View Original Article

View Original Article

View Original Article

View Original Article

View Original Article

View Original Article

•    기도하는 자에게 열려있으며 그 기도로서 두드리는 자에게만 열려진다.

* 교회 발전의 역사는 기도의 역사이다.

var anchor_links = document.getElementById(“brd_content_0″).getElementsByTagName(“A”); for(i=0; i< anchor_links.length; i++){ if(i == 0 && anchor_links[i].id == “target1″) { } else { anchor_links[i].target = “_blank”; } }

Blogged with Flock

번호. 387    
길은정

2005-01-04. 00:32   
조회 : 65535   
   

제목 : 2005. 1. 3. 내가 좋아하는 블루

파랑이라는 색깔에서 파생된 색이라면 나는 그냥 좋다. 물론 ‘그냥’ 이라는 답은 없어서 깊이 생각하고 따지고 들어가보면 좋아하는 이유를 알 수 있겠지만 지금은 간단하게 생각하기로 한다. ‘그냥’이라고…. 내게는 기타가 2대 있는데 (뭐… 음악을 전문으로하고 기타를 전문적으로 치는 사람들에게는 기타 20여대 이상을 가지고 있는 경우도 있는 걸….) 그 두 대 모두 원목 색깔 그대로를 살린 기타다. 물론 어쿠스틱은 원목 의 빛깔과 나무 결을 그대로 살린 기타 중에서 훨씬 더 좋은 기타를 찾기 쉽지만 이상하게도 나는 파란색으로 칠을 한 기타를 갖고 싶었다. 마침, 국내 기타제조회사인 ‘콜트Cort’에서, 나만의 이니셜이 새겨진 파란색 기타를 만들어주겠다는 약속을 해왔다. 나는 그 분께 ‘정말이냐? 믿을 수 없을 정도다. 사실이냐?’고 수도 없이 물었고 너무 좋아 폴짝 폴짝 그자리에서 뛰기도 했고 뱅글뱅글 돌기도 했었다. 나는 ‘록시’에서나 다른 공연때 와이키키 브라더스와 함께 무대에 서면 반드시 그 파란색 기타를 메고 파랑보다 더 싱그럽게 연주하고 노래하리라 마음 먹었다. ……. 그 약속은 막 여름이 시작되려는 시점에서 이루어졌고 불과 몇 개월 후 나는 걸을 수 없어졌고 휠체어에서만 생활할 수 밖에 없어졌다. 그래서 이미 욕창까지 생겨버린 정도였다. 그리고 무대에서 공연을 한다는 것은 꿈 속에서나 가능한 일일까?……… 열린 음악회에서 노래를 불렀던 것을 빼곤 대중들 앞에서 기타를 치고 노래를 한다는 것은 힘든 일이라고 생각했고 그 파란색 기타에 대해서도 잊고 있었다. 젊은이들은 크리스마스라고 가슴 설레던 그 날. 바로 크리스마스 이브에 방송국으로 연락이왔다. 그 때 약속했던 기타가 다 만들어졌으니 가지고 가겠다는 것이었다. 볼이 아리도록 추운 날. 달마팔자 님(지금은 폐쇄해 버린 길은정 행복카페의 회원 닉네임)이 산타 클로스처럼, 여성용으로 작고 예쁜 모양에 금색으로 영문 ‘길은정’이라는 이름을 새긴 파란 색 기타를 들고 찾아오신 것이었다. 파란 색으로 칠을 했지만 원목의 결을 그대로 살려, 얼마나 이 기타를 만드는데 공을 들였는지  금방 알 수 있을 정도였다. 나는 정작 잊고 있었던 내 이름이 새겨진, 나 만의 파란색 기타……… 세상에 단 하나 뿐인 기타…… 그 기타를 쓰다듬으며 왈칵 울음을 터뜨렸다. 만감이 교차하는 울음이었다. 잊지않고 나 만의 기타를 만들고 있었던 ‘콜트 Cort’ 기타회사 직원들과 달마팔자님의 선의를 생각하니 그 어떤 말로도 고맙다는 표현을 대신할 수 없을 것 같았다. 고맙다고 말하며, 연신 눈물을 흘렸다. 그리고 한참 동안 기타를 쓰다듬다가 자리를 정리했다. 그대로 있다가는 날을 새도 모를 지경이기 때문이었다. ‘조금만 더 일찍 만들어졌다면…. 열린 음악회에 나갔을 때 연주할 수 있었을 걸’ 아쉬운 마음을 표현하기도 했다. 집에 돌아와 꺼내보고 또 꺼내보고 쓰다듬고 또 쓰다듬고 소리를 내보고 줄을 맞추고…. 휠체어에 앉아 기타를 오래 안고 있기에는 무리한 일이었는데도 나는 그랬다. 나는 그랬다………. 그리고 나는 ‘길은정의 노래하나 추억 둘 송년특집. 라이브 우체국’을 생방송으로 진행할 때 그 파란색 기타로 ‘호텔 캘리포니아’ 를 연주했다. 기타 폭이 좁아, 휠체어에서 조금 앞으로 자세를 빼어 앉으면 연주할 수 있는 모델이라 나는 내 사랑을 흠뻑 담아 기타 줄을 퉁겼다. 행복한 2시간 동안의 생방송이 순간처럼 흘러갔다. 그렇게 파란색, 내 이름이 새겨진, 나 만의 기타와 나는 하나가 된 듯 했다. 아이처럼 자랑하고 싶어 자꾸만 꺼내어 보고 있다. 이젠 기타를 메고 앉을 무대도 없으면서…… ……. 요즘은 책을 읽기도 힘겹고 인터넷에서 오랫동안 글자를 읽고 쓰기도 어려워졌다. 의사의 말로는 암세포가 내 두뇌로 옮겨가 시신경 어느 부분을 누르고 있기 때문이라고 했다. 그러나 난 그다지 신경쓰지 않는다. 이제 모든 것은 내 마음과 정신력에 달렸을 뿐, 병원에서 내게 해 줄 수 있는 일이란, 엄청난 말기 암의 통증을 줄일 수 있는 ‘몰핀’ 주사를 놓아주고 역시 ‘마약류’로 분류되는 진통제를 처방해 주는 일 뿐이다. 내가 방송하는 목소리를 듣고는 정말 아픈 것 맞냐고 묻는 이도 있는 걸….. 이제 모든 것은 내 정신력에 달려있고 스트레스를 조금이라도 덜 받도록 노력해야 할텐데….. 내가 하는 일이 아닌, 남이 하는 일에 대해서는 어찌할 수 없기에 스트레스를 줄이는 일은 나 혼자만의 힘으로는 어찌할 수 없을 것 같다. ……… 말이 통하는 사람이 곁에 있었으면 좋겠다. 파랑색처럼 순수하고 맑으며 천재성이 빛나는 사람이 있었으면 좋겠다. 내가 좋아하는 파란색 같은 사람. P5300015:

