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It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an
unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic truffe formed not
the least important item, and was sitting alone in the dining-room
with my feet upon the fender and at my elbow a small table which I
had rolled up to the fire, and upon which were some apologies for
dessert, with some miscellaneous bottles of wine, spirit, and
liqueur. In the morning I had been reading Glover's Leonidas,
Wilkie's Epigoniad, Lamartine's Pilgrimage, Barlow's Columbiad,
Tuckerman's Sicily, and Griswold's Curiosities, I am willing to
confess, therefore, that I now felt a little stupid. I made effort
to arouse myself by frequent aid of Lafitte, and all failing, I
betook myself to a stray newspaper in despair. Having carefully
perused the column of "Houses to let," and the column of "Dogs
lost," and then the columns of "Wives and apprentices runaway," I
attacked with great resolution the editorial matter, and reading it
from beginning to end without understanding a syllable, conceived
the possibility of its being Chinese, and so re-read it from the end
to the beginning, but with no more satisfactory result. I was about
throwing away in disgust
This folio of four pages, happy work
Which not even critics criticise, when I felt my attention somewhat
aroused by the paragraph which follows:
"The avenues to death are numerous and strange. A London paper
mentions the decease of a person from a singular cause. He was
playing at 'puff the dart,' which is played with a long needle
inserted in some worsted, and blown at a target through a tin tube.
He placed the needle at the wrong end of the tube, and drawing his
breath strongly to puff the dart forward with force, drew the needle
into his throat. It entered the lungs, and in a few days killed
him."
Upon seeing this I fell into a great rage, without exactly knowing
why. "This thing," I exclaimed, "is a contemptible falsehood—a poor
hoax—the lees of the invention of some pitiable penny-a-liner, of
some wretched concocter of accidents in Cocaigne. These fellows
knowing the extravagant gullibility of the age set their wits to
work in the imagination of improbable possibilities, of odd
accidents as they term them, but to a reflecting intellect (like
mine, I added, in parenthesis, putting my forefinger unconsciously
to the side of my nose), to a contemplative understanding such as I
myself possess, it seems evident at once that the marvelous increase
of late in these 'odd accidents' is by far the oddest accident of
all. For my own part, I intend to believe nothing henceforward that
has anything of the 'singular' about it."
"Mein Gott, den, vat a vool you bees for dat!" replied one of the
most remarkable voices I ever heard. At first I took it for a
rumbling in my ears—such as a man sometimes experiences when getting
very drunk—but upon second thought, I considered the sound as more
nearly resembling that which proceeds from an empty barrel beaten
with a big stick; and, in fact, this I should have concluded it to
be, but for the articulation of the syllables and words. I am by no
means naturally nervous, and the very few glasses of Lafitte which I
had sipped served to embolden me a little, so that I felt nothing of
trepidation, but merely uplifted my eyes with a leisurely movement
and looked carefully around the room for the intruder. I could not,
however, perceive any one at all.
"Humph!" resumed the voice as I continued my survey, "you mus pe so
dronk as de pig den for not zee me as I zit here at your zide."
Hereupon I bethought me of looking immediately before my nose, and
there, sure enough, confronting me at the table sat a personage
nondescript, although not altogether indescribable. His body was a
wine-pipe or a rum puncheon, or something of that character, and had
a truly Falstaffian air. In its nether extremity were inserted two
kegs, which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs. For arms
there dangled from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably
long bottles with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I
saw the monster possessed of was one of those Hessian canteens which
resemble a large snuff-box with a hole in the middle of the lid.
This canteen (with a funnel on its top like a cavalier cap slouched
over the eyes) was set on edge upon the puncheon, with the hole
toward myself; and through this hole, which seemed puckered up like
the mouth of a very precise old maid, the creature was emitting
certain rumbling and grumbling noises which he evidently intended
for intelligible talk.
"I zay," said he, "you mos pe dronk as de pig, vor zit dare and not
zee me zit ere; and I zay, doo, you mos pe pigger vool as de goose,
vor to dispelief vat iz print in de print. 'Tiz de troof—dat it iz—ebery
vord ob it."
"Who are you, pray?" said I with much dignity, although somewhat
puzzled; "how did you get here? and what is it you are talking
about?"
"As vor ow I com'd ere," replied the figure, "dat iz none of your
pizziness; and as vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vat I
tink proper; and as vor who I be, vy dat is de very ting I com'd
here for to let you zee for yourself."
