Produced by Levent Kurnaz and Jose Menendez



















The Fall of the House of Usher





  Son coeur est un luth suspendu;

  Sitot qu'on le touche il resonne.

    DE 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-pleasureable, 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

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 shadowy 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 remodelled and

inverted images of the grey sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems,

and the vacant and eye-like windows.



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.



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 recognisable beauties of musical

science.  I had learned, too, the very remarkable fact, that the

stem of the Usher race, all time-honoured 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.



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 grey wall,

and the silent tarn--a pestilent and mystic vapour, dull,

sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued.



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.



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 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.



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.



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 ennuye 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.



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.



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 odours 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.



To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden

slave.  "I shall perish," said he, "I must 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, FEAR."



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 physique of the grey walls and turrets, and

of the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had, at length,

brought about upon the morale of his existence.



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.



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.



For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by either

Usher or myself: and during this period I was busied in earnest

endeavours 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.



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 for ever 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 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.  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.



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 splendour.



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

facility of his impromptus 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:





                            I.



               In the greenest of our valleys,

                 By good angels tenanted,

               Once a fair and stately palace--

                 Radiant palace--reared its head.

               In the monarch Thought's dominion--

                 It stood there!

               Never seraph spread a pinion

                 Over fabric half so fair.





                           II.



               Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

                 On its roof did float and flow;

               (This--all this--was in the olden

                 Time long ago)

               And every gentle air that dallied,

                 In that sweet day,

               Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

                 A winged odour went away.





                           III.



               Wanderers in that happy valley

                 Through two luminous windows saw

               Spirits moving musically

                 To a lute's well tuned law,

               Round about a throne, where sitting

                 (Porphyrogene!)

               In state his glory well befitting,

                 The ruler of the realm was seen.





                           IV.



               And all with pearl and ruby glowing

                 Was the fair palace door,

               Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing

                 And sparkling evermore,

               A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty

                 Was but to sing,

               In voices of surpassing beauty,

                 The wit and wisdom of their king.





                            V.



               But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

                 Assailed the monarch's high estate;

               (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow

                 Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

               And, round about his home, the glory

                 That blushed and bloomed

               Is but a dim-remembered story,

                 Of the old time entombed.





                           VI.



               And travellers now within that valley,

                 Through the red-litten windows, see

               Vast 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 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 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 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

him what I now saw him--what he was.  Such opinions need no

comment, and I will make none.



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'Indagine,

and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance of

Tieck; and the City of the Sun by 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 OEgipans, 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 Vigiliae Mortuorum Secundum Chorum Ecclesiae

Maguntinae.



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.



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.



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.



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 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.  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.



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 endeavoured 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 endeavoured to arouse myself from

the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly

to and fro through the apartment.



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 afterwards 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 hysteria in his whole demeanour.  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.



"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.



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.  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.



"You must not--you shall not behold this!" said I,

shudderingly, 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 favourite romances.

I will read, and you shall listen;--and so we will pass away this

terrible night together."



The antique volume which I had taken up was the "Mad

Trist" of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it a favourite

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.



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:



"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 alarmed and reverberated throughout the

forest."



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:



"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 demeanour, 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--



     Who entereth herein, a conquerer hath bin;

     Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win;



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."



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.



Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of the

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 demeanour.

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:



"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."



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.



"Not hear it?--yes, I hear it, and have 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 dared not speak!  We have put her living in

the tomb!  Said I not that my senses were acute?  I now tell

you that I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin.

I heard them--many, many days ago--yet I dared not--I dared

not speak!  And now--to-night--Ethelred--ha! ha!--the breaking

of the hermit's door, and the death-cry of the dragon, and the

clangour 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 footsteps 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--"Madman!  I tell you that she now stands without the

door!"



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 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.



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 "House of

Usher".





* Watson, Dr Percival, Spallanzani, and especially the Bishop of Landaff.



















End of Project Gutenberg's The Fall of the House of Usher, by Edgar Allan Poe