Blogged with Flock

Embedded Video

Blogged with Flock

[page 171:]

LIGEIA.
 

   And the will therein lieth, which dieth
not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is
but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man
doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only
through the weakness of his feeble will.

   I CANNOT, for my soul, remember
how,
when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the Lady
Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through
much suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to
mind, because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare
learning,
her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the thrilling and
enthralling
eloquence of her low, musical language, made their way into my heart by
paces so steadily and stealthily progressive, that they have been
unnoticed
and unknown. Yet I believe that I met her most frequently in some
large,
old, decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family — I have surely heard
her speak — that they are of a remotely ancient date cannot be doubted.
Ligeia! Buried in studies of a nature more than all else adapted to [page
172:] deaden impressions of the outward world, it is by that
sweet word alone — by Ligeia — that I bring before mine eyes in fancy
the
image of her who is no more. And now, while I write, a recollection
flashes
upon me that I have never known the paternal name of her who
was
my friend and my betrothed, and who became the partner of my studies,
and
eventually the wife of my bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of
my Ligeia? or was it a test of my strength of affection that I should
institute
no inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own — a
wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most passionate devotion?
I but indistinctly recall the fact itself — what wonder that I have
utterly
forgotten the circumstances which originated or attended it? And,
indeed,
if ever that spirit which is entitled Romance — if ever she,
the
wan, and the misty-winged Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt,
presided,
as they tell, over marriages ill-omened, then most surely she presided
over mine.

