Part 4, The Fall of the House of Usher
Jan. 31st, 2015 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Part 4 of The Fall of the House of Usher, by Edgar Allan Poe, explicated by Me for the benefit of Poor Bastards Who Just Need To Pass, Damn It, But Are Facing A Fucking Short Story Full Of Impenetrable Fucking Gothic Prose.
Well, at this point I’m both more fun AND longer than the Wikipedia entry.
Need the index of parts?
19. 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 thatof the sentience of all vegetable things. But, in his disorderedfancy, the idea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed,under certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lackwords to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of hispersuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have previouslyhinted) with the gray stones of the home of his forefathers. Theconditions 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. 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.
RFM 19: After the SPI, we got to talking and Roderick shared his belief that his familial mansion had a mind, a will of its own. What a nutjob. His “proof” of this was how the house had, over the years, condensed its own atmosphere and shaped his family’s destiny and even driven he himself to the brink of madness if not already over it. To such an insane idea, I could make no coherent reply.
Here, some more, our narrator clings to reason. He’s like a limpet that way, isn’t he? He talks about Roderick’s “disordered fancy” and does some handwaving (“I lack words to express the full extent or the earnest abandon of his persuasion”) about how firmly Roderick has embraced this lunatic idea that his house is out to get him and, indeed, his entire family.
But, while the narrator says he can’t explain Rodericks’ reasoning for why the house is sentient, he then goes on to explain that Roderick’s theory has to do with how the grey stones are ordered and the fungi which overspread them and the dead trees and the way the whole of the house and yard is mirrored in the water. For a guy who can’t explain shit about why Roderick thinks what he thinks, our narrator does a pretty good job. And, though I’m sure it is completely made up and totally imaginary, here again we get the notion that the house has condensed its own atmosphere around the water and the walls. We know it’s made up and completely imaginary because our narrator straight up told us so way back in P.4. So, there. THERE IS NO MIASMIC VEIL OF DEPRESSING CREEPITUDE AND THE HOUSE IS NOT EVIL. Sheesh. How many times do we have to tell you this, Poor Bastard? It’s like you aren’t even trying to listen…
20. 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'Indagine, and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance of Tieck; and the City of the Sun by 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 Vigiliae Mortuorum Secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Maguntinae.
RFM 20: I don’t know or care about the books that they read. Probably (judging from context) these are books to help encourage and/or support Roderick’s nutjob belief that his creepy family mansion is sentient. Look, don’t you have a Cliff’s Notes or something? See what that has to say about this paragraph. It amuseth me not and I’ve not read any one of these damn books nor heard of ‘em either.
The last book mentioned is “Vigils for the Dead blah blah blah.” It’s a Roman Catholic book of prayers for the dead and the only reason I looked it up was because it is referred to in the next paragraph.
21. 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.
RFM 21: Roderick told me that Madeline had died and that he was going to stow her body in a basement vault for two weeks before burying her in dirt. I think Roderick wanted to do this because of the book Vigils for the Dead… but the “worldly” reason he gave me for the delay seemed reasonable enough so I didn’t call him out on it.
Here we have Poe, telling us in his less-than-transparent prose, why the corpse of lady Madeline winds up in the donjon/basement/cellar crypt with the big creaky door instead of being buried normally. Roderick plans to keep her body in the donjon “for a fortnight” and he has three reasons upon which he bases his decision.
1. by consideration of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased -- The lady Madeline had an interesting illness, the sort of thing that doctors would be curious about.
2. of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical men -- The lady Madeline’s doctors have been asking some very pointed questions, probably wanting to know when she’s going to be buried and where she’s going to be buried and how deep the hole is going to be...
3. of the remote and exposed situation of the burial-ground of the family -- The family cemetery is REMOTE and EXPOSED, like someone could go there of an evening with a shovel in hand and get busy exhuming an interesting corpse without ever being seen from the house.
Poe is trying to get across, without saying it in plain English, the creepy and scary notion that the late lady Madeline is in danger of being body-snatched out of her grave for dissection by her obtrusive and eager medical men. I’ve previously mentioned that body snatching was a thing in the 19th century, a way to obtain corpses to sell for dissection or anatomy lectures in medical schools.
