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[page 41:]
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THE PURLOINED LETTER.
BY EDGAR A. POE.
AT Paris, just
after dark
one
gusty evening in the autumn of 18—, I was enjoying the twofold luxury
of
meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste
Dupin,
in his little back library, or book-closet, au troisiême,
No. 33, Rue
Dunôt,
Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least
we had maintained a profound silence; while each, to any casual
observer,
might have seemed intently and exclusively occupied with the curling
eddies
of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself,
however,
I was mentally discussing certain topics which had formed matter for
conversation
between us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of
the
Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder of Marie Roget. I
looked
upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door of our
apartment was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur
G——,
the Prefect of the Parisian police.
We gave him a hearty welcome; for
there was
nearly
half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man,
and we had not seen him for several years. We had been sitting in the
dark,
and Dupin now arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down
again,
without doing so, upon G.'s saying that he had called to consult us, or
rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official business
which
had occasioned a great deal of trouble. [page 42:]
"If it is any point requiring
reflection,"
observed
Dupin, as he forebore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to
better
purpose in the dark."
"That is another of your odd
notions," said the
Prefect,
who had a fashion of calling every thing "odd" that was beyond his
comprehension,
and thus lived amid an absolute legion of "oddities."
"Very true," said Dupin, as he
supplied his
visiter
with a pipe, and rolled towards him a very comfortable chair.
"And what is the difficulty now?" I
asked.
"Nothing
more in the assassination way, I hope?"
"Oh no; nothing of that nature. The
fact is, the
business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can
manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would
like
to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively odd."
"Simple and odd," said Dupin.
"Why, yes; and not exactly that,
either. The fact
is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is
so
simple, and yet baffles us altogether."
"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of
the thing
which
puts you at fault," said my friend.
"What nonsense you do talk!"
replied the
Prefect,
laughing heartily.
"Perhaps the mystery is a little too
plain,"
said Dupin.
"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of
such an
idea?"
"A little too self-evident."
"Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — ho! ho!
ho!" roared
out
our visiter, profoundly amused, "oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me
yet!"
"And what, after all, is the
matter on
hand?"
I asked.
"Why, I will tell you," replied the
Prefect, as
he
gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his
chair. "I will tell you in a few words; but, before I begin, let me
caution
you that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I
should
most probably lose the position I now hold, were it known that I
confided
it to any one." [page 43:]
"Proceed," said I.
"Or not," said Dupin.
"Well, then; I have received personal
information,
from a very high quarter, that a certain document of the last
importance,
has been purloined from the royal apartments. The individual who
purloined
it is known; this beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known,
also, that it still remains in his possession."
"How is this known?" asked Dupin.
"It is clearly inferred," replied the
Prefect,
"from
the nature of the document, and from the non-appearance of certain
results
which would at once arise from its passing out of the robber's
possession;
— that is to say, from his employing it as he must design in the end to
employ it."
"Be a little more explicit," I said.
"Well, I may venture so far as to say
that the
paper
gives its holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such power
is immensely valuable." The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy.
"Still I do not quite understand,"
said Dupin.
"No? Well; the disclosure of the
document to a
third
person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the honor of a
personage
of most exalted station; and this fact gives the holder of the document
an ascendancy over the illustrious personage whose honor and peace are
so jeopardized."
"But this ascendancy," I interposed,
"would
depend
upon the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. Who
would dare —"
"The thief," said G., "is the
Minister D——, who
dares
all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The
method
of the theft was not less ingenious than bold. The document in question
— a letter, to be frank — had been received by the personage robbed
while
alone in the royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly
interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage from whom
especially [page 44:] it was her wish to conceal
it. After a
hurried
and vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it,
open as it was, upon a table. The address, however, was uppermost, and,
the contents thus unexposed, the letter escaped notice. At this
juncture
enters the Minister D——. His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper,
recognises the handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of
the
personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some business
transactions,
hurried through in his ordinary manner, he produces a letter somewhat
similar
to the one in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then places
it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again he converses, for some
fifteen
minutes, upon the public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes
also from the table the letter to which he had no claim. Its rightful
owner
saw, but, of course, dared not call attention to the act, in the
presence
of the third personage who stood at her elbow. The minister decamped;
leaving
his own letter — one of no importance — upon the table."
"Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you
have
precisely
what you demand to make the ascendancy complete — the robber's
knowledge
of the loser's knowledge of the robber."
"Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the
power thus
attained
has, for some months past, been wielded, for political purposes, to a
very
dangerous extent. The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced,
every
day, of the necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course,
cannot
be done openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the
matter
to me."
"Than whom," said Dupin, amid a
perfect whirlwind
of smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, or
even
imagined."
"You flatter me," replied the
Prefect; "but it is
possible that some such opinion may have been entertained."
"It is clear," said I, "as you
observe, that the
letter is still in possession of the minister; since it is this
possession,
and not any employment of the letter, which bestows the power. With the
employment the power departs." [page 45:]
"True," said G.; "and upon this
conviction I
proceeded.
My first care was to make thorough search of the minister's hotel; and
here my chief embarrassment lay in the necessity of searching without
his
knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which
would
result from giving him reason to suspect our design."
"But," said I, "you are quite au
fait in
these
investigations. The Parisian police have done this thing often before."
"O yes; and for this reason I did not
despair.
The
habits of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is
frequently
absent from home all night. His servants are by no means numerous. They
sleep at a distance from their master's apartments, and, being chiefly
Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with
which
I can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night
has
not passed, during the greater part of which I have not been engaged,
personally,
in ransacking the D—— Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to mention a
great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon the search
until
I had become fully satisfied that the thief is a more astute man than
myself.
I fancy that I have investigated every nook and corner of the premises
in which it is possible that the paper can be concealed."
"But is it not possible," I
suggested, "that
although
the letter may be in possession of the minister, as it unquestionably
is,
he may have concealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises?"
"This is barely possible," said
Dupin. "The
present
peculiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those
intrigues
in which D—— is known to be involved, would render the instant
availability
of the document — its susceptibility of being produced at a moment's
notice
— a point of nearly equal importance with its possession."
"Its susceptibility of being
produced?" said I.
"That is to say, of being destroyed,"
said
Dupin.
"True," I observed; "the paper is
clearly then
upon
the [page 46:] premises. As for its being upon
the
person of the minister, we may consider that as out of the question."
"Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has
been twice
waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person rigorously searched under my
own inspection."
"You might have spared yourself this
trouble,"
said
Dupin. "D——, I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must
have
anticipated these waylayings, as a matter of course."
"Not altogether a fool," said
G., "but
then
he's a poet, which I take to be only one remove from a fool."
"True," said Dupin, after a long and
thoughtful
whiff
from his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain doggrel
myself."
"Suppose you detail," said I, "the
particulars of
your search."
"Why the fact is, we took our time,
and we
searched every where. I have had long experience in these
affairs. I took
the entire building, room by room; devoting the nights of a whole week
to each. We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. We opened
every possible drawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly
trained
police agent, such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible.
Any
man is a dolt who permits a 'secret' drawer to escape him in a search
of this kind. The thing is so plain. There is a certain amount
of
bulk — of space — to be accounted for in every cabinet. Then we have
accurate
rules. The fiftieth part of a line could not escape us. After the
cabinets
we took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the fine long needles
you
have seen me employ. From the tables we removed the tops."
"Why so?"
"Sometimes the top of a table, or
other similarly
arranged piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to
conceal
an article; then the leg is excavated, the article deposited within the
cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bedposts are
employed
in the same way." [page 47:]
"But could not the cavity be detected
by
sounding?"
I asked.
"By no means, if, when the article is
deposited,
a sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our
case,
we were obliged to proceed without noise."
"But you could not have removed — you
could not
have
taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would
have
been possible to make a deposit in the manner you mention. A letter may
be compressed into a thin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or
bulk
from a large knitting-needle, and in this form it might be inserted
into
the rung of a chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the
chairs?"