    There is one dear topic, however, on which my
memory
faileth me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall,
somewhat
slender, and in her latter days even emaciated. I would in vain attempt
to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the
incomprehensible
lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and departed like a
shadow. I was never made aware of her entrance into my closed study
save
by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her delicate
hand
upon my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever [page 173:]
equalled her. It was the radiance of an opium dream — an airy and
spirit-lifting
vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered about the
slumbering
souls of the daughters of Delos. Yet her features were not of that
regular
mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical
labors
of the heathen. “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord
Verülam,
speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, “without
some
strangeness in the proportions.” Yet, although I saw that the
features
of Ligeia were not of classic regularity, although I perceived that her
loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much of
“strangeness”
pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity, and
to trace home my own perception of “the strange.” I examined the
contour
of the lofty and pale forehead — it was faultless — how cold indeed
that
word when applied to a majesty so divine! — the skin rivalling the
purest
ivory, the commanding extent and repose, the gentle prominence of the
regions
above the temples, and then the raven-black, the glossy, the luxuriant
and naturally-curling tresses, setting forth the full force of the
Homeric
epithet, “hyacinthine!” I looked at the delicate outlines of the nose —
and nowhere but in the graceful medallions of the Hebrews had I beheld
a similar perfection. There was the same luxurious smoothness of
surface,
the same scarcely perceptible tendency to the aquiline, the same
harmoniously
curved nostril speaking the free spirit. I regarded the sweet mouth.
Here
was indeed the triumph of all things heavenly — the [page
174:]
magnificent turn of the short upper lip — the soft, voluptuous slumber
of the under — the dimples which sported, and the color which spoke —
the
teeth glancing back, with a brilliancy almost startling, every ray of
the
holy light which fell upon them in her serene, and placid, yet most
exultingly
radiant of all smiles. I scrutinized the formation of the chin — and
here,
too, I found the gentleness of breadth, the softness and the majesty,
the
fulness and the spirituality, of the Greek, — the contour which the god
Apollo revealed but in a dream, to Cleomenes, the son of the Athenian.
And then I peered into the large eyes of Ligeia.

    For eyes we have no models in the remotely
antique.
It might have been, too, that in these eyes of my beloved lay the
secret
to which Lord Verülam alludes. They were, I must believe, far
larger
than the ordinary eyes of our race. They were even far fuller than the
fullest of the Gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley of Nourjahad.
Yet
it was only at intervals — in moments of intense excitement — that this
peculiarity became more than slightly noticeable in Ligeia. And at such
moments was her beauty — in my heated fancy thus it appeared perhaps —
the beauty of beings either above or apart from the earth — the beauty
of the fabulous Houri of the Turk. The color of the orbs was the most
brilliant
of black, and far over them hung jetty lashes of great length. The
brows,
slightly irregular in outline, had the same hue. The “strangeness,”
however,
which I found in the eyes was of a nature distinct from the formation,
[page 175:] or the color, or the brilliancy of the
features, and must, after all, be referred to the expression.
Ah,
word of no meaning! behind whose vast latitude of mere sound we
intrench
our ignorance of so much of the spiritual. The expression of the eyes
of
Ligeia! How, for long hours have I pondered upon it! How have I,
through
the whole of a midsummer night, struggled to fathom it! What was it —
that
something more profound than the well of Democritus — which lay far
within
the pupils of my beloved? What was it? I was possessed with a
passion
to discover. Those eyes! those large, those shining, those divine orbs!
they became to me twin stars of Leda, and I to them devoutest of
astrologers.
Not for a moment was the unfathomable meaning of their glance, by day
or
by night, absent from my soul.