Now, preservatives weren’t really available, so medical people liked FRESH bodies, not rotted up ones with all the innards bloating and exploding and being all yucky and mush. For real, you couldn’t SEE anything if it’d all gone to rot, know what I mean? Body has to be fresh, reds and purples and silvery whites all glistening and pretty, like inside a just-killed deer. Poe tells us that Roderick plans to keep the corpse in the crypt “for a fortnight” (two weeks). He’s keeping the corpse in the basement for two effing weeks SO THAT IT WILL ROT TOO MUCH TO BE USEFUL FOR DISSECTION AND THE BODY SNATCHERS WON’T TRY TO DIG HER UP.
If you still do not believe me, Poor Bastard, do note that our narrator, thinking about when he met the doctor on the stairwell way back in P6, says that Roderick’s plan is “at best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural, precaution.” Our down-to-earth, very-sensible narrator’s assessment of Roderick’s subterranean sister stowing scheme is “Seems reasonable, won’t hurt anything.” (Fwiw, I think "subterranean sister stowing scheme" is laugh out loud funny and I worked pretty hard on it. Don't want you to miss out on the things I think are fun, here.)
22. 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 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. 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.
RFM 22: At Roderick’s request, I helped him stow his sister temporarily in the basement. We used a small damp vault that had previously been a torture chamber and later a powder store. It was windowless, the only opening in it a heavy copper-covered iron door that made an 'unusually sharp grating sound’ when opened. Finally, the vault itself was located directly below my bedchamber in the house.
Poor Bastard, I hope you spotted that Poe is leaving some clues, here, that you should be picking up and storing about your person. Because you’re probably a n00b at literature, I will point out the clues to you now in case you missed them.
Clue: Vault where sister’s body is stored is under narrator’s bedroom.
Clue: Vault door makes weird grating sound when opened.
Clue: The vault door is made of iron and copper.
Again I hear plaintive wailing through the internets. Poor Bastard, you need more help? I give you more help.
Poe tells us the vault is under the narrator’s bedroom so that we know it’s close-ish to the narrator’s bedroom. This is Important For Later.
Poe tells us that the vault door makes a weird grating sound when opened because (a) it’s a creepy detail but more importantly (b) SO THAT WE KNOW WHAT THE DOOR SOUNDS LIKE WHEN IT IS OPENING. Hrm. Why would we need to know that, do you think?
Poe tells us the vault door is made of iron and copper because, well, because I suspect he was aware of the 1790’s era frog muscle experiments (electrical currents can cause muscle contractions) done by Luigi Galvani: "Therefore having noticed that frog preparations which hung by copper hooks from the iron railings surrounding a balcony of our house contracted not only during thunder storms but also in fine weather, I decided to determine whether or not these contractions were due to the action of atmospheric electricity … Finally … I began to scrape and press the hook fastened to the back bone against the iron railing to see whether by such a procedure contractions might be excited, and whether instead of an alteration in the condition of the atmospheric electricity some other changes might be effective. I then noticed frequent contractions, none of which depended on the variations of the weather.“ I think the copper-iron detail is related to that, myself. I think it has to do with how copper and iron might make dead things move about. The internets say that Galvani’s experiments were an influence on Mary Shelley (she wrote Frankenstein some years before this story was written but that actual book has absolutely no deets about how the creation was enlivened, just handwavy crap) and probably it was big, interesting news for folks writing horror stories because, well, fake life is really interesting from a horror perspective. (Remember, every detail we get is made up on purpose to tell us a better story. There IS no actual vault. It has no actual door "in reality” because it’s made up. The door is iron covered with copper BECAUSE POE CHOOSES TO TELL US THAT DETAIL.)
Also in this paragraph, pay attention to the not-at-all creepy fact that the vault was once a torture chamber and the fact that it apparently once held gunpowder (made out of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate, recall our previous discussion of sulfur and it’s hellfire-brimstone-damnation associations?). Think, to yourself, is it likely that Good Things ™ are going to happen in this vault? Think, Poor Bastard! You can do it!
23. 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.
RFM 23: After we put Madeline in the vault, we opened up the coffin to look at her. She looked a lot like Roderick; turns out they were twins – he admitted that they’d shared a special twin-bond. She didn’t look very dead, but we put the lid on her coffin anyway and went back upstairs.
