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The Fall of the House of Usher

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Genere: Horror
Lingua: inglese
Lunghezza: circa 9100 parole (tempo di lettura: 28-42 minuti)
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The Fall of the House of Usher

Son coeur est un luth suspendu;
Sitot qu'on le touche il resonne.

DE BERANGER.


During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was - but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasureable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me - upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain - upon the bleak walls - upon the vacant eye-like windows - upon a few rank sedges - and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees - with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium - the bitter lapse into everyday life - the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart - an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it - I paused to think - what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down - but with a shudder even more thrilling than before - upon the remodelled and inverted images of the grey sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.

    Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; but many years had elapsed since our last meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a distant part of the country - a letter from him - which, in its wildly importunate nature, had admitted of no other than a personal reply. The MS gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute bodily illness - of a mental disorder which oppressed him - and of an earnest desire to see me, as his best, and indeed his only personal friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation of his malady. It was the manner in which all this, and much more, was said - it was the apparent heart that went with his request - which allowed me no room for hesitation; and I accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very singular summons.

    Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve had been always excessive and habitual. I was aware, however, that his very ancient family had been noted, time out of mind, for a peculiar sensibility of temperament, displaying itself, through long ages, in many works of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtrusive charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily recognisable beauties of musical science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable fact, that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honoured as it was, had put forth, at no period, any enduring branch; in other words, that the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and had always, with very trifling and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over in thought the perfect keeping of the character of the premises with the accredited character of the people, and while speculating upon the possible influence which the one, in the long lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the other - it was this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent undeviating transmission, from sire to son, of the patrimony with the name, which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge the original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal appellation of the ''House of Usher'' - an appellation which seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, both the family and the family mansion.

    I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish experiment - that of looking down within the tarn - had been to deepen the first singular impression. There can be no doubt that the consciousness of the rapid increase of my supersition - for why should I not so term it? - served mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, when I again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy - a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid force of the sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and their immediate vicinity - an atmosphere which had no affinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayed trees, and the grey wall, and the silent tarn - a pestilent and mystic vapour, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued.

    Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn.

    Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already spoken. While the objects around me - while the carvings of the ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy - while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this - I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases, I met the physician of the family. His countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master.

...continua...

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:: Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston on January 19th, 1809, to David and Elizabeth Poe, travelling actors. When Edgar was one year old, his father disappeared: when he was two, his mother died. He was taken into the household (though never legally adopted) of John Allan, a wealthy Richmond (Virginia) tobacco merchant.
Poe for some time led the life of a youth of social standing. In February 1826 Poe entered the newly University of Virginia, where he displayed high promise. In December 1826 Allan withdrew him from the University for drinking and gambling debts. After a quarrel, Poe left Allan's house and went to Boston.
Lacking any means of support, Poe enlisted in the army. He had, however, already written and printed (at his own expense) his first book Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), verses written in the manner of Byron. Poe resigned from the army in 1829, the year of Mrs. Allan's death, and published Al Araaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems in Baltimore.
In 1830 he entered West Point with the support of Allan, with whom after Mrs Allan's death, he had temporarily reconciled . Not finding what he wished at West Point, he deliberately got himself dismissed for neglect of duty in 1831.
Next Poe took up residence in Baltimore with his widowed aunt, Maria Clemm, and her daughter, Virginia, and turned to fiction as a way to support himself. In 1832 the Philadelphia Saturday Courier published five of his stories, all comic or satiric, and in 1833, MS Found in a bottle.
Poe, his aunt, and Virginia moved to Richmond in 1835, and he became editor of the Southern Literary Messenger and in 1836 married Virginia, who was not yet 14 years old.
As editor from 1835 to 1837, Poe began to write the biting attacks on second-rate literature that were to gain for him a wide reputation, but no money, as the leading journalist of his day.
He resigned from the Messanger because of insufficient pay and quarrels with the publishers. Poe moved to New York and then, in 1838, to Philadelphia, where he sought to establish himself as a force in literary journalism, but with only moderate success. There he published The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym(1838), Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840).
His theory of short fiction is best exemplified in Ligeia (1838), the tale that Poe considered his finest one, and The fall of the house of Usher (1839), which was to become one of his most famous stories. The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841) is sometimes considered the first detective story.
He moved back to New York in 1844, there he worked on the New York Evening Mirror. His pitifully small wages rendered him incapable of helping Virginia in her losing battle with tuberculosis. He had the chance to publish his own magazine, The Brodway journal, in 1845, but in two years it failed.
When Virginia died in 1846, Poe went to pieces, entering a delirium of drink and delusive searches of female love and understanding. He did not even succeed in his suicide attempt of 1848.
In the summer of 1849 he revisited Richmond, where he lectured, and was accepted anew by the fiancée he had lost in 1826.
On October 1849, on his return from Richmond, he died rather mysteriously.
Poe left a distinctive body of verse which is not to be read intellectually, but for sound and suggestiveness. Poe's prose falls into several classes: analytical tales, tales of mystery and horror, of wonderful adventures, of fantasy and tales of humour.

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