“Here he comes！” shouted the boys along the street. —“Here comes the man with a snake in his bosom！”
This outcry， saluting Herkimer’s ears， as he was aboutto enter the iron gate of the Elliston mansion， made himpause. It was not without a shudder that he found himselfon the point of meeting his former acquaintance， whomhe had known in the glory of youth， and whom now， afteran interval of five years， he was to find the victim either ofa diseased fancy， or a horrible physical misfortune.
“A snake in his bosom！” repeated the young sculptor tohimself. “It must be he. No second man on earth has sucha bosom-friend！ And now， my poor Rosina， Heaven grantme wisdom to discharge my errand aright！ Woman’s faithmust be strong indeed， since thine has not yet failed.”
Thus musing， he took his stand at the entrance ofthe gate， and waited until the personage， so singularlyannounced， should make his appearance. After aninstant or two， he beheld the figure of a lean man， ofunwholesome look， with glittering eyes and long blackhair， who seemed to imitate the motion of a snake； for，instead of walking straight forward with open front， heundulated along the pavement in a curved line. It maybe too fanciful to say， that something， either in his moralor material aspect， suggested the idea that a miracle hadbeen wrought， by transforming a serpent into a man； butso imperfectly， that the snaky nature was yet hidden，and scarcely hidden， under the mere outward guise of* The physical fact， to which it is here attempted to give a moralsignification， has been known to occur in more than one instance.
[author’s footnote to title]
*humanity. Herkimer remarked that his complexion hada greenish tinge over its sickly white， reminding him ofa species of marble out of which he had once wrought ahead of Envy， with her snaky locks.
The wretched being approached the gate， but， insteadof entering， stopt short， and fixed the glitter of his eye fullupon the compassionate， yet steady countenance of thesculptor.
“It gnaws me！ It gnaws me！” he exclaimed.
And then there was an audible hiss， but whether it camefrom the apparent lunatic’s own lips， or was the real hissof a serpent， might admit of discussion. At all events， itmade Herkimer shudder to his heart’s core.
“Do you know me， George Herkimer？” asked the snakepossessed.
Herkimer did know him. But it demanded all theintimate and practical acquaintance with the humanface， acquired by modelling actual likenesses in clay，to recognize the features of Roderick Elliston in thevisage that now met the sculptor’s gaze. Yet it was he.
It added nothing to the wonder， to reflect that the oncebrilliant young man had undergone this odious andfearful change， during the no more than five brief years ofHerkimer’s abode at Florence. The possibility of such atransformation being granted， it was as easy to conceive iteffected in a moment as in an age. Inexpressibly shockedand startled， it was still the keenest pang， when Herkimerremembered that the fate of his cousin Rosina， the idealof gentle womanhood， was indissolubly interwovenwith that of a being whom Providence seemed to haveunhumanized.
“Elliston！ Roderick！” cried he， “I had heard of this； butmy conception came far short of the truth. What hasbefallen you？ Why do I find you thus？”
“Oh， ’tis a mere nothing！ A snake！ A snake！ The commonestthing in the world. A snake in the bosom—that’s all，”
answered Roderick Elliston. “But how is your own breast？”
continued he， looking the sculptor in the eye， with the mostacute and penetrating glance that it had ever been hisfortune to encounter. “All pure and wholesome？ No reptilethere？ By my faith and conscience， and by the devil withinme， here is a wonder！ A man without a serpent in hisbosom！”
“Be calm， Elliston，” whispered George Herkimer， layinghis hand upon the shoulder of the snake-possessed. “Ihave crossed the ocean to meet you. Listen—let us beprivate—I bring a message from Rosina！ —from yourwife！”
“It gnaws me！ It gnaws me！” muttered Roderick.
With this exclamation， the most frequent in his mouth，the unfortunate man clutched both hands upon his breast，as if an intolerable sting or torture impelled him to rendit open， and let out the living mischief， even where itintertwined with his own life. He then freed himself fromHerkimer’s grasp， by a subtle motion， and gliding throughthe gate， took refuge in his antiquated family residence.
The sculptor did not pursue him. He saw that no availableintercourse could be expected at such a moment， and wasdesirous， before another meeting， to inquire closely intothe nature of Roderick’s disease， and the circumstancesthat had reduced him to so lamentable a condition. Hesucceeded in obtaining the necessary information from aneminent medical gentleman.
Shortly after Elliston’s separation from his wife—nownearly four years ago—his associates had observed asingular gloom spreading over his daily life， like thosechill， gray mists that sometimes steal away the sunshinefrom a summer’s morning. The symptoms caused themendless perplexity. They knew not whether ill health wererobbing his spirits of elasticity； or whether a canker ofthe mind was gradually eating， as such cankers do， fromhis moral system into the physical frame， which is butthe shadow of the former. They looked for the root ofthis trouble in his shattered schemes of domestic bliss—wilfully shattered by himself—but could not be satisfied ofits existence there. Some thought that their once brilliantfriend was in an incipient stage of insanity， of which hispassionate impulses had perhaps been the forerunners；others prognosticated a general blight and gradual decline.
From Roderick’s own lips， they could learn nothing. Morethan once， it is true， he had been heard to say， clutchinghis hands convulsively upon his breast— “It gnaws me！ Itgnaws me！” —but， by different auditors， a great diversityof explanation was assigned to this ominous expression.