For Poe, this is a pretty damn straightforward paragraph. The sentences are not horrific overgrown messes and the language is pretty uncomplicated. The RFM summary covers most of what you need to know, but in case you haven ’t been paying attention, Poe reiterates the “catalepsy” thing (Repeated Details Are Important!) and adds that Roderick and our narrator can’t look at her for long because she’s still pinkish and faintly smiling. I wonder what that could portend?
24. 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 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. 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.
RFM 24: Madeline’s death affected Roderick greatly over the next couple of days. He changed a lot – lost interest in stuff he used to enjoy, wandered about like a zombie, got paler, and started to speak in a tremulous quavery voice. Sometimes I felt like he was trying to work up the nerve to tell me something horrible. Other times, when he’d stare off into nothing like he was listening to something only he could hear, I chalked it all up to his madness. In all this, I felt like I was starting to go off the rails just like he had, as if I’d caught insanity from him.
Here we have some describe-y parts to show us what Roderick becomes after his sister kicks it. Roderick’s unequal and objectless step combined with skin that has a more ghastly pallor and dead eyes… it’s almost like he’s practically dead already, isn’t it? Man’s lost all interest in the stuff he used to enjoy, too. Hunh.
The next two details we get, though, are important. The first one, “trying to work up the nerve to tell me a horrible secret,” has been read by many to mean “Roderick and his sister Madeline were Doing The Deed, so that the family tree with only two twigs could fuse those twigs and become a single stem once more.” In other words, incest. I’m not sure I love that explanation, though. It’s a lot of stew to make from one oyster and I don’t see enough other evidence in the story to put on the scales for the incest argument. I look at the 'horrible secret’ thing more as “Roderick somehow knows through his super secret twin powers that maybe Madeline isn’t quite as dead as he thought” but you can think what you like.
The second juicy detail, the “stare off into nothing like he was listening to something only he could hear” is more interesting to me. Possibly it’s when Roderick is attending to information from his super secret twin powers. Possibly it’s when Roderick is actually listening to something nobody else could hear. We do know that Roderick’s senses (including his hearing) are all fucked up, learned that back in P10 and get it again in P18 as a “morbid condition of the auditory nerve”. We’re told this twice, so is it possible that Roderick is actually listening to something only he can hear? Maybe? Y'know, I wonder what that might be, that sound only Roderick can hear.
Finally, our narrator, who has long been firmly grasping the branch of reason, admits that his grip is slipping a bit on the aforesaid branch. Hrm. He’s been trying so very hard to maintain a “It’s probably the wind…” approach to his stay in the Very Creepy House with the Very Creepy Ushers but at this point, his surroundings are starting to get the better of him. It’s almost as if he’s being affected by hanging out in a malignant creepy house that maliciously poisons the people in it and, indeed, the very air surrounding it with a miasmic veil of depressing creepitude. But that couldn’t happen, could it? I mean seriously, the very idea is laughable.
25. 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, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremor 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. 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.
RFM 25: About a week after we stuffed Madeline in the donjon, I had trouble sleeping. I tried to blame my insomnia on the room – gloomy furniture, tattered swaying draperies, but still I felt horribly nervous. Unable to sleep, I sat straight up in bed and looked at the darkness around me when I heard “low and indefinite sounds” which upset me so much that I got out of bed, threw on some clothes, and tried to walk it off.
Our narrator is losing his shit, here. In P24, we got that, but here in P25 it is really coming home to roost – “I experienced the full power of such feelings” he says. Poe gives us nervousness, the bewildering influence, irrepressible tremor, incubus of utterly causeless alarm, gasp/struggle, intense sentiment of horror both unaccountable AND unendurable. He’s laying it on pretty thick, but even poor readers should be able to figure out that our narrator is having kind of a panic attack, here.
In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a storm going on outside the house. There’s a “rising tempest” that is making the curtains blow about and apparently it’s pretty loud sometimes because our narrator can only hear the super-creepy low and indefinite sounds during the “pauses of the storm”.
26. I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterwards 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.
RFM 26: After I’d paced a bit, Usher knocked at the door and came in. He was pale as usual but also looked madly hysteric. After being alone, I was glad for any company, even his weird self.
Despite being in the middle of losing his shit, late at night, while a storm is raging outside and listening for Low and Indefinite Sounds coming from *somewhere*, our narrator can recognize a light step on an adjoining staircase. He must have really good hearing. Anyway, Roderick shows up, pale as usual but looking madder than normal, but our narrator is desperate for company and welcomes him in.
