the works of edgar allan poe-2-第30部分

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The　other　or　eastern　end　of　the　isle　was　whelmed　in　the　blackest
shade。　A　sombre；　yet　beautiful　and　peaceful　gloom　here　pervaded　all
things。　The　trees　were　dark　in　color；　and　mournful　in　form　and
attitude；　wreathing　themselves　into　sad；　solemn；　and　spectral　shapes
that　conveyed　ideas　of　mortal　sorrow　and　untimely　death。　The　grass
wore　the　deep　tint　of　the　cypress；　and　the　heads　of　its　blades　hung
droopingly；　and　hither　and　thither　among　it　were　many　small　unsightly
hillocks；　low　and　narrow；　and　not　very　long；　that　had　the　aspect　of
graves；　but　were　not；　although　over　and　all　about　them　the　rue　and
the　rosemary　clambered。　The　shade　of　the　trees　fell　heavily　upon　the
water；　and　seemed　to　bury　itself　therein；　impregnating　the　depths　of
the　element　with　darkness。　I　fancied　that　each　shadow；　as　the　sun
descended　lower　and　lower；　separated　itself　sullenly　from　the　trunk
that　gave　it　birth；　and　thus　became　absorbed　by　the　stream；　while
other　shadows　issued　momently　from　the　trees；　taking　the　place　of
their　predecessors　thus　entombed。

This　idea；　having　once　seized　upon　my　fancy；　greatly　excited　it；　and
I　lost　myself　forthwith　in　revery。　〃If　ever　island　were　enchanted；〃
said　I　to　myself；　〃this　is　it。　This　is　the　haunt　of　the　few　gentle
Fays　who　remain　from　the　wreck　of　the　race。　Are　these　green　tombs
theirs？　　or　do　they　yield　up　their　sweet　lives　as　mankind　yield　up
their　own？　In　dying；　do　they　not　rather　waste　away　mournfully；
rendering　unto　God；　little　by　little；　their　existence；　as　these　trees
render　up　shadow　after　shadow；　exhausting　their　substance　unto
dissolution？　What　the　wasting　tree　is　to　the　water　that　imbibes　its
shade；　growing　thus　blacker　by　what　it　preys　upon；　may　not　the　life
of　the　Fay　be　to　the　death　which　engulfs　it？〃

As　I　thus　mused；　with　half…shut　eyes；　while　the　sun　sank　rapidly　to
rest；　and　eddying　currents　careered　round　and　round　the　island；
bearing　upon　their　bosom　large；　dazzling；　white　flakes　of　the　bark　of
the　sycamore…flakes　which；　in　their　multiform　positions　upon　the
water；　a　quick　imagination　might　have　converted　into　any　thing　it
pleased；　while　I　thus　mused；　it　appeared　to　me　that　the　form　of　one
of　those　very　Fays　about　whom　I　had　been　pondering　made　its　way
slowly　into　the　darkness　from　out　the　light　at　the　western　end　of　the
island。　She　stood　erect　in　a　singularly　fragile　canoe；　and　urged　it
with　the　mere　phantom　of　an　oar。　While　within　the　influence　of　the
lingering　sunbeams；　her　attitude　seemed　indicative　of　joy　　but
sorrow　deformed　it　as　she　passed　within　the　shade。　Slowly　she　glided
along；　and　at　length　rounded　the　islet　and　re…entered　the　region　of
light。　〃The　revolution　which　has　just　been　made　by　the　Fay；〃
continued　I；　musingly；　〃is　the　cycle　of　the　brief　year　of　her　life。
She　has　floated　through　her　winter　and　through　her　summer。　She　is　a
year　nearer　unto　Death；　for　I　did　not　fail　to　see　that；　as　she　came
into　the　shade；　her　shadow　fell　from　her；　and　was　swallowed　up　in　the
dark　water；　making　its　blackness　more　black。〃

And　again　the　boat　appeared　and　the　Fay；　but　about　the　attitude　of
the　latter　there　was　more　of　care　and　uncertainty　and　less　of　elastic
joy。　She　floated　again　from　out　the　light　and　into　the　gloom　（which
deepened　momently）　and　again　her　shadow　fell　from　her　into　the　ebony
water；　and　became　absorbed　into　its　blackness。　And　again　and　again
