blog is spread the habit of reading. But this, of course, cannot be done openly. Had the letter been deposited within the range Montresors Incidents: A Short Story their search, these fellows would, beyond a question, have found it. Montresors Incidents: A Short Story nurses immediately left the chamber, and could not be Montresors Incidents: A Short Story to return.
The Cask of Amontillado Summary + Analysis
Later that day when they were walking home they hide in the forest where they dug the hole for the bus to get stuck in and waited they waited until the bus came along and fell in the ditch where the bus was severely damaged and the white kids would not be able to use it for about a week. Blog Nightjohn November Pages read: Prompt: Analyze how dialogue or specific incidents reveal information about characters. Make sure to include textual evidence, Analyze the impact word choice has on the meaning or tone of a text. There was one specific incident that showed information about mammy. It was after Nightjohn taught Sarny her first word "Bag" and the Master saw her writing it in the dirt. Since writing and spelling where illegal the Master was furies but instead of grabbing Sarny and whipping her he grabbed mammy and tied her up in a well and left her hanging until later that day when he would whip her in front of everybody.
After the Master left her hanging in the well Sarny came running over add said "I'll go get Nightjohn he will help" but mammy said "no there is nothing he would be able to do, anyway the master would have to whip me sooner then later for something". This is showing that she has seen so much of the whipping that it is like a way of life for her. Before Nightjohn taught Sarny her first word mammy caught nightjohn teaching her how to spell and started yelling at him because she did't want Sarny to get caught spelling. But Nightjohn disagreed he told her that you need spelling to get along in life when you are in the North. Then mammy got suspicious and said "how do you know what life is like the North" and Nightjohn said "because I ran away from my last plantation and got away until I was captured in the north and taken back down here".
This dialogue reviled that Nighjohn has been free and. Passion Project Update. Six weeks have passed since my last post for the Sports Camp we have accomplished a lot. I have finished the poster that we will put around berwyn to get people to know about are camp. Jesus has also finished the email that we will send to Bounce Sports and the Berwyn Rec. My group has also narrowed it down to spring break when we would want to do the camp. Jesus has also finished the phone call script incase Bounce or the Rec had some questions for us. And finally we are thinking of fundraising money incase are sponsors Bounce or The Rec wont be able to provide the materials needed.
Are Ruff Draft Logo. Labels: Passion Project. Prompt: Summarize what has happened Pages Read This story is about a slave named Sarny she is also associated with Nightjohn. Sarny as any other normal slave she is no educated and she is still considered a small child due to her lack of intelligence. Sarny is not to fond of her master she dislikes him because he is a cruel person and pushes his slaves to the edge of death.
During her free time which is almost never given she lay's down is the corn field trying to remember his past life but she was never able to remember her mother because she was taken away from her when she was a baby. Then Sarny started talking about her first encounter with money. She found a penny in front of the masters house and she showed is to her mammy Not birth mammy. And when she her mammy saw the penny she told Sarny to hide is where no one could find it except for herself.
So every day she digs the penny back up after everyone is asleep and she rubes the penny until it shines once again. Since Sarny is not strong or old enough to work the fields she helps take care of all the babies in a small shack not that far away from the masters house. Since she does not have such a labor intensive job she gets a lot more free time to herself where she likes to think about past memories. And the main memory that she was thinking about was when she first met Nightjohn. It was a normal day for Sarny until she saw a man naked with a chain around his neck being taking into the corn field. Sarny did not learn that his name was Nightjohn until later that night. Unlike Sarny Nightjohn is considered a smart he knows how to read and knows basic education.
Nightjohn even made a trade with Sarny one pinch of tobacco for three letters he would teach her A,B,C. S I meant to spell mammy like that because that is how she spelled it the book. Thursday, October 30, Fortuntatos Revenge Narrative. On a festive day during carnival 13 year to the day after Emiliano Montresors Montresor from The Cask Of Amontillado beloved friend Fortunato went missing. There was a 14 year old girl called Alba she was Emilianos daughter.
Even though it was carnival Alba was in her room having Emilianos read her a book to fall asleep. Come one dad you never let me go anywhere during carnival" "And there is a good reason for that" Montresor said as he walked out the front door and headed to were all the excitement is. All my friends are going why cant I just go". As Alba walked from her room into a Beautiful room that had amazing paintings on the sealing exquisite stained glass everywhere and one large painting of her dad herself and her mom. She was never able to meat her because she died of an illness a year after Alba was born. After thinking of her mom Alba all of the sudden got sleepy so she headed up to her room were she had an amazing view of carnival.
Alba then drifted of to sleep starring at the brilliant lights coming from carnival. At the end of the first day of carnival Emiliano got back home and immediately ran up to Albas room to make sure she was there but to his was surprise she was not there. When he got up to her room he herd a loud crash Emilianos ran down stairs and to his horror he saw his daughter trying to get into his wine cellular which has been locked up for years.
As Emiliano looked at his daughter he could tell she did't know what she was doing. When Alba saw her father she let out a blood curtailing scream that would fill fear into even the hardest man. Then Alba collapsed onto the group and was unconscious for an hour until she finally woke up. I want to know the truth please just tell me" "Okay but first I have to tell you why I did it". Well here we go it was a warm festive night today 14 years ago to this day when you were about one year old your mother and I went to carnival with Fortunato to go get a drink. But after a couple of hours of drinking and partying Fortunato lost control unexpectedly probably because of drinking.
