Poe, Edgar Allen - Murders in the Rue Morgue

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THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

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The Murders in the Rue Morgue

By Edgar Allan Poe

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THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

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THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

Page 146

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles

assumed when he bid himself among women, although

puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.

Sir Thomas Browne

The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of

analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that

they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest

enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call

his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He

derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond

of enigmas, of conundrums, hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen

which appears to the ordinary apprehension praeternatural. His results, brought about by the very

soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.

The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by mathematical study, and especially by

that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has

been called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet to calculate

Page 147

is not in itself to analyze. A chess-player, for example, does the one, without effort at the other. It follows that the

game of chess, in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now writing a treatise, but

simply prefacing a some-what peculiar narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore, take

occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by

the unostentatious game of draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess. In this latter, where the pieces have

different and bizarre motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex, is mistaken (a not unusual

error) for what is profound. The attention is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is

committed, resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being not only manifold, but involute, the chances of

such oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten, it is the more concentrative rather than the more acute

player who conquers. In draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little variation, the

probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed, what

advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superior acumen. To be less abstract, let us suppose a game

of draughts where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected. It is

obvious that here the victory can be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some recherche movement, the

result of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the

spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods

(sometimes indeed

Page 148

absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been known for its influence upon what is termed the calculating power; and men

of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in

it, while eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar nature so

greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

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than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies a capacity for success in all these

more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind. When I say proficiency, I mean

that perfection in the game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whence legitimate

advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold, but multiform, and lie frequently among

recesses of thought altogether inaccessible to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively

is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very well at whist;

while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism of the game) are

sufficiently and generally comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and proceed by "the

book" are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good playing. But it is in matters

beyond the limits of mere rule that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host

of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the difference in the extent

of the information obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of

the observation. The necessary knowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confines himself

not at all; nor, because the game is the object, does he reject deductions from things

Page 149

external to the game. He examines the countenance of his partners, comparing it carefully with that of each of his

opponents. He considers the mode of assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by trump, and honor by

honor, through the glances bestowed by their holders upon each. He notes every variation of face as the play

progresses, gathering a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or

chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it, can make another in the

suit. He recognizes what is played through feint, by the manner with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or

inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in

regard to its concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation,

eagerness, or trepidation -- all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of the true state of affairs.

The first two or three rounds having been played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and

thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turned

outward the faces of their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is

necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of analysis. The

constructive or combining power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the

phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive

faculty, has been so frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as

to have attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between ingenuity

Page 150

and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination,

but of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the

truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the light of a commentary

upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18 -- , I there became acquainted

with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent, indeed of an

illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty that the

energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestir himself in this world, or to

care for the retrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his

possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the income arising from this, he

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

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managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to procure the necessities of life, without troubling

himself about its superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily

obtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our

both being in search of the same very rare and very remarkable volume, brought us into closer

communion. We saw each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little family

history which he detailed to me with all that candor which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere

self is the theme. I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my

soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid

Page 151

freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man would be

to me a treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged that we should

live together during my stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his

own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom

of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into which we did

not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been regarded

as madmen -- although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We

admitted no visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement had been carefully kept a secret from

my own former associates; and it had been many years since Dupin had ceased to know or be

known in Paris. We existed within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the night for

her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his

wild whims with a perfect abandon. The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always;

but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the massy

shutters of our old building; lighted a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed, threw out only

the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams --

reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the

Page 152

advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets, arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or

roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city, that infinity

of mental excitement which quiet observation can afford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (although from his rich ideality I had

been prepared to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager

delight in its exercise -- if not exactly in its display -- and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure

thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself,

wore windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by direct and very

startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His manner at these moments was frigid

and abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a

treble which would have sounded petulant but for the deliberateness and entire distinctness of

this enunciation. Observing him in these moods. I often dwelt meditatively upon the old

philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a double Dupin -- the

creative and the resolvent.

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Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I am detailing any mystery, or penning

any romance. What I have described in the Frenchman was merely the result of an excited, or

perhaps of a diseased, intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at the periods in question

an example will best convey the idea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being

Page 153

both, apparently, occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All at once

Dupin broke forth with these words:

"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would do better for the Theatre des Varietes."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied, unwittingly, and not at first observing (so much had I

been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with

my meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my astonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am

amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you should know I was thinking

of----?" Here I paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.

"----of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarking to yourself that his

diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam

cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted the role of Xerxes, in

Crebillon's tragedy so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the method -- if method there is -- by which you have

been enabled to fathom my soul in this matter." In fact, I was even more startled than I would

have been willing to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who brought you to the conclusion that the mender of

soles was not of sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne."

Page 154

"The fruiterer! -- you astonish me -- I know no fruiterer whomsoever."

"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street -- it may have been fifteen minutes

ago."

I now remember that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a large basket of apples, had

nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we paused from the Rue C---- into the thoroughfare

where we stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.

There was not a particle of charlatánerie about Dupin. "I will explain," he said, "and that you

may comprehend all clearly, we will first retrace the course of your meditations, from the

moment in which I spoke to you until that of the rencontre with the fruiterer in question. The

larger links of the chain run thus -- Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the

street stones, the fruiterer."

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THEMURDERSINTHERUEMORGUEGetanybookforfreeon:www.Abika.com1TheMurdersintheRueMorgueByEdgarAllanPoeGetanybookforfreeon:www.Abika.comTHEMURDERSINTHERUEMORGUEGetanybookforfreeon:www.Abika.com2THEMURDERSINTHERUEMORGUEPage146WhatsongtheSyrenssang,orwhatnameAchillesassumedwhenhebidhimselfamongwomen,althoug...

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