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Edgar Allan Poe: Loss of Breath
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Poe
LOSS OF BREATH
A Tale Neither In nor Out of "Blackwood"
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
O Breathe not, etc.
Moore's Melodies
THE MOST notorious ill-fortune must in the end yield to the untiring
courage of philosophy–as the most stubborn city to the ceaseless vigilance
of an enemy. Shalmanezer, as we have it in holy writings, lay three years
before Samaria; yet it fell. Sardanapalus–see Diodorus–maintained himself
seven in Nineveh; but to no purpose. Troy expired at the close of the second
lustrum; and Azoth, as Aristaeus declares upon his honour as a gentleman,
opened at last her gates to Psammetichus, after having barred them for the
fifth part of a century....
"Thou wretch!–thou vixen!–thou shrew!" said I to my wife on the morning
after our wedding; "thou witch!–thou hag!–thou whippersnapper–thou sink of
iniquity!–thou fiery-faced quintessence of all that is
abominable!–thou–thou-" here standing upon tiptoe, seizing her by the
throat, and placing my mouth close to her ear, I was preparing to launch
forth a new and more decided epithet of opprobrium, which should not fail,
if ejaculated, to convince her of her insignificance, when to my extreme
horror and astonishment I discovered that I had lost my breath.
The phrases "I am out of breath," "I have lost my breath," etc., are
often enough repeated in common conversation; but it had never occurred to
me that the terrible accident of which I speak could bona fide and actually
happen! Imagine–that is if you have a fanciful turn–imagine, I say, my
wonder–my consternation–my despair!
There is a good genius, however, which has never entirely deserted me. In
my most ungovernable moods I still retain a sense of propriety, et le chemin
des passions me conduit–as Lord Edouard in the "Julie" says it did him–a la
philosophie veritable.
Although I could not at first precisely ascertain to what degree the
occurence had affected me, I determined at all events to conceal the matter
from my wife, until further experience should discover to me the extent of
this my unheard of calamity. Altering my countenance, therefore, in a
moment, from its bepuffed and distorted appearance, to an expression of arch
and coquettish benignity, I gave my lady a pat on the one cheek, and a kiss
on the other, and without saying one syllable (Furies! I could not), left
her astonished at my drollery, as I pirouetted out of the room in a Pas de
Zephyr.
Behold me then safely ensconced in my private boudoir, a fearful instance
of the ill consequences attending upon irascibility–alive, with the
qualifications of the dead–dead, with the propensities of the living–an
anomaly on the face of the earth–being very calm, yet breathless.
Yes! breathless. I am serious in asserting that my breath was entirely
gone. I could not have stirred with it a feather if my life had been at
issue, or sullied even the delicacy of a mirror. Hard fate!–yet there was
some alleviation to the first overwhelming paroxysm of my sorrow. I found,
upon trial, that the powers of utterance which, upon my inability to proceed
in the conversation with my wife, I then concluded to be totally destroyed,
were in fact only partially impeded, and I discovered that had I, at that
interesting crisis, dropped my voice to a singularly deep guttural, I might
still have continued to her the communication of my sentiments; this pitch
of voice (the guttural) depending, I find, not upon the current of the
breath, but upon a certain spasmodic action of the muscles of the
throat.
Throwing myself upon a chair, I remained for some time absorbed in
meditation. My reflections, be sure, were of no consolatory kind. A thousand
vague and lachrymatory fancies took possesion of my soul- and even the idea
of suicide flitted across my brain; but it is a trait in the perversity of
human nature to reject the obvious and the ready, for the far-distant and
equivocal. Thus I shuddered at self-murder as the most decided of atrocities
while the tabby cat purred strenuously upon the rug, and the very water dog
wheezed assiduously under the table, each taking to itself much merit for
the strength of its lungs, and all obviously done in derision of my own
pulmonary incapacity.
Oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears, I at length heard the
footsteps of my wife descending the staircase. Being now assured of her
absence, I returned with a palpitating heart to the scene of my
disaster.
Carefully locking the door on the inside, I commenced a vigorous search.
It was possible, I thought, that, concealed in some obscure corner, or
lurking in some closet or drawer, might be found the lost object of my
inquiry. It might have a vapory–it might even have a tangible form. Most
philosophers, upon many points of philosophy, are still very
unphilosophical. William Godwin, however, says in his "Mandeville," that
"invisible things are the only realities," and this, all will allow, is a
case in point. I would have the judicious reader pause before accusing such
asseverations of an undue quantum of absurdity. Anaxagoras, it will be
remembered, maintained that snow is black, and this I have since found to be
the case.
Long and earnestly did I continue the investigation: but the contemptible
reward of my industry and perseverance proved to be only a set of false
teeth, two pair of hips, an eye, and a bundle of billets-doux from Mr.
Windenough to my wife. I might as well here observe that this confirmation
of my lady's partiality for Mr. W. occasioned me little uneasiness. That
Mrs. Lackobreath should admire anything so dissimilar to myself was a
natural and necessary evil. I am, it is well known, of a robust and
corpulent appearance, and at the same time somewhat diminutive in stature.
What wonder, then, that the lath-like tenuity of my acquaintance, and his
altitude, which has grown into a proverb, should have met with all due
estimation in the eyes of Mrs. Lackobreath. But to return.
My exertions, as I have before said, proved fruitless. Closet after
closet–drawer after drawer–corner after corner–were scrutinized to no
purpose. At one time, however, I thought myself sure of my prize, having, in
rummaging a dressing-case, accidentally demolished a bottle of Grandjean's
Oil of Archangels–which, as an agreeable perfume, I here take the liberty of
recommending.
With a heavy heart I returned to my boudoir–there to ponder upon some
method of eluding my wife's penetration, until I could make arrangements
prior to my leaving the country, for to this I had already made up my mind.
