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BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

_Introduction to American Literature_, Brander Matthews.

_Studies in American Literature_, Charles Noble.

_Introduction to American Literature_, F.V.N. Painter.

_Life of Poe_, Richard Henry Stoddard.

_Edgar Allan Poe_, G.E. Woodberry.

_Makers of English Fiction_, W.J. Dawson.

"Art of Poe, _Independent_, 66: 157-8. January 21, 1909.

"Dual Personality," _Current Literature_, 43: 287-8.


CRITICISMS

Some critics have maintained that Poe is our only original genius in
American Literature. Lowell wrote in his _Fable for Critics_:--

"There comes Poe with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge, Three-fifths of
him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge."

Whatever judgments the various critics may give of Poe and his
writings, they must all agree that he is original. He is a clever
writer in a limited field. His writings have a glow and burnish that
have their origin in his fondness for sensations, color, and vividness
of details. He loves mystery and terror,--not the fancies and fears of
a child, but overwrought nerves. His material is unreal, and remote
from ordinary life. His characters are abnormal, and the world they
live in is exceptional. He is inventive, original in arranging his
material, and shallow but keen in his thinking.

He believed that art and life have little in common, and in his
writings seemed to be unmoved by friendship, loyalty, patriotism,
courage, self-sacrifice or any of the great positive attributes of
life that make living worth while. His writings lack the human touch,
tenderness, and the buoyancy of sympathy. He is an artist who does his
work with a clear-cut, hard finish. His choice of words, vivid
pictures, and clearly evolved plots make his writings excellent
studies for any one who wishes to develop literary appreciation and to
learn to write.


GENERAL REFERENCES

_Studies and Appreciations_, L.E. Gates.

_American Prose Masters_, William Crary Brownwell.

_The Short Story in English_, Henry Seidel Canby.

_Edgar Poe_, R.H. Button.

_Inquiries and Opinions_, Brander Matthews.

"Life of Edgar Allan Poe," _Nation_, 89: 100-110.

"Weird Genius," _Cosmopolitan_, 46:243-252.


COLLATERAL READINGS

_Ligeia_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_The Cask of Amontillado_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_The Assignation_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_Ms. Pound in Bottle_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_The Black Cat_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_Berenice_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_The Tell-Tale Heart_, Edgar Allan Poe.

_The White Old Maid_, Nathaniel Hawthorne.

_Moonlight_ ("Odd Number"), Guy de Maupassant.

_A Journey_, Edith Wharton.

_The Brushwood Boy_, Rudyard Kipling.

_At the Pit's Mouth_, Rudyard Kipling.



The Gold Bug[1]

_By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)_

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
--_All in the Wrong_.[2]

Many years ago I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He
was of an ancient Huguenot[3] family, and had once been wealthy; but a
series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the
mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the
city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's
Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than
the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point
exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a
scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of
reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation,
as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any
magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort
Moultrie[4] stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings,
tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust and
fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole
island, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard,
white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of
the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England.
The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and
forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with its
fragrance.

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or
more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut,
which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his
acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship, for there was much in
the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated,
with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and
subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He
had with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief
amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and
through the myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological
specimens--his collection of the latter might have been envied by a
Swammerdam.[5] In these excursions he was usually accompanied by an
old negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted[6] before the
reverses of the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats
nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attendance
upon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." It is not improbable
that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled
in intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy into Jupiter,
with a view to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a
fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, there
occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset
I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend,
whom I had not visited for several weeks--my residence being at that
time in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while
the facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of
the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and
getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted,
unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the
hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw
off an over-coat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the arrival of my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some
marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else shall
I term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming
a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with
Jupiter's assistance, a _scarabaeus_[7] which he believed to be
totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on
the morrow.

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and
wishing the whole tribe of _scarabaei_ at the devil.

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so
long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a
visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met
Lieutenant G----, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the
bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning.
Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is
the loveliest thing in creation!"

