the notch on the ax and on being found out-第35章

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this　time；　and　much　later；　down　to　the　reign　of　Anne；　tailors　were
employed　by　females　even　to　make　and　fit　on　their　stays）；who　had
run　mad　with　drink　and　loyalty　on　the　burning　of　the　Rump；　and　ever
since　had　made　the　cells　of　the　madhouse　echo　with　fragments　of　the
ill…fated　Colonel　Lovelace's　song；　scraps　from　Cowley's　〃Cutter　of
Coleman　street；〃　and　some　curious　specimens　from　Mrs。　Aphra　Behn's
plays；　where　the　cavaliers　are　denominated　the　heroicks；　and　Lady
Lambert　and　Lady　Desborough　represented　as　going　to　meeting；　their
large　Bibles　carried　before　them　by　their　pages；　and　falling　in
love　with　two　banished　cavaliers　by　the　way。　　The　voice　in　which　he
shrieked　out　such　words　was　powerfully　horrible；　but　it　was　like
the　moan　of　an　infant　compared　to　the　voice　which　took　up　and
reechoed　the　cry；　in　a　tone　that　made　the　building　shake。　　It　was
the　voice　of　a　maniac；　who　had　lost　her　husband；　children；
subsistence；　and　finally　her　reason；　in　the　dreadful　fire　of
London。　　The　cry　of　fire　never　failed　to　operate　with　terrible
punctuality　on　her　associations。　　She　had　been　in　a　disturbed
sleep；　and　now　started　from　it　as　suddenly　as　on　that　dreadful
night。　　It　was　Saturday　night　too；　and　she　was　always　observed　to
be　particularly　violent　on　that　night；it　was　the　terrible　weekly
festival　of　insanity　with　her。　　She　was　awake；　and　busy　in　a　moment
escaping　from　the　flames；　and　she　dramatized　the　whole　scene　with
such　hideous　fidelity；　that　Stanton's　resolution　was　far　more　in
danger　from　her　than　from　the　battle　between　his　neighbors
Testimony　and　Hothead。　　She　began　exclaiming　she　was　suffocated　by
the　smoke；　then　she　sprung　from　her　bed；　calling　for　a　light；　and
appeared　to　be　struck　by　the　sudden　glare　that　burst　through　her
casement。〃The　last　day；〃　she　shrieked；　〃The　last　day！　　The　very
heavens　are　on　fire！〃〃That　will　not　come　till　the　Man　of　Sin　be
first　destroyed；〃　cried　the　weaver；　〃thou　ravest　of　light　and　fire；
and　yet　thou　art　in　utter　darkness。I　pity　thee；　poor　mad　soul；　I
pity　thee！〃　　The　maniac　never　heeded　him；　she　appeared　to　be
scrambling　up　a　staircase　to　her　children's　room。　　She　exclaimed
she　was　scorched；　singed；　suffocated；　her　courage　appeared　to　fail；
and　she　retreated。　　〃But　my　children　are　there！〃　she　cried　in　a
voice　of　unspeakable　agony；　as　she　seemed　to　make　another　effort；
〃here　I　amhere　I　am　come　to　save　you。Oh　God！　　They　are　all
blazing！Take　this　armno；　not　that；　it　is　scorched　and　disabled
well；　any　armtake　hold　of　my　clothesno；　they　are　blazing　too！
Well；　take　me　all　on　fire　as　I　am！And　their　hair；　how　it
hisses！Water；　one　drop　of　water　for　my　youngesthe　is　but　an
infantfor　my　youngest；　and　let　me　burn！〃　　She　paused　in　horrid
silence；　to　watch　the　fall　of　a　blazing　rafter　that　was　about　to
shatter　the　staircase　on　which　she　stood。〃The　roof　has　fallen　on
my　head！〃　she　exclaimed。　　〃The　earth　is　weak；　and　all　the
inhabitants　thereof；〃　chanted　the　weaver；　〃I　bear　up　the　pillars　of
it。〃

