The brotherhad been led to his resolution (so he told me) by considerationof the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, ofcertain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medicalmen, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial-groundof the family. I will not deny that when I called to mind thesinister countenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase,on the day of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to opposewhat I regarded as at best but a harmless, and by no means anunnatural, precaution. 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.
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For amoment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon thethreshold—then, with a low moaning cry, fell heavily inwardupon the person of her brother, and in her violent and now finaldeath-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim tothe terrors he had anticipated. 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, ponderous and ebony jaws. It was the work of the rushing gust—but then without those doors there did 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.
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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 favourite volume was a small octavo edition of the Directorium Inquisitorum, by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomponius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and Ægipans, 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 Vigilae Mortuorum secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Maguntinae.
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I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are 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. And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, anobservable change came over the features of the mental disorderof my friend. He roamed from chamberto chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallorof his countenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastlyhue—but the luminousness of his eye had utterly gone out.The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no more; anda tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habituallycharacterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when Ithought his unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with someoppressive secret, to divulge which he struggled for thenecessary courage. At times, again, I was obliged to resolve allinto the mere inexplicable vagaries of madness, for I beheld himgazing upon vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of theprofoundest attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound.It was no wonder that his condition terrified—that itinfected me.
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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 labouring 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. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain degrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive superstitions. I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, andof its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, oneevening, having informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline wasno more, he stated his intention of preserving her corpse for afortnight (previously to its final interment), in one of thenumerous vaults within the main walls of the building. Theworldly reason, however, assigned for this singular proceeding,was one which I did not feel at liberty to dispute.
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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. 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 vaguenesses 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 endeavour 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.
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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. I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step onan adjoining staircase arrested my attention. In an instant afterward herapped, with a gentle touch, at my door, and entered, bearing alamp.
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. 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.
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It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night ofthe seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madelinewithin the donjon, that I experienced the full power of suchfeelings. I struggled to reason off the nervousnesswhich had dominion over me. I endeavored to believe that much, ifnot all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence ofthe gloomy furniture of the room—of the dark and tattereddraperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a risingtempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustleduneasily about the decorations of the bed. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame;and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus ofutterly causeless alarm.
The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us fromour feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautifulnight, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. Awhirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity; forthere were frequent and violent alterations in the direction ofthe wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which hung solow as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not preventour perceiving the life-like velocity with which they flewcareering from all points against each other, without passingaway into the distance. I say that even their exceeding densitydid not prevent our perceiving this—yet we had no glimpseof the moon or stars, nor was there any flashing forth of thelightning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitatedvapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately around us,were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous anddistinctly visible gaseous exhalation which hung about andenshrouded the mansion.
His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan—but,moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity in hiseyes—an evidently restrained hysteria in his wholedemeanor. His air appalled me—but anything was preferableto the solitude which I had so long endured, and I even welcomedhis presence as a relief. For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by eitherUsher or myself; and during this period I was busied in earnestendeavors to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We paintedand read together, or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wildimprovisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, as a closer andstill closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into therecesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive thefutility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness,as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objectsof the moral and physical universe in one unceasing radiation ofgloom. In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with anincoherence—an inconsistency; and I soon found this toarise from a series of feeble and futile struggles to overcome anhabitual trepidancy—an excessive nervous agitation.
One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partakingnot so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowedforth, although feebly, in words. A small picture presented theinterior of an immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel,with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption ordevice. Certain accessory points of the design served well toconvey the idea that this excavation lay at an exceeding depthbelow the surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in anyportion of its vast extent, and no torch or other artificialsource of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense raysrolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly andinappropriate splendor.
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