    There is no point, among the many
incomprehensible
anomalies of the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the
fact
— never, I believe, noticed in the schools — that in our endeavors to
recall
to memory something long forgotten we often find ourselves upon the
very verge of remembrance without being able, in the end, to
remember.
And thus, how frequently, in my intense scrutiny of Ligeia’s eyes, have
I felt approaching the full knowledge of the secret of their expression
— felt it approaching — yet not quite be mine — and so at length
entirely
depart. And (strange, oh strangest mystery of all!) I found, in the
commonest
objects of the universe, a circle of analogies to that expression. [page
176:] I mean to say that, subsequently to the period when
Ligeia’s
beauty passed into my spirit, there dwelling as in a shrine, I derived,
from many existences in the material world, a sentiment such as I felt
always aroused within me by her large and luminous orbs. Yet not the
more
could I define that sentiment, or analyze, or even steadily view it. I
recognized it, let me repeat, sometimes in the commonest objects of the
universe. It has flashed upon me in the survey of a rapidly-growing
vine
— in the contemplation of a moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of
running water. I have felt it in the ocean, in the falling of a meteor.
I have felt it in the glances of unusually aged people. And there are
one
or two stars in heaven — (one especially, a star of the sixth
magnitude,
double and changeable, to be found near the large star in Lyra) in a
telescopic
scrutiny of which I have been made aware of the feeling. I have been
filled
with it by certain sounds from stringed instruments, and not
unfrequently
by passages from books. Among innumerable other instances, I well
remember
something in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (perhaps merely from
its
quaintness — who shall say?) never failed to inspire me with the
sentiment,
— “And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the
mysteries
of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all
things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield him to the
angels,
nor unto death utterly, but only through the weakness of his feeble
will.”
[page 177:]

    Length of years, and subsequent reflection, have
enabled me to trace, indeed, some remote connexion between this passage
in the old English moralist and a portion of the character of Ligeia.
An
intensity in thought, action, or speech, was possibly, in her, a
result, or at least an index, of that gigantic volition which, during
our
long intercourse, failed to give other and more immediate evidence of
its
existence. Of all women whom I have ever known she, the outwardly calm,
the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a prey to the tumultuous
vultures of stern passion. And of such passion I could form no
estimate,
save by the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so
delighted
and appalled me, by the almost magical melody, modulation, distinctness
and placidity of her very low voice, and by the fierce energy (rendered
doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utterance) of the words
which she uttered.

    I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was
immense
— such as I have never known in woman. In the classical tongues was she
deeply proficient, and as far as my own acquaintance extended in regard
to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her at fault.
Indeed
upon any theme of the most admired, because simply the most abstruse,
of
the boasted erudition of the academy, have I ever found Ligeia at
fault?
How singularly, how thrillingly, this one point in the nature of my
wife
has forced itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said
her knowledge was such as I had never [page 178:]
known
in woman. Where breathes the man who, like her, has traversed, and
successfully,
all the wide areas of moral, natural, and mathematical science?
I saw not then what I now clearly perceive, that the acquisitions of
Ligeia
were gigantic, were astounding — yet I was sufficiently aware of her
infinite
supremacy to resign myself, with a child-like confidence, to her
guidance
through the chaotic world of metaphysical investigation at which I was
most busily occupied during the earlier years of our marriage. With how
vast a triumph — with how vivid a delight — with how much of all that
is
ethereal in hope — did I feel, as she bent over me in studies
but
little sought for — but less known — that delicious vista by slow but
perceptible
degrees expanding before me, down whose long, gorgeous, and all
untrodden
path, I might at length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too
divinely
precious not to be forbidden!

