Edgar Allan Poe

The Fall of the House of Usher

Part One

iT Was a daRk and soundless

day near the end of the year, and

clouds were hanging low in the

heavens. All day I had been rid-

ing on horseback through coun-

try with little life or beauty; and

in the early evening I came within

view of the House of Usher.

I do not know how it was

— but, with my first sight of the

building, a sense of heavy sadness

filled my spirit. I looked at the

scene before me — at the house

itself — at the ground around it

— at the cold stone walls of the

building — at its empty eye-like

windows — and at a few dead trees — I looked at this scene, I say,

with a complete sadness of soul which was no healthy, earthly feeling.

There was a coldness, a sickening of the heart, in which I could dis-

cover nothing to lighten the weight I felt. What was it, I asked myself,

what was it that was so fearful, so frightening in my view of the House

of Usher? This was a question to which I could find no answer.

I stopped my horse beside the building, on the edge of a dark and

quiet lake. There, I could see reflected in the water a clear picture

of the dead trees, and of the house and its empty eye-like windows.

Edgar Allan Poe: Storyteller

I was now going to spend several weeks in this house of sadness —

this house of gloom. Its owner was named Roderick Usher. We had

been friends when we were boys; but many years had passed since our

last meeting. A letter from him had reached me, a wild letter which

demanded that I reply by coming to see him. He wrote of an illness of

the body — of a sickness of the mind — and of a desire to see me —

his best and indeed his only friend. It was the manner in which all this

was said — it was the heart in it — which did not allow me to say no.

Although as boys we had been together, I really knew little about

my friend. I knew, however, that his family, a very old one, had long

been famous for its understanding of all the arts and for many quiet

acts of kindness to the poor. I had learned too that the family had

never been a large one, with many branches. The name had passed

always from father to son, and when people spoke of the “House of

Usher,” they included both the family and the family home.

I again looked up from the picture of the house reflected in the

lake to the house itself. A strange idea grew in my mind — an idea so

strange that I tell it only to show the force of the feelings which laid

their weight on me. I really believed that around the whole house,

and the ground around it, the air itself was different. It was not the air

of heaven. It rose from the dead, decaying trees, from the gray walls,

and the quiet lake. It was a sickly, unhealthy air that I could see,

slow-moving, heavy, and gray.

Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I looked

more carefully at the building itself. The most noticeable thing about

it seemed to be its great age. None of the walls had fallen, yet the

stones appeared to be in a condition of advanced decay. Perhaps the

careful eye would have discovered the beginning of a break in the

front of the building, a crack making its way from the top down the

wall until it became lost in the dark waters of the lake.

I rode over a short bridge to the house. A man who worked in the

house — a servant — took my horse, and I entered. Another servant,

of quiet step, led me without a word through many dark turnings to

the room of his master. Much that I met on the way added, I do not

know how, to the strangeness of which I have already spoken. While

the objects around me — the dark wall coverings, the blackness of

the floors, and the things brought home from long forgotten wars —

Edgar Allan Poe

while these things were like the things I had known since I was a baby

— while I admitted that all this was only what I had expected — I was

still surprised at the strange ideas which grew in my mind from these

simple things.

The room I came into was very large and high. The windows were

high, and pointed at the top, and so far above the black floor that they

were quite out of reach. Only a little light, red in color, made its way

through the glass, and served to lighten the nearer and larger objects.

My eyes, however, tried and failed to see into the far, high corners of

the room. Dark coverings hung upon the walls. The many chairs and

tables had been used for a long, long time. Books lay around the room,

but could give it no sense of life. I felt sadness hanging over every-

thing. No escape from this deep cold gloom seemed possible.

As I entered the room, Usher stood up from where he had been

lying and met me with a warmth which at first I could not believe was

real. A look, however, at his face told me that every word he spoke

was true.

We sat down; and for some moments, while he said nothing, I

looked at him with a feeling of sad surprise. Surely, no man had ever

before changed as Roderick Usher had! Could this be the friend of my

early years? It is true that his face had always been unusual. He had

gray-white skin; eyes large and full of light; lips not bright in color,

but of a beautiful shape; a well-shaped nose; hair of great softness

— a face that was not easy to forget. And now the increase in this

strangeness of his face had caused so great a change that I almost did

not know him. The horrible white of his skin, and the strange light

in his eyes, surprised me and even made me afraid. His hair had been

allowed to grow, and in its softness it did not fall around his face but

seemed to lie upon the air. I could not, even with an effort, see in my

friend the appearance of a simple human being.

In his manner, I saw at once, changes came and went; and I

soon found that this resulted from his attempt to quiet a very great

nervousness. I had indeed been prepared for something like this,

partly by his letter and partly by remembering him as a boy. His actions

were first too quick and then too quiet. Sometimes his voice, slow

and trembling with fear, quickly changed to a strong, heavy, carefully

spaced, too perfectly controlled manner. It was in this manner that he