Herkimer did know him. But it demanded all the intimate andpractical acquaintance with the human face, acquired by modellingactual likenesses in clay, to recognize the features of RoderickElliston in the visage that now met the sculptor's gaze. Yet it washe. It added nothing to the wonder, to reflect that the once brilliantyoung man had undergone this odious and fearful change, during theno more than five brief years of Herkimer's abode at Florence. Thepossibility of such a transformation being granted, it was as easyto conceive it effected in a moment as in an age. Inexpressiblyshocked and startled, it was still the keenest pang, when Herkimerremembered that the fate of his cousin Rosina, the ideal of gentlewomanhood, was indissolubly interwoven with that of a being whomProvidence seemed to have unhumanized.
"Elliston! Roderick!" cried he, "I had heard of this; but myconception came far short of the truth. What has befallen you? Whydo I find you thus?""Oh, 'tis a mere nothing! A snake! A snake! The commonest thingin the world. A snake in the bosom- that's all," answered RoderickElliston. "But how is your own breast?" continued he, looking thesculptor in the eye, with the most acute and penetrating glance thatit had ever been his fortune to encounter. "All pure and wholesome? Noreptile there? By my faith and conscience, and by the devil within me,here is a wonder! A man without a serpent in his bosom!""Be calm, Elliston," whispered George Herkimer, laying his handupon the shoulder of the snake-possessed. "I have crossed the ocean tomeet you. Listen- let us be private- I bring a message from Rosina!
from your wife!"
"It gnaws me! It gnaws me!" muttered Roderick.
With this exclamation, the most frequent in his mouth, theunfortunate man clutched both hands upon his breast, as if anintolerable sting or torture impelled him to rend it open, and let outthe living mischief, even where it intertwined with his own life. Hethen freed himself from Herkimer's grasp, by a subtle motion, andgliding through the gate, took refuge in his antiquated familyresidence. The sculptor did not pursue him. He saw that no availableintercourse could be expected at such a moment, and was desirous,before another meeting, to inquire closely into the nature ofRoderick's disease, and the circumstances that had reduced him to solamentable a condition. He succeeded in obtaining the necessaryinformation from an eminent medical gentleman.
Shortly after Elliston's separation from his wife- now nearlyfour years ago- his associates had observed a singular gloom spreadingover his daily life, like those chill, gray mists that sometimes stealaway the sunshine from a summer's morning. The symptoms caused themendless perplexity. They knew not whether ill health were robbinghis spirits of elasticity; or whether a canker of the mind wasgradually eating, as such cankers do, from his moral system into thephysical frame, which is but the shadow of the former. They looked forthe root of this trouble in his shattered schemes of domestic bliss-wilfully shattered by himself-but could not be satisfied of itsexistence there. Some thought that their once brilliant friend wasin an incipient stage of insanity, of which his passionate impulseshad perhaps been the forerunners; others prognosticated a generalblight and gradual decline. From Roderick's own lips, they could learnnothing. More than once, it is true, he had been heard to say,clutching his hands convulsively upon his breast- "It gnaws me! Itgnaws me!"- but, by different auditors, a great diversity ofexplanation was assigned to this ominous expression. What could it be,that gnawed the breast of Roderick Elliston? Was it sorrow? Was itmerely the tooth of physical disease? Or, in his reckless course,often verging upon profligacy, if not plunging into its depths, had hebeen guilty of some deed, which made his bosom a prey to thedeadlier fangs of remorse? There was plausible ground for each ofthese conjectures; but it must not be concealed that more than oneelderly gentleman, the victim of good cheer and slothful habits,magisterially pronounced the secret of the whole matter to beDyspepsia!
Meanwhile, Roderick seemed aware how generally he had become thesubject of curiosity and conjecture, and, with a morbid repugnanceto such notice, or to any notice whatsoever, estranged himself fromall companionship. Not merely the eye of man was a horror to him;not merely the light of a friend's countenance; but even the blessedsunshine, likewise, which, in its universal beneficence, typifiesthe radiance of the Creator's face, expressing his love for all thecreatures of his hand. The dusky twilight was now too transparentfor Roderick Elliston; the blackest midnight was his chosen hour tosteal abroad; and if ever he were seen, it was when the watchman'slantern gleamed upon his figure, gliding along the street with hishands clutched upon his bosom, still muttering: "It gnaws me! It gnawsme!" What could it be that gnawed him?
After a time, it became known that Elliston was in the habit ofresorting to all the noted quacks that infested the city, or whommoney would tempt to journey thither from a distance. By one ofthese persons, in the exultation of a supposed cure, it was proclaimedfar and wide, by dint of hand-bills and little pamphlets on dingypaper, that a distinguished gentleman, Roderick Elliston, Esq., hadbeen relieved of a SNAKE in his stomach! So here was the monstroussecret, ejected from its lurking-place into public view, in all itshorrible deformity. The mystery was out; but not so the bosom serpent.