    How poignant, then, must have been the grief with
which, after some years, I beheld my wellgrounded expectations take
wings
to themselves and flee away! Without Ligeia I was but as a child
groping
benighted. Her presence, her readings alone, rendered vividly luminous
the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in which we were immersed.
Letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than Saturnian lead, wanting
the
radiant lustre of her eyes. And now those eyes shone less and less
frequently
upon the pages over which I pored. Ligeia grew ill. The wild eye blazed
with a too — [page 179:] too glorious effulgence;
the
pale fingers became of the transparent waxen hue of the grave — and the
blue veins upon the lofty forehead swelled and sunk impetuously with
the
tides of the most gentle emotion. I saw that she must die — and I
struggled
desperately in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles of the
passionate
wife were, to my astonishment, even more energetic than my own. There
had
been much in her stern nature to impress me with the belief that, to
her,
death would have come without its terrors — but not so. Words are
impotent
to convey any just idea of the fierceness of resistance with which she
wrestled with the dark shadow. I groaned in anguish at the pitiable
spectacle.
I would have soothed — I would have reasoned; but in the intensity of
her
wild desire for life — for life — but for life, solace and
reason
were alike the uttermost of folly. Yet not for an instant, amid the
most
convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit, was shaken the external
placidity
of her demeanor. Her voice grew more gentle — grew more low — yet I
would
not wish to dwell upon the wild meaning of the quietly-uttered words.
My
brain reeled as I hearkened, entranced, to a melody more than mortal —
to assumptions and aspirations which mortality had never before known.

    That she loved me, I should not have doubted; and
I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love
would
have reigned no ordinary passion. But in death only, was I fully
impressed
with the strength of her affection. For long hours, detaining [page
180:] my hand, would she pour out before me the overflowings
of a heart whose more than passionate devotion amounted to idolatry.
How
had I deserved to be so blessed by such confessions? — how had I
deserved
to be so cursed with the removal of my beloved in the hour of her
making
them? But upon this subject I cannot bear to dilate. Let me say only,
that
in Ligeia’s more than womanly abandonment to a love, alas! all
unmerited,
all unworthily bestowed, I at length recognised the principle of her
longing
with so wildly earnest a desire for the life which was now fleeing so
rapidly
away. It is this wild longing — it is this eager vehemence of desire
for
life — but for life — that I have no power to portray — no
utterance
capable of expressing. Methinks I again behold the terrific struggles
of
her lofty, her nearly idealized nature, with the might and the terror,
and the majesty, of the great Shadow. But she perished. The giant will
succumbed to a power more stern. And I thought, as I gazed upon the
corpse,
of the wild passage in Joseph Glanvill: “The will therein lieth, which
dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For
God
is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness.
Man
doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save
only
through the weakness of his feeble will.”

    She died — and I, crushed into the very dust with
sorrow, could no longer endure the lonely desolation of my dwelling in
the dim and decaying city by the Rhine. I had no lack of what the world
terms [page 181:] wealth — Ligeia had brought me
far
more, very far more, than falls ordinarily to the lot of mortals. After
a few months, therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I purchased,
and
put in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the
wildest
and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy and dreary
grandeur
of the building, the almost savage aspect of the domain, the many
melancholy
and time-honored memories connected with both, had much in unison with
the feelings of utter abandonment which had driven me into that remote
and unsocial region of the country. Yet although the external abbey,
with
its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I
gave
way, with a child-like perversity, and perchance with a faint hope of
alleviating
my sorrows, to a display of more than regal magnificence within. For
such
follies even in childhood I had imbibed a taste, and now they came back
to me as if in the dotage of grief. Alas, I feel how much even of
incipient
madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and fantastic
draperies,
in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild cornices and furniture, in
the bedlam patterns of the carpets of tufted gold! I had become a
bounden
slave in the trammels of opium, and my labors and my orders had taken a
coloring from my dreams. But these absurdities I must not pause to
detail.
Let me speak only of that one chamber, ever accursed, whither, in a
moment
of mental alienation, I led from the altar as my bride — as the
successor
of the unforgotten Ligeia — the [page 182:]
fair-haired
and blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine.