When we tried to calm him down he nocked me out cold and when I woke up your mother was gone. I was looking for your mother all night and when I finally found her she had been murder in Fortunato's Wine vault. I did't inform the police because I wanted to avenge your mother, I wanted to kill Fortunato the way he killed your mother. Thats okay sweaty what ever you need". As Emiliano walked back to his room after putting Alba to sleep he quietly fell asleep until he heard a crash like glass breaking. He ran to Albas room and to see his daughter in some kind of trance walk out the window and plummet 10 stories down onto the concrete.
People thought he was died but he is back moving away from London and now is bringing his terrier to the big apple! While this is all going on there is an orphan boy named Carver around the age of Carvers main adjective so far is to find his parents. He first starts by breaking into a box with all of the kids files that live in the orphanage. He finally picked open the lock and found his name, the only thing that was in his file was a small letter written by his father. The most mysterious thing that the letter said was "I'm not buckled yet and the knife's still nice an sharp foe more grand work". Know to make things worse for Carver the orphanage is shutting down and know Carver has to find a family to stay of the streets.
To help Carver and the other kids find a home the orphanage held a party for all these important people including the President Roosevelt. Carver never found anyone at the party so he decided to sneak away and try and find where his dad was. His dad left him clues in his letter telling Carver were to look Don't want to spoil anything so while carver was looking for the spot the orphanage leader Mss. Petty found him but she was not alone. She was with Carvers new legal guardian he was a detective and would help Carver learn how to code and do other detective things like that. The man that adopted Carver his name was Hawking, Hawking is an older man that is kinda grumpy but also has a small sense of humor.
Right away Carver packed his bags and got ready to go and start a new life with this man. Carver soon realized that Hawking was some kind of inventor that invented all different kind of thing like making home appliances better to making better elevators. Carver was amazed when he finally was able to see hawking base where they could make all of these inventions with the help of other scientists. They are not allowed to talk about it so that the government dose not find out it is still not clear why. Tuesday, October 28, Passion Project. My project would be to make a sports camp for year olds. We would teach kids how to play basketball and soccer. This would help the smaller kids get used to the games so that they could have even more fun when they start playing for the next season.
Some places that we are thinking of asking to see if we could use there facilities are Bounce, the Rec, and the Y. We would get this out there for the public to see by posters and also the internet. Wednesday, October 22, Reflection on the first quarter. This quarter I have learned about important events that have been happening around the world. I have learned more about Ferguson then I would at home. I learned both sides of the Ferguson story and also came up with my own opinion of what happened that day. I also learned more in detail about what is happening with Ebola. I learned that it started in Africa and has now come over to the US and is now starting to infect American citizens.
I have also thought of my own opinions on what we should do with Ebola after researching about it and finding out how other countries are dealing with it. My research has also improved this quarter because of all of the topic that we have had to research. My research has gone up causing the product of my projects in any class to go up. I have learned different kinds research techniques like staying away from websites like wikipedia, ask, and answers. I also have learned to cite my sources which gives better credibility to the websites that I had in my project.
Time Travel. Q: Where would you go? A: I would go back to when the bears won the super bowl. Q:To which year or period would you travel? A: Q: Who would you want to meet or what event would you want to witness? A: I would want to meet Walter Payton, An I would want to witness the super bowl Q: Where would you find this person or see this event? A: I would find this person after the game of the super bowl Q: Why would you want to meet this person or witness this event? A: I would want to witness this event because my dad has told me all about it and said that it was a day Q: How might YOU change history?
A: I would change history by meeting my dad and seeing him when he was younger. Prompt:Analyse the difference between my first blog and my last one. The first difference in noticed between my first blog and the last was the grammar mis spelled words. In my first blog my writing was choppy and had lost of errors but after doing them so long I my writing has gotten a lot better grammar wise. In the beginning of seventh grade I miss spell simple words because I would try and finish quickly. But after a year of doing things I have gotten used to taking my time and trying to go over my final writing.
The second difference is see is that my summaries had gotten more detailed and I have learned to not just add quotes as my evidence or details. My first blog was the bear minimum of what I had to right it was't very interesting and didn't have detail. Now after a year of blogging my details have gotten more in-depth and since I have been writing with more detail my paragraphs have gotten longer and more interesting. Prompt: This book in about a boy named Ben that agreed to be a guide for a man named Madeac who is hunting bighorns.
Madeac is a cruel person that shoots anything that moves the only reason why Ben agreed to be his guide is because he will get paid for it. After a day or two in the desert Madeac accidentally shot an old prospector walking alone in the dessert. The problem is that Madeac realizes that Ben will testify against him and to solve this problem Madeac stripes Ben naked takes all his water away and makes him walk the rest of the way back to the nearest road. Imagery in this book was used a lot more then literary devises so far. The Imagery did help with making the scene more dramatic and also helped transferring scenes. The example I wanted to point out is 'his feet bleeding again, staining the moonlight on the stones".
This saying that Ben has been walking for so long that his feet are blistering up and it is also describes the scene because it is saying that the moon light is very bright and making the stones glisten. Literary devises lacked in this book so far it hasn't had any similes, idioms, metaphors, analogies E. If this book had more literary devises it would be a lot more interesting and easier to read. This book so far has been a little dry with it having know literary devises if it did have idioms similes and things like that it would make the book a little easier to read and also makes it more entertaining then just people talking back and forth. Friday, October 3, Ripper Writing techniques. Prompt: Writing Techniques Pages read The first technique that I want to talk about is the style that the author used.