The　maniac　marked　the　destruction　of　the　spot　where　she　thought　she
stood　by　one　desperate　bound；　accompanied　by　a　wild　shriek；　and
then　calmly　gazed　on　her　infants　as　they　rolled　over　the　scorching
fragments；　and　sunk　into　the　abyss　of　fire　below。　　〃There　they　go；
onetwothreeall！〃　and　her　voice　sunk　into　low　mutterings；　and
her　convulsions　into　faint；　cold　shudderings；　like　the　sobbings　of
a　spent　storm；　as　she　imagined　herself　to　〃stand　in　safety　and
despair；〃　amid　the　thousand　houseless　wretches　assembled　in　the
suburbs　of　London　on　the　dreadful　nights　after　the　fire；　without
food；　roof；　or　raiment；　all　gazing　on　the　burning　ruins　of　their
dwellings　and　their　property。　　She　seemed　to　listen　to　their
complaints；　and　even　repeated　some　of　them　very　affectingly；　but
invariably　answered　them　with　the　same　words；　〃But　I　have　lost　all
my　childrenall！〃　　It　was　remarkable；　that　when　this　sufferer
began　to　rave；　all　the　others　became　silent。　　The　cry　of　nature
hushed　every　other　cry；she　was　the　only　patient　in　the　house　who
was　not　mad　from　politics；　religion；　ebriety；　or　some　perverted
passion；　and　terrifying　as　the　outbreak　of　her　frenzy　always　was；
Stanton　used　to　await　it　as　a　kind　of　relief　from　the　dissonant；
melancholy；　and　ludicrous　ravings　of　the　others。

But　the　utmost　efforts　of　his　resolution　began　to　sink　under　the
continued　horrors　of　the　place。　　The　impression　on　his　senses　began
to　defy　the　power　of　reason　to　resist　them。　　He　could　not　shut　out
these　frightful　cries　nightly　repeated；　nor　the　frightful　sound　of
the　whip　employed　to　still　them。　　Hope　began　to　fail　him；　as　he
observed；　that　the　submissive　tranquillity　（which　he　had　imagined；
by　obtaining　increased　indulgence；　might　contribute　to　his　escape；
or　perhaps　convince　the　keeper　of　his　sanity）　was　interpreted　by
the　callous　ruffian；　who　was　acquainted　only　with　the　varieties　of
MADNESS；　as　a　more　refined　species　of　that　cunning　which　he　was
well　accustomed　to　watch　and　baffle。

On　his　first　discovery　of　his　situation；　he　had　determined　to　take
the　utmost　care　of　his　health　and　intellect　that　the　place　allowed；
as　the　sole　basis　of　his　hope　of　deliverance。　　But　as　that　hope
declined；　he　neglected　the　means　of　realizing　it。　　He　had　at　first
risen　early；　walked　incessantly　about　his　cell；　and　availed　himself
of　every　opportunity　of　being　in　the　open　air。　　He　took　the
strictest　care　of　his　person　in　point　of　cleanliness；　and　with　or
without　appetite；　regularly　forced　down　his　miserable　meals；　and
all　these　efforts　were　even　pleasant；　as　long　as　hope　prompted
them。　　But　now　he　began　to　relax　them　all。　　He　passed　half　the　day
in　his　wretched　bed；　in　which　he　frequently　took　his　meals；
declined　shaving　or　changing　his　linen；　and；　when　the　sun　shone
into　his　cell；　he　turned　from　it　on　his　straw　with　a　sigh　of
heartbroken　despondency。　　Formerly；　when　the　air　breathed　through
his　grating；　he　used　to　say；　〃Blessed　air　of　heaven；　I　shall
breathe　you　once　more　in　freedom！Reserve　all　your　freshness　for
that　delicious　evening　when　I　shall　inhale　you；　and　be　as　free　as
you　myself。〃　　Now　when　he　felt　it；　he　sighed　and　said　nothing。　　The
twitter　of　the　sparrows；　the　pattering　of　rain；　or　the　moan　of　the
wind；　sounds　that　he　used　to　sit　up　in　his　bed　to　catch　with
delight；　as　reminding　him　of　nature；　were　now　unheeded。

He　began　at　times　to　listen　with　sullen　and　horrible　pleasure　to
the　cries　of　his　miserable　companions。　　He　became　squalid；
listless；　torpid；　and　disgusting　in　his　appearance。

　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。

It　was　one　of　those　dismal　nights；　that；　as　he　tossed　on　his
loathsome　bed；more　loathsome　from　the　impossibility　to　quit　it
without　feeling　more　〃unrest；〃he　perceived　the　miserable　light
that　burned　in　the　hearth　was　obscured　by　the　intervention　of　some
dark　object。　　He　turned　feebly　toward　the　light；　without　curiosity；
without　excitement；　but　with　a　wish　to　diversify　the　monotony　of
his　misery；　by　observing　the　slightest　change　made　even
accidentally　in　the　dusky　atmosphere　of　his　cell。　　Between　him　and
the　light　stood　the　figure　of　Melmoth；　just　as　he　had　seen　him　from
the　first；　the　figure　was　the　same；　the　expression　of　the　face　was
the　same；cold；　stony；　and　rigid；　the　eyes；　with　their　infernal
and　dazzling　luster；　were　still　the　same。

Stanton's　ruling　passion　rushed　on　his　soul；　he　felt　this
apparition　like　a　summons　to　a　high　and　fearful　encounter。　　He
heard　his　heart　beat　audibly；　and　could　have　exclaimed　with　Lee's
unfortunate　heroine；〃It　pants　as　cowards　do　before　a　battle；　Oh
the　great　march　has　sounded！〃