In a foreign climate, being unknown, I might, with some probability of
success, endeavor to conceal my unhappy calamity–a calamity calculated, even
more than beggary, to estrange the affections of the multitude, and to draw
down upon the wretch the well-merited indignation of the virtuous and the
happy. I was not long in hesitation. Being naturally quick, I committed to
memory the entire tragedy of "Metamora." I had the good fortune to recollect
that in the accentuation of this drama, or at least of such portion of it as
is allotted to the hero, the tones of voice in which I found myself
deficient were altogether unnecessary, and the deep guttural was expected to
reign monotonously throughout.
I practised for some time by the borders of a well frequented
marsh;–herein, however, having no reference to a similar proceeding of
Demosthenes, but from a design peculiarly and conscientiously my own. Thus
armed at all points, I determined to make my wife believe that I was
suddenly smitten with a passion for the stage. In this, I succeeded to a
miracle; and to every question or suggestion found myself at liberty to
reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones with some passage from the
tragedy–any portion of which, as I soon took great pleasure in observing,
would apply equally well to any particular subject. It is not to be
supposed, however, that in the delivery of such passages I was found at all
deficient in the looking asquint–the showing my teeth–the working my
knees–the shuffling my feet–or in any of those unmentionable graces which
are now justly considered the characteristics of a popular performer. To be
sure they spoke of confining me in a strait-jacket–but, good God! they never
suspected me of having lost my breath.
Having at length put my affairs in order, I took my seat very early one
morning in the mail stage for --, giving it to be understood, among my
acquaintances, that business of the last importance required my immediate
personal attendance in that city.
The coach was crammed to repletion; but in the uncertain twilight the
features of my companions could not be distinguished. Without making any
effectual resistance, I suffered myself to be placed between two gentlemen
of colossal dimensions; while a third, of a size larger, requesting pardon
for the liberty he was about to take, threw himself upon my body at full
length, and falling asleep in an instant, drowned all my guttural
ejaculations for relief, in a snore which would have put to blush the
roarings of the bull of Phalaris. Happily the state of my respiratory
faculties rendered suffocation an accident entirely out of the question.
As, however, the day broke more distinctly in our approach to the
outskirts of the city, my tormentor, arising and adjusting his shirt-collar,
thanked me in a very friendly manner for my civility. Seeing that I remained
motionless (all my limbs were dislocated and my head twisted on one side),
his apprehensions began to be excited; and arousing the rest of the
passengers, he communicated, in a very decided manner, his opinion that a
dead man had been palmed upon them during the night for a living and
responsible fellow-traveller; here giving me a thump on the right eye, by
way of demonstrating the truth of his suggestion.
Hereupon all, one after another (there were nine in company), believed it
their duty to pull me by the ear. A young practising physician, too, having
applied a pocket-mirror to my mouth, and found me without breath, the
assertion of my persecutor was pronounced a true bill; and the whole party
expressed a determination to endure tamely no such impositions for the
future, and to proceed no farther with any such carcasses for the
present.
I was here, accordingly, thrown out at the sign of the "Crow" (by which
tavern the coach happened to be passing), without meeting with any farther
accident than the breaking of both my arms, under the left hind wheel of the
vehicle. I must besides do the driver the justice to state that he did not
forget to throw after me the largest of my trunks, which, unfortunately
falling on my head, fractured my skull in a manner at once interesting and
extraordinary.
The landlord of the "Crow," who is a hospitable man, finding that my
trunk contained sufficient to indemnify him for any little trouble he might
take in my behalf, sent forthwith for a surgeon of his acquaintance, and
delivered me to his care with a bill and receipt for ten dollars.
The purchaser took me to his apartments and commenced operations
immediately. Having cut off my ears, however, he discovered signs of
animation. He now rang the bell, and sent for a neighboring apothecary with
whom to consult in the emergency. In case of his suspicions with regard to
my existence proving ultimately correct, he, in the meantime, made an
incision in my stomach, and removed several of my viscera for private
dissection.
The apothecary had an idea that I was actually dead. This idea I
endeavored to confute, kicking and plunging with all my might, and making
the most furious contortions–for the operations of the surgeon had, in a
measure, restored me to the possession of my faculties. All, however, was
attributed to the effects of a new galvanic battery, wherewith the
apothecary, who is really a man of information, performed several curious
experiments, in which, from my personal share in their fulfillment, I could
not help feeling deeply interested. It was a course of mortification to me,
nevertheless, that although I made several attempts at conversation, my
powers of speech were so entirely in abeyance, that I could not even open my
mouth; much less, then, make reply to some ingenious but fanciful theories
of which, under other circumstances, my minute acquaintance with the
Hippocratian pathology would have afforded me a ready confutation.
Not being able to arrive at a conclusion, the practitioners remanded me
for farther examination. I was taken up into a garret; and the surgeon's
lady having accommodated me with drawers and stockings, the surgeon himself
fastened my hands, and tied up my jaws with a pocket-handkerchief–then
bolted the door on the outside as he hurried to his dinner, leaving me alone
to silence and to meditation.
I now discovered to my extreme delight that I could have spoken had not
my mouth been tied up with the pocket-handkerchief. Consoling myself with
this reflection, I was mentally repeating some passages of the "Omnipresence
of the Deity," as is my custom before resigning myself to sleep, when two
cats, of a greedy and vituperative turn, entering at a hole in the wall,
leaped up with a flourish a la Catalani, and alighting opposite one another
on my visage, betook themselves to indecorous contention for the paltry
consideration of my nose.