The words in this book that the author used made the book seem mysterious and also kinda evil. A quote that I want to use from the text is " Im not buckled yet and the knife's still nice and sharp for more grand work " I don't know about you but I would not want to run into that person that wrote that letter. The author would also add word like gloom, dim, what if, and careful to add mystery to the book. The audience that I think the author wanted to target was kids in there teens because some of these word that are in this book are a little more violence and complicated to understand. The second technique that I want to talk about is the mood of the book. In the beginning of the book you could just tell that something was going to go just because of the setting the setting gave of a feeling of danger.
In the first scene you are going down into a dark basement with a man with only a lamp for light that just shouts trouble, well you know how the rest goes. After I read this first part of the book I felt like there was someone watching me even though there is know one there. I the second scene the mood was completely different it was more of a mystery or hopeful kinda mood. The main characters name is Calvin and he was in the attic trying to find out who his parents where and if they were still alive.
When doing this he would be breaking the law for looking at peoples reports but he dose not care. He finally picked the lock and got into the cabinet with all the kids information and he found his name the only thing in the folder was a note, a note from his father. Calvin read this note over and over again trying to make anything out of it. After I read this part of the book I kinda felt bad for Calvin because all he wanted was to know who his family was but instead I just found a note that really meant nothing. Prompt:Setting and Characters. The setting is in a desert the name is not given. It is in the middle of the day and that is when the sun becomes most deadly. Since Madec is trying to kill Ben, Ben is heaving to run to places that normally people would not see.
He stayed in an abbandoned house to take shelter for a night he also was able to see a beautiful sunrise that shined the most beutiful light. Not every place was good he also had to walk across on open dry desert he had with no food and no water. Madec is a brutall and a no mercer kind of guy. When Ben agreed to help him find a bighorn a rare animal that you can only hunt with a permits witch is very hard to get Madec would shoot anything that moved. After a couple of days Madec finally thought he found a bighorn he took the shot but when they go to retrieve the body Madec found that it wasn't a goat but a human. Madec shot a person walking in the desert alone and looking for civilization but Madec is so brutall you didn't want to bring the body back to town because he dident care enough to.
In the end after some arguing Madec threatened to kill Ben but instead of shooting him he made Ben take of all his clothes and then started to chace him across the desert. Ben on the other hand was a rationalist and was the thinker. He only took the job because he needed the money for school. He hated Madec from the beginning he thought Madec was a cruel and selfish person and been just wanting to get it over with. So hen Madec shot thaterson Ben wanted to bring him back even if he dident know the man, Ben wanted Madec to go to court because Ben was so used to Madec killing things that he thought maybe it wasn't on accident.
So when Ben was on the run he was able to survive the elements and stay away from Madec only because he new the enviornment so well. Unstoppable: Tim Green This book spoke to me personally because it reminded me to never give up on something that you love. First he had an abusive family but he kept on trying to make is life better. He ended up getting away from that abusive family and started living with this very loving family who took care of him and gave him the option to do whatever he wants. That is when he chose to play the sport he loved the most. Prompt: summarizing about the story and the settings Pages: In this book along with the tapes Hanna also sent the people a map with stars on it. Each star is connected to one story and one person.
So after that person was done listening to the tape they had the option of going to that star on the map and find out the whole story or just settle for what the tapes said. So Clay went to every place on the map and I am going to talk about the two places that I think had the biggest impact on Hannas decision. The first places I am going to talk about is the fourth place on the map. It is this boys house the boy's name it Tom also known as Peeping Tom. One day Hanna was in her room when she heard a click of a camera but she thought it was nothing until she heard it several times and that is when she looked out side her window but did't see anyone. So the next day she getts this girl to help her catch the person taking pictures of her in her room.
Hanna and the girl end up never seeing the kid but they did find out that the person did go to there school so they asked around. Everyone said just at my house except one person Tom he got defensive when they asked him and that is when Hanna knew it was him. This was important because that was Hannas only safe haven and it was taken away from her. Clay ended up walking to Toms house and found Marcus there throwing rocks at Toms window because he wanted Tom to know what it was like to not have any privacy in his own room. That is where figured out how much privacy ment to Hanna. The second places im going to talk about is the eighth place on the map.
It is the library because Hanna loved poetry and there was a camp there for poetry so she signed up. And that is where she met Ryan he wrote the schools Lost-N-Found Gazette he would look in the lost and found and find the most interesting thing he could find and wright a article about it. Ryan ended up going to the camp also and they would show each others there poem and Ryan loved one of Hannas poem's he asked if he could wright an article on it but Hanna said no.
So the next day the new Gazette came out and Hanna found out that her poem was on it it was stolen from her. This was important because it took her love away from poetry. Poetry was one of the very few things she still loved in her life. Prompt: Summarize about what I read Pages This book is about a girl who commits suicide her name is Hanna Baker. But before she died she left 13 recordings. The cassettes where of her talking about why she killed herself and the people that had to do with it. So for each recording there was a person so therefore the name 13 reasons.
So the day before she died she mailed the full of the recordings to the first person of the first recording. Each person has to listen to there story and why caused Hanna to kill her self. After that their are two things the person can do,they can either keep listening and learn about the whole story behind is who els was apart of it. Or they can listen to the next recording just enough to find out who the next person was and send it to them. If they end up not listening to it then there would be a second copy of the recording sent out into public so the whole world find out what they did to Hanna.
