classic mystery and detective stories-第45节

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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

token　of　repentance　while　they　feed；　there　will　be　gnashing　of

teeth；　and　you　shall　hear　it；　and　feel　it　too　perchance！And　then

for　mealsOh　you　are　daintily　off！The　soup　that　the　cat　has

lapped；　and　（as　her　progeny　has　probably　contributed　to　the　hell

broth）　why　not？　　Then　your　hours　of　solitude；　deliciously

diversified　by　the　yell　of　famine；　the　howl　of　madness；　the　crash

of　whips；　and　the　broken…hearted　sob　of　those　who；　like　you；　are

supposed；　or　DRIVEN　mad　by　the　crimes　of　others！Stanton；　do　you

imagine　your　reason　can　possibly　hold　out　amid　such　scenes？

Supposing　your　reason　was　unimpaired；　your　health　not　destroyed；

suppose　all　this；　which　is；　after　all；　more　than　fair　supposition

can　grant；　guess　the　effect　of　the　continuance　of　these　scenes　on

your　senses　alone。　　A　time　will　come；　and　soon；　when；　from　mere

habit；　you　will　echo　the　scream　of　every　delirious　wretch　that

harbors　near　you；　then　you　will　pause；　clasp　your　hands　on　your

throbbing　head；　and　listen　with　horrible　anxiety　whether　the　scream

proceeded　from　YOU　or　THEM。　　The　time　will　come；　when；　from　the

want　of　occupation；　the　listless　and　horrible　vacancy　of　your

hours；　you　will　feel　as　anxious　to　hear　those　shrieks；　as　you　were

at　first　terrified　to　hear　them；when　you　will　watch　for　the

ravings　of　your　next　neighbor；　as　you　would　for　a　scene　on　the

stage。　　All　humanity　will　be　extinguished　in　you。　　The　ravings　of

these　wretches　will　become　at　once　your　sport　and　your　torture。

You　will　watch　for　the　sounds；　to　mock　them　with　the　grimaces　and

bellowings　of　a　fiend。　　The　mind　has　a　power　of　accommodating

itself　to　its　situation；　that　you　will　experience　in　its　most

frightful　and　deplorable　efficacy。　　Then　comes　the　dreadful　doubt

of　one's　own　sanity；　the　terrible　announcer　that　THAT　doubt　will

soon　become　fear；　and　THAT　fear　certainty。　　Perhaps　（still　more

dreadful）　the　FEAR　will　at　last　become　a　HOPE；shut　out　from

society；　watched　by　a　brutal　keeper；　writhing　with　all　the　impotent

agony　of　an　incarcerated　mind；　without　communication　and　without

sympathy；　unable　to　exchange　ideas　but　with　those　whose　ideas　are

only　the　hideous　specters　of　departed　intellect；　or　even　to　hear

the　welcome　sound　of　the　human　voice；　except　to　mistake　it　for　the

howl　of　a　fiend；　and　stop　the　ear　desecrated　by　its　intrusion；

then　at　last　your　fear　will　become　a　more　fearful　hope；　you　will

wish　to　become　one　of　them；　to　escape　the　agony　of　consciousness。

As　those　who　have　long　leaned　over　a　precipice；　have　at　last　felt　a

desire　to　plunge　below；　to　relieve　the　intolerable　temptation　of

their　giddiness；*　you　will　hear　them　laugh　amid　their　wildest

paroxysms；　you　will　say；　'Doubtless　those　wretches　have　some

consolation；　but　I　have　none；　my　sanity　is　my　greatest　curse　in

this　abode　of　horrors。　　They　greedily　devour　their　miserable　meals；

while　I　loathe　mine。　　They　sleep　sometimes　soundly；　while　my　sleep

isworse　than　their　waking。　　They　are　revived　every　morning　by

some　delicious　illusion　of　cunning　madness；　soothing　them　with　the

hope　of　escaping；　baffling　or　tormenting　their　keeper；　my　sanity

precludes　all　such　hope。　　I　KNOW　I　NEVER　CAN　ESCAPE；　and　the

preservation　of　my　faculties　is　only　an　aggravation　of　my

sufferings。　　I　have　all　their　miseries；I　have　none　of　their

consolations。　　They　laugh；I　hear　them；　would　I　could　laugh　like

them。'　　You　will　try；　and　the　very　effort　will　be　an　invocation　to

the　demon　of　insanity　to　come　and　take　full　possession　of　you　from

that　moment　forever。〃





*　A　fact；　related　to　me　by　a　person　who　was　near　committing　suicide

in　a　similar　situation；　to　escape　what　he　called　〃the　excruciating

torture　of　giddiness。〃





（There　were　other　details；　both　of　the　menaces　and　temptations

employed　by　Melmoth；　which　are　too　horrible　for　insertion。　　One　of

them　may　serve　for　an　instance。）



〃You　think　that　the　intellectual　power　is　something　distinct　from

the　vitality　of　the　soul；　or；　in　other　words；　that　if　even　your

reason　should　be　destroyed　（which　it　nearly　is）；　your　soul　might

yet　enjoy　beatitude　in　the　full　exercise　of　its　enlarged　and

exalted　faculties；　and　all　the　clouds　which　obscured　them　be

dispelled　by　the　Sun　of　Righteousness；　in　whose　beams　you　hope　to

bask　forever　and　ever。　　Now；　without　going　into　any　metaphysical

subtleties　about　the　distinction　between　mind　and　soul；　experience

must　teach　you；　that　there　can　be　no　crime　into　which　madmen　would

not；　and　do　not；　precipitate　themselves；　mischief　is　their

occupation；　malice　their　habit；　murder　their　sport；　and　blasphemy

their　delight。　　Whether　a　soul　in　this　state　can　be　in　a　hopeful

one；　it　is　for　you　to　judge；　but　it　seems　to　me；　that　with　the　loss

of　reason　（and　reason　cannot　long　be　retained　in　this　place）　you

lose　also　the　hope　of　immortality。Listen；〃　said　the　tempter；

pausing；　〃listen　to　the　wretch　who　is　raving　near　you；　and　whose

blasphemies　might　make　a　demon　start。He　was　once　an　eminent

puritanical　preacher。　　Half　the　day　he　imagines　himself　in　a

pulpit；　denouncing　damnation　against　Papists；　Arminians；　and　even

Sublapsarians　（he　being　a　Supra…lapsarian　himself）。　　He　foams；　he

writhes；　he　gnashes　his　teeth；　you　would　imagine　him　in　the　hell　he

was　painting；　and　that　the　fire　and　brimstone　he　is　so　lavish　of

were　actually　exhaling　from　his　jaws。　　At　night　his　creed

retaliates　on　him；　he　believes　himself　one　of　the　reprobates　he　has

been　all　day　denouncing；　and　curses　God　for　the　very　decree　he　has

all　day　been　glorifying　Him　for。



〃He；　whom　he　has　for　twelve　hours　been　vociferating　'is　the

loveliest　among　ten　thousand；'　becomes　the　object　of　demoniac

hostility　and　execration。　　He　grapples　with　the　iron　posts　of　his

bed；　and　says　he　is　rooting　out　the　cross　from　the　very　foundations

of　Calvary；　and　it　is　remarkable；　that　in　proportion　as　his　morning

exercises　are　intense；　vivid；　and　eloquent；　his　nightly　blasphemies

are　outrageous　and　horrible。Hark！　　Now　he　believes