But, as the loss of his ears proved the means of elevating to the throne
of Cyrus, the Magian or Mige-Gush of Persia, and as the cutting off his nose
gave Zopyrus possession of Babylon, so the loss of a few ounces of my
countenance proved the salvation of my body. Aroused by the pain, and
burning with indignation, I burst, at a single effort, the fastenings and
the bandage. Stalking across the room I cast a glance of contempt at the
belligerents, and throwing open the sash to their extreme horror and
disappointment, precipitated myself, very dexterously, from the window. this
moment passing from the city jail to the scaffold erected for his execution
in the suburbs. His extreme infirmity and long continued ill health had
obtained him the privilege of remaining unmanacled; and habited in his
gallows costume–one very similar to my own,–he lay at full length in the
bottom of the hangman's cart (which happened to be under the windows of the
surgeon at the moment of my precipitation) without any other guard than the
driver, who was asleep, and two recruits of the sixth infantry, who were
drunk.
As ill-luck would have it, I alit upon my feet within the vehicle.
immediately, he bolted out behind, and turning down an alley, was out of
sight in the twinkling of an eye. The recruits, aroused by the bustle, could
not exactly comprehend the merits of the transaction. Seeing, however, a
man, the precise counterpart of the felon, standing upright in the cart
before their eyes, they were of (so they expressed themselves,) and, having
communicated this opinion to one another, they took each a dram, and then
knocked me down with the butt-ends of their muskets.
It was not long ere we arrived at the place of destination. Of course
nothing could be said in my defence. Hanging was my inevitable fate. I
resigned myself thereto with a feeling half stupid, half acrimonious. Being
little of a cynic, I had all the sentiments of a dog. The hangman, however,
adjusted the noose about my neck. The drop fell.
I forbear to depict my sensations upon the gallows; although here,
undoubtedly, I could speak to the point, and it is a topic upon which
nothing has been well said. In fact, to write upon such a theme it is
necessary to have been hanged. Every author should confine himself to
matters of experience. Thus Mark Antony composed a treatise upon getting
drunk.
I may just mention, however, that die I did not. My body was, but I had
no breath to be, suspended; and but for the knot under my left ear (which
had the feel of a military stock) I dare say that I should have experienced
very little inconvenience. As for the jerk given to my neck upon the falling
of the drop, it merely proved a corrective to the twist afforded me by the
fat gentleman in the coach.
For good reasons, however, I did my best to give the crowd the worth of
their trouble. My convulsions were said to be extraordinary. My spasms it
would have been difficult to beat. The populace encored. Several gentlemen
swooned; and a multitude of ladies were carried home in hysterics. Pinxit
availed himself of the opportunity to retouch, from a sketch taken upon the
spot, his admirable painting of the "Marsyas flayed alive."
When I had afforded sufficient amusement, it was thought proper to remove
my body from the gallows;–this the more especially as the real culprit had
in the meantime been retaken and recognized, a fact which I was so unlucky
as not to know.
Much sympathy was, of course, exercised in my behalf, and as no one made
claim to my corpse, it was ordered that I should be interred in a public
vault.
Here, after due interval, I was deposited. The sexton departed, and I was
left alone. A line of Marston's "Malcontent"-
Death's a good fellow and keeps open house-
struck me at that moment as a palpable lie.
I knocked off, however, the lid of my coffin, and stepped out. The place
was dreadfully dreary and damp, and I became troubled with ennui. By way of
amusement, I felt my way among the numerous coffins ranged in order around.
I lifted them down, one by one, and breaking open their lids, busied myself
in speculations about the mortality within.
"This," I soliloquized, tumbling over a carcass, puffy, bloated, and
rotund–"this has been, no doubt, in every sense of the word, an unhappy–an
unfortunate man. It has been his terrible lot not to walk but to waddle–to
pass through life not like a human being, but like an elephant–not like a
man, but like a rhinoceros.
"His attempts at getting on have been mere abortions, and his
circumgyratory proceedings a palpable failure. Taking a step forward, it has
been his misfortune to take two toward the right, and three toward the left.
His studies have been confined to the poetry of Crabbe. He can have no idea
of the wonder of a pirouette. To him a pas de papillon has been an abstract
conception. He has never ascended the summit of a hill. He has never viewed
from any steeple the glories of a metropolis. Heat has been his mortal
enemy. In the dog-days his days have been the days of a dog. Therein, he has
dreamed of flames and suffocation–of mountains upon mountains–of Pelion upon
Ossa. He was short of breath–to say all in a word, he was short of breath.
He thought it extravagant to play upon wind instruments. He was the inventor
of self-moving fans, wind-sails, and ventilators. He patronized Du Pont the
bellows-maker, and he died miserably in attempting to smoke a cigar. His was
a case in which I feel a deep interest–a lot in which I sincerely
sympathize.
"But here,"–said I–"here"–and I dragged spitefully from its receptacle a
gaunt, tall and peculiar-looking form, whose remarkable appearance struck me
with a sense of unwelcome familiarity–"here is a wretch entitled to no
earthly commiseration." Thus saying, in order to obtain a more distinct view
of my subject, I applied my thumb and forefinger to its nose, and causing it
to assume a sitting position upon the ground, held it thus, at the length of
my arm, while I continued my soliloquy.
-"Entitled," I repeated, "to no earthly commiseration. Who indeed would
think of compassioning a shadow? Besides, has he not had his full share of
the blessings of mortality? He was the originator of tall
monuments–shot-towers–lightning-rods–Lombardy poplars. His treatise upon
"Shades and Shadows" has immortalized him. He edited with distinguished
ability the last edition of "South on the Bones." He went early to college
and studied pneumatics. He then came home, talked eternally, and played upon
the French-horn. He patronized the bagpipes. Captain Barclay, who walked
against Time, would not walk against him. Windham and Allbreath were his
favorite writers,–his favorite artist, Phiz. He died gloriously while
inhaling gas–levique flatu corrupitur, like the fama pudicitae in
Hieronymus.* He was indubitably a"-
*Tenera res in feminis fama pudicitiae, et quasi flos pulcherrimus, cito
ad levem marcessit auram, levique flatu corrumpitur, maxime,
&c.–Hieronymus ad Salvinam.