Poor Bastard, steel yourself. We are on the very cusp of The First Dialogue In This Story. Really. I’m not kidding. Brace yourself… it’s coming.
Well, at this point I’m both more fun AND longer than the Wikipedia entry.
Need the index of parts?
19. 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 thatof the sentience of all vegetable things. But, in his disorderedfancy, the idea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed,under certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lackwords to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of hispersuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have previouslyhinted) with the gray stones of the home of his forefathers. Theconditions 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. 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.
RFM 19: After the SPI, we got to talking and Roderick shared his belief that his familial mansion had a mind, a will of its own. What a nutjob. His “proof” of this was how the house had, over the years, condensed its own atmosphere and shaped his family’s destiny and even driven he himself to the brink of madness if not already over it. To such an insane idea, I could make no coherent reply.
Here, some more, our narrator clings to reason. He’s like a limpet that way, isn’t he? He talks about Roderick’s “disordered fancy” and does some handwaving (“I lack words to express the full extent or the earnest abandon of his persuasion”) about how firmly Roderick has embraced this lunatic idea that his house is out to get him and, indeed, his entire family.
But, while the narrator says he can’t explain Rodericks’ reasoning for why the house is sentient, he then goes on to explain that Roderick’s theory has to do with how the grey stones are ordered and the fungi which overspread them and the dead trees and the way the whole of the house and yard is mirrored in the water. For a guy who can’t explain shit about why Roderick thinks what he thinks, our narrator does a pretty good job. And, though I’m sure it is completely made up and totally imaginary, here again we get the notion that the house has condensed its own atmosphere around the water and the walls. We know it’s made up and completely imaginary because our narrator straight up told us so way back in P.4. So, there. THERE IS NO MIASMIC VEIL OF DEPRESSING CREEPITUDE AND THE HOUSE IS NOT EVIL. Sheesh. How many times do we have to tell you this, Poor Bastard? It’s like you aren’t even trying to listen…
20. 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'Indagine, and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance of Tieck; and the City of the Sun by 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 Vigiliae Mortuorum Secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Maguntinae.
RFM 20: I don’t know or care about the books that they read. Probably (judging from context) these are books to help encourage and/or support Roderick’s nutjob belief that his creepy family mansion is sentient. Look, don’t you have a Cliff’s Notes or something? See what that has to say about this paragraph. It amuseth me not and I’ve not read any one of these damn books nor heard of ‘em either.
The last book mentioned is “Vigils for the Dead blah blah blah.” It’s a Roman Catholic book of prayers for the dead and the only reason I looked it up was because it is referred to in the next paragraph.
21. 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.
RFM 21: Roderick told me that Madeline had died and that he was going to stow her body in a basement vault for two weeks before burying her in dirt. I think Roderick wanted to do this because of the book Vigils for the Dead… but the “worldly” reason he gave me for the delay seemed reasonable enough so I didn’t call him out on it.
Here we have Poe, telling us in his less-than-transparent prose, why the corpse of lady Madeline winds up in the donjon/basement/cellar crypt with the big creaky door instead of being buried normally. Roderick plans to keep her body in the donjon “for a fortnight” and he has three reasons upon which he bases his decision.
1. by consideration of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased -- The lady Madeline had an interesting illness, the sort of thing that doctors would be curious about.
2. of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical men -- The lady Madeline’s doctors have been asking some very pointed questions, probably wanting to know when she’s going to be buried and where she’s going to be buried and how deep the hole is going to be...
3. of the remote and exposed situation of the burial-ground of the family -- The family cemetery is REMOTE and EXPOSED, like someone could go there of an evening with a shovel in hand and get busy exhuming an interesting corpse without ever being seen from the house.
Poe is trying to get across, without saying it in plain English, the creepy and scary notion that the late lady Madeline is in danger of being body-snatched out of her grave for dissection by her obtrusive and eager medical men. I’ve previously mentioned that body snatching was a thing in the 19th century, a way to obtain corpses to sell for dissection or anatomy lectures in medical schools.
