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\fBThe Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fall of the House of Usher\fP

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Title: \fBThe Fall of the House of Usher\fP
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\fBAuthor\fP: Edgar Allan Poe
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\fBRelease date\fP: June 1, 1997 [eBook #932]
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Most recently updated: July 21, 2024
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\fBLanguage\fP: English
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\fBCredits\fP: Produced by Levent Kurnaz; Jose Menendez; Kian Agheli
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THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER ***
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\fTTHE FALL OF
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THE HOUSE OF USHER\fP
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BY
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\fTEDGAR ALLAN POE\fP
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\fISon cœur est un luth suspendu;
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Sitôt qu’on le touche il résonne.\fP
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\fIDe Béranger.\fP

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\fTDURING\fP the whole of a dull, dark, and
soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung
oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on
horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at
length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within
view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it
was – but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of
insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for
the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable,
because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives
even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I
looked upon the scene before me – upon the mere house, and
the simple landscape features of the domain – upon the bleak
walls – upon the vacant eye-like windows – upon a few
rank sedges – and upon a few white trunks of decayed
trees – with an utter depression of soul which I can compare
to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of
the reveller upon opium – the bitter lapse into every-day
life – the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an
iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart – an unredeemed
dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could
torture into aught of the sublime. What was it – I paused to
think – what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation
of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could
I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I
pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory
conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there \fIare\fP
combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power
of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among
considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected,
that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the
scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to
modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful
impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the
precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled
lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down – but with a shudder
even more thrilling than before – upon the remodelled and
inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems,
and the vacant and eye-like windows.
.pg
Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to
myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher,
had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; but many years had
elapsed since our last meeting. A letter, however, had lately
reached me in a distant part of the country – a letter from
him – which, in its wildly importunate nature, had admitted
of no other than a personal reply. The \fTMS.\fP gave evidence of
nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute bodily
illness – of a mental disorder which oppressed him – and
of an earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his only
personal friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulness
of my society, some alleviation of his malady. It was the manner
in which all this, and much more, was said – it was the
apparent \fIheart\fP that went with his request – which
allowed me no room for hesitation; and I accordingly obeyed
forthwith what I still considered a very singular summons.
.pg
Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet I
really knew little of my friend. His reserve had been always
excessive and habitual. I was aware, however, that his very
ancient family had been noted, time out of mind, for a peculiar
sensibility of temperament, displaying itself, through long ages,
in many works of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in
repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtrusive charity, as well as
in a passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more
than to the orthodox and easily recognizable beauties, of musical
science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable fact, that the
stem of the Usher race, all time-honored as it was, had put
forth, at no period, any enduring branch; in other words, that
the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and had
always, with very trifling and very temporary variation, so lain.
It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over in
thought the perfect keeping of the character of the premises with
the accredited character of the people, and while speculating
upon the possible influence which the one, in the long lapse of
centuries, might have exercised upon the other – it was this
deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent
undeviating transmission, from sire to son, of the patrimony with
the name, which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge
the original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal
appellation of the “House of Usher” – an
appellation which seemed to include, in the minds of the
peasantry who used it, both the family and the family
mansion.
.pg
I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish
experiment – that of looking down within the tarn – had
been to deepen the first singular impression. There can be no
doubt that the consciousness of the rapid increase of my
superstition – for why should I not so term it? – served
mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long
known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as
a basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, when
I again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image in
the pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy – a fancy so
ridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid force
of the sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked upon my
imagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion and
domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and their
immediate vicinity – an atmosphere which had no affinity with
the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayed
trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn – a pestilent
and mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and
leaden-hued.
.pg
Shaking off from my spirit what \fImust\fP have been a dream,
I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its
principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity.
The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi overspread
the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the
eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary
dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there
appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect
adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the
individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the
specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long
years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from the
breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive
decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability.
Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered
a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of
the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag
direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the
tarn.
.pg
Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the
house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the
Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence
conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate
passages in my progress to the \fIstudio\fP of his master. Much
that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, to
heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already spoken.
While the objects around me – while the carvings of the
ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebony blackness
of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which
rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as
which, I had been accustomed from my infancy – while I
hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this – I
still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which
ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases, I met
the physician of the family. His countenance, I thought, wore a
mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me
with trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a door
and ushered me into the presence of his master.
.pg
The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The
windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a distance
from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from
within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through
the trellised panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct
the more prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled in
vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses
of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the
walls. The general furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique,
and tattered. Many books and musical instruments lay scattered
about, but failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt that
I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and
irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all.
.pg
Upon my entrance, Usher rose from a sofa on which he had been
lying at full length, and greeted me with a vivacious warmth
which had much in it, I at first thought, of an overdone
cordiality – of the constrained effort of the
\fIennuyé\fP man of the world. A glance, however, at his
countenance convinced me of his perfect sincerity. We sat down;
