THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER

- By Edgar Allan Poe
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American writer and critic (1809–1849) "Poe" and "Edgar Poe" redirect here. For other uses, see Edgar Allan Poe (disambiguation) and Poe (disambiguation). Edgar Allan PoePoe in 1849BornEdgar Poe(1809-01-19)January 19, 1809Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.DiedOctober 7, 1849(1849-10-07) (aged 40)Baltimore, Maryland, U.S.Resting placeWestminster Hall and Burying Ground, BaltimoreSpouse Virginia Eliza Clemm ​ ​(m. 1836; died 1847)​ParentsDavid Poe Jr.Elizabeth ArnoldRelativesWilliam Henry Leonard Poe (brother)Rosalie Mackenzie Poe (sister)Signature Topics related toEdgar Allan Poe In popular culture In music In television and film Dark Romanticism Edgar Awards Death Bibliography vte Edgar Allan Poe (né Edgar Poe; January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American writer, poet, author, editor, and literary critic who is best known for his poetry and short stories, particularly his tales of mystery and the macabre. He is widely regarded as a central figure of Romanticism and Gothic fiction in the United States, and of American literature.[1] Poe was one of the country's earliest practitioners of the short story, and is considered the inventor of the detective fiction genre, as well as a significant contributor to the emerging genre of science fiction.[2] He is the first well-known American writer to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.[3] Poe was born in Boston, the second child of actors David and Elizabeth "Eliza" Poe.[4] His father abandoned the family in 1810, and when his mother died the following year, Poe was taken in by John and Frances Allan of Richmond, Virginia. They never formally adopted him, but he was with them well into young adulthood. He attended the University of Virginia but left after a year due to lack of money. He quarreled with John Allan over the funds for his education, and his gambling debts. In 1827, having enlisted in the United States Army under an assumed name, he published his first collection, Tamerlane and Other Poems, credited only to "a Bostonian". Poe and Allan reached a temporary rapprochement after the death of Allan's wife in 1829. Poe later failed as an officer cadet at West Point, declared a firm wish to be a poet and writer, and parted ways with Allan. Poe switched his focus to prose, and spent the next several years working for literary journals and periodicals, becoming known for his own style of literary criticism. His work forced him to move between several cities, including Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York City. In 1836, he married his 13-year-old cousin, Virginia Clemm, but she died of tuberculosis in 1847. In January 1845, he published his poem "The Raven" to instant success. He planned for years to produce his own journal The Penn, later renamed The Stylus. But before it began publishing, Poe died in Baltimore in 1849, aged 40, under mysterious circumstances. The cause of his death remains unknown, and has been variously attributed to many causes including disease, alcoholism, substance abuse, and suicide.[5] Poe and his works influenced literature around the world, as well as specialized fields such as cosmology and cryptography. He and his work appear throughout popular culture in literature, music, films, and television. A number of his homes are dedicated museums. The Mystery Writers of America present an annual Edgar Award for distinguished work in the mystery genre. Early life and education[edit] Plaque marking the approximate location of Poe's birth on Carver Street in Boston Edgar Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on January 19, 1809, the second child of American actor David Poe Jr. and English-born actress Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins Poe. He had an elder brother, Henry, and a younger sister, Rosalie.[6] Their grandfather, David Poe, had emigrated from County Cavan, Ireland, around 1750.[7] His father abandoned the family in 1810,[8] and his mother died a year later from pulmonary tuberculosis. Poe was then taken into the home of John Allan, a successful merchant in Richmond, Virginia, who dealt in a variety of goods, including cloth, wheat, tombstones, tobacco, and slaves.[9] The Allans served as a foster family and gave him the name "Edgar Allan Poe",[10] although they never formally adopted him.[11] The Allan family had Poe baptized into the Episcopal Church in 1812. John Allan alternately spoiled and aggressively disciplined his foster son.[10] The family sailed to the United Kingdom in 1815, and Poe attended the grammar school for a short period in Irvine, Ayrshire, Scotland, where Allan was born, before rejoining the family in London in 1816. There he studied at a boarding school in Chelsea until summer 1817. He was subsequently entered at the Reverend John Bransby's Manor House School at Stoke Newington, then a suburb 4 miles (6 km) north of London.[12] Poe moved with the Allans back to Richmond in 1820. In 1824, he served as the lieutenant of the Richmond youth honor guard as the city celebrated the visit of the Marquis de Lafayette.[13] In March 1825, Allan's uncle and business benefactor William Galt died, who was said to be one of the wealthiest men in Richmond,[14] leaving Allan several acres of real estate. The inheritance was estimated at $750,000 (equivalent to $20,000,000 in 2023).[15] By summer 1825, Allan celebrated his expansive wealth by purchasing a two-story brick house called Moldavia.[16] Poe may have become engaged to Sarah Elmira Royster before he registered at the University of Virginia in February 1826 to study ancient and modern languages.[17][18] The university was in its infancy, established on the ideals of its founder, Thomas Jefferson. It had strict rules against gambling, horses, guns, tobacco, and alcohol, but these rules were mostly ignored. Jefferson enacted a system of student self-government, allowing students to choose their own studies, make their own arrangements for boarding, and report all wrongdoing to the faculty. The unique system was still in chaos, and there was a high dropout rate.[19] During his time there, Poe lost touch with Royster and also became estranged from his foster father over gambling debts. He claimed that Allan had not given him sufficient money to register for classes, purchase texts, and procure and furnish a dormitory. Allan did send additional money and clothes, but Poe's debts increased.[20] Poe gave up on the university after a year but did not feel welcome returning to Richmond, especially when he learned that his sweetheart Royster had married another man, Alexander Shelton. He traveled to Boston in April 1827, sustaining himself with odd jobs as a clerk and newspaper writer,[21] and started using the pseudonym Henri Le Rennet during this period.[22] Military career[edit] In May 1827, Poe enlisted in the U.S. Army, where he was first stationed at Fort Independence in Boston. Poe was unable to support himself, so he enlisted in the United States Army as a private on May 27, 1827, using the name "Edgar A. Perry". He claimed that he was 22 years old even though he was 18.