AN IMPERFECT CONFLAGRATION
Early one June morning in 1872 I murdered my father--an act which madea deep impression on me at the time. This was before my marriage,while I was living with my parents in Wisconsin. My father and I werein the library of our home, dividing the proceeds of a burglary whichwe had committed that night. These consisted of household goodsmostly, and the task of equitable division was difficult. We got onvery well with the napkins, towels and such things, and the silverwarewas parted pretty nearly equally, but you can see for yourself thatwhen you try to divide a single music-box by two without a remainderyou will have trouble. It was that music-box which brought disasterand disgrace upon our family. If we had left it my poor father mightnow be alive.
It was a most exquisite and beautiful piece of workmanship--inlaidwith costly woods and carven very curiously. It would not only play agreat variety of tunes, but would whistle like a quail, bark like adog, crow every morning at daylight whether it was wound up or not,and break the Ten Commandments. It was this last mentionedaccomplishment that won my father's heart and caused him to commit theonly dishonorable act of his life, though possibly he would havecommitted more if he had been spared: he tried to conceal thatmusic-box from me, and declared upon his honor that he had not takenit, though I know very well that, so far as he was concerned, theburglary had been undertaken chiefly for the purpose of obtaining it.
My father had the music-box hidden under his cloak; we had worn cloaksby way of disguise. He had solemnly assured me that he did not takeit. I knew that he did, and knew something of which he was evidentlyignorant; namely, that the box would crow at daylight and betray himif I could prolong the division of profits till that time. Alloccurred as I wished: as the gaslight began to pale in the library andthe shape of the windows was seen dimly behind the curtains, a longcock-a-doodle-doo came from beneath the old gentleman's cloak,followed by a few bars of an aria from _Tannhauser_, ending with aloud click. A small hand-axe, which we had used to break into theunlucky house, lay between us on the table; I picked it up. The oldman seeing that further concealment was useless took the box fromunder his cloak and set it on the table. "Cut it in two if you preferthat plan," said he; "I tried to save it from destruction."
He was a passionate lover of music and could himself play theconcertina with expression and feeling.
I said: "I do not question the purity of your motive: it would bepresumptuous of me to sit in judgment on my father. But business isbusiness, and with this axe I am going to effect a dissolution of ourpartnership unless you will consent in all future burglaries to wear abell-punch."
"No," he said, after some reflection, "no, I could not do that; itwould look like a confession of dishonesty. People would say that youdistrusted me."
I could not help admiring his spirit and sensitiveness; for a moment Iwas proud of him and disposed to overlook his fault, but a glance atthe richly jeweled music-box decided me, and, as I said, I removed theold man from this vale of tears. Having done so, I was a trifleuneasy. Not only was he my father--the author of my being--but thebody would be certainly discovered. It was now broad daylight and mymother was likely to enter the library at any moment. Under thecircumstances, I thought it expedient to remove her also, which I did.Then I paid off all the servants and discharged them.
That afternoon I went to the chief of police, told him what I had doneand asked his advice. It would be very painful to me if the factsbecame publicly known. My conduct would be generally condemned; thenewspapers would bring it up against me if ever I should run foroffice. The chief saw the force of these considerations; he washimself an assassin of wide experience. After consulting with thepresiding judge of the Court of Variable Jurisdiction he advised me toconceal the bodies in one of the bookcases, get a heavy insurance onthe house and burn it down. This I proceeded to do.
In the library was a book-case which my father had recently purchasedof some cranky inventor and had not filled. It was in shape and sizesomething like the old-fashioned "ward-robes" which one sees inbed-rooms without closets, but opened all the way down, like a woman'snight-dress. It had glass doors. I had recently laid out my parentsand they were now rigid enough to stand erect; so I stood them in thisbook-case, from which I had removed the shelves. I locked them in andtacked some curtains over the glass doors. The inspector from theinsurance office passed a half-dozen times before the case withoutsuspicion.