and for some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with a
feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely, man had never before
so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher!
It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the
identity of the man being before me with the companion of my
early boyhood. Yet the character of his face had been at all
times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large,
liquid, and luminous beyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and
very pallid, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a
delicate Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril unusual in
similar formations; a finely moulded chin, speaking, in its want
of prominence, of a want of moral energy; hair of a more than
web-like softness and tenuity; – these features, with an
inordinate expansion above the regions of the temple, made up
altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten. And now in
the mere exaggeration of the prevailing character of these
features, and of the expression they were wont to convey, lay so
much of change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly
pallor of the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye,
above all things startled and even awed me. The silken hair, too,
had been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in its wild
gossamer texture, it floated rather than fell about the face, I
could not, even with effort, connect its Arabesque expression
with any idea of simple humanity.
.pg
In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an
incoherence – an inconsistency; and I soon found this to
arise from a series of feeble and futile struggles to overcome an
habitual trepidancy – an excessive nervous agitation. For
something of this nature I had indeed been prepared, no less by
his letter, than by reminiscences of certain boyish traits, and
by conclusions deduced from his peculiar physical conformation
and temperament. His action was alternately vivacious and sullen.
His voice varied rapidly from a tremulous indecision (when the
animal spirits seemed utterly in abeyance) to that species of
energetic concision – that abrupt, weighty, unhurried, and
hollow-sounding enunciation – that leaden, self-balanced and
perfectly modulated guttural utterance, which may be observed in
the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater of opium, during
the periods of his most intense excitement.
.pg
It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his
earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to
afford him. He entered, at some length, into what he conceived to
be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a constitutional
and a family evil, and one for which he despaired to find a
remedy – a mere nervous affection, he immediately added,
which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed itself in a
host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he detailed them,
interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, the terms and
the general manner of the narration had their weight. He suffered
much from a morbid acuteness of the senses; the most insipid food
was alone endurable; he could wear only garments of certain
texture; the odors of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were
tortured by even a faint light; and there were but peculiar
sounds, and these from stringed instruments, which did not
inspire him with horror.
.pg
To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden slave.
“I shall perish,” said he, “I \fImust\fP
perish in this deplorable folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise,
shall I be lost. I dread the events of the future, not in
themselves, but in their results. I shudder at the thought of
any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operate upon this
intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence of
danger, except in its absolute effect – in terror. In this
unnerved, in this pitiable, condition I feel that the period will
sooner or later arrive when I must abandon life and reason
together, in some struggle with the grim phantasm, \fTFEAR.\fP”
.pg
I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and
equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental
condition. He was enchained by certain superstitious impressions
in regard to the dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for many
years, he had never ventured forth – in regard to an
influence whose supposititious force was conveyed in terms too
shadowy here to be re-stated – an influence which some
peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his family
mansion had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained over
his spirit – an effect which the \fIphysique\fP of the gray
walls and turrets, and of the dim tarn into which they all looked
down, had, at length, brought about upon the \fImorale\fP of his
existence.
.pg
He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of
the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a
more natural and far more palpable origin – to the severe and
long-continued illness – indeed to the evidently approaching
dissolution – of a tenderly beloved sister, his sole
companion for long years, his last and only relative on earth.
“Her decease,” he said, with a bitterness which I can
never forget, “would leave him (him the hopeless and the
frail) the last of the ancient race of the Ushers.” While
he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly
through a remote portion of the apartment, and, without having
noticed my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter
astonishment not unmingled with dread; and yet I found it
impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stupor
oppressed me as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When a
door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively
and eagerly the countenance of the brother; but he had buried his
face in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than
ordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers through
which trickled many passionate tears.
.pg
The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of
her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of the
person, and frequent although transient affections of a partially
cataleptical character were the unusual diagnosis. Hitherto she
had steadily borne up against the pressure of her malady, and had
not betaken herself finally to bed; but on the closing in of the
evening of my arrival at the house, she succumbed (as her brother
told me at night with inexpressible agitation) to the prostrating
power of the destroyer; and I learned that the glimpse I had
obtained of her person would thus probably be the last I should
obtain – that the lady, at least while living, would be seen
by me no more.
.pg
For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by either
Usher or myself; and during this period I was busied in earnest
endeavors to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We painted
and read together, or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild
improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, as a closer and
still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into the
recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the
futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness,
as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects
of the moral and physical universe in one unceasing radiation of
gloom.
.pg
I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours I
thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I
should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact
character of the studies, or of the occupations, in which he
involved me, or led me the way. An excited and highly distempered
ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. His long improvised
dirges will ring forever in my ears. Among other things, I hold
painfully in mind a certain singular perversion and amplification
of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber. From the
paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, and which grew,
touch by touch, into vagueness at which I shuddered the more
thrillingly, because I shuddered knowing not why – from these
paintings (vivid as their images now are before me) I would in
vain endeavor to educe more than a small portion which should lie
within the compass of merely written words. By the utter
simplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested and
overawed attention. If ever mortal painted an idea, that mortal
was Roderick Usher. For me at least, in the circumstances then
surrounding me, there arose out of the pure abstractions which
the hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas, an
intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yet
in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concrete
reveries of Fuseli.
.pg
One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partaking
not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowed
forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture presented the
interior of an immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel,
with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption or
device. Certain accessory points of the design served well to
convey the idea that this excavation lay at an exceeding depth
below the surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in any
portion of its vast extent, and no torch or other artificial
source of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense rays
rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly and
inappropriate splendor.
.pg
I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory
nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with
the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. It was,
perhaps, the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon
the guitar which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic
character of the performances. But the fervid \fIfacility\fP of
his \fIimpromptus\fP could not be so accounted for. They must
have been, and were, in the notes, as well as in the words of his
wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently accompanied himself with
rhymed verbal improvisations), the result of that intense mental
collectedness and concentration to which I have previously
alluded as observable only in particular moments of the highest
artificial excitement. The words of one of these rhapsodies I
have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the more forcibly
impressed with it as he gave it, because, in the under or mystic
current of its meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and for the
first time, a full consciousness on the part of Usher of the
tottering of his lofty reason upon her throne. The verses, which
were entitled “The Haunted Palace,” ran very nearly,
if not accurately, thus: – 
.br