[23] He first served at Fort Independence in Boston Harbor for five dollars a month.[21] That year, he released his first book, a 40-page collection of poetry titled Tamerlane and Other Poems, attributed with the byline "by a Bostonian". Only 50 copies were printed, and the book received virtually no attention.[24] Poe's regiment was posted to Fort Moultrie in Charleston, South Carolina, and traveled by ship on the brig Waltham on November 8, 1827. Poe was promoted to "artificer", an enlisted tradesman who prepared shells for artillery, and had his monthly pay doubled.[25] He served for two years and attained the rank of Sergeant Major for Artillery, the highest rank that a non-commissioned officer could achieve; he then sought to end his five-year enlistment early. He revealed his real name and his circumstances to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Howard, who would allow Poe to be discharged only if he reconciled with Allan. Poe wrote a letter to Allan, who was unsympathetic and spent several months ignoring Poe's pleas; Allan may not have written to Poe even to make him aware of his foster mother's illness. Frances Allan died on February 28, 1829, and Poe visited the day after her burial. Perhaps softened by his wife's death, Allan agreed to support Poe's attempt to be discharged in order to receive an appointment to the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York.[26] Poe was finally discharged on April 15, 1829, after securing a replacement to finish his enlisted term for him.[27] Before entering West Point, he moved to Baltimore for a time to stay with his widowed aunt Maria Clemm, her daughter Virginia Eliza Clemm (Poe's first cousin), his brother Henry, and his invalid grandmother Elizabeth Cairnes Poe.[28] In September of that year, Poe received "the very first words of encouragement I ever remember to have heard"[29] in a review of his poetry by influential critic John Neal, prompting Poe to dedicate one of the poems to Neal[30] in his second book Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems, published in Baltimore in 1829.[31] Poe traveled to West Point and matriculated as a cadet on July 1, 1830.[32] In October 1830, Allan married his second wife Louisa Patterson.[33] The marriage and bitter quarrels with Poe over the children born to Allan out of extramarital affairs led to the foster father finally disowning Poe.[34] Poe decided to leave West Point by purposely getting court-martialed. On February 8, 1831, he was tried for gross neglect of duty and disobedience of orders for refusing to attend formations, classes, or church. He tactically pleaded not guilty to induce dismissal, knowing that he would be found guilty.[35] Poe left for New York in February 1831 and released a third volume of poems, simply titled Poems. The book was financed with help from his fellow cadets at West Point, many of whom donated 75 cents to the cause, raising a total of $170. They may have been expecting verses similar to the satirical ones Poe had written about commanding officers.[36] It was printed by Elam Bliss of New York, labeled as "Second Edition", and including a page saying, "To the U.S. Corps of Cadets this volume is respectfully dedicated". The book once again reprinted the long poems "Tamerlane" and "Al Aaraaf" but also six previously unpublished poems, including early versions of "To Helen", "Israfel", and "The City in the Sea".[37] Poe returned to Baltimore to his aunt, brother, and cousin in March 1831. His elder brother Henry had been in ill health, in part due to problems with alcoholism, and he died on August 1, 1831.[38] Publishing career[edit] In 1835, at age 26, Poe obtained a license to marry his cousin Virginia Clemm, who was then age 13; they were married for 11 years until her death, which may have inspired some of Poe's writing. An 1845 portrait of Poe by Samuel Stillman Osgood The cottage in the Fordham section of Bronx, where Poe spent his last years After his brother's death, Poe began more earnest attempts to start his career as a writer, but he chose a difficult time in American publishing to do so.[39] He was one of the first Americans to live by writing alone[3][40] and was hampered by the lack of an international copyright law.[41] American publishers often produced unauthorized copies of British works rather than paying for new work by Americans.[40] The industry was also particularly hurt by the Panic of 1837.[42] There was a booming growth in American periodicals around this time, fueled in part by new technology, but many did not last beyond a few issues.[43] Publishers often refused to pay their writers or paid them much later than they promised,[44] and Poe repeatedly resorted to humiliating pleas for money and other assistance.[45] After his early attempts at poetry, Poe had turned his attention to prose, likely based on John Neal's critiques in The Yankee magazine.[46] He placed a few stories with a Philadelphia publication and began work on his only drama Politian. The Baltimore Saturday Visiter awarded him a prize in October 1833 for his short story "MS. Found in a Bottle".[47] The story brought him to the attention of John P. Kennedy, a Baltimorean of considerable means who helped Poe place some of his stories and introduced him to Thomas W. White, editor of the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond. In 1835, Poe became assistant editor of the Southern Literary Messenger,[48] but White discharged him within a few weeks for being drunk on the job.[49] Poe returned to Baltimore, where he obtained a license to marry his cousin Virginia on September 22, 1835, though it is unknown if they were married at that time.[50] He was 26 and she was 13. Poe was reinstated by White after promising good behavior, and he returned to Richmond with Virginia and her mother. He remained at the Messenger until January 1837. During this period, Poe claimed that its circulation increased from 700 to 3,500.[6] He published several poems, book reviews, critiques, and stories in the paper. On May 16, 1836, he and Virginia held a Presbyterian wedding ceremony performed by Amasa Converse at their Richmond boarding house, with a witness falsely attesting Clemm's age as 21.[50][51] Philadelphia[edit] In 1838, Poe relocated to Philadelphia, where he lived at four different residences between 1838 and 1844, one of which at 532 N. 7th Street has been preserved as a National Historic Landmark. That same year, Poe's novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket was published and widely reviewed.[52] In the summer of 1839, he became assistant editor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine. He published numerous articles, stories, and reviews, enhancing his reputation as a trenchant critic which he had established at the Messenger. Also in 1839, the collection Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque was published in two volumes, though he made little money from it and it received mixed reviews.[53] In June 1840, Poe published a prospectus announcing his intentions to start his own journal called The Stylus,[54] although he originally intended to call it The Penn, since it would have been based in Philadelphia. He bought advertising space for his prospectus in the June 6, 1840, issue of Philadelphia's Saturday Evening Post: "Prospectus of the Penn Magazine, a Monthly Literary journal to be edited and published in the city of Philadelphia by Edgar A. Poe."