"How can you?–how–can–you?"–interrupted the object of my animadversions,
gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate exertion, the bandage
around its jaws–"how can you, Mr. Lackobreath, be so infernally cruel as to
pinch me in that manner by the nose? Did you not see how they had fastened
up my mouth–and you must know–if you know any thing–how vast a superfluity
of breath I have to dispose of! If you do not know, however, sit down and
you shall see. In my situation it is really a great relief to be able to
open ones mouth–to be able to expatiate–to be able to communicate with a
person like yourself, who do not think yourself called upon at every period
to interrupt the thread of a gentleman's discourse. Interruptions are
annoying and should undoubtedly be abolished–don't you think so?–no reply, I
beg you,–one person is enough to be speaking at a time.–I shall be done by
and by, and then you may begin.–How the devil sir, did you get into this
place?–not a word I beseech you–been here some time myself–terrible
accident!–heard of it, I suppose?–awful calamity!–walking under your
windows–some short while ago–about the time you were stage-struck–horrible
occurrence!–heard of "catching one's breath," eh?–hold your tongue I tell
you!–I caught somebody elses!–had always too much of my own- met Blab at the
corner of the street–wouldn't give me a chance for a word–couldn't get in a
syllable edgeways–attacked, consequently, with epilepsis–Blab made his
escape–damn all fools!–they took me up for dead, and put me in this
place–pretty doings all of them!–heard all you said about me–every word a
lie–horrible!–wonderful- outrageous!–hideous!–incomprehensible!–et cetera–et
cetera–et cetera–et cetera-"
It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a
discourse, or the joy with which I became gradually convinced that the
breath so fortunately caught by the gentleman (whom I soon recognized as my
neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, the identical expiration mislaid by
myself in the conversation with my wife. Time, place, and circumstances
rendered it a matter beyond question. I did not at least during the long
period in which the inventor of Lombardy poplars continued to favor me with
his explanations.
In this respect I was actuated by that habitual prudence which has ever
been my predominating trait. I reflected that many difficulties might still
lie in the path of my preservation which only extreme exertion on my part
would be able to surmount. Many persons, I considered, are prone to estimate
commodities in their possession–however valueless to the then
proprietor–however troublesome, or distressing–in direct ratio with the
advantages to be derived by others from their attainment, or by themselves
from their abandonment. Might not this be the case with Mr. Windenough? In
displaying anxiety for the breath of which he was at present so willing to
get rid, might I not lay myself open to the exactions of his avarice? There
are scoundrels in this world, I remembered with a sigh, who will not scruple
to take unfair opportunities with even a next door neighbor, and (this
remark is from Epictetus) it is precisely at that time when men are most
anxious to throw off the burden of their own calamities that they feel the
least desirous of relieving them in others.
Upon considerations similar to these, and still retaining my grasp upon
the nose of Mr. W., I accordingly thought proper to model my reply.
"Monster!" I began in a tone of the deepest indignation–"monster and
double-winded idiot!–dost thou, whom for thine iniquities it has pleased
heaven to accurse with a two-fold respimtion–dost thou, I say, presume to
address me in the familiar language of an old acquaintance?–'I lie,'
forsooth! and 'hold my tongue,' to be sure!–pretty conversation indeed, to a
gentleman with a single breath!–all this, too, when I have it in my power to
relieve the calamity under which thou dost so justly suffer–to curtail the
superfluities of thine unhappy respiration."
Like Brutus, I paused for a reply–with which, like a tornado, Mr.
Windenough immediately overwhelmed me. Protestation followed upon
protestation, and apology upon apology. There were no terms with which he
was unwilling to comply, and there were none of which I failed to take the
fullest advantage.
Preliminaries being at length arranged, my acquaintance delivered me the
respiration; for which (having carefully examined it) I gave him afterward a
receipt.
I am aware that by many I shall be held to blame for speaking in a manner
so cursory, of a transaction so impalpable. It will be thought that I should
have entered more minutely, into the details of an occurrence by which–and
this is very true–much new light might be thrown upon a highly interesting
branch of physical philosophy.
To all this I am sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is the only answer
which I am permitted to make. There were circumstances–but I think it much
safer upon consideration to say as little as possible about an affair so
delicate–so delicate, I repeat, and at the time involving the interests of a
third party whose sulphurous resentment I have not the least desire, at this
moment, of incurring.
We were not long after this necessary arrangement in effecting an escape
from the dungeons of the sepulchre. The united strength of our resuscitated
voices was soon sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the Whig editor,
republished a treatise upon "the nature and origin of subterranean noises."
A reply–rejoinder–confutation–and justification–followed in the columns of a
Democratic Gazette. It was not until the opening of the vault to decide the
controversy, that the appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both
parties to have been decidedly in the wrong.
I cannot conclude these details of some very singular passages in a life
at all times sufficiently eventful, without again recalling to the attention
of the reader the merits of that indiscriminate philosophy which is a sure
and ready shield against those shafts of calamity which can neither be seen,
felt nor fully understood. It was in the spirit of this wisdom that, among
the ancient Hebrews, it was believed the gates of Heaven would be inevitably
opened to that sinner, or saint, who, with good lungs and implicit
confidence, should vociferate the word "Amen!" It was in the spirit of this
wisdom that, when a great plague raged at Athens, and every means had been
in vain attempted for its removal, Epimenides, as Laertius relates, in his
second book, of that philosopher, advised the erection of a shrine and
temple "to the proper God."
LYTTLETON BARRY.