.in +\*[length]/4u
.nf
.br
.ti +\*[length]/4u
I.
.br
In the greenest of our valleys,
.br
     By good angels tenanted,
.br
 Once a fair and stately palace – 
.br
     Radiant palace – reared its head.
.br
 In the monarch Thought’s dominion – 
.br
     It stood there!
.br
 Never seraph spread a pinion
.br
     Over fabric half so fair.

.br
.ti +\*[length]/4u
 II.
.br
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
.br
     On its roof did float and flow;
.br
 (This – all this – was in the olden
.br
     Time long ago);
.br
 And every gentle air that dallied,
.br
     In that sweet day,
.br
 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
.br
     A winged odor went away.

.ti +\*[length]/4u
 III.
Wanderers in that happy valley
.br
     Through two luminous windows saw
.br
 Spirits moving musically
.br
     To a lute’s well-tunèd law;
.br
 Round about a throne, where sitting
.br
     (Porphyrogene!)
.br
 In state his glory well befitting,
.br
     The ruler of the realm was seen.

.ti +\*[length]/4u
 IV.
.br
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
.br
     Was the fair palace door,
.br
 Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
.br
     And sparkling evermore,
.br
 A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
.br
     Was but to sing,
.br
 In voices of surpassing beauty,
.br
     The wit and wisdom of their king.

.ti +\*[length]/4u
 V.
.br
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
.br
     Assailed the monarch’s high estate;
.br
 (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
.br
     Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
.br
 And, round about his home, the glory
.br
     That blushed and bloomed
.br
 Is but a dim-remembered story
.br
     Of the old time entombed.

