in their eyes, as if pestilence or some other wide calamity were
prognosticated by the untimely intrusion among the living of one
whose presence had always been associated with death and woe. What
a comet is to the earth was that sad woman to the town. Still she
moved on, while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, and
the proud and the humble stood aside, that her white garment might
not wave against them. It was a long, loose robe, of spotless purity.
Its wearer appeared very old, pale, emaciated, and feeble, yet glided
onward without the unsteady pace of extreme age. At one point of her
course a little rosy boy burst forth from a door, and ran, with open
arms, towards the ghostly woman, seeming to expect a kiss from her
bloodless lips. She made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with
an expression of no earthly sweetness, so the child shivered and stood
awe-struck, rather than affrighted, while the Old Maid passed on.
Perhaps her garment might have been polluted even by an infant’s touch;
perhaps her kiss would have been death to the sweet boy within a year.
[Sidenote: Tone of story summarized.]
21. “She is but a shadow,” whispered the superstitious. “The child put
forth his arms and could not grasp her robe!”
[Sidenote: Crisis approaches.]
[Sidenote: The house mentioned in paragraphs 1, 12 and 14.]
22. The wonder was increased when the Old Maid passed beneath the porch
of the deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the
iron knocker, and gave three raps. The people could only conjecture
that some old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had impelled
the poor woman hither to visit the friends of her youth; all gone from
their home long since and forever, unless their ghosts still haunted
it--fit company for the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” An elderly
man approached the steps, and, reverently uncovering his gray locks,
essayed to explain the matter.
[Sidenote: Note “None--have.”]
[Sidenote: Contributory incident.]
[Sidenote: First mention of name.]
23. “None, Madam,” said he, “have dwelt in this house these fifteen
years agone--no, not since the death of old Colonel Fenwicke, whose
funeral you may remember to have followed. His heirs, being ill agreed
among themselves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin.”
[Sidenote: Note atmosphere of vagueness.]
24. The Old Maid looked slowly round with a slight gesture of one hand,
and a finger of the other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like than
ever in the obscurity of the porch. But again she lifted the hammer,
and gave, this time, a single rap. Could it be that a footstep was now
heard coming down the staircase of the old mansion, which all conceived
to have been so long untenanted? Slowly, feebly, yet heavily, like the
pace of an aged and infirm person, the step approached, more distinct
on every downward stair, till it reached the portal. The bar fell on
the inside; the door opened. One upward glance towards the church
spire, whence the sunshine had just faded, was the last that the people
saw of the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.”
[Sidenote: Tone of mystery.]
25. “Who undid the door?” asked many.
[Sidenote: See ¶12.]
26. This question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath the porch,
no one could satisfactorily answer. Two or three aged men, while
protesting against an inference which might be drawn, affirmed that
the person within was a negro, and bore a singular resemblance to old
Cæsar, formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death some thirty
years before.
27. “Her summons has waked up a servant of the old family,” said one,
half seriously.
28. “Let us wait here,” replied another. “More guests will knock at the
door, anon. But the gate of the graveyard should be thrown open!”
[Sidenote: Preparation for climax.]
[Sidenote: No indication whence it came.]
[Sidenote: Setting.]
29. Twilight had overspread the town before the crowd began to
separate, or the comments on this incident were exhausted. One after
another was wending his way homeward, when a coach--no common spectacle
in those days--drove slowly into the street. It was an old-fashioned
equipage, hanging close to the ground, with arms on the panels,
a footman behind, and a grave, corpulent coachman seated high in
front--the whole giving an idea of solemn state and dignity. There was
something awful in the heavy rumbling of the wheels. The coach rolled
down the street, till, coming to the gateway of the deserted mansion,
it drew up, and the footman sprang to the ground.
30. “Whose grand coach is this?” asked a very inquisitive body.
[Sidenote: Three raps signify a formal demand for entrance.]
31. The footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of the old house,
gave three raps with the iron hammer, and returned to open the coach
door. An old man, possessed of the heraldic lore so common in that day,
examined the shield of arms on the panel.
[Sidenote: Setting.]
