The Slender Poe Anthology (3 page)

First published in a special Christmas edition of
The Gift
in 1841,
Eleonora
was composed during a period of domestic stability with Poe's wife and her mother. Beautifully crafted both musically and imagistically, it is something of a fairytale for those who have left youth behind. It has one of the best opening paragraphs in all of Poe, and many of his opening paragraphs are among the discrete treasures of American literature. This is one of my favorite works of Poe, for I have spent more than one magical hour listening to the River of Silence.

This arabesque attracts other poets as well. In her essay,
The Bright Eyes of Eleonora
, Mary Oliver calls Poe “a perfect acrobat of language.” In his introduction to a special edition of
Eleonora
, Richard Wilbur, always one of the most insightful and generous of Poe exegetes, notes “an admirably subtle use of light and dark and shadow throughout the story.”

ELEONORA

“Sub conservatione formae specificae 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 Aeolus-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 Aeolus, 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.”