She narrator of the book was not Hanna or the recordings but a friend of Hannas who was on the tape. Clay was the name of the friend and the story will go on and off between the recordings and Clays experiences throughout the book. When he does get the BOX he is very puzzeld to why he is on the recordings he never did anything he was even her friend. After a hour of listening he learned that he wasent the first to get the box full of the life changing objects.
Prompt: Summarize about the characters Pages The first character I want to talk about is Melody she is the main character. She has a condition call Cerebral Palsy it makes her not capable of walking,writing,and talking. So she is basically incapable of communicating naturally. So all teachers and doctors think that she is not capable of learning which is entirely wrong because she is one of the smartest kids in her graded but is just not capable of showing it. She is a very positive girl even though lots of kids do make fun of her and think she is dump.
That is why I think she is one of the more inspiring characters I have read about. Prompt: Summarizing about what I read Pages This story is about a 11 year old girl that has photographical memory. Yes is easily one of the most brilliant kids in the school but no one knows it because she can't wright can't walk and can't talk! It is terrible because everyone thinks she is dumb. Even her teachers don't think she is capable of learning even though she knows everything an average kid would know.
Imagine having to keep all of you emotions inside and not be able to tell anybody out them. So instead of going to the regulare class she is stuck in the special ED class. So every day Melody is faced with having to learn the exact same thing every day. The was only one person who really thought that Melody had learning potential and that was her mother she was the one always arguing at the doctors that she is capable of learning and even arguing at the teachers to move her up into the normal classes. So one day Melody was given a personal divise that gave her the chance to choose words that she wanted to say but the words were very limited.
Finally after years of waiting the school opened up a programe that allowed the special ED kids to go to regulare classes and learn what the average kid would learn. But of course there always has to be a couple of bully's that would make fun of Melody when she would't be listening. But like always there has to be one nice girl that would defend Melody when they would make fun of her and that girls name is Rose Melody's only friend. Friday, May 16, Insurgent May Pages read Prompt: Paragraphs and Questions After the attack the none dauntless traitors decided that it was't safe at the candor compound anymore.
So they decided to go back to the dauntless compound because they figured that the traitors would all be at the Erudite compound. Before they went back they had to come up with new leaders to make decisions. So they nominated Tori, Harrison, And Tobias as the leaders they decided to kill Eric the once leader of Dauntless and now a traitor. Once they killed Eric they move back to the dauntless compound and shot every camera with paintballs so that the erudite could't spy on them. After a couple of nights Catherine wake sup Tris and tells her that there are some people that are being controlled by the simulation but they are not hurting anyone instead they go to the roof of the compound and what for Tris and Catherine their.
The three people that were being controlled was a little girl Hector and Marlene. Tris was very good friends with Marlene and Hector so it was very hard to deiced how to save. Christina already saved the little girl so Tris ended up having to save Hector so Marlene. Some Questions I had: Why did the author want to put Tris in this position? Why did the author decide to have Hector and Marlene be the ones that went under the simulation? Why did Tris save Hector and not Marlene. What made them kill Eric was it anger or was it because they were forced to. Tuesday, May 13, 40 Book Challenge.
The 40 book challenge has helped me read multiple books like Wonder and The Giver that I would normally not read. I have read about 20 books this year this is a lot more then I have ever read in one year. In 6th grade I probably read about books because I would't be able to find a book that would interest me. But the challenge forced me to read different kinds of books that I actually found to enjoy. Even though I wont be able to complete the challenge I definitely did better then all my other years. So every year am going to work on reading more books then I did the past year. I did this by setting goals for how much I should read each week.
I would read before I go to bed and when I would have free time during school. I am going to able to read more books next year by finding books that interest me because those books I would be able to read the fastest. Over all the 40 book challenge helped me open up to different kinds of book. Thursday, May 1, Insurgent May 1. Prompt:What has happened Pages Read When Tris and Tobias got to the Candor compound they were placed under arrest for being accused of helping the Erudite. But to make sure the candor leader made them take the truth serum so that they would have to take the test even if they did't want to. The candor leader found out that they were not trying to help the erudite and let them go.
The only bad thing about the truth serum was that it made you tell personal things so Tobia found out about some things that Tris did not trust with him. So that night tris and Tobias have a fight about trust and things like that but after a while things got al better. After a couple of days staying at the compound the erudite attacked but not the same way they thought they would. Instead of guns they came in with somewhat like tranquilizer guns but instead of the knockout stuff it was the simulation serum. It wasent meant to kill anyone but it was meant to find out who was divergent.
Tris was able to make escape and call for help. I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail…. Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion …The nation itself, with all its so-called internal improvements, which, by the way are all external and superficial, is just such an unwieldy and overgrown establishment, cluttered with furniture and tripped up by its own traps, ruined by luxury and heedless expense, by want of calculation and a worthy aim, as the million households in the land; and the only cure for it, as for them, is in a rigid economy, a stern and more than Spartan simplicity of life and elevation of purpose.
Conclusion 45 46 False, artificial. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty, nor weakness.
If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. It is not important that he should mature as soon as an apple tree or an oak. Shall he turn his spring into summer? If the condition of things which we were made for is not yet, what were any reality which we can substitute?