32. “Azure, a lion’s head erased, between three flower-de-luces,”
said he; then whispered the name of the family to whom these bearings
belonged. The last inheritor of his honors was recently dead, after a
long residence amid the splendor of the British court, where his birth
and wealth had given him no mean station. “He left no child,” continued
the herald, “and these arms, being in a lozenge, betoken that the coach
appertains to his widow.”
[Sidenote: SECOND MAIN CHARACTER.]
[Sidenote: Contributory incident.]
33. Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made had not the
speaker suddenly been struck dumb by the stern eye of an ancient lady
who thrust forth her head from the coach, preparing to descend. As she
emerged, the people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her figure
dignified, in spite of age and infirmity--a stately ruin but with a
look, at once, of pride and wretchedness. Her strong and rigid features
had an awe about them, unlike that of the white Old Maid, but as of
something evil. She passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-headed
cane; the door swung open as she ascended--and the light of a torch
glittered on the embroidery of her dress, and gleamed on the pillars
of the porch. After a momentary pause--a glance backwards--and then a
desperate effort--she went in. The decipherer of the coat of arms had
ventured up the lowest step, and shrinking back immediately, pale and
tremulous, affirmed that the torch was held by the very image of old
Cæsar.
[Sidenote: Subordinate character of central action.]
[Sidenote: Compare ¶12.]
34. “But such a hideous grin,” added he, “was never seen on the face of
mortal man, black or white! It will haunt me till my dying day.”
[Sidenote: Note the use of shadows and twilights as accessories.]
[Sidenote: KEY.]
[Sidenote: Atmosphere--a sense of something about to occur.]
35. Meanwhile, the coach had wheeled round, with a prodigious clatter
on the pavement, and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the
twilight, while the ear still tracked its course. Scarcely was it gone,
when the people began to question whether the coach and attendants,
the ancient lady, the spectre of old Cæsar, and the Old Maid herself,
were not all a strangely combined delusion, with some dark purport in
its mystery. The whole town was astir, so that, instead of dispersing,
the crowd continually increased, and stood gazing up at the windows of
the mansion, now silvered by the brightening moon. The elders, glad
to indulge the narrative propensity of age, told of the long-faded
splendor of the family, the entertainments they had given, and the
guests, the greatest of the land, and even titled and noble ones from
abroad, who had passed beneath that portal. These graphic reminiscences
seemed to call up the ghosts of those to whom they referred. So strong
was the impression on some of the more imaginative hearers, that two
or three were seized with trembling fits, at one and the same moment,
protesting that they had distinctly heard three other raps of the iron
knocker.
[Sidenote: Contributory material.]
36. “Impossible!” exclaimed others. “See! The moon shines beneath the
porch, and shows every part of it, except in the narrow shade of that
pillar. There is no one there!”
37. “Did not the door open?” whispered one of these fanciful persons.
38. “Didst thou see it, too?” said his companion, in a startled tone.
[Sidenote: Vagueness.]
[Sidenote: Tone.]
39. But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea that a third
visitant had made application at the door of the deserted house. A
few, however, adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a red
gleam like that of a torch had shone through the great front window,
as if the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase. This, too, was
pronounced a mere fantasy. But at once the whole multitude started, and
each man beheld his own terror painted in the faces of all the rest.
40. “What an awful thing is this!” cried they.
[Sidenote: Minor climax--preparation for main climax.]
[Sidenote: Note shifting of tenses.]
[Sidenote: Contributory incident.]
41. A shriek too fearfully distinct for doubt had been heard within the
mansion, breaking forth suddenly, and succeeded by a deep stillness,
as if a heart had burst in giving it utterance. The people knew not
whether to fly from the very sight of the house, or to rush trembling
in, and search out the strange mystery. Amid their confusion and
affright, they are somewhat reassured by the appearance of their
clergyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taught
them and their fathers the way to heaven for more than the space of an
ordinary life-time. He was a reverend figure, with long, white hair
upon his shoulders, a white beard upon his breast, and a back so bent
over his staff that he seemed to be looking downward continually, as if
to choose a proper grave for his weary frame. It was some time before
the good old man, being deaf and of impaired intellect, could be made
to comprehend such portions of the affair as were comprehensible at
all. But, when possessed of the facts, his energies assumed unexpected
vigor.