[55] The journal was never produced before Poe's death. Poe left Burton's after about a year and found a position as writer and co-editor at Graham's Magazine, a successful monthly publication.[56] In the last number of Graham's for 1841, Poe was among the co-signatories to an editorial note of celebration of the tremendous success the magazine had achieved in the past year: "Perhaps the editors of no magazine, either in America or in Europe, ever sat down, at the close of a year, to contemplate the progress of their work with more satisfaction than we do now. Our success has been unexampled, almost incredible. We may assert without fear of contradiction that no periodical ever witnessed the same increase during so short a period."[57] Around this time, Poe attempted to secure a position in the administration of John Tyler, claiming that he was a member of the Whig Party.[58] He hoped to be appointed to the United States Custom House in Philadelphia with help from President Tyler's son Robert,[59] an acquaintance of Poe's friend Frederick Thomas.[60] Poe failed to show up for a meeting with Thomas to discuss the appointment in mid-September 1842, claiming to have been sick, though Thomas believed that he had been drunk.[61] Poe was promised an appointment, but all positions were filled by others.[62] One evening in January 1842, Virginia showed the first signs of consumption, or tuberculosis, while singing and playing the piano, which Poe described as breaking a blood vessel in her throat.[63] She only partially recovered, and Poe began to drink more heavily under the stress of her illness. He left Graham's and attempted to find a new position, for a time angling for a government post. He returned to New York where he worked briefly at the Evening Mirror before becoming editor of the Broadway Journal, and later its owner.[64] There Poe alienated himself from other writers by publicly accusing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow of plagiarism, though Longfellow never responded.[65] On January 29, 1845, Poe's poem "The Raven" appeared in the Evening Mirror and became a popular sensation. It made Poe a household name almost instantly,[66] though he was paid only $9 for its publication.[67] It was concurrently published in The American Review: A Whig Journal under the pseudonym "Quarles".[68] The Bronx[edit] The Broadway Journal failed in 1846,[64] and Poe moved to a cottage in Fordham, New York, in the Bronx. That home, now known as the Edgar Allan Poe Cottage, was relocated in later years to a park near the southeast corner of the Grand Concourse and Kingsbridge Road. Nearby, Poe befriended the Jesuits at St. John's College, now Fordham University.[69] Virginia died at the cottage on January 30, 1847.[70] Biographers and critics often suggest that Poe's frequent theme of the "death of a beautiful woman" stems from the repeated loss of women throughout his life, including his wife.[71] Poe was increasingly unstable after his wife's death. He attempted to court poet Sarah Helen Whitman, who lived in Providence, Rhode Island. Their engagement failed, purportedly because of Poe's drinking and erratic behavior. There is also strong evidence that Whitman's mother intervened and did much to derail the relationship.[72] Poe then returned to Richmond and resumed a relationship with his childhood sweetheart Sarah Elmira Royster.[73] Death[edit] Main article: Death of Edgar Allan Poe Poe is interred at Westminster Hall in Baltimore, Maryland (Lat: 39.29027; Long: −76.62333); the circumstances and cause of his death remain uncertain. On October 3, 1849, Poe was found semiconscious in Baltimore, "in great distress, and... in need of immediate assistance", according to Joseph W. Walker, who found him.[74] He was taken to the Washington Medical College, where he died on Sunday, October 7, 1849, at 5:00 in the morning.[75] Poe was not coherent long enough to explain how he came to be in his dire condition and why he was wearing clothes that were not his own. He is said to have repeatedly called out the name "Reynolds" on the night before his death, though it is unclear to whom he was referring. His attending physician said that Poe's final words were, "Lord help my poor soul".[75] All of the relevant medical records have been lost, including Poe's death certificate.[76] Newspapers at the time reported Poe's death as "congestion of the brain" or "cerebral inflammation", common euphemisms for death from disreputable causes such as alcoholism.[77] The actual cause of death remains a mystery.[78] Speculation has included delirium tremens, heart disease, epilepsy, syphilis, meningeal inflammation,[5] cholera,[79] carbon monoxide poisoning,[80] and rabies.[81] One theory dating from 1872 suggests that Poe's death resulted from cooping, a form of electoral fraud in which citizens were forced to vote for a particular candidate, sometimes leading to violence and even murder.[82] Griswold's memoir[edit] Immediately after Poe's death, his literary rival Rufus Wilmot Griswold wrote a slanted high-profile obituary under a pseudonym, filled with falsehoods that cast Poe as a lunatic, and which described him as a person who "walked the streets, in madness or melancholy, with lips moving in indistinct curses, or with eyes upturned in passionate prayers, (never for himself, for he felt, or professed to feel, that he was already damned)".[83] The long obituary appeared in the New York Tribune, signed "Ludwig" on the day that Poe was buried in Baltimore. It was further published throughout the country. The obituary began, "Edgar Allan Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it."[84] "Ludwig" was soon identified as Griswold, an editor, critic, and anthologist who had borne a grudge against Poe since 1842. Griswold somehow became Poe's literary executor and attempted to destroy his enemy's reputation after his death.[85] Griswold wrote a biographical article of Poe called "Memoir of the Author", which he included in an 1850 volume of the collected works. There he depicted Poe as a depraved, drunken, drug-addled madman and included Poe's letters as evidence.[85] Many of his claims were either lies or distortions; for example, it is seriously disputed that Poe was a drug addict.[86] Griswold's book was denounced by those who knew Poe well,[87] including John Neal, who published an article defending Poe and attacking Griswold as a "Rhadamanthus, who is not to be bilked of his fee, a thimble-full of newspaper notoriety".[88] Griswold's book nevertheless became a popularly accepted biographical source. This was in part because it was the only full biography available and was widely reprinted, and in part because readers thrilled at the thought of reading works by an "evil" man.[89] Letters that Griswold presented as proof were later revealed as forgeries.[90] Literary style and themes[edit] Genres[edit] Poe's best-known fiction works are Gothic horror,[91] adhering to the genre's conventions to appeal to the public taste.