By the uttersimplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested andoverawed attention. For me at least, in the circumstances thensurrounding me, there arose out of the pure abstractions whichthe hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas, anintensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yetin the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concretereveries of Fuseli. 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 lifelike 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.
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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 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. The antique volume which I had taken up was the “MadTrist” of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it afavorite of Usher’s more in sad jest than in earnest; for,in truth, there is little in its uncouth and unimaginativeprolixity which could have had interest for the lofty andspiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the only bookimmediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that theexcitement which now agitated the hypochondriac, might findrelief (for the history of mental disorder is full of similaranomalies) even in the extremeness of the folly which I shouldread.
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Such, I have longknown, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror asa basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, whenI again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image inthe pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy—a fancy soridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid forceof the sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked upon myimagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion anddomain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and theirimmediate vicinity—an atmosphere which had no affinity withthe air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayedtrees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn—a pestilentand mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, andleaden-hued. Upon my entrance, Usher arose 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 ennuyé man of the world.
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But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated vapour, 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. At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangements for the temporary entombment. 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. Its immense weight caused an unusually sharp grating sound, as it moved upon its hinges. 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.
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I say insufferable; forthe feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable,because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receiveseven the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. Ilooked upon the scene before me—upon the mere house, andthe simple landscape features of the domain—upon the bleakwalls—upon the vacant eye-like windows—upon a fewrank sedges—and upon a few white trunks of decayedtrees—with an utter depression of soul which I can compareto no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream ofthe reveller upon opium—the bitter lapse into every-daylife—the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was aniciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart—an unredeemeddreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination couldtorture into aught of the sublime. What was it—I paused tothink—what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplationof the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor couldI grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as Ipondered.
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 scrutinising 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.
His countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. The valet now threw open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master. No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than—as ifa shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upona 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 measuredrocking movement of Usher was undisturbed.
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The now ghastly pallor of the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eve, 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. 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? Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis.
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. 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.
At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in thearrangements for the temporary entombment. The vault in whichwe placed it (and which had been so long unopened that ourtorches, half smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, gave uslittle opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, andentirely without means of admission for light; lying, at greatdepth, immediately beneath that portion of the building in whichwas my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently, inremote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep,and, in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, or someother highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor,and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reachedit, were carefully sheathed with copper. Its immense weightcaused an unusually sharp, grating sound, as it moved upon itshinges.
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 abandon 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 fungi 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.
I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken andequivocal hints, another singular feature of his mentalcondition. I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours Ithus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet Ishould fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exactcharacter of the studies, or of the occupations, in which heinvolved me, or led me the way.
His eyes were bent fixedly before him, andthroughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony rigidity.But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strongshudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about hislips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibberingmurmur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely overhim, I at length drank in the hideous import of his words. Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed tomyself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher,had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; but many years hadelapsed since our last meeting. A letter, however, had latelyreached me in a distant part of the country—a letter fromhim—which, in its wildly importunate nature, had admittedof no other than a personal reply. The writer spoke of acute bodilyillness—of a mental disorder which oppressed him—andof an earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his onlypersonal friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulnessof my society, some alleviation of his malady.
I regarded her with an utterastonishment not unmingled with dread; and yet I found itimpossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stuporoppressed me as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When adoor, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctivelyand eagerly the countenance of the brother; but he had buried hisface in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more thanordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers throughwhich trickled many passionate tears. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered theGothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thenceconducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricatepassages in my progress to the studio of his master.