"What!--sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no!--the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color--about the
size of a large hickory-nut--with two jet-black spots near one
extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The
_antennae[8]_ are--"

"Dey ain't _no_ tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin' on you," here
interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goolebug, solid, ebery bit of him,
inside and all, 'sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a bug in my
life."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly,
it seemed to me, than the case demanded; "is that any reason for your
letting the birds burn? The color"--here he turned to me--"is really
almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more
brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit--but of this you cannot
judge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the
shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were
a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found
none.

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer;" and he drew from
his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty foolscap,
and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he did this I
retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design
was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received, it, a
loud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter
opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in,
leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown
him much attention during previous visits. When his gambols were over,
I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a
little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this _is_ a
strange _scarabaeus_, I must confess: new to me: never saw anything
like it before--unless it was a skull, or a death's-head--which, it
more nearly resembles than, anything else that has come under _my_
observation."

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand. "Oh--yes--well, it has something of
that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look
like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth--and then
the shape of the whole is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must
wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its
personal appearance."

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw
tolerably--_should_ do it at least--have had good masters, and flatter
myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I; "this is a very
passable _skull_--indeed, I may say that it is a very _excellent_
skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of
physiology--and your _scarabaeus_ must be the queerest _scarabaeus_ in
the world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit
of superstition upon this hint. I presume, you will call the bug
_scarabaeus caput hominis_,[9] or something of that kind--there are
many similar titles in the natural histories. But where are the
_antennae_ you spoke of?"

"The _antennae_!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably
warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the _antennae_. I made
them as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume
that is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them;" and
I handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing to
ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs had
taken; his ill-humor puzzled me--and, as for the drawing of the
beetle, there were positively _no antennae_ visible, and the whole
_did_ bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a
death's-head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it,
apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the design
seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face grew
violently red--in another as excessively pale. For some minutes he
continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At length
he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself
upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he
made an anxious examination of the paper, turning it in all
directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly
astonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the growing
moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he took from, his
coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited
both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in
his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite
disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the
evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in reverie, from
which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention to
pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but,
seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did
not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even
more than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seen
nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from his
man Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dispirited,
and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend.

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be."

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"

"Dar! dat's it!--him nebber 'plain of notin'--but him berry sick for
all dat."

"_Very_ sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined
to bed?"

"No, dat he ain't!--he ain't 'find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe
pinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby 'bout poor Massa Will."

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking
about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"

"Why, massa, 'tain't worf while for to git mad 'bout de matter--Massa
Will say noffin' at all ain't de matter wid him--but den what make him
go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up,
and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon all de time--"

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate--de queerest figgurs I
ebber did see. Ise gittin' to be skeered I tell you. Hab for to keep
mighty tight eye pon him noovers.[10] Todder day he gib me slip fore
de sun up, and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick
ready cut for to gib him d----d good beating when he did come--but Ise
sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart after all--he look so berry poorly."

"Eh?--what? Ah, yes!--upon the whole, I think you had better not be
too severe with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter, he can't
very well stand it--but can you form an idea of what has occasioned
this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything
unpleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey ain't bin noffin' onpleasant _since_ den--'twas
_'fore_ den, I'm feared--'twas de berry day you was dare."'

"How? what do you mean?"

"Why, massa, I mean de bug--dare now."

"The _what?_"

"De bug--I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere 'bout de
head by dat goole-bug."

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff, too. I nebber did see sich a d----d
bug--he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will
cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 'gin mighty quick, I tell
you--den was de time he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like de look ob
de bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my
finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I wrap him
up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff--dat was de way."

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the
beetle, and that the bite made him sick?" "I don't t'ink noffin' 'bout
it--I nose it. What make him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'tain't
cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd 'bout dem goole-bugs 'fore
dis."

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

"How I know? why, 'cause he talk about it in he sleep--dat's how I
nose."

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate circumstances
am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?"

"What de matter, massa?"

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"

"No, massa, I bring dis here 'pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me a
note, which ran thus:

My dear ------:

Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you have not been
so foolish as to take offence at any little _brusquerie_[11] of mine;
but no, that is improbable.

Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something
to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should
tell it at all.

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoys
me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. Would you
believe it?--he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which
to chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day, _solus_,
among the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill looks
alone saved me a flogging.