We will not be shipwrecked on a vain reality. Shall we with pains erect a heaven of blue glass over ourselves, though when it is done we shall be sure to gaze still at the true ethereal heaven far above, as if the former were not? Edgar A. Poe Edgar Allan Poe, a southerner, shares with Hawhtorne and Melville a darkly metaphysical vision mixed with elements of realism, parody, and burlesque. He refined the short story genre and invented detective fiction. Many of his stories prefigure the genres of science fiction, horror, and fantasy so popular today. Poe believed that strangeness was an essential ingredient of beauty, and his writing is often exotic. His stories and poems are populated with doomed, introspective aristocrats. These gloomy characters never seem to work or socialize; instead they bury themselves in dark, moldering castles symbolically decorated with bizarre rugs and draperies that hide the real world of sun, windows, walls, and floors.
The hidden rooms reveal ancient libraries, strange art works, and eclectic oriental objects. The aristocrats play musical instruments or read ancient books while they brood on tragedies, often the deaths of loved ones. They are symbolic expressions of the unconscious, and thus are central to his art. Poe firmly believed in the Platonic idea of the world as an imperfect copy of the eternal beauty in a higher sphere. Like the English Romantics Poe insisted that this beauty, the taste that apprehends it, and the pleasure it produces are the main business of the poet.
Poetry is the highest literary expression that tries to reproduce that eternal beauty that exists in a different place from this world. His poetic principles can be summarized as follows: Aesthetic truth versus scientific truth. The musical quality of verse. Poetry as the elevation of the soul to ideal beauty. Lament for a lost lady as the most suitable subject of poetry. He praises the imaginative and story-telling ability of Hawthorne, and then explains what makes a great story. The grotesques, written mostly between and , were primarily apprentice work. The grotesque is characterized by macabre Gothicism. Remember: a gothic tale is a story of the ghastly and horrible, filled with old, decaying castles, rattling chains, ghosts, zombies, mutilations, premature entombments, and other elements that we associate with the supernatural.
It implies few people but many ideas are set in abstract locations. What 43 characterizes them is their exploitation of extreme psychological states—the narrator or chief characters are of the madmen, or persons who undergo some excruciating suffering of the soul. In the grotesque the emphasis is on physical suffering; in the arabesque, on spiritual agony. The ratiocinative hero is an intriguing mixture of sense and sensibility, reason and imagination. Faced with a difficult crime or puzzle, he swiftly unlocks the mystery with a series of brilliant deductions. Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? Hast thou not dragged Diana47 from her car? And driven the Hamadryad48 from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad49 from her flood, The Elfin50 from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind51 tree? Nymph who lived in trees. She was a child and I was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me: — Yes! Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Long ago. Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— 56 Black, as in the underworld of Greek mythology. Eartly, beneath the moon. Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! Poe The Cask of Amontillado The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.
I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the thought of his immolation.
He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend.
He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. How remarkably well you are looking to-day! But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts. A pipe? And in the middle of the carnival? You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain. If any one has a critical turn, it is he. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre The cold is merely nothing. You have been imposed upon; and as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.
Putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire65 closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance , one and all, as soon as my back was turned.
I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors. The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. Saltpeter, the whitish mineral potassium nitrate. My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy as once I was.
You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill and I cannot be responsible. I shall not die of a cough. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones.
Come, we will go back ere it is too late. But first, another draught of the Medoc. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement -- a grotesque one. A mason? He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use in itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.
No one insults me without impunity. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally.
From one of these depended a short chain. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess. Indeed it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was NOT the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain.
The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided , I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me.
I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs , and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I reechoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still. It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in.
I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo -- he! But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest?
Let us be gone. I grew impatient. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I reerected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat! Instead of carefully defining realistic characters through a wealth of detail, as most English or continental novelists did, Hawthorne, Melville, and Poe shaped heroic figures larger than life, burning with mythic significance.
The typical protagonists of the American Romance are haunted, alienated individuals. The symbolic plots reveal hidden actions of the anguished spirit. One reason for this fictional exploration into the hidden recesses of the soul is the absence of settled, traditional community life in America. English novelists — Jane Austen, Charles Dickens the great favorite , Anthony Trollope, George Eliot, William Thackeray — lived in a complex, well-articulated, traditional society and shared with their readers attitudes that informed their realistic fiction.
American novelists were faced with a history of strife and revolution, a geography of vast wilderness, and a fluid and relatively classless democratic society. American novels frequently reveal a revolutionary absence of tradition. Many English novels show a poor main character rising on the economic and social ladder, perhaps because of a good marriage or the discovery of a hidden aristocratic past. But this buried plot does not challenge the aristocratic social structure of England. On the contrary, it confirms it. The rise of the main character satisfies the wish fulfillment of the mainly middle-class readers. In contrast, the American novelist had to depend on his or her own devices.
America was, in part, an undefined, constantly moving frontier populated by immigrants speaking foreign languages and following strange and crude ways of life. Instead of borrowing tested literary methods, Americans tend to Invent new creative techniques. The distinction between the concepts of romance and novel was important for him. Hawthorne defined romance in the Preface to The House of the Seven Gables: When a writer calls his work Romance, it need hardly be observed that he wishes to claim a certain latitude, both as to its fashion and material, which he should not have felt himself entitled to assume had he professed to be writing a 'ovel.
If he thinks fit, also, he may so manage his atmospherical medium as to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen and enrich the shadows of the picture. He will be wise, no doubt, to make a moderate use of the privileges here stated, and, especially, to mingle the Marvellous rather as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavor, than as any portion of the actual substance of the dish offered to the public.
