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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 himself a
demon； listen to his diabolical eloquence of horror！〃
Stanton listened； and shuddered 。 。
。 。 。 。 。
〃Escapeescape for your life；〃 cried the tempter； 〃break forth
into life； liberty； and sanity。 Your social happiness； your
intellectual powers； your immortal interests； perhaps； depend on
the choice of this moment。There is the door； and the key is in my
hand。Choosechoose！〃〃And how comes the key in your hand？ and
what is the condition of my liberation？〃 said Stanton。
。 。 。 。 。
The explanation occupied several pages； which； to the torture of
young Melmoth； were wholly illegible。 It seemed； however； to have
been rejected by Stanton with the utmost rage and horror； for
Melmoth at last made out；〃Begone； monster； demon！begone to your
native place。 Even this mansion of horror trembles to contain you；
its walls sweat； and its floors quiver； while you tread them。〃
。 。 。 。 。
The conclusion of this extraordinary manuscript was in such a
state； that； in fifteen moldy and crumbling pages； Melmoth could
hardly make out that number of lines。 No antiquarian； unfolding
with trembling hand the calcined leaves of an Herculaneum
manuscript； and hoping to discover some lost lines of the Aeneis in
Virgil's own autograph； or at least some unutterable abomination of
Petronius or Martial； happily elucidatory of the mysteries of the
Spintriae； or the orgies of the Phallic worshipers； ever pored with
more luckless diligence； or shook a head of more hopeless
despondency over his task。 He could but just make out what tended
rather to excite than assuage that feverish thirst of curiosity
which was consuming his inmost soul。 The manuscript told no more
of Melmoth； but mentioned that Stanton was finally liberated from
his confinement；that his pursuit of Melmoth was incessant and
indefatigable；that he himself allowed it to be a species of
insanity；that while he acknowledged it to be the master passion；
he also felt it the master torment of his life。 He again visited
the Continent； returned to England；pursued； inquired； traced；
bribed； but in vain。 The being whom he had met thrice； under
circumstances so extraordinary； he was fated never to encounter
again IN HIS LIFETIME。 At length； discovering that he had been
born in Ireland； he resolved to go there；went； and found his
pursuit again fruitless； and his inquiries unanswered。 The family
knew nothing of him； or at least what they knew or imagined； they
prudently refused to disclose to a stranger； and Stanton departed
unsatisfied。 It is remarkable； that he too； as appeared from many
half…obliterated pages of the manuscript； never disclosed to mortal
the particulars of their conversation in the madhouse； and the
slightest allusion to it threw him into fits of rage and gloom
equally singular and alarming。 He left the manuscript； however； in
the hands of the family； possibly deeming； from their incuriosity；
their apparent indifference to their relative； or their obvious
unacquaintance with reading of any kind； manuscript or books； his
deposit would be safe。 He seems； in fact； to have acted like men；
who； in distress at sea； intrust their letters and dispatches to a
bottle sealed； and commit it to the waves。 The last lines of the
manuscript that were legible； were sufficiently extraordinary。 。 。
。
。 。 。 。 。
〃I have sought him everywhere。The desire of meeting him once more
is become as a burning fire within me；it is the necessary
condition of my existence。 I have vainly sought him at last in
Ireland； of which I find he is a native。Perhaps our final meeting
will be in。 。 。 。
。 。 。 。 。
Such was the conclusion of the manuscript which Melmoth found in
his uncle's closet。 When he had finished it； he sunk down on the
table near which he had been reading it； his face hid in his folded
arms； his senses reeling； his mind in a mingled state of stupor and
excitement。 After a few moments； he raised himself with an
involuntary start； and saw the picture gazing at him from its
canvas。 He was within ten inches of it as he sat； and the
proximity appeared increased by the strong light that was
accidentally thrown on it； and its being the only representation of
a human figure in the room。 Melmoth felt for a moment as if he
were about to receive an explanation from its lips。
He gazed on it in return；all was silent in the house；they were
alone together。 The illusion subsided at length： and as the mind
rapidly passes to opposite extremes； he remembered the injunction
of his uncle to destroy the portrait。 He seized it；his hand
shook at first； but the moldering canvas appeared to assist him in
the effort。 He tore it from the frame with a cry half terrific；
half triumphant；it fell at his feet； and he shuddered as it fell。
He expected to hear some fearful sounds； some unimaginable
breathings of prophetic horror； follow this act of sacrilege； for
such he felt it； to tear the portrait of his ancestor from his
native walls。 He paused and listened：〃There w