    There is not any individual portion of the
architecture
and decoration of that bridal chamber which is not now visibly before
me.
Where were the souls of the haughty family of the bride, when, through
thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an apartment so
bedecked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved? I have said that I
minutely
remember the details of the chamber — yet I am sadly forgetful on
topics
of deep moment — and here there was no system, no keeping, in the
fantastic
display, to take hold upon the memory. The room lay in a high turret of
the castellated abbey, was pentagonal in shape, and of capacious size.
Occupying the whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole window —
an immense sheet of unbroken glass from Venice — a single pane, and
tinted
of a leaden hue, so that the rays of either the sun or moon, passing
through
it, fell with a ghastly lustre upon the objects within. Over the upper
portion of this huge window extended the open trellice-work of an aged
vine which clambered up the massy walls of the turret. The ceiling, of
gloomy-looking oak, was excessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately
fretted
with the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semi-Gothic,
semi-Druidical
device. From out the most central recess of this melancholy vaulting,
depended,
by a single chain of gold, with long links, a huge censer of the same
metal,
Saracenic in pattern, and with many perforations so contrived that
there
[page 183:] writhed in and out of them, as if
endued
with a serpent vitality, a continual succession of particolored fires.
Some few ottomans and golden candelabra of Eastern figure were in
various
stations about — and there was the couch, too, the bridal couch, of an
Indian model, and low, and sculptured of solid ebony, with a canopy
above.
In each of the angles of the chamber, stood on end a gigantic
sarcophagus
of black granite, from the tombs of the kings over against Luxor, with
their aged lids full of immemorial sculpture. But in the draping of the
apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy of all. The lofty walls —
gigantic
in height — even unproportionably so, were hung from summit to foot, in
vast folds, with a heavy and massive looking tapestry — tapestry of a
material
which was found alike as a carpet on the floor, as a covering for the
ottomans
and the ebony bed, as a canopy for the bed, and as the gorgeous volutes
of the curtains which partially shaded the window. This material was
the
richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irregular intervals,
with arabesque figures, of about a foot in diameter, and wrought upon
the
cloth in patterns of the most jetty black. But these figures partook of
the true character of the arabesque only when regarded from a single
point
of view. By a contrivance now common, and indeed traceable to a very
remote
period of antiquity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one
entering
the room they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; but, upon a
farther advance, this appearance suddenly [page 184:]
departed; and, step by step, as the visiter moved his station in the
chamber,
he saw himself surrounded by an endless succession of the ghastly forms
which belong to the superstition of the Northman, or arise in the
guilty
slumbers of the monk. The phantasmagoric effect was vastly heightened
by
the artificial introduction of a strong continual current of wind
behind
the draperies — giving a hideous and uneasy animation to the whole.

    In halls such as these — in a bridal chamber such
as this — I passed, with the Lady of Tremaine, the unhallowed hours of
the first month of our marriage — passed them with but little
disquietude.
That my wife dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper — that she
shunned
me, and loved me but little — I could not help perceiving — but it gave
me rather pleasure than otherwise. I loathed her with a hatred
belonging
more to demon than to man. My memory flew back, (oh, with what
intensity
of regret!) to Ligeia, the beloved, the beautiful, the entombed. I
revelled
in recollections of her purity, of her wisdom, of her lofty, her
ethereal
nature, of her passionate, her idolatrous love. Now, then, did my
spirit
fully and freely burn with more than all the fires of her own. In the
excitement
of my opium dreams (for I was habitually fettered in the iron shackles
of the drug) I would call aloud upon her name, during the silence of
the
night, or among the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if,
through
the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardor of my
longing
for the departed [page 185:] Ligeia, I could
restore
the departed Ligeia to the pathway she had abandoned upon earth.

    About the commencement of the second month of the
marriage, the Lady Rowena was attacked with sudden illness from which
her
recovery was slow. The fever which consumed her rendered her nights
uneasy,
and, in her perturbed state of half-slumber, she spoke of sounds, and
of
motions, in and about the chamber of the turret, which had no origin
save
in the distemper of her fancy, or, perhaps, in the phantastic
influences
of the chamber itself. She became at length convalescent — finally
well.
Yet but a brief period elapsed, ere a second more violent disorder
again
threw her upon a bed of suffering — and from this attack her frame, at
all times feeble, never altogether recovered. Her illnesses were, after
this epoch, of alarming character, and of more alarming recurrence,
defying
alike the knowledge and the great exertions of her medical men. With
the
increase of the chronic disease which had thus, apparently, taken too
sure
hold upon her constitution to be eradicated by human means, I could not
fail to observe a similar increase in the nervous irritation of her
temperament,
and in her excitability by trivial causes of fear. Indeed reason seemed
fast tottering from her throne. She spoke again, and now more
frequently
and pertinaciously, of the sounds, of the slight sounds, and of the
unusual
motions among the tapestries, to which she had formerly alluded.