.ti +\*[length]/4u
 VI.
.br
And travellers now within that valley,
.br
     Through the red-litten windows see
.br
 Vast forms that move fantastically
.br
     To a discordant melody;
.br
 While, like a rapid ghastly river,
.br
     Through the pale door,
.br
 A hideous throng rush out forever,
.br
     And laugh – but smile no more.

.in -(\*[length]/4u)
.fi
.br
.pg
I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad, led
us into a train of thought wherein there became manifest an
opinion of Usher’s which I mention not so much on account
of its novelty (for other men* have thought
thus), as on account of the pertinacity with which he maintained
it. This opinion, in its general form, was that of the sentience
of all vegetable things. But, in his disordered fancy, the idea
had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, under
certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack
words to express the full extent, or the earnest \fIabandon\fP
of his persuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have
previously hinted) with the gray stones of the home of his
forefathers. The conditions of the sentience had been here, he
imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of these
stones – in the order of their arrangement, as well as in
that of the many \fIfungi\fP which overspread them, and of the
decayed trees which stood around – above all, in the long
undisturbed endurance of this arrangement, and in its
reduplication in the still waters of the tarn. Its
evidence – the evidence of the sentience – was to be
seen, he said, (and I here started as he spoke), in the gradual
yet certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about the
waters and the walls. The result was discoverable, he added, in
that silent yet importunate and terrible influence which for
centuries had moulded the destinies of his family, and which made
\fIhim\fP what I now saw him – what he was. Such opinions
need no comment, and I will make none.
.pg
Our books – the books which, for years, had formed no
small portion of the mental existence of the invalid – were,
as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of
phantasm. We pored together over such works as the “Ververt
et Chartreuse” of Gresset; the “Belphegor” of
Machiavelli; the “Heaven and Hell” of Swedenborg; the
“Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm” by Holberg;
the “Chiromancy” of Robert Flud, of Jean
D’Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; the “Journey
into the Blue Distance” of Tieck; and the “City of
the Sun” of Campanella. One favorite volume was a small
octavo edition of the “Directorium Inquisitorium,” by
the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in
Pomponius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and Œgipans,
over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chief delight,
however, was found in the perusal of an exceedingly rare and
curious book in quarto Gothic – the manual of a forgotten
church – the \fIVigiliæ Mortuorum Secundum Chorum
Ecclesiæ Maguntinæ\fP.
.pg
I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and
of its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, one
evening, having informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline was
no more, he stated his intention of preserving her corpse for a
fortnight (previously to its final interment), in one of the
numerous vaults within the main walls of the building. The
worldly reason, however, assigned for this singular proceeding,
was one which I did not feel at liberty to dispute. The brother
had been led to his resolution (so he told me) by consideration
of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, of
certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical
men, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial-ground
of the family. I will not deny that when I called to mind the
sinister countenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase,
on the day of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose
what I regarded as at best but a harmless, and by no means an
unnatural, precaution.
.pg
At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the
arrangements for the temporary entombment. The body having been
encoffined, we two alone bore it to its rest. The vault in which
we placed it (and which had been so long unopened that our
torches, half smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, gave us
little opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, and
entirely without means of admission for light; lying, at great
depth, immediately beneath that portion of the building in which
was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently, in
remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep,
and, in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, or some
other highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor,
and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reached
it, were carefully sheathed with copper. The door, of massive
iron, had been, also, similarly protected. Its immense weight
caused an unusually sharp, grating sound, as it moved upon its
hinges.
.pg
Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within this
region of horror, we partially turned aside the yet unscrewed lid
of the coffin, and looked upon the face of the tenant. A striking
similitude between the brother and sister now first arrested my
attention; and Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured
out some few words from which I learned that the deceased and
himself had been twins, and that sympathies of a scarcely
intelligible nature had always existed between them. Our glances,
however, rested not long upon the dead – for we could not
regard her unawed. The disease which had thus entombed the lady
in the maturity of youth, had left, as usual in all maladies of a
strictly cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint blush
upon the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering
smile upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced and
screwed down the lid, and, having secured the door of iron, made
our way, with toil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of
the upper portion of the house.
.pg
And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an
observable change came over the features of the mental disorder
of my friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary
occupations were neglected or forgotten. He roamed from chamber
to chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallor
of his countenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastly
hue – but the luminousness of his eye had utterly gone out.
The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no more; and
a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually
characterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when I
thought his unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with some
oppressive secret, to divulge which he struggled for the
necessary courage. At times, again, I was obliged to resolve all
into the mere inexplicable vagaries of madness, for I beheld him
gazing upon vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of the
profoundest attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound.