"Certainly not; but we did better —
we examined
the
rungs of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed the jointings of every
description
of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been
any traces of recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect it
instanter. A single grain of gimlet-dust, or saw-dust, for example,
would
have been as obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the glueing — any
unusual
gaping in the joints — would have sufficed to insure detection."
"Of course you looked to the mirrors,
between the
boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bed-clothes, as
well as the curtains and carpets."
"That of course; and when we had
absolutely
completed
every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house
itself. We divided its entire surface into compartments, which we
numbered,
so that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each individual
square
inch throughout the premises, including the two houses immediately
adjoining,
with the microscope, as before."
"The two houses adjoining!" I
exclaimed; "you
must
have had a great deal of trouble."
"We had; but the reward offered is
prodigious."
"You include the grounds
about the
houses?"
"All the grounds are paved with
brick. They gave
us comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss between the
bricks,
and found it undisturbed." [page 48:]
"And the roofs?"
"We surveyed every inch of the
external surface,
and probed carefully beneath every tile."
"You looked among D——'s papers, of
course, and
into
the books of the library?"
"Certainly; we opened every package
and parcel;
we
not only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each
volume,
not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of
some of our police officers. We also measured the thickness of every
book-cover,
with the most accurate admeasurement, and applied to them the most
jealous
scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recently
meddled
with, it would have been utterly impossible that the fact should have
escaped
observation. Some five or six volumes, just from the hands of the
binder,
we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles."
"You explored the floors beneath the
carpets?"
"Beyond doubt. We removed every
carpet, and
examined
the boards with the microscope."
"And the paper on the walls?"
"Yes."
"You looked into the cellars?"
"We did; and, as time and labour were
no objects,
we dug up every one of them to the depth of four feet."
"Then," I said, "you have been making
a
miscalculation,
and the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose."
"I fear you are right there," said
the Prefect.
"And
now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do?"
"To make a thorough re-search of the
premises."
"That is absolutely needless,"
replied G——. "I am
not more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the
Hotel."
"I have no better advice to give
you," said
Dupin.
"You have, of course, an accurate description of the letter?"
"Oh yes!" — And here the Prefect,
producing a
memorandum-book
proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the internal, [page
49:] and especially of the external appearance of the
missing
document. Soon after finishing the perusal of this description, he took
his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I had ever known
the good gentleman before.
In about a month afterwards he paid
us another
visit,
and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair
and entered into some ordinary conversation. At length I said, —
"Well, but G——, what of the purloined
letter? I
presume
you have at last made up your mind that there is no such thing as
overreaching
the Minister?"
"Confound him, say I — yes; I made
the
re-examination,
however, as Dupin suggested — but it was all labor lost, as I knew it
would
be."
"How much was the reward offered, did
you say?"
asked
Dupin.
"Why, a very great deal — a very
liberal
reward
— I don't like to say how much, precisely; but one thing I will
say, that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fifty thousand
francs to any one who could obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is
becoming
of more and more importance every day; and the reward has been lately
doubled.
If it were trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done."
"Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly,
between the
whiffs
of his meerschaum, "I really — think, G——, you have not exerted
yourself
— to the utmost in this matter. You might — do a little more, I think,
eh?"
"How? — in what way?'
"Why — puff, puff — you might — puff,
puff —
employ
counsel in the matter, eh? — puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the
story
they tell of Abernethy?"
"No; hang Abernethy!"
"To be sure! hang him and welcome.
But, once upon
a time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of spunging upon this
Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, [page
50:] an ordinary conversation in a private company, he
insinuated
his case to the physician, as that of an imaginary individual.
" 'We will suppose,' said the miser,
'that his
symptoms
are such and such; now, doctor, what would you have directed
him
to take?'
" 'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice,
to be sure.' "
"But," said the Prefect, a little
discomposed, "I
am perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would
really give fifty thousand francs, every centime
of it,
to
any one who would aid me in the matter."