    One night near the closing in of September, she
pressed
this distressing subject with more than usual [page 186:]
emphasis upon my attention. She had just awakened from an unquiet
slumber,
and I had been watching, with feelings half of anxiety, half of a vague
terror, the workings of her emaciated countenance. I sat by the side of
her ebony bed, upon one of the ottomans of India. She partly arose, and
spoke, in an earnest low whisper, of sounds which she then
heard,
but which I could not hear, of motions which she then saw, but
which
I could not perceive. The wind was rushing hurriedly behind the
tapestries,
and I wished to show her (what, let me confess it, I could not all
believe) that those faint, almost inarticulate breathings, and the very
gentle variations of the figures upon the wall, were but the natural
effects
of that customary rushing of the wind. But a deadly pallor,
overspreading
her face, had proved to me that my exertions to reassure her would be
fruitless.
She appeared to be fainting, and no attendants were within call. I
remembered
where was deposited a decanter of some light wine which had been
ordered
by her physicians, and hastened across the chamber to procure it. But,
as I stepped beneath the light of the censer, two circumstances of a
startling
nature attracted my attention. I had felt that some palpable object had
passed lightly by my person; and I saw that there lay a faint
indefinite
shadow upon the golden carpet, in the very middle of the rich lustre
thrown
from the censer. But I was wild with the excitement of an immoderate
dose
of opium, and heeded these things but little, nor spoke of them to
Rowena.
Finding the wine, I recrossed the chamber, [page 187:]
and poured out a gobletful, which I held to the lips of the fainting
lady.
She had now partially recovered, however, and took, herself, the
vessel,
while I sank upon the ottoman near me, with my eyes rivetted upon her
person.
It was then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle foot-fall upon
the
carpet, and near the couch; and, in a second thereafter, as Rowena was
in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or may have dreamed
that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if from some invisible spring in
the atmosphere of the room, three or four large drops of a brilliant
and
ruby-colored fluid. If this I saw — not so Rowena. She swallowed the
wine
unhesitatingly, and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance which
must,
after all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid
imagination,
rendered morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the opium, and
by
the hour.

    Yet — I cannot conceal it from myself — after
this
period, a rapid change for the worse took place in the disorder of my
wife;
so that, on the third subsequent night, the hands of her menials
prepared
her for the tomb, and on the fourth, I sat alone, with her shrouded
body,
in that fantastic chamber which had received her as my bride. Wild
visions,
opium engendered, flitted, shadow-like, before me. I gazed with unquiet
eye upon the sarcophagi in the angles of the room, upon the varying
figures
of the drapery, and upon the writhing of the particolored fires in the
censer overhead. My eyes then fell, as I called to mind the
circumstances
of a former night, to the [page 188:] spot beneath
the glare of the censer where I had beheld the faint traces of the
shadow.
It was there, however, no longer, and, breathing with greater freedom,
I turned my glances to the pallid and rigid figure upon the bed. Then
rushed
upon me a thousand memories of Ligeia — and then came back upon my
heart,
with the turbulent violence of a flood, the whole of that unutterable
wo
with which I had regarded her thus enshrouded. The night waned;
and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts of the one only and
supremely
beloved, I remained with mine eyes rivetted upon the body of Rowena.