That night, after getting my policy, I set fire to the house andstarted through the woods to town, two miles away, where I managed tobe found about the time the excitement was at its height. With criesof apprehension for the fate of my parents, I joined the rush andarrived at the fire some two hours after I had kindled it. The wholetown was there as I dashed up. The house was entirely consumed, butin one end of the level bed of glowing embers, bolt upright anduninjured, was that book-case! The curtains had burned away, exposingthe glass-doors, through which the fierce, red light illuminated theinterior. There stood my dear father "in his habit as he lived," andat his side the partner of his joys and sorrows. Not a hair of themwas singed, their clothing was intact. On their heads and throats theinjuries which in the accomplishment of my designs I had beencompelled to inflict were conspicuous. As in the presence of amiracle, the people were silent; awe and terror had stilled everytongue. I was myself greatly affected.
Some three years later, when the events herein related had nearlyfaded from my memory, I went to New York to assist in passing somecounterfeit United States bonds. Carelessly looking into a furniturestore one day, I saw the exact counterpart of that book-case. "Ibought it for a trifle from a reformed inventor," the dealerexplained. "He said it was fireproof, the pores of the wood beingfilled with alum under hydraulic pressure and the glass made ofasbestos. I don't suppose it is really fireproof--you can have it atthe price of an ordinary book-case."
"No," I said, "if you cannot warrant it fireproof I won't takeit"--and I bade him good morning.
I would not have had it at any price: it revived memories that wereexceedingly disagreeable.
THE HYPNOTIST
By those of my friends who happen to know that I sometimes amusemyself with hypnotism, mind reading and kindred phenomena, I amfrequently asked if I have a clear conception of the nature ofwhatever principle underlies them. To this question I always replythat I neither have nor desire to have. I am no investigator with anear at the key-hole of Nature's workshop, trying with vulgar curiosityto steal the secrets of her trade. The interests of science are aslittle to me as mine seem to have been to science.
Doubtless the phenomena in question are simple enough, and in no waytranscend our powers of comprehension if only we could find the clew;but for my part I prefer not to find it, for I am of a singularlyromantic disposition, deriving more gratification from mystery thanfrom knowledge. It was commonly remarked of me when I was a childthat my big blue eyes appeared to have been made rather to look intothan look out of--such was their dreamful beauty, and in my frequentperiods of abstraction, their indifference to what was going on. Inthose peculiarities they resembled, I venture to think, the soul whichlies behind them, always more intent upon some lovely conception whichit has created in its own image than concerned about the laws ofnature and the material frame of things. All this, irrelevant andegotistic as it may seem, is related by way of accounting for themeagreness of the light that I am able to throw upon a subject thathas engaged so much of my attention, and concerning which there is sokeen and general a curiosity. With my powers and opportunities,another person might doubtless have an explanation for much of what Ipresent simply as narrative.
My first knowledge that I possessed unusual powers came to me in myfourteenth year, when at school. Happening one day to have forgottento bring my noon-day luncheon, I gazed longingly at that of a smallgirl who was preparing to eat hers. Looking up, her eyes met mine andshe seemed unable to withdraw them. After a moment of hesitancy shecame forward in an absent kind
of way and without a word surrenderedher little basket with its tempting contents and walked away.Inexpressibly pleased, I relieved my hunger and destroyed the basket.After that I had not the trouble to bring a luncheon for myself: thatlittle girl was my daily purveyor; and not infrequently in satisfyingmy simple need from her frugal store I combined pleasure and profit byconstraining her attendance at the feast and making misleading profferof the viands, which eventually I consumed to the last fragment. Thegirl was always persuaded that she had eaten all herself; and later inthe day her tearful complaints of hunger surprised the teacher,entertained the pupils, earned for her the sobriquet of Greedy-Gut andfilled me with a peace past understanding.
A disagreeable feature of this otherwise satisfactory condition ofthings was the necessary secrecy: the transfer of the luncheon, forexample, had to be made at some distance from the madding
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