IV. THE GOLD-BUG (1843)

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849)

[_Setting_. Sullivan's Island is at the entrance of Charleston harbor, just east of Charleston, South Carolina. It is the site of Fort Moultrie, where Poe served as a private soldier in Battery H of the First Artillery, United States Army, from November, 1827, to November, 1828. The atmosphere of the place in Poe's time is well preserved, but no such beetle as the gold-bug has been discovered. Poe may have found a hint for his story in the wreck of the old brigantine _Cid Campeador_ off the coast of South Carolina in 1745, the affidavits of the burying of the treasure being still preserved in the Probate Court Records of Charleston.

_Plot_. "The Gold-Bug" is recognized as one of the world's greatest short stories and marks a distinct advance in short-story structure. The plot is divided into two parts, which we may call mystery and solution, or complication and explication, or rise and fall. The second part begins with the short paragraph on page 91, beginning "When, at length, we had concluded our examination," etc. Notice how skillfully the interest is preserved and even heightened as the plot pa.s.ses from the romantic action of part one to the subtle exposition of part two. These two parts may be said to represent the two sides of Poe's genius, the imaginative or poetical, and the intellectual or scientific. The treasure-trove is the symbol of the first, the cryptogram of the second.

Stories had been written about buried treasures and about cryptograms before 1843, but the two interests had never before been combined. Poe's example, however, has borne abundant fruit.

_Characters_. Poe's strength did not lie in the creation of character.

He is so intent on the development of the windings and unwindings of his story that the characters become mere puppets, originated and controlled by the needs of the plot. Jupiter deserves mention as one of the earliest attempts made by an American short-story writer to portray negro character. But Jupiter has been so far surpa.s.sed in breadth and reality by Joel Chandler Harris, Thomas Nelson Page, and a score of others as to be almost negligible in the count. In defense of Jupiter's barbarous lingo, which has been often criticized, it should be remembered that Poe intended him as a representative of the Gullah (or Gulla) dialect. "It is the negro dialect," says Joel Chandler Harris, "in its most primitive state--the 'Gullah' talk of some of the negroes on the Sea Islands being merely a confused and untranslatable mixture of English and African words."

William Legrand, though not a great or notable character in any way, is admirably fitted to do what is required of him in the story. Like Poe, he was solitary, proud, quick-tempered, and "subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy." He had also Poe's pa.s.sion for puzzles. Jupiter is hardly more than an awkward tool fashioned to display Legrand's a.n.a.lytic and directive genius; and the other character in the story, like Dr. Watson in Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories, is introduced merely to ask such questions as must be answered if the reader is to follow intelligently the unfolding of the plot. They are agents rather than characters.]

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!

He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.

"All in the Wrong"

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted during summer by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance.

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship--for there was much in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief amus.e.m.e.nts were gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the myrtles in quest of sh.e.l.ls or entomological specimens;--his collection of the latter might have been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young "Ma.s.sa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.

The winters in the lat.i.tude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks--my residence being at that time in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the facilities of pa.s.sage and repa.s.sage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and, getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.

Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else shall I term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with Jupiter's a.s.sistance, a _scarabaeus_ which he believed to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the morrow.

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of _scarabaei_ at the devil.

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G----, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing in creation!"

"What?--sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no!--the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color--about the size of a large hickory-nut--with two jet-black spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The _antennae_ are--"

"Dey aint _no_ tin in him, Ma.s.sa Will, I keep a tellin on you," here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a bug in my life."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that any reason for your letting the birds burn? The color"--here he turned to me--"is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant metallic l.u.s.tre than the scales emit--but of this you cannot judge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the shape."

Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer"; and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a sc.r.a.p of what I took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a low growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previous visits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this _is_ a strange _scarabaeus_, I must confess; new to me; never saw anything like it before--unless it was a skull, or a death's-head, which it more nearly resembles than anything else that has come under _my_ observation."

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand--"oh--yes--well, it has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth--and then the shape of the whole is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its personal appearance."

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw tolerably--_should_ do it at least--have had good masters, and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I; "this is a very pa.s.sable _skull_,--indeed, I may say that it is a very _excellent_ skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of physiology--and your _scarabaeus_ must be the queerest _scarabaeus_ in the world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit of superst.i.tion upon this hint. I presume you will call the bug _scarabaeus caput hominis_[*] or something of that kind--there are many similar t.i.tles in the Natural Histories. But where are the _antennae_ you spoke of?"

[* _Scarabaeus caput hominis_, "death's-head beetle."]

"The _antennae_!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the _antennae_. I made them as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume that is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them"; and I handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs had taken; his ill humor puzzled me--and as for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively _no antennae_, visible, and the whole _did_ bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face grew violently red--in another as excessively pale. For some minutes he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At length he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he made an anxious examination of the paper; turning it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in revery, from which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention to pa.s.s the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend.

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, ma.s.sa, him not so berry well as mought be."

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"

"Dar! dat's it!--him neber plain of notin--but him berry sick for all dat."

"_Very_ sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined to bed?"

"No, dat he aint!--he aint find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe pinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Ma.s.sa Will."

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking about.

You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"

"Why, ma.s.sa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de matter--Ma.s.sa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him--but den what make him go bout looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And then he keeps a syphon all de time--"

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate--de queerest figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib him d----d good beating when he did come--but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all--he look so berry poorly."

"Eh?--what?--ah, yes!--upon the whole I think you had better not be too severe with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter--he can't very well stand it--but can you form no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, ma.s.sa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant _since_ den--'t was _fore_ den I'm feared--'t was de berry day you was dare."

"How? what do you mean?"

"Why, ma.s.sa, I mean de bug--dare now."

"The what?"