Now, preservatives weren’t really available, so medical people liked FRESH bodies, not rotted up ones with all the innards bloating and exploding and being all yucky and mush. For real, you couldn’t SEE anything if it’d all gone to rot, know what I mean? Body has to be fresh, reds and purples and silvery whites all glistening and pretty, like inside a just-killed deer. Poe tells us that Roderick plans to keep the corpse in the crypt “for a fortnight” (two weeks). He’s keeping the corpse in the basement for two effing weeks SO THAT IT WILL ROT TOO MUCH TO BE USEFUL FOR DISSECTION AND THE BODY SNATCHERS WON’T TRY TO DIG HER UP.
If you still do not believe me, Poor Bastard, do note that our narrator, thinking about when he met the doctor on the stairwell way back in P6, says that Roderick’s plan is “at best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural, precaution.” Our down-to-earth, very-sensible narrator’s assessment of Roderick’s subterranean sister stowing scheme is “Seems reasonable, won’t hurt anything.” (Fwiw, I think "subterranean sister stowing scheme" is laugh out loud funny and I worked pretty hard on it. Don't want you to miss out on the things I think are fun, here.)
22. 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 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. 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.
RFM 22: At Roderick’s request, I helped him stow his sister temporarily in the basement. We used a small damp vault that had previously been a torture chamber and later a powder store. It was windowless, the only opening in it a heavy copper-covered iron door that made an 'unusually sharp grating sound’ when opened. Finally, the vault itself was located directly below my bedchamber in the house.
Poor Bastard, I hope you spotted that Poe is leaving some clues, here, that you should be picking up and storing about your person. Because you’re probably a n00b at literature, I will point out the clues to you now in case you missed them.
Clue: Vault where sister’s body is stored is under narrator’s bedroom.
Clue: Vault door makes weird grating sound when opened.
Clue: The vault door is made of iron and copper.
Again I hear plaintive wailing through the internets. Poor Bastard, you need more help? I give you more help.
Poe tells us the vault is under the narrator’s bedroom so that we know it’s close-ish to the narrator’s bedroom. This is Important For Later.
Poe tells us that the vault door makes a weird grating sound when opened because (a) it’s a creepy detail but more importantly (b) SO THAT WE KNOW WHAT THE DOOR SOUNDS LIKE WHEN IT IS OPENING. Hrm. Why would we need to know that, do you think?
Poe tells us the vault door is made of iron and copper because, well, because I suspect he was aware of the 1790’s era frog muscle experiments (electrical currents can cause muscle contractions) done by Luigi Galvani: "Therefore having noticed that frog preparations which hung by copper hooks from the iron railings surrounding a balcony of our house contracted not only during thunder storms but also in fine weather, I decided to determine whether or not these contractions were due to the action of atmospheric electricity … Finally … I began to scrape and press the hook fastened to the back bone against the iron railing to see whether by such a procedure contractions might be excited, and whether instead of an alteration in the condition of the atmospheric electricity some other changes might be effective. I then noticed frequent contractions, none of which depended on the variations of the weather.“ I think the copper-iron detail is related to that, myself. I think it has to do with how copper and iron might make dead things move about. The internets say that Galvani’s experiments were an influence on Mary Shelley (she wrote Frankenstein some years before this story was written but that actual book has absolutely no deets about how the creation was enlivened, just handwavy crap) and probably it was big, interesting news for folks writing horror stories because, well, fake life is really interesting from a horror perspective. (Remember, every detail we get is made up on purpose to tell us a better story. There IS no actual vault. It has no actual door "in reality” because it’s made up. The door is iron covered with copper BECAUSE POE CHOOSES TO TELL US THAT DETAIL.)
Also in this paragraph, pay attention to the not-at-all creepy fact that the vault was once a torture chamber and the fact that it apparently once held gunpowder (made out of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate, recall our previous discussion of sulfur and it’s hellfire-brimstone-damnation associations?). Think, to yourself, is it likely that Good Things ™ are going to happen in this vault? Think, Poor Bastard! You can do it!
23. 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.
RFM 23: After we put Madeline in the vault, we opened up the coffin to look at her. She looked a lot like Roderick; turns out they were twins – he admitted that they’d shared a special twin-bond. She didn’t look very dead, but we put the lid on her coffin anyway and went back upstairs.
For Poe, this is a pretty damn straightforward paragraph. The sentences are not horrific overgrown messes and the language is pretty uncomplicated. The RFM summary covers most of what you need to know, but in case you haven ’t been paying attention, Poe reiterates the “catalepsy” thing (Repeated Details Are Important!) and adds that Roderick and our narrator can’t look at her for long because she’s still pinkish and faintly smiling. I wonder what that could portend?