"You are a drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell and
order my footman to kick you into the street."
"He! he! he!" said the fellow, "hu! hu! hu! dat you can't do."
"Can't do!" said I, "what do you mean? I can't do what?"
"Ring de pell," he replied, attempting a grin with his little
villainous mouth.
Upon this I made an effort to get up in order to put my threat into
execution, but the ruffian just reached across the table very
deliberately, and hitting me a tap on the forehead with the neck of
one of the long bottles, knocked me back into the armchair from
which I had half arisen. I was utterly astounded, and for a moment
was quite at a loss what to do. In the meantime he continued his
talk.
"You zee," said he, "it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you shall
know who I pe. Look at me! zee! I am te Angel ov te Odd."
"And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always under
the impression that an angel had wings."
"Te wing!" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein
Gott! do you take me for a shicken?"
"No—oh, no!" I replied, much alarmed; "you are no chicken—certainly
not."
"Well, den, zit still and pehabe yourself, or I'll rap you again mid
me vist. It iz te shicken ab te wing, und te owl ab te wing, und te
imp ab te wing, und te head-teuffel ab te wing. Te angel ab not te
wing, and I am te Angel ov te Odd."
"And your business with me at present is—is——"
"My pizziness!" ejaculated the thing, "vy vat a low-bred puppy you
mos pe vor to ask a gentleman und an angel apout his pizziness!"
This language was rather more than I could bear, even from an angel;
so, plucking up courage, I seized a salt-cellar which lay within
reach, and hurled it at the head of the intruder. Either he dodged,
however, or my aim was inaccurate; for all I accomplished was the
demolition of the crystal which protected the dial of the clock upon
the mantelpiece. As for the Angel, he evinced his sense of my
assault by giving me two or three hard, consecutive raps upon the
forehead as before. These reduced me at once to submission, and I am
almost ashamed to confess that, either through pain or vexation,
there came a few tears into my eyes.
"Mein Gott!" said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened at
my distress; "mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry.
You mos not trink it so strong—you mos put te water in te wine.
Here, trink dis, like a good veller, and don't gry now—don't!"
Hereupon the Angel of the Odd replenished my goblet (which was about
a third full of port) with a colorless fluid that he poured from one
of his hand-bottles. I observed that these bottles had labels about
their necks, and that these labels were inscribed "Kirschenwässer."
The considerate kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little
measure; and, aided by the water with which he diluted my port more
than once, I at length regained sufficient temper to listen to his
very extraordinary discourse. I cannot pretend to recount all that
he told me, but I gleaned from what he said that he was a genius who
presided over the contretemps of mankind, and whose business it was
to bring about the odd accidents which are continually astonishing
the skeptic. Once or twice, upon my venturing to express my total
incredulity in respect to his pretensions, he grew very angry
indeed, so that at length I considered it the wiser policy to say
nothing at all, and let him have his own way. He talked on,
therefore, at great length, while I merely leaned back in my chair
with my eyes shut, and amused myself with munching raisins and
filiping the stems about the room. But, by and by, the Angel
suddenly construed this behavior of mine into contempt. He arose in
a terrible passion, slouched his funnel down over his eyes, swore a
vast oath, uttered a threat of some character, which I did not
precisely comprehend, and finally made me a low bow and departed,
wishing me, in the language of the archbishop in "Gil Bias,"
beaucoup de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens.
His departure afforded me relief. The very few glasses of Lafitte
that I had sipped had the effect of rendering me drowsy, and I felt
inclined to take a nap of some fifteen or twenty minutes, as is my
custom after dinner. At six I had an appointment of consequence,
which it was quite indispensable that I should keep. The policy of
insurance for my dwelling-house had expired the day before; and some
dispute having arisen it was agreed that, at six, I should meet the
board of directors of the company and settle the terms of a renewal.
Glancing upward at the clock on the mantelpiece (for I felt too
drowsy to take out my watch), I had the pleasure to find that I had
still twenty-five minutes to spare. It was half-past five; I could
easily walk to the insurance office in five minutes; and my usual
siestas had never been known to exceed five-and-twenty. I felt
sufficiently safe, therefore, and composed myself to my slumbers
forthwith.
