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Program Consultants
Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, PhD
Douglas Fisher, PhD
Kathleen A. Hinchman, PhD
David O’Brien, PhD
Taffy Raphael, PhD
Cynthia Hynd Shanahan, EdD
Copyright © 2007 by The McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc. All rights reserved. Except as
permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may
be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
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under license.

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Printed in the United States of America.

 Contents *

1 The Lady, or the Tiger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 22 The Stolen Cigar Case . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165

Frank R. Stockton Bret Harte
2 The Most Dangerous Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 23 The Open Window . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 .
Richard Connell Saki
3 The Leap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 24 The Californian's Tale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175
Louise Erdrih Mark Twain
4 The Cask of Amontillado . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 25 The Summer People . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
Edgar Allan Poe Shirley Jackson
5 Blues Ain't No Mockin Bird . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 26 The Masque of the Red Death . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
Toni Cade Bambara Edgar Allan Poe
6 The Interlopers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 27 Two Kinds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Saki Amy Tan
7 Rules of the Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 28 The Car We Had to Push . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Amy Tan James Thurber
8 The Gift of the Magi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 29 When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine . . . . . . . . . 213
O. Henry Jhumpa Lahiri
9 Liberty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 30 To Da-duh, in Memoriam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
Julia Alvarez Paule Marshall
10 Sweet Potato Pie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70 31 Contents of the Dead Man's Pocket . . . . . 236
Eugenia Collier Jack Finney
11 The Scarlet Ibis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 32 The Censors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
James Hurst Luisa Valenzuela
12 The Bass, the River, and Sheila Mant . . . . 89 33 Everyday Use . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
W. D. Wetherell Alice Walker
13 A Christmas Memory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 34 Through the Tunnel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Truman Capote Doris Lessing
14 The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. . . . . . . . . . . .108 35 Catch the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
James Thurber Judith Ortiz Cofer
15 American History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 36 A Child's Christmas in Wales . . . . . . . . . . . . 278
Judith Ortiz Cofer Dylan Thomas
16 Baker's Bluejay Yarn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120 37 Winter Night . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
Mark Twain Kay Boyle
17 The Flat of the Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 38 Lullaby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 294
Diana García Leslie Marmon Silko
18 The Son from America . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 39 A Sound of Thunder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 302
Isaac Bashevis Singer Ray Bradbury
19 Beyond the Bedroom Wall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 40 By the Waters of Babylon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
Larry Woiwode Stephen Vincent Benét
20 About Two Nice People . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 41 What I Have Been Doing Lately . . . . . . . . . . 323
Shirley Jackson Jamaica Kincaid
21 The Rule of Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 42 Robot Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 326
Ursula K. Le Guin Isaac Asimov

* Titles or authors here and in the body of the book are interrelatedly linked.
 Contents

43 Bread . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 330 59 Soldiers of the Republic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 463

Margaret Atwood Dorothy Parker
44 A Retrieved Reformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 332 60 The Jilting of Granny Weatherall . . . . . . . . . 466
O. Henry Katherine Anne Porter
45 Lungewater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339 . 61 Breakfast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473
Joan Aiken John Steinbeck
46 The Devil and Tom Walker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352 62 A Rose for Emily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
Washington Irving William Faulkner
47 The Pit and the Pendulum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361 63 A Worn Path . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 484
Edgar Allan Poe Eudora Welty
48 The Minister's Black Veil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371 64 The Life You Save May Be Your Own . . . 490
Nathaniel Hawthorne Flannery O’Connor
49 An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge . . . . . 380 65 The Second Tree from the Corner . . . . . . . . 498
Ambrose Bierce E. B. White
50 The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County 388 66 The Magic Barrel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 502
Mark Twain Bernard Malamud
51 The Outcasts of Poker Flat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 393 67 The Rockpile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515
Bret Harte James Baldwin
52 A Wagner Matinée . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 402 68 The Portrait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 522
Willa Cather Tomás Rivera
53 April Showers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407 69 Ambush . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 525
Edith Wharton Tim O’Brien
54 The Story of an Hour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 413 70 SQ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 527
Kate Chopin Ursula K. Le Guin
55 The Open Boat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 416 71 Snow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 536
Stephen Crane Julia Alvarez
56 To Build a Fire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 432 72 Everything Stuck to Him . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 537
Jack London Raymond Carver
57 In Another Country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 443 73 Salvador Late or Early . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 541
Ernest Hemingway Sandra Cisneros
58 Winter Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 448 74 Nineteen Thirty-Seven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 542
F. Scott Fitzgerald Edwidge Danticat
 Frank R. Stockton
I n the very olden time, there lived
a semibarbaric king, whose ideas, though
somewhat polished and sharpened by the
progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors,
were still large, florid, and untrammeled,1
as became the half of him which was bar-
baric. He was a man of exuberant fancy,
and, withal, of an authority so irresistible
that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies
into facts. He was greatly given to self-
communing; and, when he and himself
agreed upon any thing, the thing was done.
When every member of his domestic and
political systems moved smoothly in its
appointed course, his nature was bland and
genial;2 but whenever there was a little
hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their
orbits, he was blander and more genial still,
1. The king’s ideas are somewhat uncivilized (semibarbaric);
they are very showy (florid) and unrestrained
(untrammeled).
2. The king himself is generally agreeable and mild (bland) and
pleasantly cheerful (genial).
1
for nothing pleased him so much as to make
the crooked straight, and crush down uneven
places.
Among the borrowed notions by which
his barbarism had become semified3 was
that of the public arena, in which, by exhibi-
tions of manly and beastly valor, the minds
of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But even here the exuberant and barbaric
fancy asserted itself.4 The arena of the king
was built, not to give the people an oppor-
tunity of hearing the rhapsodies5 of dying
gladiators, nor to enable them to view the
inevitable conclusion of a conflict between
religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for
purposes far better adapted to widen and
3. Semified is a made-up word meaning “reduced in half or
made partial.”
4. Here, asserted itself means “exercised its influence; insisted
on being recognized.”
5. Rhapsodies are enthusiastic expressions of emotion.
Literary Element Conflict How does this passage sug-
gest a future conflict?
develop the mental energies of the people.
This vast amphitheater, with its encircling
galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its
unseen passages, was an agent of poetic jus-
tice, in which crime was punished, or virtue
rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and
incorruptible chance.
When a subject was accused of a crime of
sufficient importance to interest the king,
public notice was given that on an appointed
day the fate of the accused person would be
decided in the king’s arena,—a structure
which well deserved its name; for, although
its form and plan were borrowed from afar,
its purpose emanated solely from the brain
of this man, who, every barleycorn6 a king,
knew no tradition to which he owed more
allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who
ingrafted on every adopted form of human
thought and action the rich growth of his
barbaric idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the
galleries, and the king, surrounded by his
court, sat high up on his throne of royal state
on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a
door beneath him opened, and the accused
subject stepped out into the amphitheater.7
Directly opposite him, on the other side of the
enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike
and side by side. It was the duty and the priv-
ilege of the person on trial, to walk directly to
these doors and open one of them. He could
open either door he pleased: he was subject to
no guidance or influence but that of the afore-
mentioned impartial and incorruptible chance.
6. The barleycorn is an old unit of measure equal to the width
of one grain of barley—about a third of an inch. This phrase
is similar to “every inch a king” and means that he was
kingly in every way and in every part, top to bottom.
7. An amphitheater is a circular structure with rising tiers of
seats around a central open space.
Literary Element Conflict Based on this passage, what
do you think the main conflict will be?
Vocabulary
impartial (im p
ar
shəl) adj. not favoring one side more
than another; fair
emanate (em
 ə nāt´) v. to come forth
2
If he opened the one, there came out of it a
hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that
could be procured, which immediately sprang
upon him, and tore him to pieces, as a punish-
ment for his guilt. The moment that the case
of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron
bells were clanged, great wails went up from
the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of
the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed
heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly
their homeward way, mourning greatly that
one so young and fair, or so old and respected,
should have merited so dire a fate.
But, if the accused person opened the
other door, there came forth from it a lady,
the most suitable to his years and station
that his majesty could select among his fair
subjects; and to this lady he was immedi-
ately married, as a reward of his innocence.
It mattered not that he might already pos-
sess a wife and family, or that his affections
might be engaged upon an object of his
own selection: the king allowed no such
subordinate arrangements to interfere with
his great scheme of retribution and reward.8
The exercises, as in the other instance, took
place immediately, and in the arena. Another
door opened beneath the king, and a priest,
followed by a band of choristers, and danc-
ing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden
horns and treading an epithalamic measure,
advanced to where the pair stood, side by
side; and the wedding was promptly and
cheerily solemnized.9 Then the gay brass
bells rang forth their merry peals, the peo-
ple shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent
8. The king’s plan for giving out punishment (retribution) and
reward was of primary importance, and everything else was
less important (subordinate), including family values.
9. Epithalamic (ep´ ə thə lā
mik) refers to a song in honor
of a bride and groom. When a wedding is solemnized, it is
celebrated with a formal ceremony.
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What do these
details suggest about the people’s view of death and
mourning?
Vocabulary
dire (d¯r) adj. dreadful; terrible
man, preceded by children strewing flowers
on his path, led his bride to his home.
This was the king’s semibarbaric method
of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is
obvious. The criminal could not know out of
which door would come the lady: he opened
either he pleased, without having the slight-
est idea whether, in the next instant, he was
to be devoured or married. On some occa-
sions the tiger came out of one door, and on
some out of the other. The decisions of this
tribunal were not only fair, they were posi-
tively determinate:10 the accused person was
instantly punished if he found himself
guilty; and, if innocent, he was rewarded on
the spot, whether he liked it or not. There
was no escape from the judgments of the
king’s arena.
The institution was a very popular one.
When the people gathered together on one
of the great trial days, they never knew
whether they were to witness a bloody
slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This ele-
ment of uncertainty lent an interest to the
occasion which it could not otherwise have
attained. Thus, the masses were entertained
and pleased, and the thinking part of the
community could bring no charge of unfair-
ness against this plan; for did not the
accused person have the whole matter in his
own hands?
This semibarbaric king had a daughter as
blooming as his most florid fancies, and with
a soul as fervent and imperious11 as his own.
As is usual in such cases, she was the apple
of his eye, and was loved by him above all
humanity. Among his courtiers was a young
man of that fineness of blood and lowness of
10. Usually, tribunal refers to a group of judges or a place of
judgment. Here, it is “the king’s semibarbaric method of
administering justice,” and its outcome is absolutely final
(determinate).
11. To be imperious is to be extremely proud and controlling.
Reading Strategy Summarizing Summarize the king’s
“semibarbaric method of administering justice.”
Vocabulary
fervent (fur
vənt) adj. having or showing great inten-
sity of feeling; passionate
3
station common to the conventional heroes of
romance who love royal maidens. This royal
maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for
he was handsome and brave to a degree
unsurpassed in all this kingdom; and she
loved him with an ardor12 that had enough
of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly
warm and strong. This love affair moved on
happily for many months, until one day the
king happened to discover its existence. He
did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his
duty in the premises. The youth was immedi-
ately cast into prison, and a day was
appointed for his trial in the king’s arena.
This, of course, was an especially important
occasion; and his majesty, as well as all the
people, was greatly interested in the work-
ings and development of this trial. Never
before had such a case occurred; never before
had a subject dared to love the daughter of a
king. In after-years such things became com-
monplace enough; but then they were, in no
slight degree, novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom were
searched for the most savage and relentless
beasts, from which the fiercest monster might
be selected for the arena; and the ranks of
maiden youth and beauty throughout the land
were carefully surveyed by competent judges,
in order that the young man might have a fit-
ting bride in case fate did not determine for
him a different destiny. Of course, everybody
knew that the deed with which the accused
was charged had been done. He had loved the
princess, and neither he, she, nor any one else
thought of denying the fact; but the king
would not think of allowing any fact of this
kind to interfere with the workings of the tri-
bunal, in which he took such great delight and
satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned
out, the youth would be disposed of; and the
king would take an aesthetic pleasure in
12. Ardor means intense passion.
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death How does this pas-
sage reflect matters of life and death?
Vocabulary
novel (nov
əl) adj. new and unusual
 princess loved him! What a
terrible thing for him to be
there!
As the youth advanced into
the arena, he turned, as the
custom was, to bow to the
king: but he did not think at
all of that royal personage; his
eyes were fixed upon the prin-
cess, who sat to the right of
her father. Had it not been for
the moiety13 of barbarism in
her nature, it is probable that
lady would not have been
there; but her intense and
fervid soul would not allow
her to be absent on an occa-
sion in which she was so ter-
ribly interested. From the
moment that the decree had
gone forth, that her lover
should decide his fate in the
king’s arena, she had thought
of nothing, night or day, but
this great event and the vari-
ous subjects connected with it.
Mona Vanna, 1866. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Oil on canvas, 88.9 ⫻ 86.4 cm. Tate
Possessed of more power,
Gallery, London. influence, and force of charac-
Viewing the Art: How would you describe this woman’s personality? ter than any one who had
ever before been interested in
watching the course of events, which would such a case, she had done what no other per-
determine whether or not the young man had son had done—she had possessed herself of
done wrong in allowing himself to love the the secret of the doors. She knew in which of
princess. the two rooms, that lay behind those doors,
The appointed day arrived. From far and stood the cage of the tiger, with its open
near the people gathered, and thronged the front, and in which waited the lady. Through
great galleries of the arena; and crowds, these thick doors, heavily curtained with
unable to gain admittance, massed themselves skins on the inside, it was impossible that
against its outside walls. The king and his any noise or suggestion should come from
court were in their places, opposite the twin within to the person who should approach to
doors,—those fateful portals, so terrible in raise the latch of one of them; but gold, and
their similarity. the power of a woman’s will, had brought
All was ready. The signal was given. A door the secret to the princess.
beneath the royal party opened, and the lover
of the princess walked into the arena. Tall,
beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted
with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. 13. A moiety (moi
ə tē) means “a half.”
Half the audience had not known so grand a Literary Element Conflict How does this passage
youth had lived among them. No wonder the advance the central conflict of the story?

