The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories
Abased, humbled to the dust as I then was, it is probable that I
should have resented this galling language by immediate personal
violence, had not my whole attention been at the moment arrested
by a fact of the most startling character. The cloak which I had
worn was of a rare description of fur; how rare, how
extravagantly costly, I shall not venture to say. Its fashion,
too, was of my own fantastic invention; for I was fastidious to
an absurd degree of coxcombry, in matters of this frivolous
nature. When, therefore, Mr. Preston reached me that which he had
picked up upon the floor, and near the folding doors of the
apartment, it was with an astonishment nearly bordering upon
terror, that I perceived my own already hanging on my arm, (where
I had no doubt unwittingly placed it,) and that the one presented
me was but its exact counterpart in every, in even the minutest
possible particular. The singular being who had so disastrously
exposed me, had been muffled, I remembered, in a cloak; and none
had been worn at all by any of the members of our party with the
exception of myself. Retaining some presence of mind, I took the
one offered me by Preston; placed it, unnoticed, over my own;
left the apartment with a resolute scowl of defiance; and, next
morning ere dawn of day, commenced a hurried journey from Oxford
to the continent, in a perfect agony of horror and of shame.
I fled in vain. My evil destiny pursued me as if in exultation,
and proved, indeed, that the exercise of its mysterious dominion
had as yet only begun. Scarcely had I set foot in Paris ere I had
fresh evidence of the detestable interest taken by this Wilson in
my concerns. Years flew, while I experienced no relief.
Villain!—at Rome, with how untimely, yet with how spectral an
officiousness, stepped he in between me and my ambition! At
Vienna, too—at Berlin—and at Moscow! Where, in truth, had I not
bitter cause to curse him within my heart? From his inscrutable
tyranny did I at length flee, panic-stricken, as from a
pestilence; and to the very ends of the earth I fled in vain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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