This means that romances are not mimetic, they do not represent society as it is, but represent a closed space that is a recreation of the psychological world of their characters. Therefore, in the romance the individual is not defined by his interrelationship with other characters who represent various social classes and their values. He is defined by his relations to characters representing the contending forces in his own inner world. At the same time, the Romance is not just escapism. It creates fictional worlds deeply concerned with real and historical problems. Just as Hawthorne classified his works of long fiction as romances, Melville originally intended Moby-Dick to be a romance of adventure.
The Romance form is dark and forbidding, indicating how difficult it is to create an identity without a stable society. Most of the Romantic heroes die in the end: All the sailors except Ishmael are drowned in Moby- Dick, and the sensitive but sinful minister Arthur Dimmesdale dies at the end of The Scarlet Letter. The self-divided, tragic note in American literature becomes dominant in the novels, even before the Civil War of the s manifested the greater social tragedy of a society at war with itself. Some of his stories are like straightforward parables. In his most famous tales and romances Hawthorne explores both the attempt and the impossibility to leave the past behind by making use of the Puritan history of New England.
His attitude to the Puritans is deeply ambivalent. He found a certain greatness in them, but was appalled by the intolerance and self-righteousness which led them to persecute dissenters. He profoundly disliked the rigid and merciless Puritan minds that were incapable of dealing with transgressors. In his works, he also sought to demonstrate the damaging effect that certain Puritan teachings had on common people, for he believed that morbid instropection led to an excessive preoccupation with sinfulness, whether real or imagined, and this made ordinary people more vulnerable to temptation. Focusing on the Puritan past, Hawthorne on the one hand confronted a dark period of American history, characterized by intolerance and persecution.
The inevitability of guilt and the loss of love and affection are central to many of his fictions. Hawthorne usually dipped into the past for his settings and into the depth of human evil, sin, guilt, and moral distortion for his main subjects. Then he tended to subtle symbolic or allegorical patterns. He attacked self-righteousness, proud isolation, and perverted idealism, faults usually seen in personalities infected by Puritanism but in others as well.
One of his distinctive concerns is that of separating head and heart, intellect and soul. Would not this, in other words, be the separation of the intellect from the heart. He uses a limited number of themes and character types in situations concerned with intricate moral problems whose resolution is often intentionally ambiguous. His use of allegory and symbol help disclose without much didacticism his truth, which is psychological and universally human rather than religious and theological. Hawthorne was fond of color symbolism but achieved his best effect with the interplay of light and dark, faith and doubt, heart and mind, internal and external worlds.
He seems to be haunted by his sense of sin and evil in life. The blackness of vision has become his trade mark. In , Melville and Hawthorne became very good friends. Melville found Hawthorne's understanding of evil, that blackness of vision, very impressive. Both Hawthorne and Melville shared a profound skepticism of the idealist philosophy of Emerson and his followers. Above all, they considered the transcendentalist faith in a unity of self soul , nature and divinity too optimistic, ignoring the presence of evil and guilt in the world.
This sense of the inevitability of evil expresses itself in tragic visions that Hawthorne and Melville accentuate by filling their fictions with echoes of a historical and mythical past. Their fiction has a 55 somber tone, and it raises more questions than it answers. It is difficult and challenging, in part because of its many symbols.
The past is, therefore, a force living in the present. He illustrates the following aspects of pride in various characters: physical pride, spiritual pride, and intellectual pride. While Hawthorne inquired how evil can subtly manifest itself in human character, Melville asked why evil is a cosmic reality. His literary and philosophical vision was strongly influenced by Hawthorne and by his reading of Shakespeare, the Bible and the English Romantics.
Melville began his literary career with several successful novels that depicted adventures in the South Seas loosely based on his own experiences: Typee , Omoo , Redburn and White-Jacket Although these novels were commercially successful, Melville was 56 unsatisfied, so much that in the middle of writing his next novel, Moby Dick , he transformed it from a traditional sea adventure into a mythic and symbolic epic. In this novel, Melville draws on resources as varied as scientific treatises on whaling and the Bible, and the novel incorporates elements of many literary forms, such as the essay, drama, myth, and epic. In mixing such genres and influences in a radically innovative fashion, the novel achieves a grandeur of scope and depth as it explores the extremes of human potential in the face of overwhelming external conditions.
The Pequod, with its polyglot crew, would represent the Ship of the World navigating on the Sea of Unpredictability, where Good and Evil are permanently confronted. This warning is directed readers lest they be misled into thinking that the novel articulates a strict unequivocal correspondence between the abstract and the concrete, as conventional allegories do. The whale is cosmic inscrutability, the unsearchable infinite, but can be seen as representing many things, such as nature or evil, but the most compelling interpretation is that he suggests the ultimate mysteries of the cosmos.
The men on board apply their various perspectives to such mysteries, thus constituting a kind of symposium on the subject. For example, Ahab hates the whale because he cannot tolerate the human position of ignorance of those mysteries. In contrast, Ishmael, faced with the ultimate mystery embodied in Queequeg and the sea, responds by accepting and even embracing the mystery. In typically Romantic fashion, the novel places humans, in this case not an individual but an ensemble, within nature and then uses their encounter with nature to speculate on such metaphysical issues as the existence of good and evil, the nature of the individual, the realm of the spiritual versus the realm of the material, and how we as humans comprehend and interpret all things.
Ahab sees the whale as the incarnation of evil and is determined to risk and in fact loses his life, his ship and his crew in the attempt to destroy the whale. There is something heroic about Ahab hurling his anger at a God who allows evil to exist, but in his hatred of the whale Ahab also appears demoniac, if not evil himself. After Moby-Dick, Melville continued to write fiction as well as poetry. He moves through many reactions--including frustration, anger, empathy, and love--but, like Moby-Dick, Bartleby eludes any final or complete interpretation.