4
Stalking Tiger, Rosa Bonheur (1822–99). Private collection,
© Gavin Graham Gallery, London, UK; Bridgeman Art Library.
And not only did she know in which
room stood the lady ready to emerge, all
blushing and radiant, should her door be
opened, but she knew who the lady was. It
was one of the fairest and loveliest of the
damsels of the court who had been selected
as the reward of the accused youth, should
he be proved innocent of the crime of aspir-
ing to one so far above him; and the princess
hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined
that she had seen, this fair creature throwing
glances of admiration upon the person of her
lover, and sometimes she thought these
glances were perceived and even returned.
Now and then she had seen them talking
together; it was but for a moment or two,
but much can be said in a brief space; it may
have been on most unimportant topics, but
how could she know that? The girl was
lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to
the loved one of the princess; and, with all
the intensity of the savage blood transmitted
to her through long lines of wholly barbaric
5
ancestors, she hated the woman who
blushed and trembled behind that silent
door.
When her lover turned and looked at her,
and his eye met hers as she sat there paler
and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of
anxious faces about her, he saw, by that
power of quick perception which is given to
those whose souls are one, that she knew
behind which door crouched the tiger, and
behind which stood the lady. He had
expected her to know it. He understood her
nature, and his soul was assured that she
would never rest until she had made plain
to herself this thing, hidden to all other
lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope
for the youth in which there was any
element of certainty was based upon the
success of the princess in discovering this
Reading Strategy Summarizing Based on this passage,
how would you summarize the relationship between the
lovers?
mystery; and the moment he looked upon
her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul
he knew she would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious
glance asked the question: “Which?” It was
as plain to her as if he shouted it from where
he stood. There was not an instant to be lost.
The question was asked in a flash; it must be
answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned para-
pet14 before her. She raised her hand, and
made a slight, quick movement toward the
right. No one but her lover saw her. Every
eye but his was fixed on the man in the
arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step
he walked across the empty space. Every
heart stopped beating, every breath was
held, every eye was fixed immovably upon
that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he
went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the
tiger come out of that door, or did the lady?
The more we reflect upon this question,
the harder it is to answer. It involves a study
of the human heart which leads us through
devious mazes of passion, out of which it is
difficult to find our way. Think of it, fair
reader, not as if the decision of the question
depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-
blooded, semibarbaric princess, her soul at a
white heat beneath the combined fires of
despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but
who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in
her dreams, had she started in wild horror,
and covered her face with her hands as she
thought of her lover opening the door on the
other side of which waited the cruel fangs of
the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him
at the other door! How in her grievous
14. Here, the parapet is a low wall or railing around the royal
“box seats.”
6
reveries15 had she gnashed her teeth, and
torn her hair, when she saw his start of rap-
turous delight as he opened the door of the
lady! How her soul had burned in agony
when she had seen him rush to meet that
woman, with her flushing cheek and spar-
kling eye of triumph; when she had seen
him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled
with the joy of recovered life; when she had
heard the glad shouts from the multitude,
and the wild ringing of the happy bells;
when she had seen the priest, with his joy-
ous followers, advance to the couple, and
make them man and wife before her very
eyes; and when she had seen them walk
away together upon their path of flowers,
followed by the tremendous shouts of the
hilarious multitude, in which her one
despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at
once, and go to wait for her in the blessed
regions of semibarbaric futurity?
And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks,
that blood.
Her decision had been indicated in an
instant, but it had been made after days and
nights of anguished deliberation. She had
known she would be asked, she had decided
what she would answer, and, without the
slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand
to the right.
The question of her decision is one not to
be lightly considered, and it is not for me to
presume16 to set myself up as the one person
able to answer it. And so I leave it with all
of you: Which came out of the opened door—
the lady, or the tiger?

15. Something that is grievous causes great grief or worry;
reveries are daydreams.
16. Presume means “to take upon oneself without permission”
or “to dare.”
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death How does this pas-
sage suggest that the trial feels like a matter of life and
death for the princess?

A Hunter in the Cuban Jungle, Sunrise, 1869. Henri Cleenewerck.
Oil on canvas, 96.8 ⫻ 82.5 cm. Private Collection.
O ff there to the right—somewhere—is a
large island,” said Whitney. “It’s rather a
mystery—”
“What island is it?” Rainsford asked.
“The old charts call it ‘Ship-Trap Island’,”
Whitney replied. “A suggestive name, isn’t
it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place.
I don’t know why. Some superstition—”
“Can’t see it,” remarked Rainsford, trying
to peer through the dank tropical night that
was palpable as it pressed its thick warm
blackness in upon the yacht.
“You’ve good eyes,” said Whitney, with a
laugh, “and I’ve seen you pick off a moose
moving in the brown fall bush at four hun-
dred yards, but even you can’t see four miles
or so through a moonless Caribbean night.”
“Nor four yards,” admitted Rainsford.
“Ugh! It’s like moist black velvet.”
“It will be light enough in Rio,” promised
7
Richard Connell
Whitney. “We should make it in a few days.
I hope the jaguar guns have come from
Purdey’s. We should have some good hunt-
ing up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting.”
“The best sport in the world,” agreed
Rainsford.
“For the hunter,” amended Whitney. “Not
for the jaguar.”
“Don’t talk rot, Whitney,” said Rainsford.
“You’re a big-game hunter, not a philosopher.
Who cares how a jaguar feels?”
“Perhaps the jaguar does,” observed
Whitney.
“Bah! They’ve no understanding.”
“Even so, I rather think they understand
one thing—fear. The fear of pain and the fear
of death.”
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What does
Whitney’s statement suggest about his view of hunting?
 “Nonsense,” laughed Rainsford. “This hot
weather is making you soft, Whitney. Be a
realist. The world is made up of two
classes—the hunters and the huntees.
Luckily, you and I are hunters. Do
you think we’ve passed that island yet?”
“I can’t tell in the dark. I hope so.”
“Why?” asked Rainsford.
“The place has a reputation—a bad one.”
“Cannibals?” suggested Rainsford.
“Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn’t live in
such a God-forsaken place. But it’s gotten
into sailor lore,1 somehow. Didn’t you notice
that the crew’s nerves seemed
a bit jumpy today?”
“They were a bit strange,
now you mention it. Even
Captain Nielsen—”
“Yes, even that tough-
minded old Swede, who’d go
up to the devil himself and ask
him for a light. Those fishy
blue eyes held a look I never
saw there before. All I could
get out of him was: ‘This place
has an evil name among seafar-
ing men, sir.’ Then he said to me, very
gravely: ‘Don’t you feel anything?’—as if the
air about us was actually poisonous. Now,
you mustn’t laugh when I tell you this—I did
feel something like a sudden chill.
“There was no breeze. The sea was as flat
as a plate-glass window. We were drawing
near the island then. What I felt was a—a
mental chill; a sort of sudden dread.”
“Pure imagination,” said Rainsford. “One
superstitious sailor can taint the whole ship’s
company with his fear.”
“Maybe. But sometimes I think sailors
have an extra sense that tells them when they
1. Accumulated traditions and beliefs about a particular subject
are called lore.
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What do you think will happen, and what clues
help you make this prediction?
Literary Element Suspense How does this statement
generate suspense?
are in danger. Sometimes I think evil is a
tangible thing—with wave lengths, just as
sound and light have. An evil place can, so to
speak, broadcast vibrations of evil. Anyhow,
I’m glad we’re getting out of this zone. Well,
I think I’ll turn in now, Rainsford.”
“I’m not sleepy,” said Rainsford. “I’m
going to smoke another pipe up on the
afterdeck.”
“Good night, then, Rainsford. See you at
breakfast.”
“Right. Good night, Whitney.”
There was no sound in the night as
Rainsford sat there but the
muffled throb of the engine
that drove the yacht swiftly
“Sometimes through the darkness, and the
I think evil swish and ripple of the wash
of the propeller.
is a tangible Rainsford, reclining in a
steamer chair, indolently
thing . . .” puffed on his favorite briar.2
The sensuous drowsiness of
the night was upon him. “It’s
so dark,” he thought, “that I
could sleep without closing
my eyes; the night would be my eyelids—”
An abrupt sound startled him. Off to the
right he heard it, and his ears, expert in
such matters, could not be mistaken. Again
he heard the sound, and again. Somewhere,
off in the blackness, someone had fired a
gun three times.
Rainsford sprang up and moved quickly to
the rail, mystified. He strained his eyes in the
direction from which the reports had come,
but it was like trying to see through a blanket.
He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself
there, to get greater elevation; his pipe,
2. Indolently means “lazily”; a briar is a tobacco pipe made from
the fine-grained wood of the root of a Mediterranean shrub.
Literary Element Suspense What words in this passage
increase your sense of unease?
Vocabulary
tangible (tan