Having completed them to my satisfaction, I again looked toward the
timepiece, and was half inclined to believe in the possibility of
odd accidents when I found that, instead of my ordinary fifteen or
twenty minutes, I had been dozing only three; for it still wanted
seven-and-twenty of the appointed hour. I betook myself again to my
nap, and at length a second time awoke, when, to my utter amazement,
it still wanted twenty-seven minutes of six. I jumped up to examine
the clock, and found that it had ceased running. My watch informed
me that it was half-past seven; and, of course, having slept two
hours, I was too late for my appointment. "It will make no
difference," I said: "I can call at the office in the morning and
apologize; in the meantime what can be the matter with the clock?"
Upon examining it I discovered that one of the raisin stems which I
had been filiping about the room during the discourse of the Angel
of the Odd had flown through the fractured crystal, and lodging,
singularly enough, in the keyhole, with an end projecting outward,
had thus arrested the revolution of the minute hand.
"Ah!" said I, "I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A
natural accident, such as will happen now and then!"
I gave the matter no further consideration, and at my usual hour
retired to bed. Here, having placed a candle upon a reading stand at
the bed head, and having made an attempt to peruse some pages of the
Omnipresence of the Deity, I unfortunately fell asleep in less than
twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was.
My dreams were terrifically disturbed by visions of the Angel of the
Odd. Methought he stood at the foot of the couch, drew aside the
curtains, and in the hollow, detestable tones of a rum puncheon,
menaced me with the bitterest vengeance for the contempt with which
I had treated him. He concluded a long harangue by taking off his
funnel-cap, inserting the tube into my gullet, and thus deluging me
with an ocean of Kirschenwässer, which he poured in a continuous
flood, from one of the long-necked bottles that stood him instead of
an arm. My agony was at length insufferable, and I awoke just in
time to perceive that a rat had run off with the lighted candle from
the stand, but not in season to prevent his making his escape with
it through the hole, Very soon a strong, suffocating odor assailed
my nostrils; the house, I clearly perceived, was on fire. In a few
minutes the blaze broke forth with violence, and in an incredibly
brief period the entire building was wrapped in flames. All egress
from my chamber, except through a window, was cut off. The crowd,
however, quickly procured and raised a long ladder. By means of this
I was descending rapidly, and in apparent safety, when a huge hog,
about whose rotund stomach, and indeed about whose whole air and
physiognomy, there was something which reminded me of the Angel of
the Odd—when this hog, I say, which hitherto had been quietly
slumbering in the mud, took it suddenly into his head that his left
shoulder needed scratching, and could find no more convenient
rubbing-post than that afforded by the foot of the ladder. In an
instant I was precipitated, and had the misfortune to fracture my
arm.
This accident, with the loss of my insurance, and with the more
serious loss of my hair, the whole of which had been singed off by
the fire, predisposed me to serious impressions, so that finally I
made up my mind to take a wife. There was a rich widow disconsolate
for the loss of her seventh husband, and to her wounded spirit I
offered the balm of my vows. She yielded a reluctant consent to my
prayers. I knelt at her feet in gratitude and adoration. She blushed
and bowed her luxuriant tresses into close contact with those
supplied me temporarily by Grandjean. I know not how the
entanglement took place but so it was. I arose with a shining pate,
wigless; she in disdain and wrath, half-buried in alien hair. Thus
ended my hopes of the widow by an accident which could not have been
anticipated, to be sure, but which the natural sequence of events
had brought about.
Without despairing, however, I undertook the siege of a less
implacable heart. The fates were again propitious for a brief
period, but again a trivial incident interfered. Meeting my
betrothed in an avenue thronged with the elite of the city, I was
hastening to greet her with one of my best considered bows, when a
small particle of some foreign matter lodging in the corner of my
eye rendered me for the moment completely blind. Before I could
recover my sight, the lady of my love had disappeared—irreparably
affronted at what she chose to consider my premeditated rudeness in
passing her by ungreeted. While I stood bewildered at the suddenness
of this accident (which might have happened, nevertheless, to any
one under the sun), and while I still continued incapable of sight,
I was accosted by the Angel of the Odd, who proffered me his aid
with a civility which I had no reason to expect. He examined my
disordered eye with much gentleness and skill, informed me that I
had a drop in it, and (whatever a "drop" was) took it out, and
afforded me relief.