"In that case," replied Dupin,
opening a drawer,
and producing a check-book, "you may as well fill me up a check for the
amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter."
I was astounded. The Prefect appeared
absolutely
thunder-stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and
motionless,
looking incredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that
seemed
starting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in
some
measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares,
finally
filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and handed it
across
the table to Dupin. The latter examined it carefully and deposited it
in
his pocket-book; then, unlocking an escritoire, took thence a
letter
and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect
agony
of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its
contents,
and then, scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at length
unceremoniously
from the room and from the house, without having uttered a solitary
syllable
since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check.
When he had gone, my friend entered
into some
explanations.
"The Parisian police," he said, "are
exceedingly
able in their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and
thoroughly
versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand.
Thus,
when G—— detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the Hotel
D——, I felt entire confidence [page 51:] in his
having
made a satisfactory investigation — so far as his labors extended."
"So far as his labors extended?" said
I.
"Yes," said Dupin. "The measures
adopted were not
only the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection.
Had
the letter been deposited within the range of their search, these
fellows
would, beyond a question, have found it."
I merely laughed — but he seemed
quite serious in
all that he said.
"The measures, then," he continued, "
were good
in
their kind, and well executed; their defect lay in their being
inapplicable
to the case, and to the man. A certain set of highly ingenious
resources
are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly
adapts his designs. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too
shallow,
for the matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than
he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in
the
game of 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is
simple,
and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of
these
toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If the
guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy
to
whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he had some
principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation and
admeasurement
of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is
his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'are they even or
odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'odd,' and loses; but upon the second
trial
he wins, for he then says to himself, 'the simpleton had them even upon
the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make
him
have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd;' — he
guesses
odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree above the first, he would
have reasoned thus: 'This fellow finds that in the first instance I
guessed
odd, and, in the second, he will propose to himself, upon the first
impulse,
a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but
then
a second [page 52:] thought will suggest that this
is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting it
even
as before. I will therefore guess even;' — he guesses even, and wins.
Now
this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows termed
'lucky,'
— what, in its last analysis, is it?"
"It is merely," I said, "an
identification of the
reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent."
"It is," said Dupin; "and, upon
inquiring of the
boy by what means he effected the thorough identification in
which
his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When I wish to
find
out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or
what are his thoughts at the moment, I fashion the expression of my
face,
as accurately as possible, in accordance with the expression of his,
and
then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart,
as if to match or correspond with the expression.' This response of the
schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has
been
attributed to Rochefoucault, to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to
Campanella."
"And the identification," I said, "of
the
reasoner's
intellect with that of his opponent, depends, if I understand you
aright,
upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellect is admeasured."
"For its practical value it depends
upon this,"
replied
Dupin; "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by
default
of this identification, and, secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather
through non-admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are
engaged.
They consider only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in
searching
for anything hidden, advert only to the modes in which they
would
have hidden it. They are right in this much — that their own ingenuity
is a faithful representative of that of the
mass; but when the cunning
of the individual felon is diverse in character from their own, the
felon
foils them, of course. This always happens when it is above their own,
and very usually when it is below. They have no variation of principle
in their investigations; at best, [page 53:] when
urged
by some unusual emergency — by some extraordinary reward — they extend
or exaggerate their old modes of practice, without touching
their
principles. What, for example, in this case of D——, has been done to
vary
the principle of action? What is all this boring, and probing, and
sounding,
and scrutinizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the
building
into registered square inches — what is it all but an exaggeration of
the application of the one principle or set of principles of
search,
which are based upon the one set of notions regarding human ingenuity,
to which the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been
accustomed?