jə bəl) adj. capable of being touched or
felt
8
striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth.
He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came
from his lips as he realized he had reached
too far and had lost his balance. The cry was
pinched off short as the blood-warm waters
of the Caribbean Sea closed over his head.
He struggled up to the surface and tried to
cry out, but the wash from the speeding
yacht slapped him in the face and the salt
water in his open mouth made him gag and
strangle. Desperately he struck out with
strong strokes after the receding lights of the
yacht, but he stopped before he had swum
fifty feet. A certain cool-headedness had
come to him; it was not the first time he had
been in a tight place. There was a chance
that his cries could be heard by someone
aboard the yacht, but that chance was slen-
der, and grew more slender as the yacht
raced on. He wrestled himself out of his
clothes, and shouted with all his power. The
lights of the yacht became faint and ever-
vanishing fireflies; then they were blotted
out entirely by the night.
Rainsford remembered the shots. They
had come from the right, and doggedly he
swam in that direction, swimming with
slow, deliberate strokes, conserving his
strength. For a seemingly endless time he
fought the sea. He began to count his
strokes; he could do possibly a hundred
more and then—
Rainsford heard a sound. It came out of
the darkness, a high screaming sound, the
sound of an animal in an extremity of
anguish and terror.
He did not recognize the animal that
made the sound; he did not try to; with fresh
vitality he swam toward the sound. He
heard it again; then it was cut short by
another noise, crisp, staccato.
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What do you think will happen to Rainsford?
Literary Element Suspense What effect do these details
have on the plot?
9
“Pistol shot,” muttered Rainsford, swim-
ming on.
Ten minutes of determined effort brought
another sound to his ears—the most wel-
come he had ever heard—the muttering and
growling of the sea breaking on a rocky
shore. He was almost on the rocks before he
saw them; on a night less calm he would
have been shattered against them. With his
remaining strength he dragged himself
from the swirling waters. Jagged crags
appeared to jut up into the opaqueness;3 he
forced himself upward, hand over hand.
Gasping, his hands raw, he reached a flat
place at the top. Dense jungle came down to
the very edge of the cliffs. What perils that
tangle of trees and underbrush might hold
for him did not concern Rainsford just then.
All he knew was that he was safe from his
enemy, the sea, and that utter weariness
was upon him. He flung himself down at
the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into
the deepest sleep of his life.
When he opened his eyes he knew from
the position of the sun that it was late in the
afternoon. Sleep had given him new vigor; a
sharp hunger was picking at him. He looked
about him, almost cheerfully.
“Where there are pistol shots, there are
men. Where there are men, there is food,”
he thought. But what kind of men, he won-
dered, in so forbidding a place? An unbro-
ken front of snarled and ragged jungle
fringed the shore.
He saw no sign of a trail through the
closely knit web of weeds and trees; it was
easier to go along the shore, and Rainsford
floundered along by the water. Not far from
where he had landed, he stopped.
3. Crags are steep, rugged, protruding rocks or cliffs. Here,
the crags jut up into the darkness (opaqueness) of
the night.
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death Why does the
pistol shot stop the sound?
Literary Element Suspense What does this detail add to
the suspense of the story?
 Some wounded thing, by the evidence, a
large animal, had thrashed about in the
underbrush; the jungle weeds were crushed
down and the moss was lacerated; one patch
of weeds was stained crimson. A small, glit-
tering object not far away caught Rainsford’s
eye and he picked it up. It was an empty
cartridge.
“A twenty-two,” he remarked. “That’s
odd. It must have been a fairly large animal,
too. The hunter had his nerve with him to
tackle it with a light gun. It’s clear that the
brute put up a fight. I suppose the first three
shots I heard was when the hunter flushed
his quarry4 and wounded it. The last shot
was when he trailed it here and finished it.”
He examined the ground closely and found
what he had hoped to find—the print of hunt-
ing boots. They pointed along the cliff in the
direction he had been going. Eagerly he hur-
ried along, now slipping on a rotten log or a
loose stone, but making headway; night was
beginning to settle down on the island.
Bleak darkness was blacking out the sea
and jungle when Rainsford sighted the lights.
He came upon them as he turned a crook in
the coast line, and his first thought was that
he had come upon a village, for there were
many lights. But as he forged along he saw to
his great astonishment that all the lights were
in one enormous building—a lofty structure
with pointed towers plunging upward into
the gloom. His eyes made out the shadowy
outlines of a palatial chateau;5 it was set on a
high bluff, and on three sides of it cliffs dived
down to where the sea licked greedy lips in
the shadows.
“Mirage,” thought Rainsford. But it was no
mirage, he found, when he opened the tall
4. Quarry is anything that is hunted or pursued, especially an
animal.
5. A palatial chateau (sha tō
) is a magnificent, palace-like
mansion.
Literary Element Suspense How does the author’s word
choice add suspense in this passage?
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What do you think Rainsford will do now that
he has found the footprints?
10
spiked iron gate. The
stone steps were real
enough; the massive door
with a leering gargoyle
for a knocker was real
enough; yet above it all Visual Vocabulary
hung an air of unreality. A gargoyle is an
outlandish or gro-
He lifted the knocker, tesque carved figure.
and it creaked up stiffly,
as if it had never before
been used. He let it fall, and it startled him
with its booming loudness. He thought he
heard steps within; the door remained closed.
Again Rainsford lifted the heavy knocker, and
let it fall. The door opened then, opened as
suddenly as if it were on a spring, and
Rainsford stood blinking in the river of glar-
ing gold light that poured out. The first thing
Rainsford’s eyes discerned was the largest
man Rainsford had ever seen—a gigantic
creature, solidly made and black-bearded to
the waist. In his hand the man held a long-
barreled revolver, and he was pointing it
straight at Rainsford’s heart.
Out of the snarl of beard two small eyes
regarded Rainsford.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Rainsford, with a
smile which he hoped was disarming.6 “I’m
no robber. I fell off a yacht. My name is
Sanger Rainsford of New York City.”
The menacing look in the eyes did not
change. The revolver pointed as rigidly as if
the giant were a statue. He gave no sign that
he understood Rainsford’s words, or that he
had even heard them. He was dressed in
uniform, a black uniform trimmed with
gray astrakhan.7
6. Disarming means “tending to remove fear or suspicion;
charming.”
7. Astrakhan is the woolly skin of young lambs and is named
after a region in Russia.
Literary Element Suspense What about this character
increases suspense?
Vocabulary
discern (di surn
) v. to detect or recognize; to make out
Le Château Noir, 1904–06. Paul Cezanne. Oil on canvas, 29 ⫻ 36 3/4". Gift of Mrs. David M. Levy. The Museum of Modern Art,
New York, NY.
Viewing the Art: Compare and contrast the chateau in the painting with the chateau described in the story.
“I’m Sanger Rainsford of New York,”
Rainsford began again. “I fell off a yacht. I
am hungry.”
The man’s only answer was to raise with
his thumb the hammer of his revolver. Then
Rainsford saw the man’s free hand go to his
forehead in a military salute, and he saw
him click his heels together and stand at
attention. Another man was coming down
the broad marble steps, an erect, slender
man in evening clothes. He advanced to
Rainsford and held out his hand.
In a cultivated voice marked by a slight
accent that gave it added precision and delib-
erateness, he said: “It is a very great pleasure
and honor to welcome Mr. Sanger Rainsford,
the celebrated hunter, to my home.”
Automatically Rainsford shook the man’s
hand.
“I’ve read your book about hunting snow
leopards in Tibet, you see,” explained the
man. “I am General Zaroff.”
Rainsford’s first impression was that the
man was singularly handsome; his second
11
was that there was an original, almost bizarre
quality about the general’s face. He was a tall
man past middle age, for his hair was a vivid
white; but his thick eyebrows and pointed
military mustache were as black as the night
from which Rainsford had come. His eyes,
too, were black and very bright. He had high
cheek bones, a sharp-cut nose, a spare, dark
face, the face of a man used to giving orders,
the face of an aristocrat. Turning to the giant
in uniform, the general made a sign. The
giant put away his pistol, saluted, withdrew.
“Ivan is an incredibly strong fellow,”
remarked the general, “but he has the misfor-
tune to be deaf and dumb. A simple fellow, but,
I’m afraid, like all his race, a bit of a savage.”
“Is he Russian?”
“He is a Cossack,”8 said the general, and
his smile showed red lips and pointed teeth.
“So am I.”
8. The Cossacks are a people of southern Russia (and, now,
Kazakhstan). During czarist times, Cossack men were famous
as horsemen in the Russian cavalry.
 “Come,” he said, “we shouldn’t be chat-
ting here. We can talk later. Now you want
clothes, food, rest. You shall have them. This
is a most restful spot.”
Ivan had reappeared, and the general
spoke to him with lips that moved but gave
forth no sound.
“Follow Ivan, if you please, Mr. Rainsford,”
said the general. “I was about to have my din-
ner when you came. I’ll wait for you. You’ll
find that my clothes will fit you, I think.”
It was to a huge, beam-ceilinged bedroom
with a canopied bed big enough for six men
that Rainsford followed the silent giant. Ivan
laid out an evening suit, and Rainsford, as he
put it on, noticed that it came from a London
tailor who ordinarily cut and sewed for none
below the rank of duke.
The dining room to which Ivan conducted
them was in many ways remarkable. There
was a medieval magnificence about it; it
suggested a baronial hall of feudal times
with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vast
refectory tables where twoscore men could sit
down to eat.9 About the hall were the mounted
heads of many animals—lions, tigers, ele-
phants, moose, bears; larger or more perfect
specimens Rainsford had never seen. At the
great table the general was sitting, alone.
“You’ll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford,”
he suggested. The cocktail was surpassingly
good; and, Rainsford noticed, the table
appointments were of the finest—the linen,
the crystal, the silver, the china.
They were eating borscht, the rich, red soup
with whipped cream so dear to Russian pal-
ates. Half apologetically General Zaroff said:
“We do our best to preserve the amenities of
9. The words medieval, baronial, and feudal all relate to the
Middle Ages. A refectory table might be found in a baron’s
castle; it is a long, wooden table with straight, heavy legs.
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What do you predict will happen between
Rainsford and General Zaroff?
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What do all the
mounted heads tell you about Zaroff?
12
civilization here.10 Please forgive any lapses.
We are well off the beaten track, you know.
Do you think the champagne has suffered
from its long ocean trip?”
“Not in the least,” declared Rainsford. He
was finding the general a most thoughtful
and affable host, a true cosmopolite.11 But
there was one small trait of the general’s that
made Rainsford uncomfortable. Whenever he
looked up from his plate he found the gen-
eral studying him, appraising him narrowly.
“Perhaps,” said General Zaroff, “you
were surprised that I recognized your
name. You see, I read all books on hunting
published in English, French, and Russian. I
have but one passion in my life, Mr.
Rainsford, and it is the hunt.”
“You have some wonderful heads here,”
said Rainsford as he ate a particularly well
cooked filet mignon. “That Cape buffalo12 is
the largest I ever saw.”
“Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was a monster.”
“Did he charge you?”
“Hurled me against a tree,” said the gen-
eral. “Fractured my skull. But I got the brute.”
“I’ve always thought,” said Rainsford,
“that the Cape buffalo is the most dangerous
of all big game.”
For a moment the general did not reply; he
was smiling his curious red-lipped smile.
Then he said slowly: “No. You are wrong, sir.
The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous
big game.” He sipped his wine. “Here in my
preserve on this island,” he said in the same
slow tone, “I hunt more dangerous game.”
10. Borscht (bor s ht) is a soup made from beets. Here, palates
means “tastes” or “likings,” and amenities means
“agreeable features” or “niceties.”
11. Affable means “friendly and gracious.” A cosmopolite
(koz mop
ə l¯t´) is a gracious and sophisticated person.
12. The African Cape buffalo is a large, often fierce buffalo with
heavy, downward-curving horns.
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot Does this passage change your earlier predic-
tion about General Zaroff? Explain.
Literary Element Suspense Why do phrases about dan-
gerous game heighten the suspense?
 Rainsford expressed his surprise. “Is
there big game on this island?”
The general nodded. “The biggest.”
“Really?”
“Oh, it isn’t here naturally, of course. I
have to stock the island.”
“What have you imported, general?”
Rainsford asked. “Tigers?”
The general smiled. “No,” he said.
“Hunting tigers ceased to interest me some
years ago. I exhausted their possibilities,
you see. No thrill left in tigers, no real dan-
ger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford.”
The general took from his pocket a gold
cigarette case and offered his guest a long
black cigarette with a silver
tip; it was perfumed and
gave off a smell like incense.
“We will have some capital
hunting, you and I,” said the “I live for
general. “I shall be most glad
to have your society.” danger,
“But what game—” began
Rainsford.
Mr. Rainsford.”
“I’ll tell you,” said the gen-
eral. “You will be amused, I
know. I think I may say, in all
modesty, that I have done a
rare thing. I have invented a new sensation.
May I pour you another glass of port?”
“Thank you, general.”
The general filled both glasses, and said:
“God makes some men poets. Some He
makes kings, some beggars. Me He made a
hunter. My hand was made for the trigger,
my father said. He was a very rich man with
a quarter of a million acres in the Crimea,
and he was an ardent sportsman. When I
was only five years old he gave me a little
gun, specially made in Moscow for me, to
shoot sparrows with. When I shot some of
his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish
me; he complimented me on my marksman-
ship. I killed my first bear in the Caucasus13
13. Crimea (kr¯ mē
ə) is a region in the southern part of the
former Russian empire near the Black Sea. Caucasus
(ko
kə səs) refers to both a region and a mountain range
between the Black and Caspian Seas.
13
when I was ten. My whole life has been one
prolonged hunt. I went into the army—it was
expected of noblemen’s sons—and for a time
commanded a division of Cossack cavalry,
but my real interest was always the hunt. I
have hunted every kind of game in every
land. It would be impossible for me to tell
you how many animals I have killed.”
The general puffed at his cigarette.
“After the debacle in Russia I left the
country, for it was imprudent for an officer
of the Czar to stay there.14 Many noble
Russians lost everything. I, luckily, had
invested heavily in American securities, so I
shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte
Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris.
Naturally, I continued to
hunt—grizzlies in your
Rockies, crocodile in the
Ganges, rhinoceroses in East
Africa. It was in Africa that
the Cape buffalo hit me and
laid me up for six months.
As soon as I recovered I
started for the Amazon to
hunt jaguars, for I had heard
they were unusually cun-
ning. They weren’t.” The
Cossack sighed. “They were no match at all
for a hunter with his wits about him, and a
high-powered rifle. I was bitterly disap-
pointed. I was lying in my tent with a split-
ting headache one night when a terrible
thought pushed its way into my mind.
Hunting was beginning to bore me! And
hunting, remember, had been my life. I have
heard that in America business men often go
to pieces when they give up the business
that has been their life.”
14. A debacle (di ba
kəl) is a disastrous defeat. Zaroff refers
to the 1917 revolution that overthrew the Czar, an event
that made it unwise (imprudent) for him to stay in Russia.
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What general
statement could you make about General Zaroff’s life goals?
Literary Element Suspense How does General Zaroff’s
discovery about jaguars build suspense in the story he is
telling?
 “Yes, that’s so,” said Rainsford.
The general smiled. “I had no wish to go
to pieces,” he said. “I must do something.
Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr.
Rainsford. Doubtless that is why I enjoy
the problems of the chase.”
“No doubt, General Zaroff.”
“So,” continued the general, “I asked
myself why the hunt no longer fascinated
me. You are much younger than I am, Mr.
Rainsford, and have not hunted as much,
but you perhaps can guess the answer.”
“What was it?”
“Simply this: hunting had ceased to be
what you call ‘a sporting proposition.’ It had
become too easy. I always
got my quarry. Always.
There is no greater bore than
perfection.”
The general lit a fresh
cigarette.
“No animal had a chance
with me any more. That is
no boast; it is a mathemati-
cal certainty. The animal had
nothing but his legs and his
instinct. Instinct is no match
for reason. When I thought of this it was a
tragic moment for me, I can tell you.”
Rainsford leaned across the table,
absorbed in what his host was saying.
“It came to me as an inspiration what I
must do,” the general went on.
“And that was?”
The general smiled the quiet smile of one
who has faced an obstacle and surmounted
it with success. “I had to invent a new ani-
mal to hunt,” he said.
“A new animal? You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” said the general. “I never joke
about hunting. I needed a new animal. I
found one. So I bought this island, built this
house, and here I do my hunting. The island
is perfect for my purposes—there are jungles
with a maze of trails in them, hills,
swamps—”
Literary Element Suspense How does General Zaroff
continue to build suspense in the telling of his story?
“But the animal, General Zaroff?”
“Oh,” said the general, “it supplies me
with the most exciting hunting in the world.
No other hunting compares with it for an
instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow
bored now, for I have a quarry with which I
can match my wits.”
Rainsford’s bewilderment showed in his
face.
“I wanted the ideal animal to hunt,”
explained the general. “So I said: ‘What are
the attributes of an ideal quarry?’ And the
answer was, of course: ‘It must have courage,
cunning, and, above all, it must be able to
reason.’”
“But no animal can reason,”
objected Rainsford.
“My dear fellow,” said the
“Instinct general, “there is one that can.”
“But you can’t mean—”
is no gasped Rainsford.
match for “And why not?”
“I can’t believe you are seri-
reason.” ous, General Zaroff. This is a
grisly joke.”
“Why should I not be seri-
ous? I am speaking of hunting.”
“Hunting? Good God, General Zaroff,
what you speak of is murder.”
The general laughed with entire good
nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically. “I
refuse to believe that so modern and civi-
lized a young man as you seem to be har-
bors romantic ideas about the value of
human life. Surely your experiences in the
war—”
“Did not make me condone cold-blooded
murder,” finished Rainsford stiffly.
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What animal do you think Zaroff will name?
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What does General
Zaroff imply about the effect of war on whether a person val-
ues life? Explain.
Vocabulary
condone (kən dōn
) v. to excuse or overlook an
offense, usually a serious one, without criticism
14
 Laughter shook the general. “How Providence a bit. Come to the window with
extraordinarily droll you are!” he said. me.”
“One does not expect nowadays to find a Rainsford went to the window and looked
young man of the educated class, even in out toward the sea.
America, with such a naive, and, if I may “Watch! Out there!” exclaimed the general,
say so, mid-Victorian15 point of view. It’s pointing into the night. Rainsford’s eyes saw
like finding a snuff-box in a limousine. Ah, only blackness, and then, as the general
well, doubtless you had Puritan ancestors. pressed a button, far out to sea Rainsford
So many Americans appear to have had. I’ll saw the flash of lights.
wager you’ll forget your notions when you The general chuckled. “They indicate a
go hunting with me. You’ve a genuine new channel,” he said, “where there’s none; giant
thrill in store for you, Mr. Rainsford.” rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea
“Thank you, I’m a hunter, not a murderer.” monster with wide-open jaws. They can
“Dear me,” said the general, quite unruf- crush a ship as easily as I crush this nut.”
fled, “again that unpleasant word. But I He dropped a walnut on the hardwood
think I can show you that your scruples16 are floor and brought his heel grinding down
quite ill founded.” on it. “Oh, yes,” he said, casually, as if in
“Yes?” answer to a question, “I have electricity. We
“Life is for the strong, to be lived by the try to be civilized here.”
strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. “Civilized? And you shoot down men?”
The weak of the world were put here to give A trace of anger was in the general’s black
the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should eyes, but it was there for but a second, and
I not use my fist? If I wish to hunt, why he said, in his most pleasant manner: “Dear
should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth— me, what a righteous young man you are! I
sailors from tramp ships—lascars,17 blacks, assure you I do not do the thing you suggest.
Chinese, whites, mongrels—a thoroughbred That would be barbarous. I treat these visi-
horse or hound is worth more than a score of tors with every consideration. They get
them.” plenty of good food and exercise. They get
“But they are men,” said Rainsford hotly. into splendid physical condition. You shall
“Precisely,” said the general. “That is see for yourself tomorrow.”
why I use them. It gives me pleasure. “What do you mean?”
They can reason, after a fashion. So they “We’ll visit my train-
are dangerous.” ing school,” smiled the
“But where do you get them?” general. “It’s in the cel-
The general’s left eyelid fluttered down in a lar. I have about a
wink. “This island is called Ship-Trap,” he dozen pupils down
answered. “Sometimes an angry god of the there now. They’re Visual Vocabulary
high seas sends them to me. Sometimes, from the Spanish bark A bark has from three to
five masts, all but one of
when Providence is not so kind, I help San Lucar that had the which are rigged with
bad luck to go on the four-sided sails. The last
rocks out there. A very mast has both three-
and four-sided sails.
15. Zaroff feels that Rainsford is quaint (droll), innocent and
inferior lot, I regret to
unsophisticated (naive), and old-fashioned (mid-Victorian). say. Poor specimens
16. Scruples are beliefs about the morality or ethics of an act. and more accustomed to the deck than to
To have scruples means you will not do something you
the jungle.”
believe is wrong.
17. Lascars are sailors from India.

Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What happens to Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
the weak in Zaroff’s world? About Plot What do you think Zaroff will do?

15
In 1901, Sir George Bulloughs of Lancashire, England, bought the Isle of Rhum for use as a sporting estate. The Trophy Room at
Kinloch Castle, shown here, is a centerpiece of this Edwardian extravaganza, replete with stuffed deer heads, a white bearskin, and
a piano.
He raised his hand, and Ivan, who served as
waiter, brought thick Turkish coffee. Rainsford,
with an effort, held his tongue in check.
“It’s a game, you see,” pursued the gen-
eral blandly. “I suggest to one of them that
we go hunting. I give him a supply of food
and an excellent hunting knife. I give him
three hours’ start. I am to follow, armed only
with a pistol of the smallest caliber and
range. If my quarry eludes me for three
whole days, he wins the game. If I find
him”—the general smiled—“he loses.”
“Suppose he refuses to be hunted?”
“Oh,” said the general, “I give him his
option, of course. He need not play that
game if he doesn’t wish to. If he does not
wish to hunt, I turn him over to Ivan. Ivan
once had the honor of serving as official
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What do you think
happens to someone who loses?
16
knouter18 to the Great White Czar, and he
has his own ideas of sport. Invariably, Mr.
Rainsford, invariably they choose the hunt.”
“And if they win?”
The smile on the general’s face widened.
“To date I have not lost,” he said. Then he
added, hastily: “I don’t wish you to think
me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford. Many of them
afford only the most elementary sort of
problem. Occasionally I strike a tartar.19
One almost did win. I eventually had to
use the dogs.”
“The dogs?”
“This way, please. I’ll show you.”
18. As the Czar’s knouter (nou
tər), Ivan was in charge of
administering whippings and torture. A knout is a whip
made of leather straps braided together with wires.
19. To strike a tartar is to take on someone who is stronger
or abler.
Literary Element Suspense How does this statement
increase the suspense?
 The general steered Rainsford to a win- throw open the door; it would not open. He
dow. The lights from the windows sent a went to the window and looked out. His
flickering illumination that made grotesque room was high up in one of the towers. The
patterns on the courtyard below, and lights of the chateau were out now, and it
Rainsford could see moving about there a was dark and silent, but there was a frag-
dozen or so huge black shapes; as they ment of sallow moon, and by its wan light
turned toward him, their eyes glittered he could see, dimly, the courtyard; there,
greenly. weaving in and out in the pattern of
“A rather good lot, I think,” observed shadow, were black, noiseless forms; the
the general. “They are let out at seven hounds heard him at the window and
every night. If anyone should try to get looked up, expectantly, with their green
into my house—or out of it—something eyes. Rainsford went back to the bed and
extremely regrettable would occur to him.” lay down. By many methods he tried to put
He hummed a snatch of song from the himself to sleep. He had achieved a doze
Folies Bergère.20 when, just as morning began to come, he
“And now,” said the general, “I want to heard, far off in the jungle, the faint report
show you my new collection of heads. Will of a pistol.
you come with me to the library?” General Zaroff did not appear until lun-
“I hope,” said Rainsford, “that you will cheon. He was dressed faultlessly in the
excuse me tonight, General Zaroff. I’m really tweeds of a country squire. He was solici-
not feeling well.” tous about the state of Rainsford’s health.
“Ah, indeed?” the general inquired “As for me,” sighed the general, “I do not
solicitously.21 “Well, I suppose that’s only feel so well. I am worried, Mr. Rainsford.
natural, after your long swim. You need a Last night I detected traces of my old
good, restful night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll complaint.”
feel like a new man, I’ll wager. Then we’ll To Rainsford’s questioning glance the gen-
hunt, eh? I’ve one rather promising eral said: “Ennui.22 Boredom.”
prospect—” Rainsford was hurrying from Then, taking a
the room. second helping of
“Sorry you can’t go with me tonight,” Crêpes Suzette, the
called the general. “I expect rather fair general explained:
sport—a big, strong black. He looks “The hunting was
resourceful—Well, good night, Mr. not good last night.
Rainsford; I hope you have a good The fellow lost his Visual Vocabulary
night’s rest.” head. He made a Crêpes Suzette
The bed was good, and the pajamas of straight trail that (krāps´ soo zet
)
are thin pancakes rolled
the softest silk and he was tired in every offered no problems
and heated in a sweet
fiber of his being, but nevertheless at all. That’s the sauce flavored with
Rainsford could not quiet his brain with the trouble with these orange or lemon juice
opiate of sleep. He lay, eyes wide open. sailors; they have and brandy.

Once he thought he heard stealthy steps in dull brains to begin

the corridor outside his room. He sought to
22. Ennui ( a n wē
)

20. The Folies Bergère (fo lē
ber zher
) is a music hall in Big Idea Matters of Life and Death In what ways are
Paris, famed for its variety shows.
the details of this paragraph significant?
21. Solicitously means “in a caring or concerned manner.”

Literary Element Suspense What is particularly fore- Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
boding about General Zaroff’s statement at this point in About Plot What effect will a poor hunt have on the
the story? general?