It was no wonder that his condition terrified – that it
infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain
degrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive
superstitions.
.pg
It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of
the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline
within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such
feelings. Sleep came not near my couch – while the hours
waned and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nervousness
which had dominion over me. I endeavored to believe that much, if
not all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence of
the gloomy furniture of the room – of the dark and tattered
draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a rising
tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled
uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were
fruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame;
and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus of
utterly causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a
struggle, I uplifted myself upon the pillows, and, peering
earnestly within the intense darkness of the chamber,
hearkened – I know not why, except that an instinctive spirit
prompted me – to certain low and indefinite sounds which
came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew
not whence. Overpowered by an intense sentiment of horror,
unaccountable yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste
(for I felt that I should sleep no more during the night), and
endeavored to arouse myself from the pitiable condition into
which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through the
apartment.
.pg
I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step on
an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently
recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward he
rapped, with a gentle touch, at my door, and entered, bearing a
lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan – but,
moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity in his
eyes – an evidently restrained \fIhysteria\fP in his whole
demeanor. His air appalled me – but anything was preferable
to the solitude which I had so long endured, and I even welcomed
his presence as a relief.
.pg
“And you have not seen it?” he said abruptly,
after having stared about him for some moments in
silence – “you have not then seen it? – but, stay!
you shall.” Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded his
lamp, he hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely
open to the storm.
.pg
The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from
our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful
night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A
whirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity; for
there were frequent and violent alterations in the direction of
the wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which hung so
low as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not prevent
our perceiving the life-like velocity with which they flew
careering from all points against each other, without passing
away into the distance. I say that even their exceeding density
did not prevent our perceiving this – yet we had no glimpse
of the moon or stars, nor was there any flashing forth of the
lightning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated
vapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately around us,
were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and
distinctly visible gaseous exhalation which hung about and
enshrouded the mansion.
.pg
“You must not – you shall not behold this!”
said I, shuddering, to Usher, as I led him, with a gentle
violence, from the window to a seat. “These appearances,
which bewilder you, are merely electrical phenomena not
uncommon – or it may be that they have their ghastly origin
in the rank miasma of the tarn. Let us close this
casement; – the air is chilling and dangerous to your frame.
Here is one of your favorite romances. I will read, and you shall
listen: – and so we will pass away this terrible night
together.”
.pg
The antique volume which I had taken up was the “Mad
Trist” of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it a
favorite of Usher’s more in sad jest than in earnest; for,
in truth, there is little in its uncouth and unimaginative
prolixity which could have had interest for the lofty and
spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the only book
immediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that the
excitement which now agitated the hypochondriac, might find
relief (for the history of mental disorder is full of similar
anomalies) even in the extremeness of the folly which I should
read. Could I have judged, indeed, by the wild overstrained air
of vivacity with which he hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to
the words of the tale, I might well have congratulated myself
upon the success of my design.
.pg
I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where
Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for
peaceable admission into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds to
make good an entrance by force. Here, it will be remembered, the
words of the narrative run thus:
.pg
“And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and
who was now mighty withal, on account of the powerfulness of the
wine which he had drunken, waited no longer to hold parley with
the hermit, who, in sooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful
turn, but, feeling the rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the
rising of the tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and, with
blows, made quickly room in the plankings of the door for his
gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewith sturdily, he so
cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that the noise of the
dry and hollow-sounding wood alarumed and reverberated throughout
the forest.”
.pg
At the termination of this sentence I started and, for a
moment, paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once
concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me) – it
appeared to me that, from some very remote portion of the
mansion, there came, indistinctly to my ears, what might have
been, in its exact similarity of character, the echo (but a
stifled and dull one certainly) of the very cracking and ripping
sound which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It was,
beyond doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my
attention; for, amid the rattling of the sashes of the casements,
and the ordinary commingled noises of the still increasing storm,
the sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should have
interested or disturbed me. I continued the story:
.pg
“But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the
door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the
maliceful hermit; but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly
and prodigious demeanor, and of a fiery tongue, which sat in
guard before a palace of gold, with a floor of silver; and upon
the wall there hung a shield of shining brass with this legend
enwritten –

