{"id":126855,"date":"2024-10-31T22:30:37","date_gmt":"2024-11-01T03:30:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mindseyemag.com\/magazine\/?p=126855"},"modified":"2024-10-31T22:30:37","modified_gmt":"2024-11-01T03:30:37","slug":"morella","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mindseyemag.com\/magazine\/morella\/","title":{"rendered":"Morella"},"content":{"rendered":"

Auto kath\u2019 auto meth\u2019 auton, mono eides aei ou.
\nItself \u2014 alone by itself \u2014 eternally\u00a0one<\/em>\u00a0and single.<\/p>\n

\u2013Plato, Sympos<\/em>.<\/p>\n

With a feeling of deep but most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never before known \u2014 but the fires were not of Eros \u2014 and bitter and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met: and Fate bound us together at the altar: and I never spoke of love or thought of passion. She, however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder. It is a happiness to dream.<\/p>\n

Morella\u2019s erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were of no common order \u2014 her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and in many matters became her pupil. I soon, however, found that, Morella, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, laid before me a number of those mystical writings which are usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for what reasons I could not imagine, were her favorite and constant study: and that in process of time they became my own, should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example.<\/p>\n

In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by the imagination, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read, to be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Feeling deeply persuaded of this I abandoned myself more implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with a bolder spirit into the intricacy of her studies. And then \u2014 then, when poring over forbidden pages I felt the spirit kindle within me, would Morella place her cold hand upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low singular words, whose strange meaning burnt themselves in upon my memory: and then hour after hour would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the music of her thrilling voice, until at length its melody was tinged with terror and fell like a shadow upon my soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly tones \u2014 and thus Joy suddenly faded into Horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon became Ge-Henna.<\/p>\n

It is unnecessary to state the exact character of these disquisitions, which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The wild Pantheism of \u00a0Fichte \u2014 the modified \u03a0\u03b1\u03bb\u03b9\u03b3\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03b1 of the Pythagoreans \u2014 and, above all, the doctrines of\u00a0Identity<\/em>\u00a0as urged by Schelling were generally the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That\u00a0Identity<\/em>\u00a0which is not improperly called\u00a0Personal<\/em>, I think Mr. Locke truly defines to consist in the sameness of a rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which we call\u00a0ourselves<\/em>\u00a0\u2014 thereby distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our personal identity. But the Principium Individuationis \u2014 the notion of that Identity\u00a0which at death is, or is not lost forever<\/em>, was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense interest, not more from the mystical and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them.<\/p>\n

But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my wife\u2019s manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this but did not upbraid. She seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly \u2014 and, smiling, called it Fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause, to me unknown, for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent: and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in the next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some dreary and fathomless abyss.<\/p>\n

Shall I then say that I long\u2019d with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella\u2019s decease? I did. But the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days \u2014 for many weeks and irksome months \u2014 until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay, and, with the heart of a fiend cursed the days, and the hours, and the bitter moments which seemed to lengthen, and lengthen as her gentle life declined \u2014 like shadows in the dying of the day.<\/p>\n

But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in Heaven, Morella called me to her side. There was a dim mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and, amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. As I came, she was murmuring in a low under-tone, which trembled with fervor, the words of a Catholic hymn:<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes
\nUpon the sinner\u2019s sacrifice
\nOf fervent prayer, and humble love,
\nFrom thy holy throne above.<\/p>\n

At morn, at noon, at twilight dim,
\nMaria! thou hast heard my hymn,
\nIn joy and wo, in good and ill,
\nMother of God! be with me still.<\/p>\n

When my hours flew gently by,
\nAnd no storms were in the sky,
\nMy soul, lest it should truant be
\nThy love did guide to thine and thee.<\/p>\n

Now, when clouds of Fate o\u2019ercast
\nAll my Present, and my Past,
\nLet my Future radiant shine
\nWith sweet hopes of thee and thine.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u2018It is a day of days\u2019 \u2014 said Morella \u2014 \u2018a day of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of Earth and Life \u2014 ah! more fair for the daughters of Heaven and Death.\u2019<\/p>\n