17
with, and they do not know how to get
about in the woods. They do excessively
stupid and obvious things. It’s most annoy-
ing. Will you have another glass of Chablis,23
Mr. Rainsford?”
“General,” said Rainsford firmly, “I wish
to leave this island at once.”
The general raised his thickets of eye-
brows; he seemed hurt. “But, my dear fel-
low,” the general protested, “you’ve only
just come. You’ve had no hunting—”
“I wish to go today,” said Rainsford. He
saw the dead black eyes of the general on
him, studying him. General Zaroff’s face
suddenly brightened.
He filled Rainsford’s glass with venerable
Chablis from a dusty bottle.
“Tonight,” said the general, “we will
hunt—you and I.”
Rainsford shook his head. “No, general,”
he said, “I will not hunt.”
The general shrugged his shoulders and
delicately ate a hothouse grape. “As you
wish, my friend,” he said. “The choice rests
entirely with you. But may I not venture to
suggest that you will find my idea of sport
more diverting24 than Ivan’s?”
He nodded toward the corner to where
the giant stood, scowling, his thick arms
crossed on his hogshead of a chest.
“You don’t mean—” cried Rainsford.
“My dear fellow,” said the general,
“have I not told you I always mean what I
say about hunting? This is really an inspi-
ration. I drink to a foeman worthy of my
steel—at last.” The general raised his
glass, but Rainsford sat staring at him.
“You’ll find this game worth playing,”
the general said enthusiastically. “Your
brain against mine. Your woodcraft against
mine. Your strength and stamina against
mine. Outdoor chess! And the stake is not
without value, eh?”
23. Chablis (sha blē
) is a white wine.
24. Diverting means “entertaining” or “amusing.”
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What do you predict Rainsford will do?
18
“And if I win—” began Rainsford huskily.
“I’ll cheerfully acknowledge myself
defeated if I do not find you by midnight
of the third day,” said General Zaroff. “My
sloop will place you on the mainland near
a town.” The general read what Rainsford
was thinking.
“Oh, you can trust me,” said the Cossack.
“I will give you my word as a gentleman and
a sportsman. Of course you, in turn, must
agree to say nothing of your visit here.”
“I’ll agree to nothing of the kind,” said
Rainsford.
“Oh,” said the general, “in that case—But
why discuss that now? Three days hence we
can discuss it over a bottle of Veuve Cliquot,25
unless—”
The general sipped his wine. Then a bus-
inesslike air animated him. “Ivan,” he said
to Rainsford, “will supply you with hunt-
ing clothes, food, a knife. I suggest you
wear moccasins; they leave a poorer trail. I
suggest, too, that you avoid the big
swamp in the southeast corner of the
island. We call it Death Swamp. There’s
quicksand there. One foolish fellow tried
it. The deplorable26 part of it was that
Lazarus followed him. You can imagine
my feelings, Mr. Rainsford. I loved
Lazarus; he was the finest hound in my
pack. Well, I must beg you to excuse me
now. I always take a siesta after lunch.
You’ll hardly have time for a nap, I fear.
You’ll want to start, no doubt. I shall not
follow till dusk. Hunting at night is so
much more exciting than by day, don’t
you think? Au revoir,27 Mr. Rainsford, au
revoir.” General Zaroff, with a deep,
courtly bow, strolled from the room.
25. Veuve Cliquot (vv klē kō
) is a French champagne.
26. Deplorable means “very bad” or “regrettable.”
27. Au revoir (ō rə vwa r
) is French for “good-bye” or “until
we meet again.”
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death Why might
Rainsford’s statement put him in danger?
Literary Element Suspense How do General Zaroff’s
words here generate suspense?
Sea Piece by Moonlight. Caspar David Friedrich. Oil on canvas, 25 ⫻ 33 cm. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig, Germany.
Rainsford had fought his way through the
bush for two hours. “I must keep my nerve.
I must keep my nerve,” he said through
tight teeth.
He had not been entirely clear-headed
when the chateau gates snapped shut
behind him. His whole idea at first was to
put distance between himself and General
Zaroff, and, to this end, he had plunged
along, spurred on by the sharp rowels28 of
something very like panic. Now he had
got a grip on himself, had stopped, and
was taking stock of himself and the situa-
tion. He saw that straight flight was futile;
inevitably it would bring him face to face
with the sea. He was in a picture with a
28. A rowel is a wheel with sharp radiating points, as on the
end of a rider’s spur.
19
frame of water, and his operations, clearly,
must take place within that frame.
“I’ll give him a trail to follow,” mut-
tered Rainsford, and he struck off from the
rude path he had been following into the
trackless wilderness. He executed a series
of intricate loops; he doubled on his trail
again and again, recalling all the lore of
the fox hunt, and all the dodges of the fox.
Night found him leg-weary, with hands
and face lashed by the branches, on a
thickly wooded ridge. He knew it would
be insane to blunder on through the dark,
even if he had the strength. His need for
rest was imperative and he thought: “I
have played the fox, now I must play the
Vocabulary
imperative (im per
ə tiv) adj. absolutely necessary
cat of the fable.” A big tree with a thick
trunk and outspread branches was near
by, and, taking care to leave not the
slightest mark, he climbed up into the
crotch, and stretching out on one of the
broad limbs, after a fashion, rested. Rest
brought him new confidence and almost a
feeling of security. Even so zealous a
hunter as General Zaroff could not trace
him there, he told himself; only the devil
himself could follow that complicated trail
through the jungle after dark. But, perhaps
the general was a devil—
An apprehensive night crawled slowly by
like a wounded snake, and sleep did not
visit Rainsford, although the silence of a
dead world was on the jungle. Toward
morning when a dingy gray was varnishing
the sky, the cry of some startled bird
focused Rainsford’s attention in that direc-
tion. Something was coming through the
bush, coming slowly, carefully, coming by
the same winding way Rainsford had come.
He flattened himself down on the limb, and
through a screen of leaves almost as thick
as tapestry, he watched. . . . That which was
approaching was a man.
He was General Zaroff. He made his
way along with his eyes fixed in utmost
concentration on the ground before him.
He paused, almost beneath the tree,
dropped to his knees and studied the
ground. Rainsford’s impulse was to hurl
himself down like a panther, but he saw
that the general’s right hand held some-
thing metallic—a small automatic pistol.
The hunter shook his head several times,
as if he were puzzled. Then he straightened
up and took from his case one of his black
cigarettes; its pungent incenselike smoke
floated up to Rainsford’s nostrils.
Literary Element Suspense What words and images does
the author use in this passage to heighten the suspense?
Vocabulary
zealous (zel
əs) adj. very eager; enthusiastic
20
Rainsford held his breath. The general’s
eyes had left the ground and were traveling
inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze
there, every muscle tensed for a spring. But
the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before
they reached the limb where Rainsford lay; a
smile spread over his brown face. Very delib-
erately he blew a smoke ring into the air; then
he turned his back on the tree and walked
carelessly away, back along the trail he had
come. The swish of the underbrush against
his hunting boots grew fainter and fainter.
The pent-up air burst hotly from
Rainsford’s lungs. His first thought made
him feel sick and numb. The general could
follow a trail through the woods at night;
he could follow an extremely difficult
trail; he must have uncanny powers; only
by the merest chance had the Cossack
failed to see his quarry.
Rainsford’s second thought was even
more terrible. It sent a shudder of cold hor-
ror through his whole being. Why had the
general smiled? Why had he turned back?
Rainsford did not want to believe what
his reason told him was true, but the truth
was as evident as the sun that had by now
pushed through the morning mists. The
general was playing with him! The general
was saving him for another day’s sport! The
Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse.
Then it was that Rainsford knew the full
meaning of terror.
“I will not lose my nerve. I will not.”
He slid down from the tree, and struck off
again into the woods. His face was set and
he forced the machinery of his mind to func-
tion. Three hundred yards from his hiding
place he stopped where a huge dead tree
leaned precariously on a smaller, living one.
Throwing off his sack of food, Rainsford
took his knife from its sheath and began to
work with all his energy.
The job was finished at last, and he threw
himself down behind a fallen log a hundred
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What makes this a
good metaphor for Rainford’s situation?
feet away. He did not have to wait long. The
cat was coming again to play with the
mouse.
Following the trail with the sureness of a
bloodhound came General Zaroff. Nothing
escaped those searching black eyes, no
crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no
mark, no matter how faint, in the moss. So
intent was the Cossack on his stalking that he
was upon the thing Rainsford had made
before he saw it. His foot touched it, the gen-
eral sensed his danger and leaped back with
the agility of an ape. But he was not quick
enough; the dead tree, delicately adjusted to
rest on the cut living one, crashed down and
struck the general a glancing blow on the
shoulder as it fell; but for his alertness, he
must have been smashed beneath it. He stag-
gered, but he did not fall; nor did he drop his
revolver. He stood there, rubbing his injured
shoulder, and Rainsford, with fear again grip-
ping his heart, heard the general’s mocking
laugh ring through the jungle.
“Rainsford,” called the general, “if you are
within sound of my voice, as I suppose you
are, let me congratulate you. Not many men
know how to make a Malay man-catcher.
Luckily, for me, I, too, have hunted in
Malacca.29 You are proving interesting, Mr.
Rainsford. I am going now to have my
wound dressed; it’s only a slight one. But I
shall be back.”
When the general, nursing his bruised
shoulder, had gone, Rainsford took up his
flight again. It was flight now, a desperate,
hopeless flight, that carried him on for some
hours. Dusk came, then darkness, and still he
pressed on. The ground grew softer under his
moccasins, the vegetation grew ranker,
denser; insects bit him savagely. Then, as he
stepped forward, his foot sank into the ooze.
He tried to wrench it back, but the muck
sucked viciously at his foot as if it were a
29. The Malay are a people of southeast Asia, and Malacca
(mə lak
ə) is their home region.
Reading Strategy Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot How do you think Zaroff will act after he
returns, and why?
21
giant leech. With a violent effort, he tore his
feet loose. He knew where he was now. Death
Swamp and its quicksand.
His hands were tight closed as if his nerve
were something tangible that someone in the
darkness was trying to tear from his grip.
The softness of the earth had given him an
idea. He stepped back from the quicksand a
dozen feet or so and, like some huge prehis-
toric beaver, he began to dig.
Rainsford had dug himself in in France
when a second’s delay meant death. That
had been a placid pas-
time compared to his
digging now. The pit
grew deeper; when it
was above his shoul-
ders, he climbed out
and from some hard
saplings cut stakes
and sharpened them Visual Vocabulary
A sapling is a
to a fine point. These young tree.
stakes he planted in
the bottom of the pit
with the points sticking up. With flying fin-
gers he wove a rough carpet of weeds and
branches and with it he covered the mouth
of the pit. Then, wet with sweat and aching
with tiredness, he crouched behind the
stump of a lightning-charred tree.
He knew that his pursuer was coming; he
heard the padding sound of feet on the soft
earth, and the night breeze brought him the
perfume of the general’s cigarette. It seemed
to Rainsford that the general was coming
with unusual swiftness; he was not feeling his
way along, foot by foot. Rainsford, crouching
there, could not see the general, nor could he
see the pit. He lived a year in a minute. Then
he felt an impulse to cry aloud with joy, for he
heard the sharp crackle of the breaking
branches as the cover of the pit gave way; he
heard the sharp scream of pain as the pointed
stakes found their mark. He leaped up from
his place of concealment. Then he cowered
back. Three feet from the pit a man was
Literary Element Suspense Why does this detail heighten
the suspense?
standing, with an electric torch in his
hand.
“You’ve done well, Rainsford,”
the voice of the general called. “Your
Burmese tiger pit has claimed one of
my best dogs. Again you score. I
think, Mr. Rainsford, I’ll see what
you can do against my whole pack.
I’m going home for a rest now.
Thank you for a most amusing
evening.”
At daybreak Rainsford, lying near
the swamp, was awakened by a
sound that made him know that he
had new things to learn about fear. It
was a distant sound, faint and
wavering, but he knew it. It was the
baying of a pack of hounds.
Rainsford knew he could do one
of two things. He could stay where
he was and wait. That was suicide.
He could flee. That was postponing
the inevitable. For a moment he
stood there, thinking. An idea that
held a wild chance came to him,
and, tightening his belt, he headed
away from the swamp. Land’s End—Cornwall, 1888. William Trost Richards. Oil on canvas,
The baying of the hounds drew 62 ⫻ 50 in. The Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio.
Viewing the Art: What might it feel like to stand
nearer, then still nearer, nearer, ever
at the edge of cliffs like these?
nearer. On a ridge Rainsford climbed
a tree. Down a watercourse, not a
quarter of a mile away, he could see down the trail; with a bit of wild grapevine
the bush moving. Straining his eyes, he saw he tied back the sapling. Then he ran for his
the lean figure of General Zaroff; just ahead life. The hounds raised their voices as they
of him Rainsford made out another figure hit the fresh scent. Rainsford knew now
whose wide shoulders surged through the how an animal at bay 30 feels.
tall jungle weeds; it was the giant Ivan, and He had to stop to get his breath. The
he seemed pulled forward by some unseen baying of the hounds stopped abruptly, and
force; Rainsford knew that Ivan must be Rainsford’s heart stopped, too. They must
holding the pack in leash. have reached the knife.
They would be on him any minute now. He shinned excitedly up a tree and
His mind worked frantically. He thought of looked back. His pursuers had stopped. But
a native trick he had learned in Uganda. He the hope that was in Rainsford’s brain
slid down the tree. He caught hold of a when he climbed died, for he saw in the
springy young sapling and to it he fastened shallow valley that General Zaroff was still
his hunting knife, with the blade pointing on his feet. But Ivan was not. The knife,

Literary Element Suspense How do the short sentences

30. At bay refers to the position of a cornered animal that is
add to the feeling of suspense?
forced to turn and confront its pursuers.