.in +\*[length]/8u
Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin;
.br
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win.
.br
.in -(\*[length]/8u)

And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the
dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with
a shriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that
Ethelred had fain to close his ears with his hands against the
dreadful noise of it, the like whereof was never before
heard.”
.pg
Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of wild
amazement – for there could be no doubt whatever that, in
this instance, I did actually hear (although from what direction
it proceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and apparently
distant, but harsh, protracted, and most unusual screaming or
grating sound – the exact counterpart of what my fancy had
already conjured up for the dragon’s unnatural shriek as
described by the romancer.
.pg
Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this
second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand
conflicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror were
predominant, I still retained sufficient presence of mind to
avoid exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervousness of
my companion. I was by no means certain that he had noticed the
sounds in question; although, assuredly, a strange alteration
had, during the last few minutes, taken place in his demeanor.
From a position fronting my own, he had gradually brought round
his chair, so as to sit with his face to the door of the chamber;
and thus I could but partially perceive his features, although I
saw that his lips trembled as if he were murmuring inaudibly. His
head had dropped upon his breast – yet I knew that he was not
asleep, from the wide and rigid opening of the eye as I caught a
glance of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was at
variance with this idea – for he rocked from side to side
with a gentle yet constant and uniform sway. Having rapidly taken
notice of all this, I resumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot,
which thus proceeded:
.pg
“And now, the champion, having escaped from the terrible
fury of the dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and
of the breaking up of the enchantment which was upon it, removed
the carcass from out of the way before him, and approached
valorously over the silver pavement of the castle to where the
shield was upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not for his full
coming, but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor, with a
mighty great and terrible ringing sound.”
.pg
No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than – as if
a shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon
a floor of silver – I became aware of a distinct, hollow,
metallic, and clangorous, yet apparently muffled, reverberation.
Completely unnerved, I leaped to my feet; but the measured
rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. I rushed to the chair
in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before him, and
throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony rigidity.
But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strong
shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about his
lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering
murmur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over
him, I at length drank in the hideous import of his words.
.pg
“Not hear it? – yes, I hear it, and \fIhave\fP
heard it. Long – long – long – many minutes, many
hours, many days, have I heard it – yet I dared not – oh,
pity me, miserable wretch that I am! – I dared not – I
\fIdared\fP not speak! \fIWe have put her living in the
tomb!\fP Said I not that my senses were acute? I \fInow\fP tell
you that I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin.
I heard them – many, many days ago – yet I dared
not – \fII dared not speak!\fP And
now – to-night – Ethelred – ha! ha! – the
breaking of the hermit’s door, and the death-cry of the
dragon, and the clangor of the shield! – say, rather, the
rending of her coffin, and the grating of the iron hinges of her
prison, and her struggles within the coppered archway of the
vault! Oh! whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she
not hurrying to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her
footstep on the stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and
horrible beating of her heart? Madman!” – here he
sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked out his syllables, as
if in the effort he were giving up his
soul – \fI“Madman! I tell you that she now stands
without the door!”\fP
.pg
As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had been
found the potency of a spell, the huge antique panels to which
the speaker pointed threw slowly back, upon the instant, their
ponderous and ebony jaws. It was the work of the rushing
gust – but then without those doors there \fIdid\fP stand
the lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher.
There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some
bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame. For a
moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon the
threshold – then, with a low moaning cry, fell heavily inward
upon the person of her brother, and in her violent and now final
death-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to
the terrors he had anticipated.
.pg
From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. The
storm was still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself
crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path a
wild light, and I turned to see whence a gleam so unusual could
have issued; for the vast house and its shadows were alone behind
me. The radiance was that of the full, setting, and blood-red
moon which now shone vividly through that once barely-discernible
fissure of which I have before spoken as extending from the roof
of the building, in a zigzag direction, to the base. While I
gazed, this fissure rapidly widened – there came a fierce
breath of the whirlwind – the entire orb of the satellite
burst at once upon my sight – my brain reeled as I saw the
mighty walls rushing asunder – there was a long tumultuous
shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters – and the
deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over
the fragments of the “\fIHouse of Usher\fP.”
.br

* Watson, Dr. Percival,
Spallanzani, and especially the Bishop of Landaff. – See
“Chemical Essays,” vol. v.
.bp

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