[92] His most recurring themes deal with questions of death, including its physical signs, the effects of decomposition, concerns of premature burial, the reanimation of the dead, and mourning.[93] Many of his works are generally considered part of the dark romanticism genre, a literary reaction to transcendentalism[94] which Poe strongly disliked.[95] He referred to followers of the transcendental movement as "Frog-Pondians", after the pond on Boston Common,[96][97] and ridiculed their writings as "metaphor—run mad,"[98] lapsing into "obscurity for obscurity's sake" or "mysticism for mysticism's sake".[95] Poe once wrote in a letter to Thomas Holley Chivers that he did not dislike transcendentalists, "only the pretenders and sophists among them".[99] Beyond horror, Poe also wrote satires, humor tales, and hoaxes. For comic effect, he used irony and ludicrous extravagance, often in an attempt to liberate the reader from cultural conformity.[92] "Metzengerstein" is the first story that Poe is known to have published[100] and his first foray into horror, but it was originally intended as a burlesque satirizing the popular genre.[101] Poe also reinvented science fiction, responding in his writing to emerging technologies such as hot air balloons in "The Balloon-Hoax".[102] Poe wrote much of his work using themes aimed specifically at mass-market tastes.[103] To that end, his fiction often included elements of popular pseudosciences, such as phrenology[104] and physiognomy.[105] Literary theory[edit] Poe's writing reflects his literary theories, which he presented in his criticism and also in essays such as "The Poetic Principle".[106] He disliked didacticism[107] and allegory,[108] though he believed that meaning in literature should be an undercurrent just beneath the surface. Works with obvious meanings, he wrote, cease to be art.[109] He believed that work of quality should be brief and focus on a specific single effect.[106] To that end, he believed that the writer should carefully calculate every sentiment and idea.[110] Poe describes his method in writing "The Raven" in the essay "The Philosophy of Composition", and he claims to have strictly followed this method. It has been questioned whether he really followed this system, however. T. S. Eliot said: "It is difficult for us to read that essay without reflecting that if Poe plotted out his poem with such calculation, he might have taken a little more pains over it: the result hardly does credit to the method."[111] Biographer Joseph Wood Krutch described the essay as "a rather highly ingenious exercise in the art of rationalization".[112] Legacy[edit] Influence[edit] An 1875 illustration of Poe by French impressionist Édouard Manet for the Stéphane Mallarmé translation of "The Raven" Poe depicted in a modern retouched version of the daguerreotype During his lifetime, Poe was mostly recognized as a literary critic. Fellow critic James Russell Lowell called him "the most discriminating, philosophical, and fearless critic upon imaginative works who has written in America", suggesting—rhetorically—that he occasionally used prussic acid instead of ink.[113] Poe's caustic reviews earned him the reputation of being a "tomahawk man".[114] A favorite target of Poe's criticism was Boston's acclaimed poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who was often defended by his literary friends in what was later called "The Longfellow War". Poe accused Longfellow of "the heresy of the didactic", writing poetry that was preachy, derivative, and thematically plagiarized.[115] Poe correctly predicted that Longfellow's reputation and style of poetry would decline, concluding, "We grant him high qualities, but deny him the Future".[116] Poe was also known as a writer of fiction and became one of the first American authors of the 19th century to become more popular in Europe than in the United States.[117] Poe is particularly respected in France, in part due to early translations by Charles Baudelaire. Baudelaire's translations became definitive renditions of Poe's work in Continental Europe.[118] Poe's early detective fiction tales featuring C. Auguste Dupin laid the groundwork for future detectives in literature. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said, "Each [of Poe's detective stories] is a root from which a whole literature has developed.... Where was the detective story until Poe breathed the breath of life into it?"[119] The Mystery Writers of America have named their awards for excellence in the genre the "Edgars".[120] Poe's work also influenced science fiction, notably Jules Verne, who wrote a sequel to Poe's novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket called An Antarctic Mystery, also known as The Sphinx of the Ice Fields.[121] Science fiction author H. G. Wells noted, "Pym tells what a very intelligent mind could imagine about the south polar region a century ago".[122] In 2013, The Guardian cited Pym as one of the greatest novels ever written in the English language, and noted its influence on later authors such as Doyle, Henry James, B. Traven, and David Morrell.[123] Horror author and historian H. P. Lovecraft was heavily influenced by Poe's horror tales, dedicating an entire section of his long essay, "Supernatural Horror in Literature", to his influence on the genre.[124] In his letters, Lovecraft described Poe as his "God of Fiction".[125] Lovecraft's earlier stories express a significant influence from Poe.[126] A later work, At the Mountains of Madness, quotes him and was influenced by The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket.[127] Lovecraft also made extensive use of Poe's unity of effect in his fiction.[128] Alfred Hitchcock once said, "It's because I liked Edgar Allan Poe's stories so much that I began to make suspense films".[129] Many references to Poe's works are present in Vladimir Nabokov's novels.[130] Like many famous artists, Poe's works have spawned imitators.[131] One trend among imitators of Poe has been claims by clairvoyants or psychics to be "channeling" poems from Poe's spirit. One of the most notable of these was Lizzie Doten, who published Poems from the Inner Life in 1863, in which she claimed to have "received" new compositions by Poe's spirit. The compositions were re-workings of famous Poe poems such as "The Bells", but which reflected a new, positive outlook.[132] Poe has also received criticism. This is partly because of the negative perception of his personal character and its influence upon his reputation.[117] William Butler Yeats was occasionally critical of Poe and once called him "vulgar".[133] Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson reacted to "The Raven" by saying, "I see nothing in it",[134] and derisively referred to Poe as "the jingle man".[135] Aldous Huxley wrote that Poe's writing "falls into vulgarity" by being "too poetical"—the equivalent of wearing a diamond ring on every finger.[136] It is believed that only twelve copies have survived of Poe's first book Tamerlane and Other Poems. In December 2009, one copy sold at Christie's auctioneers in New York City for $662,500, a record price paid for a work of American literature.[137] Physics and cosmology[edit] Eureka: A Prose Poem, an essay written in 1848, included a cosmological theory that presaged the Big Bang theory by 80 years,[138][139] as well as the first plausible solution to Olbers' paradox.