Do you not see he has taken it for granted that all men proceed
to conceal a letter, — not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a
chair-leg
— but, at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or corner
suggested
by the same tenor of thought which would urge a man to secrete a letter
in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg? And do you not see also, that
such recherches nooks for concealment are adapted only
for ordinary
occasions,
and would be adopted only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of
concealment, a disposal of the article concealed — a disposal of it in
this recherché manner, — is, in the very first instance,
presumed and presumable; and thus its discovery depends, not at all
upon
the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, patience, and
determination
of the seekers; and where the case is of importance — or, what amounts
to the same thing in the policial eyes, when the reward is of
magnitude,
— the qualities in question have never been known to fail. You
will
now understand what I meant in suggesting that, had the purloined
letter
been hidden any where within the limits of the Prefect's examination —
in other words, had the principle of its concealment been comprehended
within the principles of the Prefect — its discovery would have been a
matter altogether beyond question. This functionary, however, has been
thoroughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat lies in the
supposition
that the Minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet.
All fools are poets; this the Prefect [page 54:] feels;
and he is merely guilty of a non distributio medii in thence
inferring
that all poets are fools."
"But is this really the poet?" I
asked. "There
are
two brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in letters. The
Minister I believe has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus.
He is a mathematician, and no poet."
"You are mistaken; I know him well;
he is both.
As
poet and mathematician, he would reason well; as poet,
prfoundly;
as mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus
would
have been at the mercy of the Prefect."
"You surprise me," I said, "by these
opinions,
which
have been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean to
set
at naught the well-digested idea of centuries. The mathematical reason
has been long regarded as the reason par excellence."
" 'Il y a à parièr,'
"
replied
Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, " 'que toute idée publique, toute
convention reçue est une sottise, car elle a convenue au plus
grand
nombre.' The mathematicians, I grant you, have done their best to
promulgate
the popular error to which you allude, and which is none the less an
error
for its promulgation as truth. With an art worthy a better cause, for
example,
they have insinuated the term 'analysis' into application to algebra.
The
French are the originators of this particular deception; but if a term
is of any importance — if words derive any value from applicability —
then
'analysis' conveys 'algebra' about as much as, in Latin, 'ambitus'
implies 'ambition,' 'religio' 'religion,' or 'homines honesti,'
a set of honorable men."
"You have a quarrel on hand, I see,"
said I,
"with
some of the algebraists of Paris; but proceed."
"I dispute the availability, and thus
the value,
of that reason which is cultivated in any especial form other than the
abstractly logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason educed by
mathematical
study. The mathematics are the science of form and quantity;
mathematical
reasoning is merely logic applied to [page 55:]
observation
upon form and quantity. The great error lies in supposing that even the
truths of what is called pure algebra, are abstract or general
truths.
And this error is so egregious that I am confounded at the universality
with which it has been received. Mathematical axioms are not
axioms
of general truth. What is true of relation — of form and
quantity
— is often grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this
latter
science it is very usually untrue that the aggregated parts are
equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiom fails. In the
consideration
of motive it fails; for two motives, each of a given value, have not,
necessarily,
a value when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There are
numerous other mathematical truths which are only truths within the
limits
of relation. But the mathematician argues, from his finite
truths,
through habit, as if they were of an absolutely general applicability —
as the world indeed imagines them to be. Bryant, in his very learned
'Mythology,'
mentions an analogous source of error, when he says that 'although the
Pagan fables are not believed, yet we forget ourselves continually, and
make inferences from them as existing realities.' With the algebraist,
however, who are Pagans themselves, the 'Pagan fables' are
believed,
and the inferences are made, not so much through lapse of memory, as
through
an unaccountable addling of the brains. In short, I never yet
encountered
the mere mathematician who could be trusted out of equal roots, or one
who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faith that x2+px
was absolutely and unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of
these
gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that you believe
occasions
may occur where x2+px
is not altogether equal to q, and, having made
him
understand
what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, for,
beyond
doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down.
"I mean to say," continued Dupin,
while I merely
laughed at his last observations, "that if the Minister had been no
more
than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been under no necessity of
giving me this check. Had he no more than [page 56:]
a poet, I think it probable that he would have foiled us all. I knew
him,
however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measures were adapted
to
his capacity, with reference to the circumstances by which he was
surrounded.