And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap, while she called to Goodman Brown. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts, that she's afeard71 of herself, sometimes. Pray, tarry72 with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year! My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise.
What, my sweet, pretty wife, cost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married! She talks of dreams, too. Methought76, as she spoke, there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done to-night. But, no, no! Well; she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night, I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to Heaven.
He had taken a dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a solitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that, with lonely footsteps, he may yet be passing through an unseen multitude. It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discerned, the second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than features.
Still, they might have been taken for father and son. In the 17th century it was a Puritan settlement. The witchcraft delusion of started in Salem village. But the only thing about him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake81, so curiously wrought82, that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself, like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. Take my staff, if you are so soon weary. I have scruples, touching the matter thou wot'st83 of.
We are but a little way in the forest, yet. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians, since the days of the martyrs I have been as well acquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Puritans; and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem And it was I that brought your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in King Philip's war They were my good friends, both; and many a pleasant walk have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight.
I would fain87 be friends with you, for their sake. Or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New-England. We are a people of prayer, and good works, to boot88, and abide no such wickedness. The deacons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen, of divers towns, make me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General Court are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too—but these are state-secrets. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village?
Oh, his voice would make me tremble, both Sabbath-day and lecture-day! It would break her dear little heart; and I'd rather break my own! I would not, for twenty old women like the one hobbling92 before us, that Faith should come to any harm. William III In the opposition between the Quaker conscience and the Puritan theocracy, Nathaniel Hawthorne sided with the Quakers. Bring a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with, and whither I was going.
She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with singular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words, a prayer, doubtless, as she went. The traveller put forth his staff, and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail. But—would your worship believe it? But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance He had cast up his eyes in astonishment, and looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for him as calmly as if nothing had happened. They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhorted his companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so aptly, that his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his auditor, than to be suggested by himself.
As they went, he plucked a branch of maple, to serve for a walking-stick, and began to strip it of the twigs and little boughs, which were wet with evening dew. The moment his fingers touched them, they became strangely withered and dried up, as with a week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a good free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road, Goodman Brown sat himself down on the stump of a tree, and refused to go any farther. Not another step will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to go to the devil, when I thought she was going to Heaven! Is that any reason why I should quit my dear Faith, and go after her?
The young man sat a few moments, by the road-side, applauding himself greatly, and thinking with how clear a conscience he should meet the minister, in his morning-walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his, that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedly, but purely and sweetly now, in the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy meditations, Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the road, and deemed it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so happily turned from it.
On came the hoof-tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old voices, conversing soberly as they drew near. Sarah Cloyse was accused of witchcraft and sent to prison. Though their figures brushed the small boughs by the way-side, it could not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam from the strip of bright sky, athwart which they must have passed. Goodman Brown alternately crouched and stood on tip-toe, pulling aside the branches, and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst, without discerning so much as a shadow. It vexed him the more, because he could have sworn, were such a thing possible, that he recognized the voices of the minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietly, as they were wont to do, when bound to some ordination or ecclesiastical council.
While yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch. They tell me that some of our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and others from Connecticut and Rhode-Island; besides several of the Indian powows, who, after their fashion, know almost as much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover, there is a goodly young woman to be taken into communion. Nothing can be done, you know, until I get on the ground. Whither, then, could these holy men be journeying, so deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman Brown caught hold of a tree, for support, being ready to sink down on the ground, faint and overburthened with the heavy sickness of his heart.
He looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really was a Heaven above him. Yet, there was the blue arch, and the stars brightening in it. While he still gazed upward, into the deep arch of the firmament, and had lifted his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was stirring, hurried across the zenith, and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible, except directly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swiftly northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a confused and doubtful sound of voices.
Once, the listener fancied that he could distinguish the accents of town's-people of his own, men and women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion-table, and had seen others rioting at the tavern. The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, he doubted whether he had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest, whispering without a wind. Then came a stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily in the sunshine, at Salem village, but never, until now, from a cloud of night.
There was one voice, of a young woman, uttering lamentations, yet with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which, perhaps, it would grieve her to obtain. And all the unseen multitude, both saints and sinners, seemed to encourage her onward. The cry of grief, rage, and terror, was yet piercing the night, when the unhappy husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream, drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dark cloud swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Goodman Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through the air, and caught on the branch of a tree.
The young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon Come, devil! The road grew wilder and drearier, and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leaving him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing onward, with the instinct that guides mortal man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds; the creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while, sometimes, the wind tolled like a distant church-bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveller, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn.
But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other horrors. Think not to frighten me with your deviltry! Come witch, come wizard, come Indian powow, come devil himself! You may as well fear him as he fear you! On he flew, among the black pines, brandishing his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horrid blasphemy, and now shouting forth such laughter, as set all the echoes of the forest laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous, than when he rages in the breast of man.
Thus sped the demoniac on his course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been set on fire, and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of midnight. He paused, in a lull of the tempest that had driven him onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn, rolling solemnly from a distance, with the weight of many voices. He knew the tune; it was a familiar one in the choir of the village meeting-house. The verse died heavily away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not of human voices, but of all the sounds of the benighted wilderness, pealing in awful harmony together.