I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupiter.
_Do_ come. I wish to see you _to-night_, upon business of importance.
I assure you that it is of the _highest_ importance.

Ever yours,

William Legrand.

There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great
uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand.
What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed his
excitable brain? What "business of the highest importance" could _he_
possibly have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I
dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at length,
fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's
hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all
apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were to
embark.

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired.

"Him syfe, massa, and spade."

"Very true; but what are they doing here?"

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will 'sis' 'pon my buying for him
in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for 'em."

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will'
going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat's more dan _I_ know, and debbil take me if I don't b'lieve 'tis
more dan he know, too. But it's all come ob de bug."

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose
whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped into
the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into
the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some
two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon
when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. He
grasped my hand with a nervous _empressement_[12] which alarmed me and
strengthened the suspicions already entertained. His countenance was
pale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural
lustre. After some inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not
knowing what better to say, if he had yet obtained the _scarabaeus_
from Lieutenant G----.

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the next
morning. Nothing could tempt me to part with that _scarabaeus_. Do you
know that Jupiter is quite right about it!"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

"In supposing it to be a bug of _real gold_." He said this with an air
of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant
smile, and reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder,
then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon
me, I have only to use it properly and I shall arrive at the gold of
which it is the index. Jupiter, bring me that _scarabaeus_!"

"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug--you mus'
git him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand arose, with a grave and
stately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which it
was enclosed. It was a beautiful _scarabaeus_, and, at that time,
unknown to naturalists--of course a great prize in a scientific point
of view. There were two round black spots near one extremity of the
back, and a long one near the other. The scales were exceedingly hard
and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished gold. The weight of
the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all things into
consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting
it; but what to make of Legrand's agreement with that opinion, I could
not, for the life of me, tell.

"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone when I had
completed my examination of the beetle, "I sent for you, that I might
have your counsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and
of the bug"--

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainly
unwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go to
bed, and I will remain with you a few days, until you get over this.
You are feverish and"--

"Feel my pulse," said he.

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indication
of fever.

"But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to
prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next"--

"You are mistaken," he interposed; "I am as well as I can expect to be
under the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me well, you
will relieve this excitement."

"And how is this to be done?"

"Very easily, Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into the
hills, upon the mainland, and, in this expedition, we shall need the
aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only one we can
trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now
perceive in me will be equally allayed."

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; "but do you mean
to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your
expedition into the hills?"

"It has."

"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding."

"I am sorry--very sorry--for we shall have to try it by ourselves."

"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad!--but stay!--how long do
you propose to be absent?"

"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at all
events, by sunrise."

"And will you promise me upon your honor, that when this freak of
yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to your
satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice
implicitly, as that of your physician?"

"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to lose."

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four
o'clock--Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him
the scythe and spades, the whole of which he insisted upon carrying,
more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the
implements within reach of his master, than from any excess of
industry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and
"dat d----d bug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during the
journey. For my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark lanterns,
while Legrand contented himself with the _scarabaeus_, which he
carried attached to the end of a bit of whipcord, twirling it to and
fro, with the air of a conjurer, as he went. When I observed this last
plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely
refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at
least for the present, or until I could adopt some more energetic
measures with a chance of success. In the meantime I endeavored, but
all in vain, to sound him in regard to the object of the expedition.
Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he seemed unwilling
to hold conversation upon any topic of minor importance, and to all my
questions vouchsafed no other reply than "We shall see!"

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a skiff,
and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the mainland,
proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a tract of country
excessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a human footstep was
to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision, pausing only for an
instant, here and there, to consult what appeared is to be certain
landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion.

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was just
setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any yet
seen. It was a species of table-land, near the summit of an almost
inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, and
interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the
soil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves
into the valleys below, merely by the support of the trees against
which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air
of still sterner solemnity to the scene.

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly overgrown
with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it would have
been impossible to force our way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by
direction of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot
of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, with some eight or ten
oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and all other trees
which I had ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the
wide spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of its
appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and
asked him if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little
staggered by the question, and for some moments made no reply. At
length he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and
examined it with minute attention. When he had completed his scrutiny,
he merely said:

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