by Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
DURING the fall of the year 1827, while
residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the
acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was
remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound
interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him
either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I
could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never
ascertained. Even about his age- although I call him a young
gentleman- there was something which perplexed me in no little
degree. He certainly seemed young- and he made a point of
speaking about his youth- yet there were moments when I should
have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of
age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal
appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much.
His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was
broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His
mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly
uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a
human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no
means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no variation
whatever. It was one of profound melancholy- of a phaseless and
unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like
those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or
diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just
such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of
excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost
inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a
reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the
sun; yet their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy,
and dull as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred
corpse.
These peculiarities of person appeared to cause
him much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in
a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when
I first heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however,
grew accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to
be his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that,
physically, he had not always been what he was- that a long
series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of
more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many
years past he had been attended by a physician, named
Templeton- an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age- whom
he had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention,
while there, he either received, or fancied that he received,
great benefit. The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had
made an arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in
consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to
devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care
of the invalid.
Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his
younger days, and at Paris had become a convert, in great
measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was altogether by means
of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the
acute pains of his patient; and this success had very naturally
inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in the
opinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor,
however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a
thorough convert of his pupil, and finally so far gained his
point as to induce the sufferer to submit to numerous
experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, a result had
arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attract
little or no attention, but which, at the period of which I
write, had very rarely been known in America. I mean to say,
that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there had grown up,
little by little, a very distinct and strongly marked rapport,
or magnetic relation. I am not prepared to assert, however,
that this rapport extended beyond the limits of the simple
sleep-producing power, but this power itself had attained great
intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic
somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or
sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued
effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After
this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the
physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the
two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere
volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of
his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar
miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture
to record this apparent impossibility as a matter of serious
fact.
The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest
degree sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was
singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived
additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he
swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have
found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a
very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning-
or, rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he
ate nothing in the forenoon- and then set forth alone, or
attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of
wild and dreary hills that lie westward and southward of
Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the title of the
Ragged Mountains.
Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of
November, and during the strange interregnum of the seasons
which in America is termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe
departed as usual for the hills. The day passed, and still he
did not return.
About eight o'clock at night, having become
seriously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about
setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly made his
appearance, in health no worse than usual, and in rather more
than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of his
expedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a
singular one indeed.
"You will remember," said he, "that it was about
nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my
steps immediately to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a
gorge which was entirely new to me. I followed the windings of
this pass with much interest. The scenery which presented
itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to be called
grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious
aspect of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely
virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods and the
gray rocks upon which I trod had been trodden never before by
the foot of a human being. So entirely secluded, and in fact
inaccessible, except through a series of accidents, is the
entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means impossible that
I was indeed the first adventurer- the very first and sole
adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses.
"The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which
distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily
over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen the vague
impressions which these objects created. So dense was this
pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozen
yards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous,
and as the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the
direction in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine
had its customary effect- that of enduing all the external
world with an intensity of interest. In the quivering of a
leaf- in the hue of a blade of grass- in the shape of a
trefoil- in the humming of a bee- in the gleaming of a
dew-drop- in the breathing of the wind- in the faint odors that
came from the forest- there came a whole universe of
suggestion- a gay and motley train of rhapsodical and
immethodical thought.
"Busied in this, I walked on for several hours,
during which the mist deepened around me to so great an extent
that at length I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way.
And now an indescribable uneasiness possessed me- a species of
nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should
be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange
stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and
fierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A
thousand vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me- fancies
the more distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention
was arrested by the loud beating of a drum.
"My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in
these hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more
surprised at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new
and still more astounding source of interest and perplexity
arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a
bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and
half-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close
to my person that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore
in one hand an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel
rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he
disappeared in the mist before, panting after him, with open
mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not
be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena.
"The sight of this monster rather relieved than
heightened my terrors- for I now made sure that I dreamed, and
endeavored to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped
boldly and briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I
pinched my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to
my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and
neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which
had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and
proceeded steadily and complacently on my unknown way.
"At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a
certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself
beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of
sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly
but definitely upon the grass. At this shadow I gazed
wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me with
astonishment. I looked upward. The tree was a palm.
"I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful
agitation- for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no
longer. I saw- I felt that I had perfect command of my senses-
and these senses now brought to my soul a world of novel and
singular sensation. The heat became all at once intolerable. A
strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like
that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to my
ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human
voices.
"While I listened in an extremity of astonishment
which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust
of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an
enchanter.
"I found myself at the foot of a high mountain,
and looking down into a vast plain, through which wound a
majestic river. On the margin of this river stood an
Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the Arabian Tales,
but of a character even more singular than any there described.
From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I
could perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a
map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other
irregularly in all directions, but were rather long winding
alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants.
The houses were wildly picturesque. On every hand was a
wilderness of balconies, of verandas, of minarets, of shrines,
and fantastically carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these
were displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion-
silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent
jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on all sides,
banners and palanquins, litters with stately dames close
veiled, elephants gorgeously caparisoned, idols grotesquely
hewn, drums, banners, and gongs, spears, silver and gilded
maces. And amid the crowd, and the clamor, and the general
intricacy and confusion- amid the million of black and yellow
men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there roamed a
countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, while vast legions
of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering and
shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the
minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of
the river, there descended innumerable flights of steps leading
to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to force a
passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply-
burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface.
Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic
groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird
trees of vast age, and here and there might be seen a field of
rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a
gypsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with
a pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent
river.
"You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but
not so. What I saw- what I heard- what I felt- what I thought-
had about it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the
dream. All was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting
that I was really awake, I entered into a series of tests,
which soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when one
dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, the
suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is
almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying
that 'we are near waking when we dream that we dream.' Had the
vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my suspecting
it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have been, but,
occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am
forced to class it among other phenomena."
"In this I am not sure that you are wrong,"
observed Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose and descended
into the city."
"I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor
with an air of profound astonishment "I arose, as you say, and
descended into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense
populace, crowding through every avenue, all in the same
direction, and exhibiting in every action the wildest
excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I
became intensely imbued with personal interest in what was
going on. I seemed to feel that I had an important part to
play, without exactly understanding what it was. Against the
crowd which environed me, however, I experienced a deep
sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid them, and, swiftly,
by a circuitous path, reached and entered the city. Here all
was the wildest tumult and contention. A small party of men,
clad in garments half-Indian, half-European, and officered by
gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great
odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the
weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen
officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity
of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to
seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded
ourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole
near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in
furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that
overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window of this
place, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by means
of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was
at hand, in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the
river.
"And now a new object took possession of my soul.
I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my companions,
and, having succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my
purpose made a frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the
crowd that surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us.
They rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean
time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered
and entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging
houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never been able
to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us
with their spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows.
These latter were very remarkable, and resembled in some
respects the writhing creese of the Malay. They were made to
imitate the body of a creeping serpent, and were long and
black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon the
right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadful
sickness seized me. I struggled- I gasped- I died."
"You will hardly persist now," said I smiling,
"that the whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not
prepared to maintain that you are dead?"
When I said these words, I of course expected some
lively sally from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he
hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained
silent. I looked toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in
his chair- his teeth chattered, and his eyes were starting from
their sockets. "Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to
Bedloe.
"For many minutes," continued the latter, "my sole
sentiment- my sole feeling- was that of darkness and nonentity,
with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass
a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of
electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity and of light.
This latter I felt- not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise
from the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or
palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had
ceased. The city was in comparative repose. Beneath me lay my
corpse, with the arrow in my temple, the whole head greatly
swollen and disfigured. But all these things I felt- not saw. I
took interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter in
which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but appeared to be
impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of the city,
retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When I
had attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which
I had encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of
a galvanic battery, the sense of weight, of volition, of
substance, returned. I became my original self, and bent my
steps eagerly homeward- but the past had not lost the vividness
of the real- and not now, even for an instant, can I compel my
understanding to regard it as a dream."
"Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep
solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it
should be termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man
of to-day is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal
discoveries. Let us content ourselves with this supposition.
For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is a
watercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but
which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto
prevented me from showing."
We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw
nothing in it of an extraordinary character, but its effect
upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And
yet it was but a miniature portrait- a miraculously accurate
one, to be sure- of his own very remarkable features. At least
this was my thought as I regarded it.
"You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date of
this picture- it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner-
1780. In this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness
of a dead friend- a Mr. Oldeb- to whom I became much attached
at Calcutta, during the administration of Warren Hastings. I
was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr.
Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which
existed between yourself and the painting which induced me to
accost you, to seek your friendship, and to bring about those
arrangements which resulted in my becoming your constant
companion. In accomplishing this point, I was urged partly, and
perhaps principally, by a regretful memory of the deceased, but
also, in part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless
curiosity respecting yourself.
"In your detail of the vision which presented
itself to you amid the hills, you have described, with the
minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy
River. The riots, the combat, the massacre, were the actual
events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which took place in
1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. The
man escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself.
The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed
by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did all I could to
prevent the rash and fatal sally of the officer who fell, in
the crowded alleys, by the poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That
officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive
by these manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book
in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,)
"that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid
the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at
home."
In about a week after this conversation, the
following paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper:
"We have the painful duty of announcing the death
of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and
many virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of
Charlottesville.
"Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to
neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but
this can be regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease.
The proximate cause was one of especial singularity. In an
excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight
cold and fever were contracted, attended with great
determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr.
Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to
the temples. In a fearfully brief period the patient died, when
it appeared that in the jar containing the leeches, had been
introduced, by accident, one of the venomous vermicular
sangsues which are now and then found in the neighboring ponds.
This creature fastened itself upon a small artery in the right
temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech caused the
mistake to be overlooked until too late.
"N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville
may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its
blackness, and especially by its writhing or vermicular
motions, which very nearly resemble those of a snake."
I was speaking with the editor of the paper in
question, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it
occurred to me to ask how it happened that the name of the
deceased had been given as Bedlo.
"I presume," I said, "you have authority for this
spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be written
with an e at the end."
"Authority?- no," he replied. "It is a mere
typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world
over, and I never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my
life."
"Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my
heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth is
stranger than any fiction- for Bedloe, without the e, what is
it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells me that it is a
typographical error."