THE END
Edgar Allan Poe: Loss of Breath
Up to the EServer | The Complete Works of Edgar Allan
Poe
LOSS OF BREATH
A Tale Neither In nor Out of "Blackwood"
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
O Breathe not, etc.
Moore's Melodies
THE MOST notorious ill-fortune must in the end yield to the untiring
courage of philosophy–as the most stubborn city to the ceaseless vigilance
of an enemy. Shalmanezer, as we have it in holy writings, lay three years
before Samaria; yet it fell. Sardanapalus–see Diodorus–maintained himself
seven in Nineveh; but to no purpose. Troy expired at the close of the second
lustrum; and Azoth, as Aristaeus declares upon his honour as a gentleman,
opened at last her gates to Psammetichus, after having barred them for the
fifth part of a century....
"Thou wretch!–thou vixen!–thou shrew!" said I to my wife on the morning
after our wedding; "thou witch!–thou hag!–thou whippersnapper–thou sink of
iniquity!–thou fiery-faced quintessence of all that is
abominable!–thou–thou-" here standing upon tiptoe, seizing her by the
throat, and placing my mouth close to her ear, I was preparing to launch
forth a new and more decided epithet of opprobrium, which should not fail,
if ejaculated, to convince her of her insignificance, when to my extreme
horror and astonishment I discovered that I had lost my breath.
The phrases "I am out of breath," "I have lost my breath," etc., are
often enough repeated in common conversation; but it had never occurred to
me that the terrible accident of which I speak could bona fide and actually
happen! Imagine–that is if you have a fanciful turn–imagine, I say, my
wonder–my consternation–my despair!
There is a good genius, however, which has never entirely deserted me. In
my most ungovernable moods I still retain a sense of propriety, et le chemin
des passions me conduit–as Lord Edouard in the "Julie" says it did him–a la
philosophie veritable.
Although I could not at first precisely ascertain to what degree the
occurence had affected me, I determined at all events to conceal the matter
from my wife, until further experience should discover to me the extent of
this my unheard of calamity. Altering my countenance, therefore, in a
moment, from its bepuffed and distorted appearance, to an expression of arch
and coquettish benignity, I gave my lady a pat on the one cheek, and a kiss
on the other, and without saying one syllable (Furies! I could not), left
her astonished at my drollery, as I pirouetted out of the room in a Pas de
Zephyr.
Behold me then safely ensconced in my private boudoir, a fearful instance
of the ill consequences attending upon irascibility–alive, with the
qualifications of the dead–dead, with the propensities of the living–an
anomaly on the face of the earth–being very calm, yet breathless.
Yes! breathless. I am serious in asserting that my breath was entirely
gone. I could not have stirred with it a feather if my life had been at
issue, or sullied even the delicacy of a mirror. Hard fate!–yet there was
some alleviation to the first overwhelming paroxysm of my sorrow. I found,
upon trial, that the powers of utterance which, upon my inability to proceed
in the conversation with my wife, I then concluded to be totally destroyed,
were in fact only partially impeded, and I discovered that had I, at that
interesting crisis, dropped my voice to a singularly deep guttural, I might
still have continued to her the communication of my sentiments; this pitch
of voice (the guttural) depending, I find, not upon the current of the
breath, but upon a certain spasmodic action of the muscles of the
throat.
Throwing myself upon a chair, I remained for some time absorbed in
meditation. My reflections, be sure, were of no consolatory kind. A thousand
vague and lachrymatory fancies took possesion of my soul- and even the idea
of suicide flitted across my brain; but it is a trait in the perversity of
human nature to reject the obvious and the ready, for the far-distant and
equivocal. Thus I shuddered at self-murder as the most decided of atrocities
while the tabby cat purred strenuously upon the rug, and the very water dog
wheezed assiduously under the table, each taking to itself much merit for
the strength of its lungs, and all obviously done in derision of my own
pulmonary incapacity.
Oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears, I at length heard the
footsteps of my wife descending the staircase. Being now assured of her
absence, I returned with a palpitating heart to the scene of my
disaster.
Carefully locking the door on the inside, I commenced a vigorous search.
It was possible, I thought, that, concealed in some obscure corner, or
lurking in some closet or drawer, might be found the lost object of my
inquiry. It might have a vapory–it might even have a tangible form. Most
philosophers, upon many points of philosophy, are still very
unphilosophical. William Godwin, however, says in his "Mandeville," that
"invisible things are the only realities," and this, all will allow, is a
case in point. I would have the judicious reader pause before accusing such
asseverations of an undue quantum of absurdity. Anaxagoras, it will be
remembered, maintained that snow is black, and this I have since found to be
the case.
Long and earnestly did I continue the investigation: but the contemptible
reward of my industry and perseverance proved to be only a set of false
teeth, two pair of hips, an eye, and a bundle of billets-doux from Mr.
Windenough to my wife. I might as well here observe that this confirmation
of my lady's partiality for Mr. W. occasioned me little uneasiness. That
Mrs. Lackobreath should admire anything so dissimilar to myself was a
natural and necessary evil. I am, it is well known, of a robust and
corpulent appearance, and at the same time somewhat diminutive in stature.
What wonder, then, that the lath-like tenuity of my acquaintance, and his
altitude, which has grown into a proverb, should have met with all due
estimation in the eyes of Mrs. Lackobreath. But to return.
My exertions, as I have before said, proved fruitless. Closet after
closet–drawer after drawer–corner after corner–were scrutinized to no
purpose. At one time, however, I thought myself sure of my prize, having, in
rummaging a dressing-case, accidentally demolished a bottle of Grandjean's
Oil of Archangels–which, as an agreeable perfume, I here take the liberty of
recommending.
With a heavy heart I returned to my boudoir–there to ponder upon some
method of eluding my wife's penetration, until I could make arrangements
prior to my leaving the country, for to this I had already made up my mind.
