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. 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.
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The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually characterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when I thought his unceasingly agitated mind was labouring with some oppressive secret, to divulge which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times, again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicable vagaries of madness, for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain degrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive superstitions. I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, andof its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, oneevening, having informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline wasno more, he stated his intention of preserving her corpse for afortnight (previously to its final interment), in one of thenumerous vaults within the main walls of the building. Theworldly reason, however, assigned for this singular proceeding,was one which I did not feel at liberty to dispute.
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Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact character of the studies, or of the occupations, in which he involved me, or led me the way. An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. 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 educe more than a small portion which should lie within the compass of merely written words. By the utter simplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed attention.
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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. And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, anobservable change came over the features of the mental disorderof my friend. He roamed from chamberto chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallorof his countenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastlyhue—but the luminousness of his eye had utterly gone out.The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no more; anda tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habituallycharacterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when Ithought his unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with someoppressive secret, to divulge which he struggled for thenecessary courage. At times, again, I was obliged to resolve allinto the mere inexplicable vagaries of madness, for I beheld himgazing upon vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of theprofoundest attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound.It was no wonder that his condition terrified—that itinfected me.
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One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partakingnot so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowedforth, although feebly, in words. A small picture presented theinterior of an immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel,with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption ordevice. Certain accessory points of the design served well toconvey the idea that this excavation lay at an exceeding depthbelow the surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in anyportion of its vast extent, and no torch or other artificialsource of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense raysrolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly andinappropriate splendor.
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It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night ofthe seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madelinewithin the donjon, that I experienced the full power of suchfeelings. I struggled to reason off the nervousnesswhich had dominion over me. I endeavored to believe that much, ifnot all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence ofthe gloomy furniture of the room—of the dark and tattereddraperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a risingtempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustleduneasily about the decorations of the bed. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame;and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus ofutterly causeless alarm.
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The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us fromour feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautifulnight, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. Awhirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity; forthere were frequent and violent alterations in the direction ofthe wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which hung solow as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not preventour perceiving the life-like velocity with which they flewcareering from all points against each other, without passingaway into the distance. I say that even their exceeding densitydid not prevent our perceiving this—yet we had no glimpseof the moon or stars, nor was there any flashing forth of thelightning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitatedvapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately around us,were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous anddistinctly visible gaseous exhalation which hung about andenshrouded the mansion.
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I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactoryconclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there arecombinations of very simple natural objects which have the powerof thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies amongconsiderations beyond our depth. 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 don-jon, that I experienced the full power of such feelings. I struggled to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over me. I endeavoured to believe that much, if not all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room—of the dark and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. An irrepressible tremour gradually pervaded my frame; and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle, I uplifted myself upon the pillows, and, peering earnestly within the intense darkness of the chamber, hearkened—I know not why, except that an instinctive spirit prompted me—to certain low and indefinite sounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence.
I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certaindegrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressivesuperstitions. And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observable change came over the features of the mental disorder of my friend. 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.
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 bloomedIs but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. 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. 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 odor went away.
Our books—the books which, for years, had formed no small portion of the mental existence of the invalid—were, as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of phantasm. We pored together over such works as the Ververt et Chartreuse of Gresset; the Belphegor of Machiavelli; the Heaven and Hell of Swedenborg; the Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm by Holberg; the Chiromancy of Robert Flud, of Jean D'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 Ægipans, 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.
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