[140][141] Poe eschewed the scientific method in Eureka and instead wrote from pure intuition.[142] For this reason, he considered it a work of art, not science,[142] but insisted that it was still true[143] and considered it to be his career masterpiece.[144] Even so, Eureka is full of scientific errors. In particular, Poe's suggestions ignored Newtonian principles regarding the density and rotation of planets.[145] Cryptography[edit] Poe had a keen interest in cryptography. He had placed a notice of his abilities in the Philadelphia paper Alexander's Weekly (Express) Messenger, inviting submissions of ciphers which he proceeded to solve.[146] In July 1841, Poe had published an essay called "A Few Words on Secret Writing" in Graham's Magazine. Capitalizing on public interest in the topic, he wrote "The Gold-Bug" incorporating ciphers as an essential part of the story.[147] Poe's success with cryptography relied not so much on his deep knowledge of that field (his method was limited to the simple substitution cryptogram) as on his knowledge of the magazine and newspaper culture. His keen analytical abilities, which were so evident in his detective stories, allowed him to see that the general public was largely ignorant of the methods by which a simple substitution cryptogram can be solved, and he used this to his advantage.[146] The sensation that Poe created with his cryptography stunts played a major role in popularizing cryptograms in newspapers and magazines.[148] Two ciphers he published in 1841 under the name "W. B. Tyler" were not solved until 1992 and 2000 respectively. One was a quote from Joseph Addison's play Cato; the other is probably based on a poem by Hester Thrale.[149][150] Poe had an influence on cryptography beyond increasing public interest during his lifetime. William Friedman, America's foremost cryptologist, was heavily influenced by Poe.[151] Friedman's initial interest in cryptography came from reading "The Gold-Bug" as a child, an interest that he later put to use in deciphering Japan's PURPLE code during World War II.[152] In popular culture[edit] As a character[edit] Main articles: Edgar Allan Poe in popular culture and Edgar Allan Poe in television and film The historical Edgar Allan Poe has appeared as a fictionalized character, often in order to represent the "mad genius" or "tormented artist" and in order to exploit his personal struggles.[153] Many such depictions also blend in with characters from his stories, suggesting that Poe and his characters share identities.[154] Often, fictional depictions of Poe use his mystery-solving skills in such novels as The Poe Shadow by Matthew Pearl.[155] Preserved homes, landmarks, and museums[edit] The Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site in Philadelphia, one of several preserved former residences of Poe No childhood home of Poe is still standing, including the Allan family's Moldavia estate. The oldest standing home in Richmond, the Old Stone House, is in use as the Edgar Allan Poe Museum, though Poe never lived there. The collection includes many items that Poe used during his time with the Allan family, and also features several rare first printings of Poe works. 13 West Range is the dorm room that Poe is believed to have used while studying at the University of Virginia in 1826; it is preserved and available for visits. Its upkeep is overseen by a group of students and staff known as the Raven Society.[156] The earliest surviving home in which Poe lived is at 203 North Amity St. in Baltimore, which is preserved as the Edgar Allan Poe House and Museum. Poe is believed to have lived in the home at the age of 23 when he first lived with Maria Clemm and Virginia and possibly his grandmother and possibly his brother William Henry Leonard Poe.[157] It is open to the public and is also the home of the Edgar Allan Poe Society. While in Philadelphia between 1838 and 1844, Poe lived at at least four different residences, including the Indian Queen Hotel at 15 S. 4th Street, at a residence at 16th and Locust Streets, at 2502 Fairmount Street, and then in the Spring Garden section of the city at 532 N. 7th Street, a residence that has been preserved by the National Park Service as the Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site.[158][159] Poe's final home in Bronx, New York City, is preserved as the Edgar Allan Poe Cottage.[70] In Boston, a commemorative plaque on Boylston Street is several blocks away from the actual location of Poe's birth.[160][161][162][163] The house which was his birthplace at 62 Carver Street no longer exists; also, the street has since been renamed "Charles Street South".[164][163] A "square" at the intersection of Broadway, Fayette, and Carver Streets had once been named in his honor,[165] but it disappeared when the streets were rearranged. In 2009, the intersection of Charles and Boylston Streets (two blocks north of his birthplace) was designated "Edgar Allan Poe Square".[166] In March 2014, fundraising was completed for construction of a permanent memorial sculpture, known as Poe Returning to Boston, at this location. The winning design by Stefanie Rocknak depicts a life-sized Poe striding against the wind, accompanied by a flying raven; his suitcase lid has fallen open, leaving a "paper trail" of literary works embedded in the sidewalk behind him.[167][168][169] The public unveiling on October 5, 2014, was attended by former U.S. poet laureate Robert Pinsky.[170] Other Poe landmarks include a building on the Upper West Side, where Poe temporarily lived when he first moved to New York City. A plaque suggests that Poe wrote "The Raven" here. On Sullivan's Island in Charleston County, South Carolina, the setting of Poe's tale "The Gold-Bug" and where Poe served in the Army in 1827 at Fort Moultrie, there is a restaurant called Poe's Tavern. In the Fell's Point section of Baltimore, a bar still stands where legend says that Poe was last seen drinking before his death. Known as "The Horse You Came in On", local lore insists that a ghost whom they call "Edgar" haunts the rooms above.[171] Photographs[edit] An 1848 "Ultima Thule" daguerreotype of Poe Early daguerreotypes of Poe continue to arouse great interest among literary historians.[172] Notable among them are: "Ultima Thule" ("far discovery") to honor the new photographic technique; taken in November 1848 in Providence, Rhode Island, probably by Edwin H. Manchester "Annie", given to Poe's friend Annie L. Richmond; probably taken in June 1849 in Lowell, Massachusetts, photographer unknown Poe Toaster[edit] Main article: Poe Toaster Between 1949 and 2009, a bottle of cognac and three roses were left at Poe's original grave marker every January 19 by an unknown visitor affectionately referred to as the "Poe Toaster". Sam Porpora was a historian at the Westminster Church in Baltimore, where Poe is buried; he claimed on August 15, 2007, that he had started the tradition in 1949. Porpora said that the tradition began in order to raise money and enhance the profile of the church. His story has not been confirmed,[173] and some details which he gave to the press are factually inaccurate.[174] The Poe Toaster's last appearance was on January 19, 2009, the day of Poe's bicentennial.