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 life-like
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 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.
«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 over-strained 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 there-with
sturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that the
noise of the dry and hollow-sounding wood alarumed 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 sate 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 conqueror 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 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 footstep
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, 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