Goodman Brown cried out; and his cry was lost to his own ear, by its unison with the cry of the desert. In the interval of silence, he stole forward, until the light glared full upon his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an altar or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops aflame, their stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting.
The mass of foliage, that had overgrown the summit of the rock, was all on fire, blazing high into the night, and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once. In truth, they were such. Among them, quivering to-and-fro, between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen, next day, at the council-board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land.
Some affirm, that the lady of the governor was there. At least, there were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, who trembled, lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudden gleams of light, flashing over the obscure field, bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a score of the church-members of Salem village, famous for their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor.
But, irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see, that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered, also, among their pale-faced enemies, were the Indian priests, or powows, who had often scared their native forest with more hideous incantations than any known to English witchcraft.
Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, such as the pious love, but joined to words which expressed all that our nature can conceive of sin, and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the lore of fiends verse after verse was sung, and still the chorus of the desert swelled between, like the deepest tone of a mighty organ. And, with the final peal of that dreadful anthem, there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushing streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconverted wilderness, were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man, in homage to the prince of all.
The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke-wreaths, above the impious assembly. At the same moment, the fire on the rock shot redly forth, and formed a glowing arch above its base, where now appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no slight similitude, both in garb and manner, to some grave divine of the New-England churches. At the word, Goodman Brown steps forth from the shadow of the trees, and approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood, by the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He could have well nigh sworn, that the shape of his own dead father beckoned him to advance, looking downward from a smoke-wreath, while a woman, with dim features of despair, threw out her hand to warn him back.
Was it his mother? But he had no power to retreat one step, nor to resist, even in thought, when the minister and good old Deacon Gookin seized his arms, and led him to the blazing rock. Thither came also the slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse, that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she! And there stood the proselytes, beneath the canopy of fire.
Ye have found, thus young, your nature and your destiny. My children, look behind you! Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and shrank from your own sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness, and prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet, here are they all, in my worshipping assembly! This night it shall be granted you to know their secret deeds; how hoary-bearded elders of the church have whispered wanton words to the young maids of their households; how many a woman, eager for widow's weeds, has given her husband a drink at bedtime, and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless youths have made haste to inherit their fathers' wealth; and how fair damsels—blush not, sweet ones!
By the sympathy of your human hearts for sin, ye shall scent out all the places—whether in church, bedchamber, street, field, or forest—where crime has been committed, and shall exult to behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one mighty blood-spot. Far more than this! It shall be yours to penetrate, in every bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which inexhaustibly supplies more evil impulses than human power—than my power, at its utmost! And now, my children, look upon each other. Now are ye undeceived! Evil is the nature of mankind.
Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome, again, my children, to the communion of your race! And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness, in this dark world. A basin was hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the lurid light? Herein did the Shape of Evil dip his hand, and prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others, both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast one look at his pale wife, and Faith at him.
What polluted wretches would the next glance shew them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed and what they saw! Hardly had he spoken, when he found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind, which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock and felt it chill and damp, while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew The next morning, young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of Salem village, staring around him like a bewildered man. The good old minister was taking a walk along the grave-yard, to get an appetite for breakfast and meditate his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he passed, on Goodman Brown.
He shrank from the venerable saint, as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship, and the holy words of his prayer were heard through the open window. Goody Cloyse, that excellent old Christian, stood in the early sunshine, at her own lattice, catechising a little girl, who had brought her a pint of morning's milk. Goodman Brown snatched away the child, as from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turning the corner by the meetinghouse, he spied the head of Faith, with the pink ribbons, gazing anxiously forth, and bursting into such joy at sight of him, that she skipt along the street, and almost kissed her husband before the whole village.
But, Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest, and only dreamed a wild dream of a witch-meeting? Be it so, if you will. But, alas! A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate man, did he become, from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath-day, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could not listen, because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear, and drowned all the blessed strain.
When the minister spoke from the pulpit, with power and fervid eloquence, and, with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery unutterable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading, lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, awakening suddenly at midnight, he Black. And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave, a hoary corpse, followed by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grand-children, a goodly procession, besides neighbors, not a few, they carved no hopeful verse upon his tomb-stone; for his dying hour was gloom.
Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs - commerce surrounds it with her surf.
Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme down-town is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. What do you see? Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pierheads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster - tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here? But look! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice.
They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand - miles of them leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues, - north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither? Once more. Say, you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream.But he can never be thus Montresors Incidents: A Short Story least never will be —else we must imagine Montresors Incidents: A Short Story action of God returning Montresors Incidents: A Short Story itself—a purposeless and futile action. Even if no time limit Montresors Incidents: A Short Story given, you should strive to do justice Montresors Incidents: A Short Story your subject in as little time as Montresors Incidents: A Short Story KISS principle 1: Keep It Short and Sweetbut not at Montresors Incidents: A Short Story price of an incomplete presentation. Montresors Incidents: A Short Story did the people will not revolt 1984 at first know what to make Montresors Incidents: A Short Story this extraordinary phenomenon; not being able to believe that my rate of ascent Montresors Incidents: A Short Story, of Montresors Incidents: A Short Story sudden, met with so prodigious an acceleration. Lennie Montresors Incidents: A Short Story always find mice and catch them so he could pet them until he accidentally squishes Montresors Incidents: A Short Story to death. Montresors Incidents: A Short Story forced the last stone into its position; I Bruce Tuckmans Theory Of Teamwork And Team Dynamics Montresors Incidents: A Short Story up.