42. “Verily,” said the old gentleman, “it will be fitting that I enter
the mansion-house of the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm should
have befallen that true Christian woman whom ye call the ‘Old Maid in
the Winding Sheet.’”
[Sidenote: Again a shift in the manner of narration.]
43. Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of the
mansion, with a torch-bearer behind him. It was the elderly man who had
spoken to the Old Maid, and the same who had afterwards explained the
shield of arms and recognized the features of the negro. Like their
predecessors, they gave three raps with the iron hammer.
44. “Old Cæsar cometh not,” observed the priest. “Well I wot he no
longer doth service in this mansion.”
45. “Assuredly, then, it was something worse, in old Cæsar’s likeness!”
said the other adventurer.
[Sidenote: One who ventures.]
46. “Be it as God wills,” answered the clergyman. “See! my strength,
though it be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door. Let
us enter and pass up the staircase.”
[Sidenote: Key to tone further developed.]
47. Here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy state of a
very old man’s mind. As they ascended the wide flight of stairs, the
aged clergyman appeared to move with caution, occasionally standing
aside, and oftener bending his head, as it were in salutation, thus
practising all the gestures of one who makes his way through a throng.
Reaching the head of the staircase, he looked around with sad and
solemn benignity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was
evidently on the point of commencing a prayer.
48. “Reverend Sir,” said his attendant, who conceived this a very
suitable prelude to their further search, “would it not be well that
the people join with us in prayer?”
[Sidenote: Confusion between real and unreal further illustrated by
contributory material.]
[Sidenote: Deft introduction of central character.]
49. “Welladay!” cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him.
“Art thou here with me, and none other? Verily, past times were present
to me, and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, as many a time
heretofore, from the head of this staircase. Of a truth, I saw the
shades of many that are gone. Yea, I have prayed at their burials, one
after another, and the ‘Old Maid in the Winding Sheet’ hath seen them
to their graves!”
[Sidenote: Tone.]
[Sidenote: KEY.]
50. Being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took
his staff and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo
from each deserted chamber, but no menial to answer their summons. They
therefore walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to the
great front window through which was seen the crowd, in the shadow and
partial moonlight of the street beneath. On their right hand was the
open door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left. The clergyman
pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the latter.
[Sidenote: Foundation situation.]
51. “Within that chamber,” observed he, “a whole life-time since, did I
sit by the death-bed of a goodly young man, who, being now at the last
gasp”--
[Sidenote: Atmosphere.]
[Sidenote: Note author’s device.]
[Sidenote: The decision must be inferred.]
[Sidenote: Tone of vagueness to the end.]
52. Apparently there was some powerful excitement in the ideas which
had now flashed across his mind. He snatched the torch from his
companion’s hand, and threw open the door with such sudden violence
that the flame was extinguished, leaving them no other light than the
moonbeams, which fell through two windows into the spacious chamber. It
was sufficient to discover all that could be known. In a high-backed
oaken armchair, upright, with her hands clasped across her heart, and
her head thrown back, sat the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” The
stately dame had fallen on her knees, with her forehead on the holy
knees of the Old Maid, one hand upon the floor and the other pressed
convulsively against her heart. It clutched a lock of hair, once sable,
now discolored with a greenish mould. As the priest and layman advanced
into the chamber, the Old Maid’s features assumed such a semblance
of shifting expression that they trusted to hear the whole mystery
explained by a single word. But it was only the shadow of a tattered
curtain waving betwixt the dead face and the moonlight.
[Sidenote: CLIMAX.]
[Sidenote: Vague denouement.]
53. “Both dead!” said the venerable man. “Then who shall divulge the
secret? Methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind, like the light and
shadow across the Old Maid’s face. And now ’tis gone!”
FOR ANALYSIS
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
Son cœur est un luth suspendu;
Sitôt qu’on le touche il résonne.
BERANGER.
During 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 reveler
upon opium: the bitter lapse into everyday 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 shadow fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. 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. 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 remodeled and inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly
tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.
2. 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 MS. 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 _heart_ 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.
3. 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
a 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.
4. 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.
5. Shaking off from my spirit what _must_ 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.
6. 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 studio
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 ceiling,
the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness of the floors,
and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which rattled as I strode,
were but matters of 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.
7. 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.