Analysis of A Bad Night

Ambrose Bierce 1842 (Meigs County) – 1914 (Chihuahua)



VILLIAM _a Sen_
NEEDLESON _a Sidniduc_
SMILER _a Scheister_
KI-YI _a Trader_
GRIMGHAST _a Spader_
SARALTHIA _a Love-lorn Nymph_
NELLIBRAC _a Sweetun_

A BODY; A GHOST; AN UNMENTIONABLE THING; SKULLS;
HOODOOS; ETC.

_Scene_-a Cemetery in San Francisco.

_Saralthia, Nellibrac, Grimghast._

The red half-moon is dipping to the west,
And the cold fog invades the sleeping land.
Lo! how the grinning skulls in the level light
Litter the place! Methinks that every skull
Is a most lifelike portrait of my Sen,
Drawn by the hand of Death; each fleshless pate,
Cursed with a ghastly grin to eyes unrubbed
With love's magnetic ointment, seems to mine
To smile an amiable smile like his
Whose amiable smile I-I alone
Am able to distinguish from his leer!
See how the gathering coyotes flit
Through the lit spaces, or with burning eyes
Star the black shadows with a steadfast gaze!
About my feet the poddy toads at play,
Bulbously comfortable, try to hop,
And tumble clumsily with all their warts;
While pranking lizards, sliding up and down
My limbs, as they were public roads, impart
A singularly interesting chill.
The circumstance and passion of the time,
The cast and manner of the place-the spirit
Of this confederate environment,
Command the rights we come to celebrate
Obedient to the Inspired Hag-
The seventh daughter of the seventh daughter,
Who rules all destinies from Minna street,
A dollar a destiny. Here at this grave,
Which for my purposes thou, Jack of Spades-
_(To Grimghast_)
Corrupter than the thing that reeks below-
Hast opened secretly, we'll work the charm.
Now what's the hour?
_(Distant clock strikes thirteen_.)
Enough-hale forth the stiff!

_(Grimghast by means of a boat-hook stands the coffin on end
in the excavation; the lid crumbles, exposing the remains of a
man.)_

Ha! Master Mouldybones, how fare you, sir?

Poorly, I thank your ladyship; I miss
Some certain fingers and an ear or two.
There's something, too, gone wrong with my inside,
And my periphery's not what it was.
How can we serve each other, you and I?

O what a personable man!

_(Blushes bashfully, drops her eyes and twists the corner of
her apron_.)

Yes, dear,
A very proper and alluring male,
And quite superior to Lubin Rroyd,
Who has, however, this distinct advantage-
He is alive.

Missus, these yer remains
Was the boss singer back in '72,
And used to allers git invites to go
Down to Swellmont and sing at every feed.
In t'other Villiam's time, that was, afore
The gent that you've hooked onto bought the place.

THE BODY _(singing):_

Down among the sainted dead
Many years I lay;
Beetles occupied my head,
Moles explored my clay.

There we feasted day and night-
I and bug and beast;
They provided appetite
And I supplied the feast.

The raven is a dicky-bird,

The jackal is a daisy,

The wall-mouse is a worthy third,

A SPOOK _(singing):_

But mortals all are crazy.

CHORUS OF SKULLS:

O mortals all are crazy,
Their intellects are hazy;
In the growing moon they shake their shoon
And trip it in the mazy.

But when the moon is waning,
Their senses they're regaining:
They fall to prayer and from their hair
Remove the straws remaining.

That's right, Rogues Gallery, pray keep it up:
Your song recalls my Villiam's 'Auld Lang Syne,'
What time he came and (like an amorous bird
That struts before the female of its kind,
Warbling to cave her down the bank) piped high
His cracked falsetto out of reach. Enough-
Now let's to business. Nellibrac, sweet child,
St. Cloacina's future devotee,
The time is ripe and rotten-gut the grip!

_(Nellibrac brings forward a valise and takes from it five
articles of clothing, which, one by one, she lays upon the points
of a magic pentagram that has thoughtfully inscribed itself in
lines of light on the wet grass. The Body holds its late lamented
nose.)_

Fragrant socks, by Villiam's toes
Consecrated to the nose;

Shirt that shows the well worn track
Of the knuckles of his back,

Handkerchief with mottled stains,
Into which he blew his brains;

Collar crying out for soap-
Prop


Scheme ABCCCDA EB B F FFFXAFFAXACFXXGHXAFXXFFFBCFDXFXXCAD FXI C XXFXX A DA CXFXD JABFCX I FGFG FFFF F K F I K E KKAE BBCB XAFFDDFFX DXAFI LL BB JJ XH
Poetic Form
Metre 111 111 111 1111 111 11111 111 0100110100011 1100 1010001010 111 0111110101 0011010101 11010100101 1001111001 101110111 110111111 110101111 1101010111 1111000111 1100011101 1101010111 1101000101 1011011101 10111011 011101111 11000111 0101001111 111010101 1111010101 010001001 010010101 01010101010 1101000100 010111110 0100100101 01010101010 1111001101 01001001111 1111001111 111 11011101 1101001101 11010 110111 011101 11111011101011 00010011001000110 11 11011111 10111111 1101001111 1101111101 0111111 1111110101 11010001 1101101010101 01 11 0101000101 0101001101 1110101010 1101 101101 1011010 0111010111 1110111001 011011111 0111110101 0101101 1010101 10111 101011 10111 1110101 10101 101010 010101 01010101 0101010 01110101 011101 1101110 1011 1101110 110110 001011111 011001 1101110 1101010 11110111 0101010 1111001111 11111111 11110111001 110101111 10011010111 110111101 11110111 111001 0111010101 111100101111 1001101111110101 101011110001010 1111011010111010 11 101111 100101 1110111 1010111 1001101 0111111 1010111 1
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 4,028
Words 714
Sentences 38
Stanzas 29
Stanza Lengths 7, 2, 1, 1, 35, 3, 1, 5, 1, 2, 5, 6, 1, 4, 4, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 9, 5, 2, 2, 2, 2
Lines Amount 114
Letters per line (avg) 28
Words per line (avg) 6
Letters per stanza (avg) 109
Words per stanza (avg) 24
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 27, 2023

3:38 min read
491

Ambrose Bierce

Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce was an American editorialist, journalist, short story writer, fabulist, and satirist. more…

All Ambrose Bierce poems | Ambrose Bierce Books

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