classic mystery and detective stories-第50章

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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

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

pro