she　made　the　circuit　of　the　island；　（while　the　sun　rushed　down　to　his
slumbers）；　and　at　each　issuing　into　the　light　there　was　more　sorrow
about　her　person；　while　it　grew　feebler　and　far　fainter　and　more
indistinct；　and　at　each　passage　into　the　gloom　there　fell　from　her　a
darker　shade；　which　became　whelmed　in　a　shadow　more　black。　But　at
length　when　the　sun　had　utterly　departed；　the　Fay；　now　the　mere　ghost
of　her　former　self；　went　disconsolately　with　her　boat　into　the　region
of　the　ebony　flood；　and　that　she　issued　thence　at　all　I　cannot　say；
for　darkness　fell　over　an　things　and　I　beheld　her　magical　figure　no
more。

~~~　End　of　Text　~~~



THE　ASSIGNATION

Stay　for　me　there　　！　　　I　will　not　fail。
To　meet　thee　in　that　hollow　vale。

＇_Exequy　on　the　death　of　his　wife；　by　Henry　King；　Bishop　of
Chichester_。＇

　　　ILL…FATED　and　mysterious　man　　！　　…　bewildered　in　the　brilliancy　of
thine　own　imagination；　and　fallen　in　the　flames　of　thine　own　youth　！
Again　in　fancy　I　behold　thee　！　　Once　more　thy　form　hath　risen　before
me　！　　…　not　…　oh　not　as　thou　art　…　in　the　cold　valley　and　shadow　…
but　as　thou　_shouldst　be_　…　squandering　away　a　life　of　magnificent
meditation　in　that　city　of　dim　visions；　thine　own　Venice　…　which　is　a
star…beloved　Elysium　of　the　sea；　and　the　wide　windows　of　whose
Palladian　palaces　look　down　with　a　deep　and　bitter　meaning　upon　the
secrets　of　her　silent　waters。　　Yes　！　　I　repeat　it　…　as　thou　_shouldst
be_。　　There　are　surely　other　worlds　than　this　…　other　thoughts　than
the　thoughts　of　the　multitude　…　other　speculations　than　the
speculations　of　the　sophist。　　Who　then　shall　call　thy　conduct　into
question　　？　　　　who　blame　thee　for　thy　visionary　hours；　or　denounce
those　occupations　as　a　wasting　away　of　life；　which　were　but　the
overflowings　of　thine　everlasting　energies　？

　　　It　was　at　Venice；　beneath　the　covered　archway　there　called　the
_Ponte　di　Sospiri_；　that　I　met　for　the　third　or　fourth　time　the
person　of　whom　I　speak。　　It　is　with　a　confused　recollection　that　I
bring　to　mind　the　circumstances　of　that　meeting。　　Yet　I　remember　…　ah
！　　　how　should　I　forget　　？　　…　the　deep　midnight；　the　Bridge　of　Sighs；
the　beauty　of　woman；　and　the　Genius　of　Romance　that　stalked　up　and
down　the　narrow　canal。

　　　It　was　a　night　of　unusual　gloom。　　The　great　clock　of　the　Piazza
had　sounded　the　fifth　hour　of　the　Italian　evening。　　The　square　of　the
Campanile　lay　silent　and　deserted；　and　the　lights　in　the　old　Ducal
Palace　were　dying　fast　away。　　I　was　returning　home　from　the　Piazetta；
by　way　of　the　Grand　Canal。　　But　as　my　gondola　arrived　opposite　the
mouth　of　the　canal　San　Marco；　a　female　voice　from　its　recesses　broke
suddenly　upon　the　night；　in　one　wild；　hysterical；　and　long　continued
shriek。　　Startled　at　the　sound；　I　sprang　upon　my　feet　：　　while　the
gondolier；　letting　slip　his　single　oar；　lost　it　in　the　pitchy
darkness　beyond　a　chance　of　recovery；　and　we　were　consequently　left
to　the　guidance　of　the　current　which　here　sets　from　the　greater　into
the　smaller　channel。　　Like　some　huge　and　sable…feathered　condor；　we
were　slowly　drifting　down　towards　the　Bridge　of　Sighs；　when　a
thousand　flambeaux　flashing　from　the　windows；　and　down　the　staircases
of　the　Ducal　Palace；　turned　all　at　once　that　deep　gloom　into　a　livid
and　preternatural　day。

　　　A　child；　slipping　from　the　arms　of　its　own　mother；　had　fallen　from
an　upper　window　of　the　lofty　structure　into　the　deep　and　dim　canal。
