Edgar Allan Poe: The Light-House — complete surviving unfinished tale (1942 printing)

Edgar Allan Poe: The Light-House — complete surviving unfinished tale (1942 printing) Complete surviving unfinished tale, usually dated 1849, transcribed from the unified text in Notes and Queries, April 25, 1942, volume 182, pages 226–227. The original manuscript consists of four leaves; this printing includes the opening missing from Woodberry’s 1909 publication. Two clearly identified scan crops preserve the story columns only, excluding the surrounding scholarly commentary and unrelated article. They are excerpts of the 1942 printed text, not photographs of the four autograph leaves. The story ends at the January 4 diary heading. Its bracketed title and closing Latin words “Cetera desunt” are the 1942 editor’s additions, not an ending supplied by Poe. Poe’s spaced dots are retained. The local transcription was checked against these printed columns; line breaks and typographic emphasis are simplified, and it is not a new critical reconstruction of the manuscript. [THE LIGHTHOUSE.] Jan. 1—1796. This day—my first on the light-house—I make this entry in my Diary, as agreed on with DeGrät. As regularly as I can keep this journal, I will—but there is no telling what may happen to a man all alone as I am—I may get sick or worse . . . So far well! The cutter had a narrow escape—but why dwell on that, since I am here, all safe? My spirits are beginning to revive already, at the mere thought of being—for once in my life at least—thoroughly alone; for, of course, Neptune, large as he is, is not to be taken into consideration as “society.” Would to Heaven I had ever found in “society” one half as much faith as in this poor dog:—in such case I and “society” might never have parted—even for a year . . . What more surprises me, is the difficulty DeGrät had in getting me the appointment—and I a noble of the realm! It could not be that the Consistory had any doubt of my ability to manage the light. One man has attended it before now—and got on quite as well as the three that are usually put in. The duty is a mere nothing; and the printed instructions are as plain as possible. It never would have done to let Orndoff accompany me. I never should have made any way with my book as long as he was within reach of me, with his intolerable gossip—not to mention that everlasting meerschaum. Besides, I wish to be alone . . . It is strange that I never observed, until this moment, how dreary a sound that word has—“alone”! I could half fancy there was some peculiarity in the echo of these cylindrical walls—but oh, no!—this is all nonsense. I do believe I am going to get nervous about my insulation. That will never do. I have not forgotten DeGrät’s prophecy. Now for a scramble to the lantern and a good look around to “see what I can see.” . . . To see what I can see indeed!—not very much. The swell is subsiding a little, I think—but the cutter will have a rough passage home, nevertheless. She will hardly get within sight of the Nordland before noon to-morrow—and yet it can hardly be more than 190 or 200 miles. Jan. 2. I have passed this day in a species of ecstasy that I find it impossible to describe. My passion for solitude could scarcely have been more thoroughly gratified. I do not say satisfied; for I believe I should never be satiated with such delight as I have experienced to-day . . . The wind lulled about day-break, and by the afternoon the sea had gone down materially . . . Nothing to be seen, with the telescope even, but ocean and sky, with an occasional gull. Jan. 3. A dead calm all day. Towards evening, the sea looked very much like glass. A few sea-weeds came in sight; but besides them absolutely nothing all day—not even the slightest speck of cloud . . . Occupied myself in exploring the light-house . . . It is a very lofty one—as I find to my cost when I have to ascend its interminable stairs—not quite 160 feet, I should say, from the low-water mark to the top of the lantern. From the bottom inside the shaft, however, the distance t