I turned towards her, and she continued.<\/p>\n

\u2018I am dying \u2014 yet shall I live. Therefore for me, Morella, thy wife, hath the charnel house no terrors \u2014 mark me! \u2014 not even the terrors of the\u00a0worm<\/em>. The days have never been when thou couldst love me; but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Morella!\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection \u2014 ah, how little! which you felt for me, Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live \u2014 thy child and mine, Morella\u2019s. But thy days shall be days of sorrow \u2014 that sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over, and Joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of P\u00e6stum twice in a year. Thou shalt not, then, play the Teian with Time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on earth, like the Moslemin at Mecca.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Morella!\u2019 \u2014 I cried \u2014 \u2018Morella! how knowest thou this?\u2019 \u2014\u2014 but she turned away her face upon the pillow, and, a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.<\/p>\n

Yet, as she had foretold, her child \u2014 to which in dying she had given birth, and which breathed not till the mother breathed no more \u2014 her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in size and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed, and I loved her with a love more fervent and more intense than I believed it possible to feel on earth.<\/p>\n

But ere long the Heaven of this pure affection became overcast; and Gloom, and Horror, and Grief, came over it in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange indeed was her rapid increase in bodily size \u2014 but terrible, oh! terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the development of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the adult powers and faculties of the woman? \u2014 when the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy? and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye? When, I say, all this became evident to my appalled senses \u2014 when I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled to receive it, is it to be wondered at that suspicions of a nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a being whom Destiny compelled me to adore, and in the rigid seclusion of my ancestral home, I watched with an agonizing anxiety over all which concerned my daughter.<\/p>\n

And as years rolled away, and daily I gazed upon her eloquent and mild and holy face, and pored over her maturing form, did I discover new points of resemblance in the child to her mother \u2014 the melancholy, and the dead. And hourly grew darker these shadows, as it were, of similitude, and became more full, and more definite, and more perplexing, and to me more terrible in their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother\u2019s I could bear \u2014 but then I shuddered at its too perfect\u00a0identity:<\/em>\u00a0that her eyes were like Morella\u2019s own I could endure \u2014 but then they looked down too often into the depths of my soul with Morella\u2019s intense and bewildering meaning. And in the contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the musical tones of her speech, and above all \u2014 oh! above all, in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror \u2014 for a worm that would not die.<\/p>\n

Thus passed away two lustrums of her life, yet my daughter remained nameless upon the earth. \u2018My child\u2019 and \u2018my love\u2019 were the designations usually prompted by a father\u2019s affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morella\u2019s name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter \u2014 it was impossible to speak. Indeed during the brief period of her existence the latter had received no impressions from the outward world but such as might have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present deliverance from the horrors of my destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And many titles of the wise and beautiful, of antique and modern times, of my own and foreign lands, came thronging to my lips \u2014 and many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy and the good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which, in its very recollection, was wont to make ebb and flow the purple blood in tides from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul, when amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night, I shrieked within the ears of the holy man the syllables, Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the features of my child and overspread them with the hues of death, as, starting at that sound, she turned her glassy eyes from the Earth to Heaven, and falling prostrate upon the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded \u2018I am here!\u2019<\/p>\n

Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct \u2014 like a knell of death \u2014 horrible, horrible death, sank the eternal sounds within my soul. Years \u2014 years may roll away, but the memory of that epoch \u2014 never! Now was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine \u2014 but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my Fate faded from Heaven, and, therefore, my spirit grew dark, and the figures of the earth passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only \u2014 Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore \u2014 Morella. But she died, and with my own hands I bore her to the tomb, and I laughed, with a long and bitter laugh as I found no traces of the first in the charnel where I laid the second \u2014 Morella.<\/p>\n

\n

Edgar Allan Poe<\/strong><\/p>\n

Published April 1835<\/strong>.\u00a0The poem is\u00a0\u201cCatholic Hymn.\u201d<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Image by Harry Clarke<\/strong><\/p>\n

Original Article<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Auto kath\u2019 auto meth\u2019 auton, mono eides aei ou. Itself \u2014 alone by itself \u2014<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":126857,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[24],"tags":[],"ppma_author":[852],"class_list":["post-126855","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-guides"],"yoast_head":"\nMorella ~ Mind's Eye Mag<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Itself \u2014 alone by itself \u2014 eternally\u00a0one\u00a0and single.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link 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