[175] List of selected works[edit] Main article: Edgar Allan Poe bibliography Short stories "The Black Cat" "The Cask of Amontillado" "A Descent into the Maelström" "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" "The Fall of the House of Usher" "The Gold-Bug" "Hop-Frog" "The Imp of the Perverse" "Ligeia" "The Masque of the Red Death" "Morella" "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" "Never Bet the Devil Your Head" "The Oval Portrait" "The Pit and the Pendulum" "The Premature Burial" "The Purloined Letter" "The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether" "The Tell-Tale Heart" "Loss of Breath" Poetry "Al Aaraaf" "Annabel Lee" "The Bells" "The City in the Sea" "The Conqueror Worm" "A Dream Within a Dream" "Eldorado" "Eulalie" "The Haunted Palace" "To Helen" "Lenore" "Tamerlane" "The Raven" "Ulalume" Other works Politian (1835) – Poe's only play The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1838) – Poe's only complete novel The Journal of Julius Rodman (1840) – Poe's second, unfinished novel "The Balloon-Hoax" (1844) – A journalistic hoax printed as a true story "The Philosophy of Composition" (1846) – Essay Eureka: A Prose Poem (1848) – Essay "The Poetic Principle" (1848) – Essay "The Light-House" (1849) – Poe's last, incomplete work See also[edit] Speculative fiction/Horror portalPoetry portal Edgar Allan Poe and music Poe, a crater on Mercury USS E.A. Poe References[edit] Citations[edit] ^ Sun, Chunyan (April 23, 2015). "Horror from the Soul—Gothic Style in Allan Poe's Horror Fictions" (PDF). English Language Teaching. 8 (5). Canadian Center of Science and Education. doi:10.5539/elt.v8n5p94. ^ Stableford 2003, pp. 18–19. ^ a b Meyers 1992, p. 138. ^ Semtner, Christopher P. (2012). Edgar Allan Poe's Richmond: the Raven in the River City. Charleston, SC: History Press. p. 15. ISBN 978-1-60949-607-4. OCLC 779472206. ^ a b Meyers 1992, p. 256 ^ a b Allen 1927 ^ Quinn 1998, p. 13. ^ Canada 1997. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 8. ^ a b Meyers 1992, p. 9 ^ Quinn 1998, p. 61. ^ Silverman 1991, pp. 16–18. ^ PoeMuseum.org 2006. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 20. ^ 1634–1699: McCusker, J. J. (1997). How Much Is That in Real Money? A Historical Price Index for Use as a Deflator of Money Values in the Economy of the United States: Addenda et Corrigenda (PDF). American Antiquarian Society. 1700–1799: McCusker, J. J. (1992). How Much Is That in Real Money? A Historical Price Index for Use as a Deflator of Money Values in the Economy of the United States (PDF). American Antiquarian Society. 1800–present: Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis. "Consumer Price Index (estimate) 1800–". Retrieved February 29, 2024. ^ Silverman 1991, pp. 27–28. ^ Silverman 1991, pp. 29–30. ^ University of Virginia. A Catalogue of the Officers and Students of the University of Virginia. Second Session, Commencing February 1, 1826. Charlottesville, VA: Chronicle Steam Book Printing House, 1880, p. 10 ^ Meyers 1992, pp. 21–22. ^ Silverman 1991, pp. 32–34. ^ a b Meyers 1992, p. 32 ^ Silverman 1991, p. 41. ^ Cornelius 2002, p. 13. ^ Meyers 1992, pp. 33–34. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 35. ^ Silverman 1991, pp. 43–47. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 38. ^ Cornelius 2002, pp. 13–14. ^ Sears 1978, p. 114, quoting a letter from Poe to Neal. ^ Lease 1972, p. 130. ^ Sova 2001, p. 5. ^ Krutch 1926, p. 32. ^ Cornelius 2002, p. 14. ^ Meyers 1992, pp. 54–55. ^ Hecker 2005, pp. 49–51. ^ Meyers 1992, pp. 50–51. ^ Hecker 2005, pp. 53–54. ^ Quinn 1998, pp. 187–188. ^ Whalen 2001, p. 64. ^ a b Quinn 1998, p. 305 ^ Silverman 1991, p. 247. ^ Whalen 2001, p. 74. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 99. ^ Whalen 2001, p. 82. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 139. ^ Lease 1972, p. 132. ^ Sova 2001, p. 162. ^ Sova 2001, p. 225. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 73. ^ a b Silverman 1991, p. 124. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 85. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 137. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 113. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 119. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 159. ^ Sova 2001, pp. 39, 99. ^ Graham, George; Embury, E.; Peterson, Charles; Stephens, A.; Poe, Edgar (December 1841). "The Closing Year". Graham's Magazine. Philadelphia, PA: George R. Graham. Retrieved December 2, 2020. We began the year almost unknown; certainly far behind our contemporaries in numbers; we close it with a list of twenty-five thousand subscribers, and the assurance on every hand that our popularity has as yet seen only its dawning. (See page 308 of pdf.) ^ Quinn 1998, pp. 321–322. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 186. ^ Meyers 1992, p. 144. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 187. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 188. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 179. ^ a b Sova 2001, p. 34. ^ Quinn 1998, p. 455. ^ Hoffman 1998, p. 80. ^ Ostrom 1987, p. 5. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 530. ^ Schroth, Raymond A. Fordham: A History and Memoir. New York: Fordham University Press, 2008: 22–25. ^ a b BronxHistoricalSociety.org 2007. ^ Weekes 2002, p. 149. ^ Benton 1987, p. 19. ^ Quinn 1998, p. 628. ^ Quinn 1998, p. 638. ^ a b Meyers 1992, p. 255 ^ Bramsback 1970, p. 40. ^ Silverman 1991, pp. 435–436. ^ Silverman 1991, p. 435. ^ CrimeLibrary.com 2008. ^ Geiling, Natasha. "The (Still) Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe". Smithsonian Magazine. Retrieved May 3, 2021. ^ Benitez 1996. ^ Walsh 2000, pp. 32–33. ^ Van Luling, Todd (January 19, 2017). "A Vengeful Arch-Nemesis Taught You Fake News About Edgar Allan Poe". Huffington Post. 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New York: Checkmark Books. ISBN 978-0-8160-4161-9. Stableford, Brian (2003). "Science fiction before the genre". In James, Edward; Mendlesohn, Farah (eds.). The Cambridge Companion to Science Fiction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 15–31. ISBN 978-0-521-01657-5. St. Armand, Barton Levi (1975). "H. P. Lovecraft: New England Decadent". Caliban. 12 (1): 127–155. doi:10.3406/calib.1975.1046. eISSN 2431-1766. S2CID 220649713. Tresch, John (2002). "Extra! Extra! Poe invents science fiction". In Hayes, Kevin J. (ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Edgar Allan Poe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 113–132. ISBN 978-0-521-79326-1. Van Hoy, David C. (February 18, 2007). "The Fall of the House of Edgar". The Boston Globe. Retrieved October 7, 2019. Walsh, John Evangelist (2000) [1968]. Poe the Detective: The Curious Circumstances behind 'The Mystery of Marie Roget'. New York: St. Martins Minotaur. ISBN 978-0-8135-0567-1. (1968 edition printed by Rutgers University Press) Weekes, Karen (2002). "Poe's feminine ideal". In Hayes, Kevin J. (ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Edgar Allan Poe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 148–162. ISBN 978-0-521-79326-1. Whalen, Terance (2001). "Poe and the American Publishing Industry". In Kennedy, J. Gerald (ed.). A Historical Guide to Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Oxford University Press. pp. 63–94. ISBN 978-0-19-512150-6. Wilbur, Richard (1967). "The House of Poe". In Regan, Robert (ed.). Poe: A Collection of Critical Essays. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. p. 99. ISBN 978-0-13-684963-6. Further reading[edit] Library resources about Edgar Allan Poe Online books Resources in your library Resources in other libraries By Edgar Allan Poe Online books Resources in your library Resources in other libraries Ackroyd, Peter (2008). Poe: A Life Cut Short. London: Chatto & Windus. ISBN 978-0-7011-6988-6. Baab-Muguira, Catherine (September 2021). Poe for Your Problems. New York: Running Press. ISBN 978-0-7624-9909-0. Bittner, William (1962). Poe: A Biography. Boston: Little, Brown and Company. ISBN 978-0-316-09686-7. George Washington Eveleth (1922). Thomas Ollive Mabbott (ed.). The letters from George W. Eveleth to Edgar Allan Poe. Bulletin of the New York Public Library. Vol. 26 (reprint ed.). The New York Public Library. Hutchisson, James M. (2005). Poe. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. ISBN 978-1-57806-721-3. Levin, Harry (1980). The Power of Blackness: Hawthorne, Poe, Melville. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. ISBN 9780821405819. Poe, Harry Lee (2008). Edgar Allan Poe: An Illustrated Companion to His Tell-Tale Stories. New York: Metro Books. ISBN 978-1-4351-0469-3. Pope-Hennessy, Una (1934). Edgar Allan Poe, 1809–1849: A Critical Biography. New York: Haskell House. Robinson, Marilynne, "On Edgar Allan Poe", The New York Review of Books, vol. LXII, no. 2 (February 5, 2015), pp. 4, 6. Tresch, John (2021). The Reason for the Darkness of the Night: Edgar Allan Poe and the Forging of American Science. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. ISBN 978-0-3742-4785-0. External links[edit] Edgar Allan Poe at Wikipedia's sister projects Media from CommonsNews from WikinewsQuotations from WikiquoteTexts from WikisourceResources from Wikiversity Listen to this article (33 minutes) This audio file was created from a revision of this article dated 22 November 2008 (2008-11-22), and does not reflect subsequent edits.(Audio help · More spoken articles) Works by Edgar Allan Poe in eBook form at Standard Ebooks Works by Edgar Allan Poe at Project Gutenberg Works by or about Edgar Allan Poe at Internet Archive Works by Edgar Allan Poe at LibriVox (public domain audiobooks) Works by Edgar Allan Poe at Open Library Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site Edgar Allan Poe Society in Baltimore Poe Museum in Richmond, Virginia Edgar Allan Poe's Personal Correspondence Archived February 23, 2015, at the Wayback Machine Shapell Manuscript Foundation Edgar Allan Poe's Collection Archived March 1, 2012, at the Wayback Machine at the Harry Ransom Center at The University of Texas at Austin 'Funeral' honours Edgar Allan Poe BBC News (with video) 2009-10-11 Selected Stories from American Studies at the University of Virginia Edgar Allan Poe at the Internet Speculative Fiction Database Edgar Allan Poe at Library of Congress, with 944 library catalog records Finding aid to Edgar Allan Poe papers at Columbia University. Rare Book & Manuscript Library. vteEdgar Allan PoeBibliographyPoems "Tamerlane" (1827) "Al Aaraaf" (1829) "Sonnet to Science" (1829) "To Helen" (1831) "The City in the Sea" (1831) "The Haunted Palace" (1839) "The Conqueror Worm" (1843) "Lenore" (1843) "Eulalie" (1843) "The Raven" (1845) "Ulalume" (1847) "A Dream Within a Dream" (1849) "Eldorado" (1849) "The Bells" (1849) "Annabel Lee" (1849) Tales "Metzengerstein" (1832) "The Duc de L'Omelette" (1832) "Bon-Bon" (1832) "MS. Found in a Bottle" (1833) "Berenice" (1835) "Morella" (1835) "The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall" (1835) "Ligeia" (1838) "A Predicament" (1838) "The Devil in the Belfry" (1839) "The Man That Was Used Up" (1839) "The Fall of the House of Usher" (1839) "William Wilson" (1839) "The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion" (1839) "The Business Man" (1840) "The Man of the Crowd" (1840) "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" (1841) "A Descent into the Maelström" (1841) "Never Bet the Devil Your Head" (1841) "Eleonora" (1841) "The Oval Portrait" (1842) "The Masque of the Red Death" (1842) "The Mystery of Marie Rogêt" (1842) "The Pit and the Pendulum" (1842) "The Tell-Tale Heart" (1843) "The Gold-Bug" (1843) "The Black Cat" (1843) "The Spectacles" (1844) "A Tale of the Ragged Mountains" (1844) "The Premature Burial" (1844) "The Oblong Box" (1844) "The Angel of the Odd" (1844) "Thou Art the Man" (1844) "The Purloined Letter" (1844) "Some Words with a Mummy" (1845) "The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherazade" (1845) "The Imp of the Perverse" (1845) "The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether" (1845) "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" (1845) "The Cask of Amontillado" (1846) "Loss of Breath" (1846) "Hop-Frog" (1849) Essays "Maelzel's Chess Player" (1836) "The Philosophy of Furniture" (1840) "Morning on the Wissahiccon" (1844) "The Philosophy of Composition" (1846) "The Poetic Principle" (1846) Eureka: A Prose Poem (1848) Novels The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1837) The Journal of Julius Rodman (1840) Collections Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827) Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840) Play Politian (1835) Other The Conchologist's First Book (1839) The Balloon-Hoax (1844) The Light-House (1849) Related Virginia Eliza Clemm Poe (wife) Eliza Poe (mother) David Poe Jr. (father) William Henry Poe (brother) Rosalie Mackenzie Poe (sister) Poe Museum Poe Cottage Edgar Allan Poe House and Museum National Historic Site The Stylus magazine Death Edgar Awards In popular culture film and television music Poe Toaster Tales of Mystery & Imagination Portrayals Edgar Allen Poe (1909 film) The Raven (1915 film) The Loves of Edgar Allan Poe (1942 film) The Man with a Cloak (1951 film) Edgar Allan Poe: Once Upon a Midnight (2004 play) The Raven (2012 film) The Pale Blue Eye (2022 film) Associated subjects vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" (1845)Film The Raven (1915) The Raven (1935) The Raven (1963) The Raven (2006) Evil Calls: The Raven (2011) The Raven (2012) Literature Barnaby Rudge The Blessed Damozel Cadaeic Cadenza Music The Raven (Lou Reed album) "The Raven" (The Alan Parsons Project song) "That's How the Story Ends" (Five Iron Frenzy song) Other Edgar Allan Poe: Once Upon a Midnight (play) "Treehouse of Horror" The Raven (painting series) The Pigeon Vincent "The Raven" in popular culture Related Grip (raven) vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" (1843)Adaptations The Avenging Conscience (1914 silent) The Tell-Tale Heart (1934) The Tell-Tale Heart (1941) The Tell-Tale Heart (1953, American) The Tell-Tale Heart (1953, British) The Tell-Tale Heart (1960) Tell-Tale (2009) Tell (2012) The Tell-Tale Heart (2014) Related Manfish The Dark Eye vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher" (1839)Film La Chute de la maison Usher (1928, French) The Fall of the House of Usher (1928, American) The Fall of the House of