Such, I have longknown, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror asa basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, whenI again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image inthe pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy—a fancy soridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid forceof the sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked upon myimagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion anddomain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and theirimmediate vicinity—an atmosphere which had no affinity withthe air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayedtrees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn—a pestilentand mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, andleaden-hued. 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 ennuyé man of the world.
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He sufferedmuch from a morbid acuteness of the senses; the most insipid foodwas alone endurable; he could wear only garments of certaintexture; the odors of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes weretortured by even a faint light; and there were but peculiarsounds, and these from stringed instruments, which did notinspire him with horror. It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to afford him. He entered, at some length, into what he conceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired to find a remedy—a mere nervous affection, he immediately added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. 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.
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I regarded her with an utterastonishment not unmingled with dread; and yet I found itimpossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stuporoppressed me as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When adoor, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctivelyand eagerly the countenance of the brother; but he had buried hisface in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more thanordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers throughwhich trickled many passionate tears. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered theGothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thenceconducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricatepassages in my progress to the studio of his master.
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Netflix’s House of Usher’s lemon speech is full of the show’s flaws.
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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. 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.
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At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in thearrangements for the temporary entombment. The vault in whichwe placed it (and which had been so long unopened that ourtorches, half smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, gave uslittle opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, andentirely without means of admission for light; lying, at greatdepth, immediately beneath that portion of the building in whichwas my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently, inremote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep,and, in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, or someother highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor,and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reachedit, were carefully sheathed with copper. Its immense weightcaused an unusually sharp, grating sound, as it moved upon itshinges.
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Forsomething of this nature I had indeed been prepared, no less byhis letter, than by reminiscences of certain boyish traits, andby conclusions deduced from his peculiar physical conformationand temperament. Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream,I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Itsprincipal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity.The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi overspreadthe whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from theeaves. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and thereappeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfectadaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of theindividual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of thespecious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for longyears in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from thebreath of the external air.
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By the uttersimplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested andoverawed attention. For me at least, in the circumstances thensurrounding me, there arose out of the pure abstractions whichthe hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas, anintensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yetin the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concretereveries of Fuseli. The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A whirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity; for there were frequent and violent alterations in the direction of the wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which hung so low as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the lifelike velocity with which they flew careering from all points against each other, without passing away into the distance. I say that even their exceeding density did not prevent our perceiving this—yet we had no glimpse of the moon or stars—nor was there any flashing forth of the lightning.
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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. At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangements for the temporary entombment. The vault in which we placed it (and which had been so long unopened that our torches, half smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for light; lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that portion of the building in which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently, in remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep, and, in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, or some other highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reached it, were carefully sheathed with copper. Its immense weight caused an unusually sharp grating sound, as it moved upon its hinges. 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.
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.
I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken andequivocal hints, another singular feature of his mentalcondition. I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours Ithus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet Ishould fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exactcharacter of the studies, or of the occupations, in which heinvolved me, or led me the way.
But, in his disordered fancy, the idea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, under certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack words to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of his persuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) with the gray stones of the home of his forefathers. The conditions of the sentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of these stones—in the order of their arrangement, as well as in that of the many fungi which overspread them, and of the decayed trees which stood around—above all, in the long undisturbed endurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in the still waters of the tarn. Its evidence—the evidence of the sentience—was to be seen, he said, (and I here started as he spoke,) in the gradual yet certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about the waters and the walls.
His eyes were bent fixedly before him, andthroughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony rigidity.But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strongshudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about hislips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibberingmurmur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely overhim, I at length drank in the hideous import of his words. Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed tomyself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher,had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; but many years hadelapsed since our last meeting. A letter, however, had latelyreached me in a distant part of the country—a letter fromhim—which, in its wildly importunate nature, had admittedof no other than a personal reply. The writer spoke of acute bodilyillness—of a mental disorder which oppressed him—andof an earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his onlypersonal friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulnessof my society, some alleviation of his malady.