In a foreign climate, being unknown, I might, with some probability of
success, endeavor to conceal my unhappy calamity–a calamity calculated, even
more than beggary, to estrange the affections of the multitude, and to draw
down upon the wretch the well-merited indignation of the virtuous and the
happy. I was not long in hesitation. Being naturally quick, I committed to
memory the entire tragedy of "Metamora." I had the good fortune to recollect
that in the accentuation of this drama, or at least of such portion of it as
is allotted to the hero, the tones of voice in which I found myself
deficient were altogether unnecessary, and the deep guttural was expected to
reign monotonously throughout.
I practised for some time by the borders of a well frequented
marsh;–herein, however, having no reference to a similar proceeding of
Demosthenes, but from a design peculiarly and conscientiously my own. Thus
armed at all points, I determined to make my wife believe that I was
suddenly smitten with a passion for the stage. In this, I succeeded to a
miracle; and to every question or suggestion found myself at liberty to
reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones with some passage from the
tragedy–any portion of which, as I soon took great pleasure in observing,
would apply equally well to any particular subject. It is not to be
supposed, however, that in the delivery of such passages I was found at all
deficient in the looking asquint–the showing my teeth–the working my
knees–the shuffling my feet–or in any of those unmentionable graces which
are now justly considered the characteristics of a popular performer. To be
sure they spoke of confining me in a strait-jacket–but, good God! they never
suspected me of having lost my breath.
Having at length put my affairs in order, I took my seat very early one
morning in the mail stage for --, giving it to be understood, among my
acquaintances, that business of the last importance required my immediate
personal attendance in that city.
The coach was crammed to repletion; but in the uncertain twilight the
features of my companions could not be distinguished. Without making any
effectual resistance, I suffered myself to be placed between two gentlemen
of colossal dimensions; while a third, of a size larger, requesting pardon
for the liberty he was about to take, threw himself upon my body at full
length, and falling asleep in an instant, drowned all my guttural
ejaculations for relief, in a snore which would have put to blush the
roarings of the bull of Phalaris. Happily the state of my respiratory
faculties rendered suffocation an accident entirely out of the question.
As, however, the day broke more distinctly in our approach to the
outskirts of the city, my tormentor, arising and adjusting his shirt-collar,
thanked me in a very friendly manner for my civility. Seeing that I remained
motionless (all my limbs were dislocated and my head twisted on one side),
his apprehensions began to be excited; and arousing the rest of the
passengers, he communicated, in a very decided manner, his opinion that a
dead man had been palmed upon them during the night for a living and
responsible fellow-traveller; here giving me a thump on the right eye, by
way of demonstrating the truth of his suggestion.
Hereupon all, one after another (there were nine in company), believed it
their duty to pull me by the ear. A young practising physician, too, having
applied a pocket-mirror to my mouth, and found me without breath, the
assertion of my persecutor was pronounced a true bill; and the whole party
expressed a determination to endure tamely no such impositions for the
future, and to proceed no farther with any such carcasses for the
present.
I was here, accordingly, thrown out at the sign of the "Crow" (by which
tavern the coach happened to be passing), without meeting with any farther
accident than the breaking of both my arms, under the left hind wheel of the
vehicle. I must besides do the driver the justice to state that he did not
forget to throw after me the largest of my trunks, which, unfortunately
falling on my head, fractured my skull in a manner at once interesting and
extraordinary.
The landlord of the "Crow," who is a hospitable man, finding that my
trunk contained sufficient to indemnify him for any little trouble he might
take in my behalf, sent forthwith for a surgeon of his acquaintance, and
delivered me to his care with a bill and receipt for ten dollars.
The purchaser took me to his apartments and commenced operations
immediately. Having cut off my ears, however, he discovered signs of
animation. He now rang the bell, and sent for a neighboring apothecary with
whom to consult in the emergency. In case of his suspicions with regard to
my existence proving ultimately correct, he, in the meantime, made an
incision in my stomach, and removed several of my viscera for private
dissection.
The apothecary had an idea that I was actually dead. This idea I
endeavored to confute, kicking and plunging with all my might, and making
the most furious contortions–for the operations of the surgeon had, in a
measure, restored me to the possession of my faculties. All, however, was
attributed to the effects of a new galvanic battery, wherewith the
apothecary, who is really a man of information, performed several curious
experiments, in which, from my personal share in their fulfillment, I could
not help feeling deeply interested. It was a course of mortification to me,
nevertheless, that although I made several attempts at conversation, my
powers of speech were so entirely in abeyance, that I could not even open my
mouth; much less, then, make reply to some ingenious but fanciful theories
of which, under other circumstances, my minute acquaintance with the
Hippocratian pathology would have afforded me a ready confutation.
Not being able to arrive at a conclusion, the practitioners remanded me
for farther examination. I was taken up into a garret; and the surgeon's
lady having accommodated me with drawers and stockings, the surgeon himself
fastened my hands, and tied up my jaws with a pocket-handkerchief–then
bolted the door on the outside as he hurried to his dinner, leaving me alone
to silence and to meditation.
I now discovered to my extreme delight that I could have spoken had not
my mouth been tied up with the pocket-handkerchief. Consoling myself with
this reflection, I was mentally repeating some passages of the "Omnipresence
of the Deity," as is my custom before resigning myself to sleep, when two
cats, of a greedy and vituperative turn, entering at a hole in the wall,
leaped up with a flourish a la Catalani, and alighting opposite one another
on my visage, betook themselves to indecorous contention for the paltry
consideration of my nose.