Usher (1950) House of Usher (1960) The House of Usher (1989) The Fall of the Louse of Usher (2002) Descendant (2003) Usher (2004) The House of Usher (2006) The Bloodhound (2020) Television The Fall of the House of Usher (2023) Operas La chute de la maison Usher (Debussy) The Fall of the House of Usher (Glass) The Fall of the House of Usher (Hammill) Usher House (Getty) The Fall of the House of Usher (Sitsky) Other Alone in the Dark "Lady Eleanor" vteEdgar Allan Poe's C. Auguste DupinStories "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" "The Mystery of Marie Rogêt" "The Purloined Letter" Adaptations Sherlock Holmes in the Great Murder Mystery (1908) Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932) The Mystery of Marie Roget (1942) Phantom of the Rue Morgue (1954) Murders in the Rue Morgue (1971) The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1986) Morgue Street (2012) vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum" (1842)Film The Pit and the Pendulum (1913) The Pit and the Pendulum (1961) The Pit and the Pendulum (1964) The Pendulum, the Pit and Hope (1983) The Pit and the Pendulum (1991) The Pit and the Pendulum (2009) vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death" (1842) In popular culture Films The Plague of Florence (1919) The Masque of the Red Death (1964) Mask of the Red Death (1969) Masque of the Red Death (1989) Other media Batman: Contagion (comic) Masque of the Red Death (game campaign) The Masque of the Red Death (play) Prospero's Rooms (music composition) Wendy Pini's Masque of the Red Death (comic) vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The Black Cat" (1843)Film adaptations Unheimliche Geschichten (1919) Unheimliche Geschichten (1932) The Black Cat (1934) Maniac (1934) The Black Cat (1941) Tales of Terror (1962) Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key (1972) Death Smiles on a Murderer (1973) The Black Cat (1981) Two Evil Eyes (1990) TV adaptations "The Black Cat" vteEdgar Allan Poe's "The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether" (1845)Film adaptations The System of Doctor Goudron (1913) Unheimliche Geschichten (1932) The Forgotten (1973) Lunacy (2005) Stonehearst Asylum (2014) Music "(The System of) Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether" Articles related to E. A. Poe vteRomanticismCountries Denmark England (literature) France (literature) Germany Japan Norway Poland Russia (literature) Scotland Spain (literature) Sweden (literature) Movements Ancients Bohemianism Coppet group Counter-Enlightenment Dark Düsseldorf School German Historical School Gothic revival Hudson River School Indianism Jena Lake Poets Nationalist Nazarene movement Neo Pre Sturm und Drang Post Purismo Transcendentalism Ukrainian school Ultra Wallenrodism Themes Blue flower British Marine Gesamtkunstwerk Gothic fiction Hero Byronic Romantic Historical fiction Mal du siècle Medievalism Noble savage Nostalgia Ossian Pantheism Rhine Romantic genius Wanderlust Weltschmerz White Mountain art WritersBrazil Abreu Alencar Alves Assis Azevedo Barreto Dias Guimarães Macedo Magalhães Reis Taunay Varela France Baudelaire Bertrand Chateaubriand Dumas Gautier Hugo Lamartine Mérimée Musset Nerval Nodier Staël Germany A. v. Arnim B. v. 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THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER

"Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination" by Arthur Rackham is in the public domain.

Son coeur est un luth suspendu;
Sitôt qu'on le touche il résonne.
- De Béranger.

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 reveller upon opium2-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 tarn3 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 gray 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 boon4 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 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 munificent5 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 patrimony6 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 appellation7 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 gray 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 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.

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 ebon blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric8 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 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 ennuyé9 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 wan10 being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. Yet the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness11 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 want12 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. 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 gray 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 cataleptical13 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 sulphureous14 lustre over all. His long improvised dirges15 will ring forever in my cars. 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 vaguenesses 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 educe16 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 his 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 seraph18 spread a pinion19
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-tunèd law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene!20)
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 sentience21 of all vegetable22 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 collocation23 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 invalid24-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'Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance of Tieck; and the City of the Sun of 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 Vigilae 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 donjon25-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 vagaries26 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,27 swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremour gradually pervaded my frame; and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus28 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 recognised it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward 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,29 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 miasma30 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 prolixity31 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 doughty32 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 alarummed 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-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 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 pannels 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."

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GRADE:11

Additional Information:

Rating: Words in the Passage: 1410 Unique Words: 2,032 Sentences: 248
Noun: 1740 Conjunction: 596 Adverb: 511 Interjection: 8
Adjective: 666 Pronoun: 647 Verb: 1069 Preposition: 1039
Letter Count: 32,979 Sentiment: Positive / Positive / Positive Tone: Neutral Difficult Words: 1525
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