Scanned, proofed and corrected from the original edition for your reading pleasure. (Worth every penny!)
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THE FATE OF THE VERY GREATEST
I have sometimes amused myself by endeavoring to fancy what would be the fate of an individual gifted, or rather accursed, with an intellect very far superior to that of his race. Of course, he would be conscious of his superiority; nor could he (if otherwise constituted as man is) help manifesting his consciousness. Thus he would make himself enemies at all points. And since his opinions and speculations would widely differ from those of all mankind— that he would be considered a madman is evident. How horribly painful such a condition! Hell could invent no greater torture than that of bring charged with abnormal weakness on account of being abnormally strong.
In like manner, nothing can be clearer than that a very generous spirit—truly feeling what all merely profess—must inevitably find itself misconceived in every direction—its motives misinterpreted.
—EDGAR ALLAN POE
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CONTENTS:
INTRODUCTION: The Life of Edgar Allan Poe
BERENICE
THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS PFAALL
MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE
THE ASSIGNATION
MORELLA
BON-BON
LIONIZING
THE DUC DE L'OMELETTE
SHADOW: A PARABLE
LOSS OF BREATH
KING PEST
METZENGERSTEIN
WILLIAM WILSON
A TALE OF JERUSALEM
FOUR BEASTS IN ONE
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP
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An excerpt from the beginning of:
The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall
By late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high state of philosophical excitement. Indeed, phenomena have there occurred of a nature so completely unexpected—so entirely novel—so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions—as to leave no doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears.
It appears that on the — — day of — — (I am not positive about the date), a vast crowd of people, for purposes not specifically mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Exchange in the well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm—unusually so for the season—there was hardly a breath of air stirring; and the multitude were in no bad humor at being now and then besprinkled with friendly showers of momentary duration, that fell from large white masses of cloud which chequered in a fitful manner the blue vault of the firmament. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but remarkable agitation became apparent in the assembly: the clattering of ten thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an instant afterward, ten thousand faces were upturned toward the heavens, ten thousand pipes descended simultaneously from the corners of ten thousand mouths, and a shout, which could be compared to nothing but the roaring of Niagara, resounded long, loudly, and furiously, through all the environs of Rotterdam.
The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From behind the huge bulk of one of those sharply-defined masses of cloud already mentioned, was seen slowly to emerge into an open area of blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solid substance, so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not to be in any manner comprehended, and never to be sufficiently admired, by the host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it be? In the name of all the vrows and devils in Rotterdam, what could it possibly portend? No one knew, no one could imagine; no one—not even the burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk—had the slightest clew by which to unravel the mystery; so, as nothing more reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe carefully in the corner of his mouth, and cocking up his right eye towards the phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddled about, and grunted significantly—then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally—puffed again.