22
driven by the recoil of the springing tree,
had not wholly failed.
Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the
ground when the pack took up the cry again.
“Nerve, nerve, nerve!” he panted, as he
dashed along. A blue gap showed between
the trees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the
hounds. Rainsford forced himself on
toward that gap. He reached it. It was the
shore of the sea. Across a cove he could
see the gloomy gray stone of the chateau.
Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled
and hissed. Rainsford hesitated. He heard
the hounds. Then he leaped far out into
the sea. . . .
When the general and his
pack reached the place by the
sea, the Cossack stopped. For
some minutes he stood
regarding the blue-green
expanse of water. He “Better luck
shrugged his shoulders. Then
he sat down, took a drink of
another time.”
brandy from a silver flask, lit
a cigarette, and hummed a bit
from “Madame Butterfly.”31
General Zaroff had an
exceedingly good dinner in
his great paneled dining hall that evening.
With it he had a bottle of Pol Roger and half
a bottle of Chambertin. Two slight annoy-
ances kept him from perfect enjoyment.
One was the thought that it would be dif-
ficult to replace Ivan; the other was that his
quarry had escaped him; of course the
31. Madame Butterfly is an Italian opera by Giacomo Puccini.
Reading Strategy
Making and Verifying Predictions
About Plot What do you think will happen to Rainsford as
a result of this jump?
23
American hadn’t played the game—so
thought the general as he tasted his after-
dinner liqueur. In his library he read. At
ten he went up to his bedroom. He was
deliciously tired, he said to himself, as he
locked himself in. There was a little moon-
light, so, before turning on his light, he
went to the window and looked down at
the courtyard. He could see the great
hounds, and he called: “Better luck
another time,” to them. Then he switched
on the light.
A man, who had been hiding in the cur-
tains of the bed, was standing there.
“Rainsford!” screamed the general. “How
in God’s name did you get
here?”
“Swam,” said Rainsford.
“I found it quicker than
walking through the jungle.”
The general sucked in his
breath and smiled. “I con-
gratulate you,” he said. “You
have won the game.”
Rainsford did not smile. “I
am still a beast at bay,” he
said in a low, hoarse voice.
“Get ready, General Zaroff.”
The general made one of his deepest
bows. “I see,” he said. “Splendid! One of us
is to furnish a repast32 for the hounds. The
other will sleep in this very excellent bed.
On guard, Rainsford. . . .”
He had never slept in a better bed,
Rainsford decided.

32. Repast means “meal” or “feast.”
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What does the
phrase “a beast at bay” suggest about Rainsford?
 Louise Erdrich

M y mother is the
surviving half of a blind-
fold trapeze act, not a fact
I think about much even
now that she is sightless,
the result of encroaching
and stubborn cataracts.
She walks slowly through
her house here in New
Hampshire, lightly touch-
ing her way along walls
and running her hands
over knickknacks, books,
the drift of a grown
child’s belongings and
castoffs.
Au Cirque, 1976. Marc Chagall. Oil on canvas,
48 ⫻ 43¹⁄₄ in. Private collection.

24
 She has never upset an object or as much
as brushed a magazine onto the floor. She
has never lost her balance or bumped into a
closet door left carelessly open.
It has occurred to me that the catlike
precision of her movements in old age might
be the result of her early training, but she
shows so little of the drama or flair one
might expect from a performer that I tend to
forget the Flying Avalons. She has kept no
sequined costume, no photographs, no fliers
or posters from that part of her youth. I
would, in fact, tend to think that all memory
of double somersaults and heart-stopping
catches had left her arms and legs were it
not for the fact that sometimes, as I sit sew-
ing in the room of the rebuilt house in which
I slept as a child, I hear the crackle, catch a
whiff of smoke from the stove downstairs,
and suddenly the room goes dark, the
stitches burn beneath my fingers, and I am
sewing with a needle of hot silver, a thread
of fire.
I owe her my existence three times.
The first was when she saved herself. In the
town square a replica tent pole, cracked and
splintered, now stands cast in concrete. It
commemorates the disaster that put our
town smack on the front page of the Boston
and New York tabloids.1 It is from those old
newspapers, now historical records, that I
get my information. Not from my mother,
Anna of the Flying Avalons, nor from any of
her in-laws, nor certainly from the other half
of her particular act, Harold Avalon, her first
husband. In one news account it says, “The
1. Here, tabloids are newspapers with pages half the size of
an ordinary newspaper page. They contain brief news
articles and many pictures.
Big Idea Matters of Life and Death What might be the
three reasons the narrator owes her life to her mother?
Reading Strategy Identifing Sequence How is the narra-
tor going to order the events of the story? How do you know?
Vocabulary
commemorate (kə mem
ə rāt´) v. to preserve the
memory of
25
day was mildly overcast, but nothing in the
air or temperature gave any hint of the sud-
den force with which the deadly gale would
strike.”
I have lived in the West, where you can
see the weather coming for miles, and it is
true that out here we are at something of a
disadvantage. When extremes of tempera-
ture collide, a hot and cold front, winds gen-
erate instantaneously behind a hill and crash
upon you without warning. That, I think,
was the likely situation on that day in June.
People probably commented on the pleasant
air, grateful that no hot sun beat upon the
striped tent that stretched over the entire
center green. They bought their tickets and
surrendered them in anticipation. They sat.
They ate caramelized popcorn and roasted
peanuts. There was time, before the storm,
for three acts. The White Arabians of Ali-
Khazar rose on their hind legs and waltzed.
The Mysterious Bernie folded himself into a
painted cracker tin, and the Lady of the
Mists made herself appear and disappear in
surprising places. As the clouds gathered
outside, unnoticed, the ringmaster cracked
his whip, shouted his introduction, and
pointed to the ceiling of the tent, where the
Flying Avalons were perched.
They loved to drop gracefully from
nowhere, like two sparkling birds, and
blow kisses as they threw off their plumed
helmets and high-collared capes. They
laughed and flirted openly as they beat
their way up again on the trapeze bars.
In the final vignette2 of their act, they actu-
ally would kiss in midair, pausing, almost
hovering as they swooped past one another.
On the ground, between bows, Harry Avalon
would skip quickly to the front rows and
point out the smear of my mother’s lipstick,
just off the edge of his mouth. They made a
romantic pair all right, especially in the
blindfold sequence.
2. A vignette (vin yet
) is a short scene, sketch, or incident.
Literary Element Flashback How does this sentence
serve as a transition from the narrator’s present thoughts to
her description of an event in the past?
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Doubtless Livingston was right in securing his main object at any
cost; but could he have given more time to his claims convention, he
would perhaps have saved his own reputation and that of his
successor from much stain, although he might have gained no more
than he did for his Government. In the two conventions of 1800 and
1803 the United States obtained two objects of the utmost value,—
by the first, a release from treaty obligations which, if carried out,
required war with England; by the second, the whole west bank of
the Mississippi River and the island of New Orleans, with all the
incidental advantages attached. In return for these gains the United
States government promised not to press the claims of its citizens
against the French government beyond the amount of three million
seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which was one fourth part
of the price paid for Louisiana. The legitimate claims of American
citizens against France amounted to many million dollars; in the
result, certain favored claimants received three million seven
hundred and fifty thousand dollars less their expenses, which
reduced the sum about one half.
The impression of diplomatic oversight was deepened by the
scandals which grew out of the distribution of the three million seven
hundred and fifty thousand dollars which the favored claimants were
to receive. Livingston’s diplomatic career was poisoned by quarrels
over this money.[46] That the French government acted with little
concealment of venality was no matter of surprise; but that
Livingston should be officially charged by his own associates with
favoritism and corruption,—“imbecility of mind and a childish vanity,
mixed with a considerable portion of duplicity,”—injured the credit of
his Government; and the matter was not bettered when he threw
back similar charges on the Board of Commissioners, or when at last
General Armstrong, coming to succeed him, was discredited by
similar suspicions. Considering how small was the amount of money
distributed, the scandal and corruption surpassed any other
experience of the national government.
Livingston’s troubles did not end there. He could afford to suffer
some deduction from his triumph; for he had achieved the greatest
diplomatic success recorded in American history. Neither Franklin,
Jay, Gallatin, nor any other American diplomatist was so fortunate as
Livingston for the immensity of his results compared with the paucity
of his means. Other treaties of immense consequence have been
signed by American representatives,—the treaty of alliance with
France; the treaty of peace with England which recognized
independence; the treaty of Ghent; the treaty which ceded Florida;
the Ashburton treaty; the treaty of Guadeloupe Hidalgo,—but in none
of these did the United States government get so much for so little.
The annexation of Louisiana was an event so portentous as to defy
measurement; it gave a new face to politics, and ranked in historical
importance next to the Declaration of Independence and the
adoption of the Constitution,—events of which it was the logical
outcome; but as a matter of diplomacy it was unparalleled, because
it cost almost nothing.
The scandalous failure of the claims convention was a trifling
drawback to the enjoyment of this unique success; but the success
was further embittered by the conviction that America would give the
honor to Monroe. Virginia was all-powerful. Livingston was
unpopular, distrusted, not liked even by Madison; while Monroe, for
political reasons, had been made a prominent figure. Public attention
had been artificially drawn upon his mission; and in consequence,
Monroe’s name grew great, so as almost to overshadow that of
Madison, while Livingston heard few voices proclaiming his services
to the country. In a few weeks Livingston began to see his laurels
wither, and was forced to claim the credit that he thought his due.
Monroe treated him less generously than he might have done,
considering that Monroe gained the political profit of the success.[47]
Acknowledging that his own share was next to nothing in the
negotiation, he still encouraged the idea that Livingston’s influence
had been equally null. This view was doubtless correct, but if
universally applied in history, would deprive many great men of their
laurels. Monroe’s criticism helped only to diminish the political
chances of a possible rival who had no Virginia behind him to press
his preferment and cover his mistakes.
 CHAPTER III.
When Marbois took the treaty to the First Consul, Bonaparte
listened to its provisions with lively interest; and on hearing that
twenty millions were to be employed in paying claims,—a use of
money which he much disliked,—he broke out: “Who authorized you
to dispose of the money of the State? I want to have these twenty
millions paid into the Treasury. The claimants’ rights cannot come
before our own.”[48] His own projet had required the Americans to
assume these claims,—which was, in fact, the better plan. Marbois’s
alteration turned the claims into a French job. Perhaps Bonaparte
was not averse to this; for when Marbois reminded him that he had
himself fixed the price at fifty millions, whereas the treaty gave him
sixty, and settled the claims besides,—“It is true,” he said; “the
negotiation leaves me nothing to wish. Sixty millions for an
occupation that will not perhaps last a day! I want France to have the
good of this unexpected capital, and to employ it in works of use to
her marine.” On the spot he dictated a decree for the construction of
five canals. This excellent use of the money seemed inconsistent
with Lucien’s remark that it was wanted for war,—but the canals
were never built or begun; and the sixty millions were spent, to the
last centime, in preparations for an impracticable descent on
England.
Yet money was not the inducement which caused Bonaparte to
sell Louisiana to the United States. The Prince of Peace would at
any time have given more money, and would perhaps have been
willing, as he certainly was able, to pay it from his private means
rather than allow the United States to own Louisiana. In other
respects, the sale needed explanation, since it contradicted the First
Consul’s political theories and prejudices. He had but two rooted
hatreds. The deeper and fiercer of these was directed against the
republic,—the organized democracy, and what he called ideology,
which Americans knew in practice as Jeffersonian theories; the
second and steadier was his hatred of England as the chief barrier to
his military omnipotence. The cession of Louisiana to the United
States contradicted both these passions, making the ideologists
supreme in the New World, and necessarily tending in the end to
strengthen England in the Old. Bonaparte had been taught by
Talleyrand that America and England, whatever might be their
mutual jealousies, hatreds, or wars, were socially and economically
one and indivisible. Barely ten years after the Revolutionary War had
closed, and at a time when the wounds it made were still raw,
Talleyrand remarked: “In every part of America through which I have
travelled, I have not found a single Englishman who did not feel
himself to be an American; not a single Frenchman who did not find
himself a stranger.” Bonaparte knew that England held the monopoly
of American trade, and that America held the monopoly of
democratic principles; yet he did an act which was certain to extend
British trade and fortify democratic principles.
This contradiction was due to no change in Bonaparte’s opinions;
these remained what they were. At the moment when talking to
Marbois about “those republicans whose friendship I seek,” he was
calculating on the chance that his gift would one day prove their ruin.
“Perhaps it will also be objected to me,” he said,[49] “that the
Americans may in two or three centuries be found too powerful for
Europe; but my foresight does not embrace such remote fears.
Besides, we may hereafter expect rivalries among the members of
the Union. The confederations that are called perpetual last only till
one of the contracting parties finds it to its interest to break them.... It
is to prevent the danger to which the colossal power of England
exposes us that I would provide a remedy.” The colossal power of
England depended on her navy, her colonies, and her manufactures.
Bonaparte proposed to overthrow it by shattering beyond repair the
colonial system of France and Spain; and even this step was
reasonable compared with what followed. He expected to check the
power of England by giving Louisiana to the United States,—a
measure which opened a new world to English commerce and
manufactures, and riveted England’s grasp on the whole American
continent, inviting her to do what she afterward did,—join hands with
the United States in revolutionizing Mexico and South America in her
own interests. As though to render these results certain, after
extending this invitation to English commerce and American
democracy, Bonaparte next invited a war with England, which was
certain to drive from the ocean every ship belonging to France or
Spain,—a war which left even the United States at England’s mercy.
Every detail that could explain Bonaparte’s motives becomes
interesting in a matter so important to American history. Certain
points were clear. Talleyrand’s colonial and peace policy failed.
Resting on the maintenance of order in Europe and the extension of
French power in rivalry with the United States and England in
America, it was a statesmanlike and honorable scheme, which
claimed for the Latin races what Louis XIV. tried to gain for them; but
it had the disadvantage of rousing hostility in the United States, and
of throwing them into the arms of England. For this result Talleyrand
was prepared. He knew that he could keep peace with England, and
that the United States alone could not prevent him from carrying out
his policy. Indeed, Madison in his conversation with Pichon invited
such action, and Jefferson had no means of resisting it; but from the
moment when St. Domingo prevented the success of the scheme,
and Bonaparte gained an excuse for following his own military
instincts, the hostility of the United States became troublesome.
President Jefferson had chiefly reckoned on this possibility as his
hope of getting Louisiana; and slight as the chance seemed, he was
right.
This was, in effect, the explanation which Talleyrand officially
wrote to his colleague Decrès, communicating a copy of the treaty,
and requesting him to take the necessary measures for executing it.
[50]