But, as the loss of his ears proved the means of elevating to the throne
of Cyrus, the Magian or Mige-Gush of Persia, and as the cutting off his nose
gave Zopyrus possession of Babylon, so the loss of a few ounces of my
countenance proved the salvation of my body. Aroused by the pain, and
burning with indignation, I burst, at a single effort, the fastenings and
the bandage. Stalking across the room I cast a glance of contempt at the
belligerents, and throwing open the sash to their extreme horror and
disappointment, precipitated myself, very dexterously, from the window. this
moment passing from the city jail to the scaffold erected for his execution
in the suburbs. His extreme infirmity and long continued ill health had
obtained him the privilege of remaining unmanacled; and habited in his
gallows costume–one very similar to my own,–he lay at full length in the
bottom of the hangman's cart (which happened to be under the windows of the
surgeon at the moment of my precipitation) without any other guard than the
driver, who was asleep, and two recruits of the sixth infantry, who were
drunk.
As ill-luck would have it, I alit upon my feet within the vehicle.
immediately, he bolted out behind, and turning down an alley, was out of
sight in the twinkling of an eye. The recruits, aroused by the bustle, could
not exactly comprehend the merits of the transaction. Seeing, however, a
man, the precise counterpart of the felon, standing upright in the cart
before their eyes, they were of (so they expressed themselves,) and, having
communicated this opinion to one another, they took each a dram, and then
knocked me down with the butt-ends of their muskets.
It was not long ere we arrived at the place of destination. Of course
nothing could be said in my defence. Hanging was my inevitable fate. I
resigned myself thereto with a feeling half stupid, half acrimonious. Being
little of a cynic, I had all the sentiments of a dog. The hangman, however,
adjusted the noose about my neck. The drop fell.
I forbear to depict my sensations upon the gallows; although here,
undoubtedly, I could speak to the point, and it is a topic upon which
nothing has been well said. In fact, to write upon such a theme it is
necessary to have been hanged. Every author should confine himself to
matters of experience. Thus Mark Antony composed a treatise upon getting
drunk.
I may just mention, however, that die I did not. My body was, but I had
no breath to be, suspended; and but for the knot under my left ear (which
had the feel of a military stock) I dare say that I should have experienced
very little inconvenience. As for the jerk given to my neck upon the falling
of the drop, it merely proved a corrective to the twist afforded me by the
fat gentleman in the coach.
For good reasons, however, I did my best to give the crowd the worth of
their trouble. My convulsions were said to be extraordinary. My spasms it
would have been difficult to beat. The populace encored. Several gentlemen
swooned; and a multitude of ladies were carried home in hysterics. Pinxit
availed himself of the opportunity to retouch, from a sketch taken upon the
spot, his admirable painting of the "Marsyas flayed alive."
When I had afforded sufficient amusement, it was thought proper to remove
my body from the gallows;–this the more especially as the real culprit had
in the meantime been retaken and recognized, a fact which I was so unlucky
as not to know.
Much sympathy was, of course, exercised in my behalf, and as no one made
claim to my corpse, it was ordered that I should be interred in a public
vault.
Here, after due interval, I was deposited. The sexton departed, and I was
left alone. A line of Marston's "Malcontent"-
Death's a good fellow and keeps open house-
struck me at that moment as a palpable lie.
I knocked off, however, the lid of my coffin, and stepped out. The place
was dreadfully dreary and damp, and I became troubled with ennui. By way of
amusement, I felt my way among the numerous coffins ranged in order around.
I lifted them down, one by one, and breaking open their lids, busied myself
in speculations about the mortality within.
"This," I soliloquized, tumbling over a carcass, puffy, bloated, and
rotund–"this has been, no doubt, in every sense of the word, an unhappy–an
unfortunate man. It has been his terrible lot not to walk but to waddle–to
pass through life not like a human being, but like an elephant–not like a
man, but like a rhinoceros.
"His attempts at getting on have been mere abortions, and his
circumgyratory proceedings a palpable failure. Taking a step forward, it has
been his misfortune to take two toward the right, and three toward the left.
His studies have been confined to the poetry of Crabbe. He can have no idea
of the wonder of a pirouette. To him a pas de papillon has been an abstract
conception. He has never ascended the summit of a hill. He has never viewed
from any steeple the glories of a metropolis. Heat has been his mortal
enemy. In the dog-days his days have been the days of a dog. Therein, he has
dreamed of flames and suffocation–of mountains upon mountains–of Pelion upon
Ossa. He was short of breath–to say all in a word, he was short of breath.
He thought it extravagant to play upon wind instruments. He was the inventor
of self-moving fans, wind-sails, and ventilators. He patronized Du Pont the
bellows-maker, and he died miserably in attempting to smoke a cigar. His was
a case in which I feel a deep interest–a lot in which I sincerely
sympathize.
"But here,"–said I–"here"–and I dragged spitefully from its receptacle a
gaunt, tall and peculiar-looking form, whose remarkable appearance struck me
with a sense of unwelcome familiarity–"here is a wretch entitled to no
earthly commiseration." Thus saying, in order to obtain a more distinct view
of my subject, I applied my thumb and forefinger to its nose, and causing it
to assume a sitting position upon the ground, held it thus, at the length of
my arm, while I continued my soliloquy.
-"Entitled," I repeated, "to no earthly commiseration. Who indeed would
think of compassioning a shadow? Besides, has he not had his full share of
the blessings of mortality? He was the originator of tall
monuments–shot-towers–lightning-rods–Lombardy poplars. His treatise upon
"Shades and Shadows" has immortalized him. He edited with distinguished
ability the last edition of "South on the Bones." He went early to college
and studied pneumatics. He then came home, talked eternally, and played upon
the French-horn. He patronized the bagpipes. Captain Barclay, who walked
against Time, would not walk against him. Windham and Allbreath were his
favorite writers,–his favorite artist, Phiz. He died gloriously while
inhaling gas–levique flatu corrupitur, like the fama pudicitae in
Hieronymus.* He was indubitably a"-
*Tenera res in feminis fama pudicitiae, et quasi flos pulcherrimus, cito
ad levem marcessit auram, levique flatu corrumpitur, maxime,
&c.–Hieronymus ad Salvinam.
