by Poe · Cluster: Flowers · Spring · Garden
Abstract
Prose tale of innocent love in a paradisal valley, a dying beloved’s vow, and a haunted narrator absolved for a second love.
Readability (prose)55.5 Flesch ease13.8 FK grade16.4 Fog7% complex33.5 words/sent
Connections
Topoi: Locus Amoenus, Paradise Lost, Fall from Innocence Archetypes: Lover, Innocent, Ghost Motifs: Garden, Flowers, River, Death, Serpent Snake, Supernatural Themes & Concepts: Romantic Love, Grief and Loss, Marriage and Fidelity, Madness, Innocence and Experience, Grace and Redemption Forms & Genres: Short Story Settings: Garden (2)
Testo integrale / Full text
Sub conservatione formæ specificæ salva anima. —Raymond Lully.
I am come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of
passion. Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet
settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest
intelligence—whether much that is glorious—whether all that is
profound—does not spring from disease of thought—from moods of
mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who
dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who
dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses
of eternity, and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have
been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn
something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere
knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless
or compassless into the vast ocean of the “light ineffable,” and
again, like the adventures of the Nubian geographer, “agressi
sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset exploraturi.”
We will say, then, that I am mad. I grant, at least, that there
are two distinct conditions of my mental existence—the condition
of a lucid reason, not to be disputed, and belonging to the
memory of events forming the first epoch of my life—and a
condition of shadow and doubt, appertaining to the present, and
to the recollection of what constitutes the second great era of
my being. Therefore, what I shall tell of the earlier period,
believe; and to what I may relate of the later time, give only
such credit as may seem due, or doubt it altogether, or, if doubt
it ye cannot, then play unto its riddle the Oedipus.
She whom I loved in youth, and of whom I now pen calmly and
distinctly these remembrances, was the sole daughter of the only
sister of my mother long departed. Eleonora was the name of my
cousin. We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun,
in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. No unguided footstep
ever came upon that vale; for it lay away up among a range of
giant hills that hung beetling around about it, shutting out the
sunlight from its sweetest recesses. No path was trodden in its
vicinity; and, to reach our happy home, there was need of putting
back, with force, the foliage of many thousands of forest trees,
and of crushing to death the glories of many millions of fragrant
flowers. Thus it was that we lived all alone, knowing nothing of
the world without the valley—I, and my cousin, and her mother.
From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our
encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river,
brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding
stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length,
through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those
whence it had issued. We called it the “River of Silence”; for
there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow. No murmur
arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the
pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its
bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each
in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.
The margin of the river, and of the many dazzling rivulets that
glided through devious ways into its channel, as well as the
spaces that extended from the margins away down into the depths
of the streams until they reached the bed of pebbles at the
bottom,—these spots, not less than the whole surface of the
valley, from the river to the mountains that girdled it in, were
carpeted all by a soft green grass, thick, short, perfectly even,
and vanilla-perfumed, but so besprinkled throughout with the
yellow buttercup, the white daisy, the purple violet, and the
ruby-red asphodel, that its exceeding beauty spoke to our hearts
in loud tones, of the love and of the glory of God.
And, here and there, in groves about this grass, like
wildernesses of dreams, sprang up fantastic trees, whose tall
slender stems stood not upright, but slanted gracefully toward
the light that peered at noon-day into the centre of the valley.
Their mark was speckled with the vivid alternate splendor of
ebony and silver, and was smoother than all save the cheeks of
Eleonora; so that, but for the brilliant green of the huge leaves
that spread from their summits in long, tremulous lines, dallying
with the Zephyrs, one might have fancied them giant serpents of
Syria doing homage to their sovereign the Sun.
Hand in hand about this valley, for fifteen years, roamed I with
Eleonora before Love entered within our hearts. It was one
evening at the close of the third lustrum of her life, and of the
fourth of my own, that we sat, locked in each other’s embrace,
beneath the serpent-like trees, and looked down within the water
of the River of Silence at our images therein. We spoke no words
during the rest of that sweet day, and our words even upon the
morrow were tremulous and few. We had drawn the God Eros from
that wave, and now we felt that he had enkindled within us the
fiery souls of our forefathers. The passions which had for
centuries distinguished our race, came thronging with the fancies
for which they had been equally noted, and together breathed a
delirious bliss over the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. A
change fell upon all things. Strange, brilliant flowers,
star-shaped, burn out upon the trees where no flowers had been
known before. The tints of the green carpet deepened; and when,
one by one, the white daisies shrank away, there sprang up in
place of them, ten by ten of the ruby-red asphodel. And life
arose in our paths; for the tall flamingo, hitherto unseen, with
all gay glowing birds, flaunted his scarlet plumage before us.
The golden and silver fish haunted the river, out of the bosom of
which issued, little by little, a murmur that swelled, at length,
into a lulling melody more divine than that of the harp of
Æolus—sweeter than all save the voice of Eleonora. And now, too,
a voluminous cloud, which we had long watched in the regions of
Hesper, floated out thence, all gorgeous in crimson and gold, and
settling in peace above us, sank, day by day, lower and lower,
until its edges rested upon the tops of the mountains, turning
all their dimness into magnificence, and shutting us up, as if
forever, within a magic prison-house of grandeur and of glory.
The loveliness of Eleonora was that of the Seraphim; but she was
a maiden artless and innocent as the brief life she had led among
the flowers. No guile disguised the fervor of love which animated
her heart, and she examined with me its inmost recesses as we
walked together in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, and
discoursed of the mighty changes which had lately taken place
therein.
