The Man and the Snake

Ambrose Bierce

I

It is of veritabyll report, and attested of so many that there be nowe of wyse and learned

none to gaynsaye it, that ye serpente hys eye hath a magnetick propertie that whosoe falleth

into its svasion is drawn forwards in despyte of his wille, and perisheth miserabyll by ye

creature hys byte.

Stretched at ease upon a sofa, in gown and slippers, Harker Brayton smiled as he read the

foregoing sentence in old Morryster's "Marvells of Science." "The only marvel in the

matter," he said to himself, "is that the wise and learned in Morryster's day should have

in metal nail heads; he gave them but little thought and resumed his reading. A moment

later something--some impulse which it did not occur to him to analyze--impelled him to

lower the book again and seek for what he saw before. The points of light were still there.

They seemed to have become brighter than before, shining with a greenish luster which he

had not at first observed. He thought, too, that they might have moved a trifle--were

somewhat nearer. They were still too much in the shadow, however, to reveal their nature

and origin to an indolent attention, and he resumed his reading. Suddenly something in the

text suggested a thought which made him start and drop the book for the third time to the

side of the sofa, whence, escaping from his hand, it fell sprawling to the floor, back upward.

Brayton, half-risen, was staring intently into the obscurity beneath the bed, where the points

looked into his own with a meaning, a malign significance.

II

A snake in a bedroom of a modern city dwelling of the better sort is, happily, not so

common a phenomenon as to make explanation altogether needless. Harker Brayton, a

bachelor of thirty-five, a scholar, idler, and something of an athlete, rich, popular, and of

sound health, had returned to San Francisco from all manner of remote and unfamiliar

countries. His tastes, always a trifle luxurious, had taken on an added exuberance from long

privation; and the resources of even the Castle Hotel being inadequate for their perfect

gratification, he had gladly accepted the hospitality of his friend, Dr. Druring, the

http://www.livrosgratis.com.br

Milhares de livros grátis para download.

distinguished scientist. Dr. Druring's house, a large, old-fashioned one in what was now an

obscure quarter of the city, had an outer and visible aspect of reserve. It plainly would not

associate with the contiguous elements of its altered environment, and appeared to have

developed some of the eccentricities which come of isolation. One of these was a "wing,"

conspicuously irrelevant in point of architecture, and no less rebellious in the matter of

reptilian; he loved nature's vulgarians and described himself as the Zola of zoology. His

wife and daughters, not having the advantage to share his enlightened curiosity regarding

the works and ways of our ill-starred fellow-creatures, were, with needless austerity,

excluded from what he called the Snakery, and doomed to companionship with their own

kind; though, to soften the rigors of their lot, he had permitted them, out of his great wealth,

to outdo the reptiles in the gorgeousness of their surroundings and to shine with a superior

splendor.

Architecturally, and in point of "furnishing," the Snakery had a severe simplicity befitting

the humble circumstances of its occupants, many of whom, indeed, could not safely have

been intrusted with the liberty which is necessary to the full enjoyment of luxury, for they

found life at the Druring mansion very much to his mind.

III

Beyond a smart shock of surprise and a shudder of mere loathing, Mr. Brayton was not

greatly affected. His first thought was to ring the call bell and bring a servant; but, although

the bell cord dangled within easy reach, he made no movement toward it; it had occurred to

his mind that the act might subject him to the suspicion of fear, which he certainly did not

feel. He was more keenly conscious of the incongruous nature of the situation than affected

by its perils; it was revolting, but absurd.

The reptile was of a species with which Brayton was unfamiliar. Its length he could only

conjecture; the body at the largest visible part seemed about as thick as his forearm. In what

and the furniture with bric-a-brac, had not quite fitted the place for this bit of the savage life

of the jungle. Besides--insupportable thought!--the exhalations of its breath mingled with

the atmosphere which he himself was breathing!

These thoughts shaped themselves with greater or less definition in Brayton's mind, and

begot action. The process is what we call consideration and decision. It is thus that we are

wise and unwise. It is thus that the withered leaf in an autumn breeze shows greater or less

intelligence than its fellows, falling upon the land or upon the lake. The secret of human

action is an open one--something contracts our muscles. Does it matter if we give to the

preparatory molecular changes the name of will?

Brayton rose to his feet and prepared to back softly away from the snake, without disturbing

it, if possible, and through the door. People retire so from the presence of the great, for

greatness is power, and power is a menace. He knew that he could walk backward without

"I am accounted brave," he murmured; "is bravery, then, no more than pride? Because there

are none to witness the shame shall I retreat?"

He was steadying himself with his right hand upon the back of a chair, his foot suspended.

"Nonsense!" he said aloud; "I am not so great a coward as to fear to seem to myself afraid."

He lifted the foot a little higher by slightly bending the knee, and thrust it sharply to the

floor--an inch in front of the other! He could not think how that occurred. A trial with the

left foot had the same result; it was again in advance of the right. The hand upon the chair

back was grasping it; the arm was straight, reaching somewhat backward. One might have

seen that he was reluctant to lose his hold. The snake's malignant head was still thrust forth

from the inner coil as before, the neck level. It had not moved, but its eyes were now

approach his very face, and anon were an immeasurable distance away. He heard,

somewhere, the continual throbbing of a great drum, with desultory bursts of far music,

inconceivably sweet, like the tones of an aeolian harp. He knew it for the sunrise melody of

Memnon's statue, and thought he stood in the Nileside reeds, hearing, with exalted sense,

that immortal anthem through the silence of the centuries.

The music ceased; rather, it became by insensible degrees the distant roll of a retreating

thunderstorm. A landscape, glittering with sun and rain, stretched before him, arched with a

vivid rainbow, framing in its giant curve a hundred visible cities. In the middle distance a

vast serpent, wearing a crown, reared its head out of its voluminous convolutions and

looked at him with his dead mother's eyes. Suddenly this enchanting landscape seemed to

rise swiftly upward, like the drop scene at a theater, and vanished in a blank. Something

struck him a hard blow upon the face and breast. He had fallen to the floor; the blood ran

again into those baleful eyes, and was again in bondage.

The snake had not moved, and appeared somewhat to have lost its power upon the

imagination; the gorgeous illusions of a few moments before were not repeated. Beneath

that flat and brainless brow its black, beady eyes simply glittered, as at first, with an

Strong convulsions ran through his body, making almost serpentine undulations. He bent

himself at the waist, shifting his legs from side to side. And every movement left him a

little nearer to the snake. He thrust his hands forward to brace himself back, yet constantly

advanced upon his elbows.

IV

Dr. Druring and his wife sat in the library. The scientist was in rare good humor.

"I have just obtained, by exchange with another collector," he said, "a splendid specimen of

the Ophiophagus."

"And what may that be?" the lady inquired with a somewhat languid interest.

"Why, bless my soul, what profound ignorance! My dear, a man who ascertains after

"I hope it will eat all yours," she said, absently shifting the lamp. "But how does it get the

other snakes? By charming them, I suppose."

the voice of a demon shouting in a tomb. Again and yet again it sounded, with terrible

distinctness. They sprang to their feet, the man confused, the lady pale and speechless with

fright. Almost before the echoes of the last cry had died away the doctor was out of the

room, springing up the staircase two steps at a time. In the corridor, in front of Brayton's

chamber, he met some servants who had come from the upper floor. Together they rushed