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 wan being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. 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.
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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.
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Shaking this off with a gasp and astruggle, I uplifted myself upon the pillows, and, peeringearnestly within the intense darkness of the chamber,hearkened—I know not why, except that an instinctive spiritprompted me—to certain low and indefinite sounds whichcame, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knewnot 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), andendeavored to arouse myself from the pitiable condition intowhich I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through theapartment. DURING the whole of a dull, dark, andsoundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hungoppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, onhorseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and atlength found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, withinview of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how itwas—but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense ofinsufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.
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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.
The silken hair, too,had been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in its wildgossamer texture, it floated rather than fell about the face, Icould not, even with effort, connect its Arabesque expressionwith any idea of simple humanity. I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childishexperiment—that of looking down within the tarn—hadbeen to deepen the first singular impression. There can be nodoubt that the consciousness of the rapid increase of mysuperstition—for why should I not so term it?
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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.
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.
” he said abruptly,after having stared about him for some moments insilence—“you have not then seen it? You shall.” Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded hislamp, he hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freelyopen to the storm. Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin; Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. ” he said abruptly, after having stared about him for some moments in silence—“you have not then seen it? 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. VI.And travellers now within that valley, Through the red-litten windows seeVast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody;While, like a rapid ghastly river, Through the pale door,A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh—but smile no more.
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.
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We sat down;and for some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with afeeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely, man had never beforeso terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit theidentity of the man being before me with the companion of myearly boyhood. And now inthe mere exaggeration of the prevailing character of thesefeatures, and of the expression they were wont to convey, lay somuch of change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastlypallor of the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye,above all things startled and even awed me.
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.
We replaced andscrewed down the lid, and, having secured the door of iron, madeour way, with toil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments ofthe upper portion of the house. 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.
His countenance, I thought, wore amingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. The valet now threw open a doorand ushered me into the presence of his master. 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.
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 endeavoured to arouse myself from the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through the apartment. 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.