Melmoth　approached　him　with　that　frightful　calmness　that　mocks　the
terror　it　excites。　　〃My　prophecy　has　been　fulfilled；you　rise　to
meet　me　rattling　from　your　chains；　and　rustling　from　your　strawam
I　not　a　true　prophet？〃　　Stanton　was　silent。　　〃Is　not　your　situation
very　miserable？〃Still　Stanton　was　silent；　for　he　was　beginning　to
believe　this　an　illusion　of　madness。　　He　thought　to　himself；　〃How
could　he　have　gained　entrance　here？〃〃Would　you　not　wish　to　be
delivered　from　it？〃　　Stanton　tossed　on　his　straw；　and　its　rustling
seemed　to　answer　the　question。　　〃I　have　the　power　to　deliver　you
from　it。〃　　Melmoth　spoke　very　slowly　and　very　softly；　and　the
melodious　smoothness　of　his　voice　made　a　frightful　contrast　to　the
stony　rigor　of　his　features；　and　the　fiendlike　brilliancy　of　his
eyes。　　〃Who　are　you；　and　whence　come　you？〃　said　Stanton；　in　a　tone
that　was　meant　to　be　interrogatory　and　imperative；　but　which；　from
his　habits　of　squalid　debility；　was　at　once　feeble　and　querulous。
His　intellect　had　become　affected　by　the　gloom　of　his　miserable
habitation；　as　the　wretched　inmate　of　a　similar　mansion；　when
produced　before　a　medical　examiner；　was　reported　to　be　a　complete
Albino。His　skin　was　bleached；　his　eyes　turned　white；　he　could　not
bear　the　light；　and；　when　exposed　to　it；　he　turned　away　with　a
mixture　of　weakness　and　restlessness；　more　like　the　writhings　of　a
sick　infant　than　the　struggles　of　a　man。

Such　was　Stanton's　situation。　　He　was　enfeebled　now；　and　the　power
of　the　enemy　seemed　without　a　possibility　of　opposition　from　either
his　intellectual　or　corporeal　powers。

　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。

Of　all　their　horrible　dialogue；　only　these　words　were　legible　in
the　manuscript；　〃You　know　me　now。〃〃I　always　knew　you。〃〃That　is
false；　you　imagined　you　did；　and　that　has　been　the　cause　of　all　the
wild　　　　　。　　　　　　of　the　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。　　　　　　　　。
。　　of　your　finally　being　lodged　in　this　mansion　of　misery；　where
only　I　would　seek；　where　only　I　can　succor　you。〃〃You；　demon！〃
〃Demon！Harsh　words！Was　it　a　demon　or　a　human　being　placed　you
here？Listen　to　me；　Stanton；　nay；　wrap　not　yourself　in　that
miserable　blanket；that　cannot　shut　out　my　words。　　Believe　me；
were　you　folded　in　thunder　clouds；　you　must　hear　ME！　　Stanton；
think　of　your　misery。　　These　bare　wallswhat　do　they　present　to
the　intellect　or　to　the　senses？Whitewash；　diversified　with　the
scrawls　of　charcoal　or　red　chalk；　that　your　happy　predecessors　have
left　for　you　to　trace　over。　　You　have　a　taste　for　drawingI　trust
it　will　improve。　　And　here's　a　grating；　through　which　the　sun
squints　on　you　like　a　stepdame；　and　the　breeze　blows；　as　if　it
meant　to　tantalize　you　with　a　sigh　from　that　sweet　mouth；　whose
kiss　you　must　never　enjoy。　　And　where's　your　library；intellectual
man；traveled　man？〃　he　repeated　in　a　tone　of　bitter　derision；
〃where　be　your　companions；　your　peaked　men　of　countries；　as　your
favorite　Shakespeare　has　it？　　You　must　be　content　with　the　spider
and　the　rat；　to　crawl　and　scratch　round　your　flock　bed！　　I　have
known　prisoners　in　the　Bastille　to　feed　them　for　companions；why
don't　you　begin　your　task？　　I　have　known　a　spider　to　descend　at　the
tap　of　a　finger；　and　a　rat　to　come　forth　when　the　daily　meal　was
brought；　to　share　it　with　his　fellow　prisoner！How　delightful　to
have　vermin　for　your　guests！　　Aye；　and　when　the　feast　fails　them；
they　make　a　meal　of　their　entertainer！You　shudder。Are　you；
then；　the　first　prisoner　who　has　been　devoured　alive　by　the　vermin
that　infested　his　cell？Delightful　banquet；　not　'where　you　eat；
but　where　you　are　eaten'！　　Your　guests；　however；　will　give　you　one
to