I now considered it high time to die (since fortune had so
determined to persecute me), and accordingly made my way to the
nearest river. Here, divesting myself of my clothes (for there is no
reason why we cannot die as we were born), I threw myself headlong
into the current; the sole witness of my fate being a solitary crow
that had been seduced into the eating of brandy-saturated corn, and
so had staggered away from his fellows. No sooner had I entered the
water than this bird took it into his head to fly away with the most
indispensable portion of my apparel. Postponing, therefore, for the
present, my suicidal design, I just slipped my nether extremities
into the sleeves of my coat, and betook myself to a pursuit of the
felon with all the nimbleness which the case required and its
circumstances would admit. But my evil destiny attended me still. As
I ran at full speed, with my nose up in the atmosphere, and intent
only upon the purloiner of my property, I suddenly perceived that my
feet rested no longer upon terra firma; the fact is, I had thrown
myself over a precipice, and should inevitably have been dashed to
pieces but for my good fortune in grasping the end of a long
guide-rope, which depended from a passing balloon.
As soon as I sufficiently recovered my senses to comprehend the
terrific predicament in which I stood, or rather hung, I exerted all
the power of my lungs to make that predicament known to the aeronaut
overhead. But for a long time I exerted myself in vain. Either the
fool could not, or the villain would not perceive me. Meanwhile the
machine rapidly soared, while my strength even more rapidly failed.
I was soon upon the point of resigning myself to my fate, and
dropping quietly into the sea, when my spirits were suddenly revived
by hearing a hollow voice from above, which seemed to be lazily
humming an opera air. Looking up, I perceived the Angel of the Odd.
He was leaning, with his arms folded, over the rim of the car; and
with a pipe in his mouth, at which he puffed leisurely, seemed to be
upon excellent terms with himself and the universe. I was too much
exhausted to speak, so I merely regarded him with an imploring air.
For several minutes, although he looked me full in the face, he said
nothing. At length, removing carefully his meerschaum from the right
to the left corner of his mouth, he condescended to speak.
"Who pe you," he asked, "und what der teuffel you pe do dare?"
To this piece of impudence, cruelty, and affectation, I could reply
only by ejaculating the monosyllable "Help!"
"Elp!" echoed the ruffian, "not I. Dare iz te pottle—elp yourself,
und pe tam'd!"
With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwässer,
which, dropping precisely upon the crown of my head, caused me to
imagine that my brains were entirely knocked out. Impressed with
this idea I was about to relinquish my hold and give up the ghost
with a good grace, when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, who
bade me hold on.
"'Old on!" he said: "don't pe in te 'urry—don't. Will you pe take de
odder pottle, or 'ave you pe got zober yet, and come to your zenzes?"
I made haste, hereupon, to nod my head twice—once in the negative,
meaning thereby that I would prefer not taking the other bottle at
present; and once in the affirmative, intending thus to imply that I
was sober and had positively come to my senses. By these means I
somewhat softened the Angel.
"Und you pelief, ten," he inquired, "at te last? You pelief, ten, in
te possibility of te odd?"
I again nodded my head in assent.
"Und you ave pelief in me, te Angel of te Odd?"
I nodded again.
"Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool?"
I nodded once more.
"Put your right hand into your left preeches pocket, ten, in token
ov your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd."
This thing, for very obvious reasons, I found it quite impossible to
do. In the first place, my left arm had been broken in my fall from
the ladder, and therefore, had I let go my hold with the right hand
I must have let go altogether. In the second place, I could have no
breeches until I came across the crow. I was therefore obliged, much
to my regret, to shake my head in the negative, intending thus to
give the Angel to understand that I found it inconvenient, just at
that moment, to comply with his very reasonable demand! No sooner,
however, had I ceased shaking my head than—
"Go to der teuffel, ten!" roared the Angel of the Odd.
In pronouncing these words he drew a sharp knife across the
guide-rope by which I was suspended, and as we then happened to be
precisely over my own house (which, during my peregrinations, had
been handsomely rebuilt), it so occurred that I tumbled headlong
down the ample chimney and alit upon the dining-room hearth.
Upon coming to my senses (for the fall had very thoroughly stunned
me) I found it about four o'clock in the morning. I lay outstretched
where I had fallen from the balloon. My head groveled in the ashes
of an extinguished fire, while my feet reposed upon the wreck of a
small table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a miscellaneous
dessert, intermingled with a newspaper, some broken glasses and
shattered bottles, and an empty jug of the Schiedam Kirschenwässer.
Thus revenged himself the Angel of the Odd.
The Angel of the Odd
Story
A Horror Story
by
Edgar Allen Poe
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