I knew him as a courtier, too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a
man, I considered, could not fail to be aware of the ordinary policial
modes of action. He could not have failed to anticipate — and events
have
proved that he did not fail to anticipate — the waylayings to which he
was subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret
investigations
of his premises. His frequent absences from home at night, which were
hailed
by the Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses,
to afford opportunity for thorough search to the police, and thus the
sooner
to impress them with the conviction to which G——, in fact, did finally
arrive
— the conviction that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt,
also,
that the whole train of thought, which I was at some pains in detailing
to you just now, concerning the invariable principle of policial action
in searches for articles concealed — I felt that this whole train of
thought
would necessarily pass through the mind of the Minister. It would
imperatively
lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment. He
could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that the most
intricate
and remote recess of his hotel would be as open as his commonest
closets
to the eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of
the
Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a matter of
course,
to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to it as a matter of
choice. You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed
when I suggested, upon our first interview, that it was just possible
this
mystery troubled him so much on account of its being so very
self-evident."
"Yes," said I, "I remember his
merriment well. I
really thought he would have fallen into convulsions."
"The material world," continued
Dupin, "abounds
with
very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color of truth
has
been given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile, may be
made
to strengthen an argument, as well as to [page 57:]
embellish a description. The principle of the vis inertiæ,
for example, with the amount of momentum proporionate with it and
consequent
upon it, seems to be identical in physics and metaphysics. It is not
more
true in the former, that a large body is with more difficulty set in
motion
than a smaller one, and that its subsequent impetus is
commensurate
with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the
vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, and more eventful
in their movements than those of inferior grade, are yet the less
readily
moved, and more embarrassed and full of hesitation in the first few
steps
of their progress. Again: have you ever noticed which of the street
signs,
over the shop-doors, are the most attractive of attention?"
"I have never given the matter a
thought," I
said.
"There is a game of puzzles," he
resumed, "which
is played upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a
given
word — the name of town, river, state or empire — any word, in short,
upon
the motley and perplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game
generally
seeks to embarrass his opponents by giving them the most minutely
lettered
names; but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large
characters,
from one end of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely
lettered
signs and placards of the street, escape observation by dint of being
excessively
obvious; and here the physical oversight is precisely analogous with
the
moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed
those
considerations which are too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident.
But this is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath the
understanding
of the Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or possible, that
the
Minister had deposited the letter immediately beneath the nose of the
whole
world, by way of best preventing any portion of that world from
perceiving
it.
"But the more I reflected upon the
daring,
dashing,
and discriminating ingenuity of D——; upon the fact that the document
must
always have been at hand, if he intended to use it to good
purpose;
and upon the decisive evidence, obtained by [page 58:]
the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the limits of that
dignitary's
ordinary search — the more satisfied I became that, to conceal this
letter,
the Minister had resorted to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient
of not attempting to conceal it at all.
"Full of these ideas, I prepared
myself with a
pair
of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at
the Ministerial hotel. I found D—— at home, yawning, lounging, and
dawdling,
as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of ennui.
He
is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now alive — but that
is only when nobody sees him.
"To be even with him, I complained of
my weak
eyes,
and lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which I
cautiously
and thoroughly surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly intent
only
upon the conversation of my host.
"I paid especial attention to a large
writing-table
near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly, some miscellaneous
letters
and other papers, with one or two musical instruments and a few books.
Here, however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing
to excite particular suspicion.
"At length my eyes, in going the
circuit of the
room,
fell upon a trumpery fillagree card-rack of pasteboard, that hung
dangling
by a dirty blue riband, from a little brass knob just beneath the
middle
of the mantel-piece. In this rack, which had three or four
compartments,
were five or six visiting cards and a solitary letter. This last was
much
soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle — as
if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as
worthless,
had been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal,
bearing the D—— cipher very conspicuously, and was addressed,
in
a diminutive female hand, to D——, the minister, himself. It was thrust
carelessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into one of the
uppermost
divisions of the rack.