24. 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 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. 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.
RFM 24: Madeline’s death affected Roderick greatly over the next couple of days. He changed a lot – lost interest in stuff he used to enjoy, wandered about like a zombie, got paler, and started to speak in a tremulous quavery voice. Sometimes I felt like he was trying to work up the nerve to tell me something horrible. Other times, when he’d stare off into nothing like he was listening to something only he could hear, I chalked it all up to his madness. In all this, I felt like I was starting to go off the rails just like he had, as if I’d caught insanity from him.
Here we have some describe-y parts to show us what Roderick becomes after his sister kicks it. Roderick’s unequal and objectless step combined with skin that has a more ghastly pallor and dead eyes… it’s almost like he’s practically dead already, isn’t it? Man’s lost all interest in the stuff he used to enjoy, too. Hunh.
The next two details we get, though, are important. The first one, “trying to work up the nerve to tell me a horrible secret,” has been read by many to mean “Roderick and his sister Madeline were Doing The Deed, so that the family tree with only two twigs could fuse those twigs and become a single stem once more.” In other words, incest. I’m not sure I love that explanation, though. It’s a lot of stew to make from one oyster and I don’t see enough other evidence in the story to put on the scales for the incest argument. I look at the 'horrible secret’ thing more as “Roderick somehow knows through his super secret twin powers that maybe Madeline isn’t quite as dead as he thought” but you can think what you like.
The second juicy detail, the “stare off into nothing like he was listening to something only he could hear” is more interesting to me. Possibly it’s when Roderick is attending to information from his super secret twin powers. Possibly it’s when Roderick is actually listening to something nobody else could hear. We do know that Roderick’s senses (including his hearing) are all fucked up, learned that back in P10 and get it again in P18 as a “morbid condition of the auditory nerve”. We’re told this twice, so is it possible that Roderick is actually listening to something only he can hear? Maybe? Y'know, I wonder what that might be, that sound only Roderick can hear.
Finally, our narrator, who has long been firmly grasping the branch of reason, admits that his grip is slipping a bit on the aforesaid branch. Hrm. He’s been trying so very hard to maintain a “It’s probably the wind…” approach to his stay in the Very Creepy House with the Very Creepy Ushers but at this point, his surroundings are starting to get the better of him. It’s almost as if he’s being affected by hanging out in a malignant creepy house that maliciously poisons the people in it and, indeed, the very air surrounding it with a miasmic veil of depressing creepitude. But that couldn’t happen, could it? I mean seriously, the very idea is laughable.
25. 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, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremor 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. 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.
RFM 25: About a week after we stuffed Madeline in the donjon, I had trouble sleeping. I tried to blame my insomnia on the room – gloomy furniture, tattered swaying draperies, but still I felt horribly nervous. Unable to sleep, I sat straight up in bed and looked at the darkness around me when I heard “low and indefinite sounds” which upset me so much that I got out of bed, threw on some clothes, and tried to walk it off.
Our narrator is losing his shit, here. In P24, we got that, but here in P25 it is really coming home to roost – “I experienced the full power of such feelings” he says. Poe gives us nervousness, the bewildering influence, irrepressible tremor, incubus of utterly causeless alarm, gasp/struggle, intense sentiment of horror both unaccountable AND unendurable. He’s laying it on pretty thick, but even poor readers should be able to figure out that our narrator is having kind of a panic attack, here.
In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a storm going on outside the house. There’s a “rising tempest” that is making the curtains blow about and apparently it’s pretty loud sometimes because our narrator can only hear the super-creepy low and indefinite sounds during the “pauses of the storm”.
26. I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterwards 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.
RFM 26: After I’d paced a bit, Usher knocked at the door and came in. He was pale as usual but also looked madly hysteric. After being alone, I was glad for any company, even his weird self.
Despite being in the middle of losing his shit, late at night, while a storm is raging outside and listening for Low and Indefinite Sounds coming from *somewhere*, our narrator can recognize a light step on an adjoining staircase. He must have really good hearing. Anyway, Roderick shows up, pale as usual but looking madder than normal, but our narrator is desperate for company and welcomes him in.
Poor Bastard, steel yourself. We are on the very cusp of The First Dialogue In This Story. Really. I’m not kidding. Brace yourself… it’s coming.