“The wish to spare the North American continent the war with
which it was threatened, to dispose of different points in dispute
between France and the United States of America, and to remove all
the new causes of misunderstanding which competition and
neighborhood might have produced between them; the position of the
French colonies; their want of men, cultivation, and assistance; in fine,
the empire of circumstances, foresight of the future, and the intention
to compensate by an advantageous arrangement for the inevitable
loss of a country which war was going to put at the mercy of another
nation,—all these motives have determined the Government to pass
 to the United States the rights it had acquired from Spain over the
sovereignty and property of Louisiana.”
Talleyrand’s words were always happily chosen, whether to
reveal or to conceal his thoughts. This display of reasons for an act
which he probably preferred to condemn, might explain some of the
First Consul’s motives in ceding Louisiana to the United States; but it
only confused another more perplexing question. Louisiana did not
belong to France, but to Spain. The retrocession had never been
completed; the territory was still possessed, garrisoned, and
administered by Don Carlos IV.; until actual delivery was made,
Spain might yet require that the conditions of retrocession should be
rigorously performed. Her right in the present instance was
complete, because she held as one of the conditions precedent to
the retrocession a solemn pledge from the First Consul never to
alienate Louisiana. The sale of Louisiana to the United States was
trebly invalid: if it were French property, Bonaparte could not
constitutionally alienate it without the consent of the Chambers; if it
were Spanish property, he could not alienate it at all; if Spain had a
right of reclamation, his sale was worthless. In spite of all these
objections the alienation took place; and the motives which led the
First Consul to conciliate America by violating the Constitution of
France were perhaps as simple as he represented them to be; but
no one explained what motives led Bonaparte to break his word of
honor and betray the monarchy of Spain.
Bonaparte’s evident inclination toward a new war with England
greatly distressed King Charles IV. Treaty stipulations bound Spain
either to take part with France in the war, or to pay a heavy annual
subsidy; and Spain was so weak that either alternative seemed fatal.
The Prince of Peace would have liked to join England or Austria in a
coalition against Bonaparte; but he knew that to this last desperate
measure King Charles would never assent until Bonaparte’s hand
was actually on his crown; for no one could reasonably doubt that
within a year after Spain should declare an unsuccessful war on
France, the whole picturesque Spanish court—not only Don Carlos
IV. himself and Queen Luisa, but also the Prince of Peace, Don
Pedro Cevallos, the Infant Don Ferdinand, and the train of courtiers
who thronged La Granja and the Escorial—would be wandering in
exile or wearing out their lives in captivity. To increase the
complication, the young King of Etruria died May 27, 1803, leaving
an infant seated upon the frail throne which was sure soon to
disappear at the bidding of some military order countersigned by
Berthier.
In the midst of such anxieties, Godoy heard a public rumor that
Bonaparte had sold Louisiana to the United States; and he felt it as
the death-knell of the Spanish empire. Between the energy of the
American democracy and the violence of Napoleon whom no oath
bound, Spain could hope for no escape. From New Orleans to Vera
Cruz was but a step; from Bayonne to Cadiz a winter campaign of
some five or six hundred miles. Yet Godoy would probably have
risked everything, and would have thrown Spain into England’s
hands, had he been able to control the King and Queen, over whom
Bonaparte exercised the influence of a master. On learning the sale
of Louisiana, the Spanish government used language almost
equivalent to a rupture with France. The Spanish minister at Paris
was ordered to remonstrate in the strongest terms against the step
which the First Consul had taken behind the back of the King his ally.
[51]