"No sooner had I glanced at this
letter, than I
concluded
it to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to all
appearance,
radically different from the one of which the Prefect had read us so
minute
a description. Here the seal was large [page 59:]
and
black, with the D—— cipher; there it was small and red, with the ducal
arms of the S—— family. Here, the address, to the Minister, was
diminutive
and feminine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage,
was
markedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a point of
correspondence.
But, then, the radicalness of these differences, which was
excessive;
the dirt; the soiled and torn condition of the paper, so inconsistent
with
the true methodical habits of D——, and so suggestive of a
design
to delude the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of the
document;
these things, together with the hyper-obtrusive situation of this
document,
full in the view of every visiter, and thus exactly in accordance with
the conclusions to which I had previously arrived; these things, I say,
were strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one who came with the
intention
to suspect.
"I protracted my visit as long as
possible, and,
while I maintained a most animated discussion with the Minister, upon a
topic which I knew well had never failed to interest and excite him, I
kept my attention really riveted upon the letter. In this examination,
I committed to memory its external appearance and arrangement in the
rack;
and also fell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever
trivial
doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of the paper,
I observed them to be more chafed than seemed necessary. They
presented
the broken appearance which is manifested when a stiff paper,
having
been once folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed
direction,
in the same creases or edges which had formed the original fold. This
discovery
was sufficient. It was clear to me that the letter had been turned, as
a glove, inside out, re-directed, and re-sealed. I bade the Minister
good
morning, and took my departure at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon
the
table.
"The next morning I called for the
snuff-box,
when
we resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding day. While
thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a pistol, was heard
immediately
beneath the windows of the hotel, and [page 60:]
was
succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and the shoutings of a
terrified
mob. D—— rushed to a casement, threw it open, and looked out. In the
meantime,
I stepped to the card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and
replaced
it by a fac-simile, which I had carefully prepared at my
lodgings
— imitating the D—— cipher, very readily, by means of a seal formed of
bread.
"The disturbance in the street had
been
occasioned
by the frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it among a
crowd of women and children. It proved, however, to have been without
ball,
and the fellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard.
When
he had gone, D—— came from the window, whither I had followed him
immediately
upon securing the object in view. Soon afterwards I bade him farewell.
The pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay."
"But what purpose had you," I asked,
"in
replacing
the letter by a fac-simile? Would it not have been better, at
the
first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed?"
"D——," replied Dupin, "is a desperate
man, and a
man of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted to his
interests. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest, I should never have
left the Ministerial presence alive. The good people of Paris would
have
heard of me no more. But I had an object apart from these
considerations.
You know my political prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a
partisan
of the lady concerned. For eighteen months the Minister has had her in
his power. She has now him in hers — since, being unaware that the
letter
is not in his possession, he will proceed with his exactions as if it
was.
Thus will he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his political
destruction.
His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate than awkward. It is all
very well to talk about the facilis
descensus Averni; but in
all
kinds of climbing, as Catalini [[Catalani]] said of singing, it is far
more easy to get up than to come down. In the present instance I have
no
sympathy — at least no pity — for him who descends. He is that monstrum
horrendum, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, however, [page
61:] that I should like very well to know the precise
character
of his thoughts, when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a
certain
personage,' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left for him in
the card-rack."
"How? did you put any thing
particular in it?"
"Why — it did not seem altogether
right to leave
the interior blank — that would have been insulting. To be sure, D——,
at
Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite
good-humoredly,
that I should remember. So, as I knew he would feel some curiosity in
regard
to the identity of the person who had outwitted him, I thought it a
pity
not to give him a clue. He is well acquainted with my MS., and I just
copied
into the middle of the blank sheet the words —
" ' —— Un dessein si funeste,
S'il n'est digne d'Atrée, est digne de Thyeste. |
They are to be found in Crébillon's 'Atrée.' " |
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