At length, having spoken one day, in tears, of the last sad
change which must befall Humanity, she thenceforward dwelt only
upon this one sorrowful theme, interweaving it into all our
converse, as, in the songs of the bard of Schiraz, the same
images are found occurring, again and again, in every impressive
variation of phrase.
She had seen that the finger of Death was upon her bosom—that,
like the ephemeron, she had been made perfect in loveliness only
to die; but the terrors of the grave to her lay solely in a
consideration which she revealed to me, one evening at twilight,
by the banks of the River of Silence. She grieved to think that,
having entombed her in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, I
would quit forever its happy recesses, transferring the love
which now was so passionately her own to some maiden of the outer
and everyday world. And, then and there, I threw myself hurriedly
at the feet of Eleonora, and offered up a vow, to herself and to
Heaven, that I would never bind myself in marriage to any
daughter of Earth—that I would in no manner prove recreant to her
dear memory, or to the memory of the devout affection with which
she had blessed me. And I called the Mighty Ruler of the Universe
to witness the pious solemnity of my vow. And the curse which I
invoked of Him and of her, a saint in Helusion should I prove
traitorous to that promise, involved a penalty the exceeding
great horror of which will not permit me to make record of it
here. And the bright eyes of Eleonora grew brighter at my words;
and she sighed as if a deadly burthen had been taken from her
breast; and she trembled and very bitterly wept; but she made
acceptance of the vow, (for what was she but a child?) and it
made easy to her the bed of her death. And she said to me, not
many days afterward, tranquilly dying, that, because of what I
had done for the comfort of her spirit she would watch over me in
that spirit when departed, and, if so it were permitted her
return to me visibly in the watches of the night; but, if this
thing were, indeed, beyond the power of the souls in Paradise,
that she would, at least, give me frequent indications of her
presence, sighing upon me in the evening winds, or filling the
air which I breathed with perfume from the censers of the angels.
And, with these words upon her lips, she yielded up her innocent
life, putting an end to the first epoch of my own.
Thus far I have faithfully said. But as I pass the barrier in
Time’s path, formed by the death of my beloved, and proceed with
the second era of my existence, I feel that a shadow gathers over
my brain, and I mistrust the perfect sanity of the record. But
let me on.—Years dragged themselves along heavily, and still I
dwelled within the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass; but a second
change had come upon all things. The star-shaped flowers shrank
into the stems of the trees, and appeared no more. The tints of
the green carpet faded; and, one by one, the ruby-red asphodels
withered away; and there sprang up, in place of them, ten by ten,
dark, eye-like violets, that writhed uneasily and were ever
encumbered with dew. And Life departed from our paths; for the
tall flamingo flaunted no longer his scarlet plumage before us,
but flew sadly from the vale into the hills, with all the gay
glowing birds that had arrived in his company. And the golden and
silver fish swam down through the gorge at the lower end of our
domain and bedecked the sweet river never again. And the lulling
melody that had been softer than the wind-harp of Æolus, and more
divine than all save the voice of Eleonora, it died little by
little away, in murmurs growing lower and lower, until the stream
returned, at length, utterly, into the solemnity of its original
silence. And then, lastly, the voluminous cloud uprose, and,
abandoning the tops of the mountains to the dimness of old, fell
back into the regions of Hesper, and took away all its manifold
golden and gorgeous glories from the Valley of the Many-Colored
Grass.
Yet the promises of Eleonora were not forgotten; for I heard the
sounds of the swinging of the censers of the angels; and streams
of a holy perfume floated ever and ever about the valley; and at
lone hours, when my heart beat heavily, the winds that bathed my
brow came unto me laden with soft sighs; and indistinct murmurs
filled often the night air, and once—oh, but once only! I was
awakened from a slumber, like the slumber of death, by the
pressing of spiritual lips upon my own.
But the void within my heart refused, even thus, to be filled. I
longed for the love which had before filled it to overflowing. At
length the valley pained me through its memories of Eleonora, and
I left it for ever for the vanities and the turbulent triumphs of
the world.
I found myself within a strange city, where all things might have
served to blot from recollection the sweet dreams I had dreamed
so long in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. The pomps and
pageantries of a stately court, and the mad clangor of arms, and
the radiant loveliness of women, bewildered and intoxicated my
brain. But as yet my soul had proved true to its vows, and the
indications of the presence of Eleonora were still given me in
the silent hours of the night. Suddenly these manifestations they
ceased, and the world grew dark before mine eyes, and I stood
aghast at the burning thoughts which possessed, at the terrible
temptations which beset me; for there came from some far, far
distant and unknown land, into the gay court of the king I
served, a maiden to whose beauty my whole recreant heart yielded
at once—at whose footstool I bowed down without a struggle, in
the most ardent, in the most abject worship of love. What,
indeed, was my passion for the young girl of the valley in
comparison with the fervor, and the delirium, and the
spirit-lifting ecstasy of adoration with which I poured out my
whole soul in tears at the feet of the ethereal Ermengarde?—Oh,
bright was the seraph Ermengarde! and in that knowledge I had
room for none other. Oh, divine was the angel Ermengarde! and as
I looked down into the depths of her memorial eyes, I thought
only of them—and of her.
I wedded—nor dreaded the curse I had invoked; and its bitterness
was not visited upon me. And once—but once again in the silence
of the night; there came through my lattice the soft sighs which
had forsaken me; and they modelled themselves into familiar and
sweet voice, saying:
“Sleep in peace! for the Spirit of Love reigneth and ruleth, and,
in taking to thy passionate heart her who is Ermengarde, thou art
absolved, for reasons which shall be made known to thee in
Heaven, of thy vows unto Eleonora.”