“This alienation,” wrote the Chevalier d’Azara to Talleyrand, “not

only deranges from top to bottom the whole colonial system of Spain,
and even of Europe, but is directly opposed to the compacts and
formal stipulations agreed upon between France and Spain, and to
the terms of the cession in the treaty of Tuscany; and the King my
master brought himself to give up the colony only on condition that it
should at no time, under no pretext, and in no manner, be alienated or
ceded to any other Power.”
Then, after reciting the words of Gouvion St.-Cyr’s pledge, the
note continued:—
“It is impossible to conceive more frankness or loyalty than the
King has put into his conduct toward France throughout this affair. His
Majesty had therefore the right to expect as much on the part of his
ally, but unhappily finds himself deceived in his hopes by the sale of
the said colony. Yet trusting always in the straightforwardness and
justice of the First Consul, he has ordered me to make this
 representation, and to protest against the alienation, hoping that it will
be revoked, as manifestly contrary to the treaties and to the most
solemn anterior promises.”
Not stopping there, the note also insisted that Tuscany should be
evacuated by the French troops, who were not needed, and had
become an intolerable burden, so that the country was reduced to
the utmost misery. Next, King Charles demanded that Parma and
Piacenza should be surrendered to the King of Etruria, to whom they
belonged as the heir of the late Duke of Parma. Finally, the note
closed with a complaint even more grave in substance than any of
the rest:—
“The King my master could have wished also a little more friendly
frankness in communicating the negotiations with England, and
especially in regard to the dispositions of the Northern courts,
guarantors of the treaty of Amiens; but as this affair belongs to
negotiations of another kind, the undersigned abstains for the moment
from entering into them, reserving the right to do so on a better
occasion.”
Beurnonville, the French minister at Madrid, tried to soothe or
silence the complaints of Cevallos; but found himself only silenced in
return. The views of the Spanish secretary were energetic, precise,
and not to be met by argument.[52] “I have not been able to bring M.
Cevallos to any moderate, conciliatory, or even calm expression,”
wrote Beurnonville to Talleyrand; “he has persistently shown himself
inaccessible to all persuasion.” The Prince of Peace was no more
manageable than Cevallos: “While substituting a soft and pliant tone
for the sharpest expressions, and presenting under the appearance
of regret what had been advanced to me with the bitterness of
reproach, the difference between the Prince’s conduct and that of M.
Cevallos is one only in words.” Both of them said, what was quite
true, that the United States would not have objected to the continued
possession of Louisiana by Spain, and that France had greatly
exaggerated the dispute about the entrepôt.
“The whole matter reduces itself to a blunder (gaucherie) of the
Intendant,” said Cevallos; “it has been finally explained to Mr.
Jefferson, and friendship is restored. On both sides there has been
irritation, but not a shadow of aggression; and from the moment of
 coming to an understanding, both parties see that they are at bottom
of one mind, and mutually very well disposed toward each other.
Moreover, it is quite gratuitous to assume that Louisiana is so easy to
take in the event of a war, either by the Americans or by the English.
The first have only militia,—very considerable, it is true, but few troops
of the line; while Louisiana, at least for the moment, has ten thousand
militia-men, and a body of three thousand five hundred regular troops.
As for the English, they cannot seriously have views on a province
which is impregnable to them; and all things considered, it would be
no great calamity if they should take it. The United States, having a
much firmer hold on the American continent, should they take a new
enlargement, would end by becoming formidable, and would one day
disturb the Spanish possessions. As for the debts due to Americans,
Spain has still more claim to an arrangement of that kind; and in any
case the King, as Bonaparte must know, would have gladly
discharged all the debts contracted by France, and perhaps even a
large instalment of the American claim, in order to recover an old
domain of the crown. Finally, the intention which led the King to give
his consent to the exchange of Louisiana was completely deceived.
This intention had been to interpose a strong dyke between the
Spanish colonies and the American possessions; now, on the
contrary, the doors of Mexico are to stay open to them.”
To these allegations, which Beurnonville called “insincere, weak,
and ill-timed,” Cevallos added a piece of evidence which, strangely
enough, was altogether new to the French minister, and reduced him
to confusion: it was Gouvion St.-Cyr’s letter, pledging the First
Consul never to alienate Louisiana.
When Beurnonville’s despatch narrating these interviews reached
Paris, it stung Bonaparte to the quick, and called from him one of the
angry avowals with which he sometimes revealed a part of the
motives that influenced his strange mind. Talleyrand wrote back to
Beurnonville, June 22, a letter which bore the mark of the First
Consul’s hand.
“In one of my last letters,” he began,[53] “I made known to you the
motives which determined the Government to give up Louisiana to the
United States. You will not conceal from the Court of Madrid that one
of the causes which had most influence on this determination was
discontent at learning that Spain, after having promised to sustain the
measures taken by the Intendant of New Orleans, had nevertheless
 formally revoked them. These measures would have tended to free
the capital of Louisiana from subjection to a right of deposit which was
becoming a source of bickerings between the Louisianians and
Americans. We should have afterward assigned to the United States,
in conformity to their treaty with Spain, another place of deposit, less
troublesome to the colony and less injurious to its commerce; but
Spain put to flight all these hopes by confirming the privileges of the
Americans at New Orleans,—thus granting them definitively local
advantages which had been at first only temporary. The French
government, which had reason to count on the contrary assurance
given in this regard by that of Spain, had a right to feel surprise at this
determination; and seeing no way of reconciling it with the commercial
advantages of the colony and with a long peace between the colony
and its neighbors, took the only course which actual circumstances
and wise prevision could suggest.”
These assertions contained no more truth than those which
Cevallos had answered. Spain had not promised to sustain the
Intendant, nor had she revoked the Intendant’s measures after, but
before, the imagined promise; she had not confirmed the American
privileges at New Orleans, but had expressly reserved them for
future treatment. On the other hand, the restoration of the deposit
was not only reconcilable with peace between Louisiana and the
United States, but the whole world knew that the risk of war rose
from the threat of disturbing the right of deposit. The idea that the
colony had become less valuable on this account was new. France
had begged for the colony with its American privileges, and meaning
to risk the chances of American hostility; but if these privileges were
the cause of selling the colony to the Americans, and if, as
Talleyrand implied, France could and would have held Louisiana if
the right of deposit at New Orleans had been abolished and the
Americans restricted to some other spot on the river-bank, fear of
England was not, as had been previously alleged, the cause of the
sale. Finally, if the act of Spain made the colony worthless, why was
Spain deprived of the chance to buy it back?
The answer was evident. The reason why Bonaparte did not
keep his word to Don Carlos IV. was that he looked on Spain as his
own property, and on himself as representing her sovereignty. The
reasons for which he refused to Spain the chance to redeem the
colony, were probably far more complicated. The only obvious
explanation, assuming that he still remembered his pledge, was a
wish to punish Spain.
After all these questions were asked, one problem still remained.
Bonaparte had reasons for not returning the colony to Spain; he had
reasons, too, for giving it to the United States,—but why did he
alienate the territory from France? Fear of England was not the true
cause. He had not to learn how to reconquer Louisiana on the
Danube and the Po. At one time or another Great Britain had
captured nearly all the French colonies in the New World, and had
been forced not only to disgorge conquests, but to abandon
possessions; until of the three great European Powers in America,
England was weakest. Any attempt to regain old ascendency by
conquering Louisiana would have thrown the United States into the
hands of France; and had Bonaparte anticipated such an act, he
should have helped it. That Great Britain should waste strength in
conquering Louisiana in order to give it to the United States, was an
idea not to be gravely argued. Jefferson might, indeed, be driven into
an English alliance in order to take Louisiana by force from France or
Spain; but this danger was slight in itself, and might have been
removed by the simple measure of selling only the island of New
Orleans, and by retaining the west bank, which Jefferson was ready
to guarantee. This was the American plan; and the President offered
for New Orleans alone about half the price he paid for all Louisiana.
[54] Still, Bonaparte forced the west bank on Livingston. Every
diplomatic object would have been gained by accepting Jefferson’s
projet of a treaty, and signing it without the change of a word. Spain
would have been still in some degree protected; England would have
been tempted to commit the mistake of conquering the retained
territory, and thereby the United States would have been held in
check; the United States would have gained all the stimulus their
ambition could require for many years to come; and what was more
important to Bonaparte, France could not justly say that he had
illegally and ignobly sold national territory except for a sufficient and
national object.
 The real reasons which induced Bonaparte to alienate the
territory from France remained hidden in the mysterious processes
of his mind. Perhaps he could not himself have given the true
explanation of his act. Anger with Spain and Godoy had a share in it,
as he avowed through Talleyrand’s letter of June 22; disgust for the
sacrifices he had made, and impatience to begin his new campaigns
on the Rhine,—possibly a wish to show Talleyrand that his policy
could never be revived, and that he had no choice but to follow into
Germany,—had still more to do with the act. Yet it is also reasonable
to believe that the depths of his nature concealed a wish to hide
forever the monument of a defeat. As he would have liked to blot
Corsica, Egypt, and St. Domingo from the map, and wipe from
human memory the record of his failures, he may have taken
pleasure in flinging Louisiana far off, and burying it forever from the
sight of France in the bosom of the only government which could
absorb and conceal it.
For reasons of his own, which belonged rather to military and
European than to American history, Bonaparte preferred to deal with
Germany before crossing the Pyrenees; and he knew that
meanwhile Spain could not escape. Godoy on his side could neither
drag King Charles into a war with France, nor could he provide the
means of carrying on such a war with success. Where strong nations
like Austria, Russia, and Prussia were forced to crouch before
Bonaparte, and even England would have been glad to accept
tolerable terms, Spain could not challenge attack. The violent anger
that followed the sale of Louisiana and the rupture of the peace of
Amiens soon subsided. Bonaparte, aware that he had outraged the
rights of Spain, became moderate. Anxious to prevent her from
committing any act of desperation, he did not require her to take part
in the war, but even allowed her stipulated subsidies to run in
arrears; and although he might not perhaps regret his sale of
Louisiana to the United States, he felt that he had gone too far in
shaking the colonial system. At the moment when Cevallos made his
bitterest complaints, Bonaparte was least disposed to resent them by
war. Both parties knew that so far as Louisiana was concerned, the
act was done and could not be undone; that France was bound to
carry out her pledge, or the United States would take possession of
Louisiana without her aid. Bonaparte was willing to go far in the way
of conciliation, if Spain would consent to withdraw her protest.
Of this the American negotiators knew little. Through such
complications, of which Bonaparte alone understood the secret, the
Americans moved more or less blindly, not knowing enemies from
friends. The only public man who seemed ever to understand
Napoleon’s methods was Pozzo di Borgo, whose ways of thought
belonged to the island society in which both had grown to manhood;
and Monroe was not skilled in the diplomacy of Pozzo, or even of
Godoy. Throughout life, Monroe was greatly under the influence of
other men. He came to Paris almost a stranger to its new society, for
his only relations of friendship had been with the republicans, most
of whom Bonaparte had sent to Cayenne. He found Livingston
master of the situation, and wisely interfered in no way with what
Livingston did. The treaty was no sooner signed than he showed his
readiness to follow Livingston further, without regard to
embarrassments which might result.
When Livingston set his name to the treaty of cession, May 2,
1803, he was aware of the immense importance of the act. He rose
and shook hands with Monroe and Marbois. “We have lived long,”
said he; “but this is the noblest work of our lives.” This was said by
the man who in the Continental Congress had been a member of the
committee appointed to draft the Declaration of Independence; and it
was said to Monroe, who had been assured only three months
before, by President Jefferson of the grandeur of his destinies in
words he could hardly have forgotten:[55] “Some men are born for
the public. Nature, by fitting them for the service of the human race
on a broad scale, has stamped them with the evidences of her
destination and their duty.” Monroe was born for the public, and
knew what destiny lay before him; while in Livingston’s mind New
York had thenceforward a candidate for the Presidency whose
claims were better than Monroe’s. In the cup of triumph of which
these two men then drank deep, was yet one drop of acid. They had
been sent to buy the Floridas and New Orleans. They had bought
New Orleans; but instead of Florida, so much wanted by the
Southern people, they had paid ten or twelve million dollars for the
west bank of the Mississippi. The negotiators were annoyed to think
that having been sent to buy the east bank of the Mississippi, they
had bought the west bank instead; that the Floridas were not a part
of their purchase. Livingston especially felt the disappointment, and
looked about him for some way to retrieve it.
Hardly was the treaty signed, when Livingston found what he
sought. He discovered that France had actually bought West Florida
without knowing it, and had sold it to the United States without being
paid for it. This theory, which seemed at first sight preposterous,
became a fixed idea in Livingston’s mind. He knew that West Florida
had not been included by Spain in the retrocession, but that on the
contrary Charles IV. had repeatedly, obstinately, and almost publicly
rejected Bonaparte’s tempting bids for that province. Livingston’s
own argument for the cession of Louisiana had chiefly rested on this
knowledge, and on the theory that without Mobile New Orleans was
worthless. He recounted this to Madison in the same letter which
announced Talleyrand’s offer to sell:[56]—
“I have used every exertion with the Spanish Ambassador and
Lord Whitworth to prevent the transfer of the Floridas, ... and unless
they [the French] get Florida, I have convinced them that Louisiana is
worth little.”
In the preceding year one of the French ministers had applied to
Livingston “to know what we understand in America by Louisiana;”
and Livingston’s answer was on record in the State Department at
Washington:[57] “Since the possession of the Floridas by Britain and
the treaty of 1762, I think there can be no doubt as to the precise
meaning of the terms.” He had himself drafted an article which he
tried to insert in Marbois’s projet, pledging the First Consul to
interpose his good offices with the King of Spain to obtain the
country east of the Mississippi. As late as May 12, Livingston wrote
to Madison:[58] “I am satisfied that ... if they [the French] could have
concluded with Spain, we should also have had West Florida.” In his
next letter, only a week afterward, he insisted that West Florida was
his:[59]—
 “Now, sir, the sum of this business is to recommend to you in the
strongest terms, after having obtained the possession that the French
commissary will give you, to insist upon this as a part of your right,
and to take possession at all events to the River Perdido. I pledge
myself that your right is good.”
The reasoning on which he rested this change of opinion was in
substance the following: France had, in early days, owned nearly all
the North American continent, and her province of Louisiana had
then included Ohio and the watercourses between the Lakes and the
Gulf, as well as West Florida, or a part of it. This possession lasted
until the treaty of peace, Nov. 3, 1762, when France ceded to
England not only Canada, but also Florida and all other possessions
east of the Mississippi, except the Island of New Orleans. Then West
Florida by treaty first received its modern boundary at the Iberville.
On the same day France further ceded to Spain the Island of New
Orleans and all Louisiana west of the Mississippi. Not a foot of the
vast French possessions on the continent of North America
remained in the hands of the King of France; they were divided
between England and Spain.
The retrocession of 1800 was made on the understanding that it
referred to this cession of 1762. The province of Louisiana which had
been ceded was retro-ceded, with its treaty-boundary at the Iberville.
Livingston knew that the understanding between France and Spain
was complete; yet on examination he found that it had not been
expressed in words so clearly but that these words could be made to
bear a different meaning. Louisiana was retroceded, he perceived,
“with the same extent that it now has in the hands of Spain, and that
it had when France possessed it, and such as it should be according
to the treaties subsequently entered into between Spain and other
States.” When France possessed Louisiana it included Ohio and
West Florida: no one could deny that West Florida was in the hands
of Spain; therefore Bonaparte, in the absence of negative proof,
might have claimed West Florida, if he had been acute enough to
know his own rights, or willing to offend Spain,—and as all
Bonaparte’s rights were vested in the United States, President
Jefferson was at liberty to avail himself of them.
 The ingenuity of Livingston’s idea was not to be disputed; and as
a ground for a war of conquest it was as good as some of the claims
which Bonaparte made the world respect. As a diplomatic weapon,
backed as Napoleon would have backed it by a hundred thousand
soldiers, it was as effective an instrument as though it had every
attribute of morality and good faith; and all it wanted, as against
Spain, was the approval of Bonaparte. Livingston hoped that after
the proof of friendship which Bonaparte had already given in selling
Louisiana to the United States, he might without insuperable difficulty
be induced to grant this favor. Both Marbois and Talleyrand, under
the First Consul’s express orders, led him on. Marbois did not deny
that Mobile might lie in Louisiana, and Talleyrand positively denied
knowledge that Laussat’s instructions contained a definition of
boundaries. Bonaparte stood behind both these agents, telling them
that if an obscurity did not exist about the boundary they should
make one. Talleyrand went so far as to encourage the pretensions
which Livingston hinted: “You have made a noble bargain for
yourselves,” said he, “and I suppose you will make the most of it.”
This was said at the time when Bonaparte was still intent on
punishing Spain.
Livingston found no difficulty in convincing Monroe that they had
bought Florida as well as Louisiana.[60]
“We consider ourselves so strongly founded in this conclusion, that
we are of opinion the United States should act on it in all the
measures relative to Louisiana in the same manner as if West Florida
was comprised within the Island of New Orleans, or lay to the west of
the River Iberville.”

Livingston expected that “a little force,”[61] as he expressed

himself, might be necessary.
“After the explanations that have been given here, you need
apprehend nothing from a decisive measure; your minister here and at
Madrid can support your claim, and the time is peculiarly favorable to
enable you to do it without the smallest risk at home.... The moment is
so favorable for taking possession of that country that I hope it has not
been neglected, even though a little force should be necessary to
effect it. Your minister must find the means to justify it.”
 A little violence added to a little diplomacy would answer the
purpose. To use the words which “Aristides” Van Ness was soon to
utter with striking effect, the United States ministers to France
“practised with unlimited success upon the Livingston maxim,—
‘Rem facias, rem
Si possis recte; si non, quocunque modo, rem.’”
 CHAPTER IV.
In the excitement of this rapid and half-understood foreign drama,
domestic affairs seemed tame to the American people, who were
busied only with the routine of daily life. They had set their
democratic house in order. So short and easy was the task, that the
work of a single year finished it. When the President was about to
meet Congress for the second time, he had no new measures to
offer.[62] “The path we have to pursue is so quiet that we have
nothing scarcely to propose to our legislature.” The session was too
short for severe labor. A quorum was not made until the middle of
December, 1802; the Seventh Congress expired March 4, 1803. Of
these ten weeks, a large part was consumed in discussions of
Morales’s proclamation and Bonaparte’s scheme of colonizing
Louisiana.
On one plea the ruling party relied as an excuse for inactivity and
as a defence against attack. Their enemies had said and believed
that the democrats possessed neither virtue nor ability enough to
carry on the government; but after eighteen months of trial, as the
year 1803 began, the most severe Federalist could not with truth
assert that the country had yet suffered in material welfare from the
change. Although the peace in Europe, after October, 1801, checked
the shipping interests of America, and although France and Spain,
returning to the strictness of their colonial system, drove the
American flag from their harbors in the Antilles, yet Gallatin at the
close of the first year of peace was able to tell Congress[63] that the
customs revenue, which he had estimated twelve months before at
$9,500,000, had brought into the Treasury $12,280,000, or much
more than had ever before been realized in a single year from all
sources of revenue united. That the Secretary of the Treasury should
miscalculate by one third the product of his own taxes was strange;
but Gallatin liked to measure the future, not by a probable mean, but
by its lowest possible extreme, and his chief aim was to check
extravagance in appropriations for objects which he thought bad. His
caution increased the popular effect of his success. Opposition