The　quiet　waters　had　closed　placidly　over　their　victim　；　　and；
although　my　own　gondola　was　the　only　one　in　sight；　many　a　stout
swimmer；　already　in　the　stream；　was　seeking　in　vain　upon　the　surface；
the　treasure　which　was　to　be　found；　alas　！　　only　within　the　abyss。
Upon　the　broad　black　marble　flagstones　at　the　entrance　of　the　palace；
and　a　few　steps　above　the　water；　stood　a　figure　which　none　who　then
saw　can　have　ever　since　forgotten。　It　was　the　Marchesa　Aphrodite　…
the　adoration　of　all　Venice　…　the　gayest　of　the　gay　…　the　most　lovely
where　all　were　beautiful　…　but　still　the　young　wife　of　the　old　and
intriguing　Mentoni；　and　the　mother　of　that　fair　child；　her　first　and
only　one；　who　now；　deep　beneath　the　murky　water；　was　thinking　in
bitterness　of　heart　upon　her　sweet　caresses；　and　exhausting　its
little　life　in　struggles　to　call　upon　her　name。

　　　She　stood　alone。　　Her　small；　bare；　and　silvery　feet　gleamed　in　the
black　mirror　of　marble　beneath　her。　　Her　hair；　not　as　yet　more　than
half　loosened　for　the　night　from　its　ball…room　array；　clustered；　amid
a　shower　of　diamonds；　round　and　round　her　classical　head；　in　curls
like　those　of　the　young　hyacinth。　　A　snowy…white　and　gauze…like
drapery　seemed　to　be　nearly　the　sole　covering　to　her　delicate　form　；
but　the　mid…summer　and　midnight　air　was　hot；　sullen；　and　still；　and
no　motion　in　the　statue…like　form　itself；　stirred　even　the　folds　of
that　raiment　of　very　vapor　which　hung　around　it　as　the　heavy　marble
hangs　around　the　Niobe。　　Yet　…　strange　to　say　！　　…　her　large　lustrous
eyes　were　not　turned　downwards　upon　that　grave　wherein　her　brightest
hope　lay　buried　…　but　riveted　in　a　widely　different　direction　！　　The
prison　of　the　Old　Republic　is；　I　think；　the　stateliest　building　in
all　Venice　…　but　how　could　that　lady　gaze　so　fixedly　upon　it；　when
beneath　her　lay　stifling　her　only　child　？　　Yon　dark；　gloomy　niche；
too；　yawns　right　opposite　her　chamber　window　…　what；　then；　_could_
there　be　in　its　shadows　…　in　its　architecture　…　in　its　ivy…wreathed
and　solemn　cornices　…　that　the　Marchesa　di　Mentoni　had　not　wondered
at　a　thousand　times　before　？　　Nonsense　！　…　Who　does　not　remember
that；　at　such　a　time　as　this；　the　eye；　like　a　shattered　mirror；
multiplies　the　images　of　its　sorrow；　and　sees　in　innumerable　far…off
places；　the　wo　which　is　close　at　hand　？

　　　Many　steps　above　the　Marchesa；　and　within　the　arch　of　the
water…gate；　stood；　in　full　dress；　the　Satyr…like　figure　of　Mentoni
himself。　　He　was　occasionally　occupied　in　thrumming　a　guitar；　and
seemed　_ennuye_　to　the　very　death；　as　at　intervals　he　gave　directions
for　the　recovery　of　his　child。　　Stupified　and　aghast；　I　had　myself　no
power　to　move　from　the　upright　position　I　had　assumed　upon　first
hearing　the　shriek；　and　must　have　presented　to　the　eyes　of　the
agitated　group　a　spectral　and　ominous　appearance；　as　with　pale
countenance　and　rigid　limbs；　I　floated　down　among　them　in　that
funereal　gondola。

　　　All　efforts　proved　in　vain。　　Many　of　the　most　energetic　in　the
search　were　relaxing　their　exertions；　and　yielding　to　a　gloomy
sorrow。　There　seemed　but　little　hope　for　the　child　；　　（how　much　less
than　for　the　mother　！　　）　but　now；　from　the　interior　of　that　dark
niche　which　has　been　already　mentioned　as　forming　a　part　of　the　Old
Republican　prison；　and　as　fronting　the　lattice　of　the　Marchesa；　a
figure　muffled　in　a　cloak；　stepped　out　within　reach　of　the　light；
and；　pausing　a　moment　up