"How can you?–how–can–you?"–interrupted the object of my animadversions,
gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate exertion, the bandage
around its jaws–"how can you, Mr. Lackobreath, be so infernally cruel as to
pinch me in that manner by the nose? Did you not see how they had fastened
up my mouth–and you must know–if you know any thing–how vast a superfluity
of breath I have to dispose of! If you do not know, however, sit down and
you shall see. In my situation it is really a great relief to be able to
open ones mouth–to be able to expatiate–to be able to communicate with a
person like yourself, who do not think yourself called upon at every period
to interrupt the thread of a gentleman's discourse. Interruptions are
annoying and should undoubtedly be abolished–don't you think so?–no reply, I
beg you,–one person is enough to be speaking at a time.–I shall be done by
and by, and then you may begin.–How the devil sir, did you get into this
place?–not a word I beseech you–been here some time myself–terrible
accident!–heard of it, I suppose?–awful calamity!–walking under your
windows–some short while ago–about the time you were stage-struck–horrible
occurrence!–heard of "catching one's breath," eh?–hold your tongue I tell
you!–I caught somebody elses!–had always too much of my own- met Blab at the
corner of the street–wouldn't give me a chance for a word–couldn't get in a
syllable edgeways–attacked, consequently, with epilepsis–Blab made his
escape–damn all fools!–they took me up for dead, and put me in this
place–pretty doings all of them!–heard all you said about me–every word a
lie–horrible!–wonderful- outrageous!–hideous!–incomprehensible!–et cetera–et
cetera–et cetera–et cetera-"
It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a
discourse, or the joy with which I became gradually convinced that the
breath so fortunately caught by the gentleman (whom I soon recognized as my
neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, the identical expiration mislaid by
myself in the conversation with my wife. Time, place, and circumstances
rendered it a matter beyond question. I did not at least during the long
period in which the inventor of Lombardy poplars continued to favor me with
his explanations.
In this respect I was actuated by that habitual prudence which has ever
been my predominating trait. I reflected that many difficulties might still
lie in the path of my preservation which only extreme exertion on my part
would be able to surmount. Many persons, I considered, are prone to estimate
commodities in their possession–however valueless to the then
proprietor–however troublesome, or distressing–in direct ratio with the
advantages to be derived by others from their attainment, or by themselves
from their abandonment. Might not this be the case with Mr. Windenough? In
displaying anxiety for the breath of which he was at present so willing to
get rid, might I not lay myself open to the exactions of his avarice? There
are scoundrels in this world, I remembered with a sigh, who will not scruple
to take unfair opportunities with even a next door neighbor, and (this
remark is from Epictetus) it is precisely at that time when men are most
anxious to throw off the burden of their own calamities that they feel the
least desirous of relieving them in others.
Upon considerations similar to these, and still retaining my grasp upon
the nose of Mr. W., I accordingly thought proper to model my reply.
"Monster!" I began in a tone of the deepest indignation–"monster and
double-winded idiot!–dost thou, whom for thine iniquities it has pleased
heaven to accurse with a two-fold respimtion–dost thou, I say, presume to
address me in the familiar language of an old acquaintance?–'I lie,'
forsooth! and 'hold my tongue,' to be sure!–pretty conversation indeed, to a
gentleman with a single breath!–all this, too, when I have it in my power to
relieve the calamity under which thou dost so justly suffer–to curtail the
superfluities of thine unhappy respiration."
Like Brutus, I paused for a reply–with which, like a tornado, Mr.
Windenough immediately overwhelmed me. Protestation followed upon
protestation, and apology upon apology. There were no terms with which he
was unwilling to comply, and there were none of which I failed to take the
fullest advantage.
Preliminaries being at length arranged, my acquaintance delivered me the
respiration; for which (having carefully examined it) I gave him afterward a
receipt.
I am aware that by many I shall be held to blame for speaking in a manner
so cursory, of a transaction so impalpable. It will be thought that I should
have entered more minutely, into the details of an occurrence by which–and
this is very true–much new light might be thrown upon a highly interesting
branch of physical philosophy.
To all this I am sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is the only answer
which I am permitted to make. There were circumstances–but I think it much
safer upon consideration to say as little as possible about an affair so
delicate–so delicate, I repeat, and at the time involving the interests of a
third party whose sulphurous resentment I have not the least desire, at this
moment, of incurring.
We were not long after this necessary arrangement in effecting an escape
from the dungeons of the sepulchre. The united strength of our resuscitated
voices was soon sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the Whig editor,
republished a treatise upon "the nature and origin of subterranean noises."
A reply–rejoinder–confutation–and justification–followed in the columns of a
Democratic Gazette. It was not until the opening of the vault to decide the
controversy, that the appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both
parties to have been decidedly in the wrong.
I cannot conclude these details of some very singular passages in a life
at all times sufficiently eventful, without again recalling to the attention
of the reader the merits of that indiscriminate philosophy which is a sure
and ready shield against those shafts of calamity which can neither be seen,
felt nor fully understood. It was in the spirit of this wisdom that, among
the ancient Hebrews, it was believed the gates of Heaven would be inevitably
opened to that sinner, or saint, who, with good lungs and implicit
confidence, should vociferate the word "Amen!" It was in the spirit of this
wisdom that, when a great plague raged at Athens, and every means had been
in vain attempted for its removal, Epimenides, as Laertius relates, in his
second book, of that philosopher, advised the erection of a shrine and
temple "to the proper God."
LYTTLETON BARRY.
THE END
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