Chapter 153

140 MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE mockery of my horror ! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony ! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die ! — and now — again ! — hark ! louder ! louder ! louder ! louder! “Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed ! — tear up the planks ! — here, here ! — it is the beating of his hideous heart!” THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM From his cradle to his grave a gale of prosperity bore my friend Ellison along. Nor do I use the word prosperity in its mere worldly sense. I mean it as synonymous with happiness. The person of whom I speak seemed born for the purpose of foreshadowing the doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley, and Condorcet — of exemplifying by individual instance what has been deemed the chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence of Ellison I fancy that I have seen refuted the dogma, that in man’s very nature lies some hidden principle, the antagonist of bliss. An anxious examination of his career has given me to understand that in general, from the violation of a few simple laws of humanity arises the wretchedness of mankind — that as a species we have in our possession the as yet unwrought elements of content — and that, even now, in the present darkness and madness of all thought on the great question of the social condition, it is not impossible that man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly fortuitous conditions, may be happy. With opinions such as these my young friend, too, was fully imbued; and thus it is worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment which distinguished his life