    It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier,
or later, for I had taken no note of time, when a sob, low, gentle, but
very distinct, startled me from my revery. I felt that it came
from
the bed of ebony — the bed of death. I listened in an agony of
superstitious
terror — but there was no repetition of the sound; I strained my vision
to detect any motion in the corpse, but there was not the slightest
perceptible.
Yet I could not have been deceived. I had heard the noise,
however
faint, and my whole soul was awakened within me, as I resolutely and
perseveringly
kept my attention rivetted upon the body. Many minutes elapsed before
any
circumstance occurred tending to throw light upon the mystery. At
length
it became evident that a slight, a very faint, and barely noticeable
tinge
of color had flushed up within the cheeks, and along the sunken small
veins
of the eyelids. Through a species of unutterable horror and awe, for
which
the language of mortality has [page 189:] no
sufficiently
energetic expression, I felt my brain reel, my heart cease to beat, my
limbs grow rigid where I sat. Yet a sense of duty finally operated to
restore
my self-possession. I could no longer doubt that we had been
precipitate
in our preparations for interment — that Rowena still lived. It was
necessary
that some immediate exertion be made; yet the turret was altogether
apart
from the portion of the abbey tenanted by the servants — there were
none
within call, — I had no means of summoning them to my aid without
leaving
the room for many minutes — and this I could not venture to do. I
therefore
struggled alone in my endeavors to call back the spirit still hovering.
In a short period it was certain, however, that a relapse had taken
place;
the color utterly disappeared from both eyelid and cheek, leaving a
wanness
even more than that of marble; the lips became doubly shrivelled and
pinched
up in the ghastly expression of death; a repulsive clamminess and
coldness
overspread rapidly the surface of the body; and all the usual rigorous
stiffness immediately supervened. I fell back with a shudder upon the
couch
from which I had been so startlingly aroused, and again gave myself up
to passionate waking visions of Ligeia.

    An hour thus elapsed when, (could it be
possible?)
I was a second time aware of some vague sound issuing from the region
of
the bed. I listened — in extremity of horror. The sound came again — it
was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw — distinctly [page
190:]
saw — a tremor upon the lips. In a minute after, they slightly relaxed,
disclosing a bright line of the pearly teeth. Amazement now struggled
in
my bosom with the profound awe which had hitherto reigned therein
alone.
I felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered, and it was
only
by a convulsive effort that I at length succeeded in nerving myself to
the task which duty thus, once more, had pointed out. There was now a
partial
glow upon the forehead and upon the cheek and throat — a perceptible
warmth
pervaded the whole frame — there was even a slight pulsation at the
heart.
The lady lived; and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to the task of
restoration. I chafed and bathed the temples and the hands, and used
every
exertion which experience, and no little medical reading, could
suggest.
But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled, the pulsation ceased, the lips
resumed
the expression of the dead, and, in an instant afterwards, the whole
body
took upon itself the icy chillness, the livid hue, the intense
rigidity,
the sunken outline, and each and all of the loathsome peculiarities of
that which has been, for many days, a tenant of the tomb.

    And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia — and
again,
(what marvel that I shudder while I write?) again there reached
my ears a low sob from the region of the ebony bed. But why shall I
minutely
detail the unspeakable horrors of that night? Why shall I pause to
relate
how, time after time, until near the period of the gray dawn, this
hideous
drama of [page 191:] revivification was repeated,
and
how each terrific relapse was only into a sterner and apparently more
irredeemable
death? Let me hurry to a conclusion.

    The greater part of the fearful night had worn
away,
and the corpse of Rowena once again stirred — and now more vigorously
than
hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its
utter
hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or to move, and
remained
sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a helpless prey to a whirl of violent
emotions, of which extreme awe was perhaps the least terrible, the
least
consuming. The corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than
before. The hues of life flushed up with unwonted energy into the
countenance
— the limbs relaxed — and, save that the eyelids were yet pressed
heavily
together, and that the bandages and draperies of the grave still
imparted
their charnel character to the figure, I might have dreamed that Rowena
had indeed shaken off, utterly, the fetters of Death. But if this idea
was not, even then, altogether adopted, I could, at least, doubt no
longer,
when, arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed
eyes,
and with the manner of one bewildered in a dream, the Lady of Tremaine
advanced bodily and palpably into the middle of the apartment.

    I trembled not — I stirred not — for a crowd of
unutterable
fancies connected with the air, the demeanor of the figure, rushing
hurriedly
through my brain, had paralyzed, had chilled me into stone. I stirred
not
— but gazed upon the apparition. There [page 192:]
was a mad disorder in my thoughts — a tumult unappeasable. Could it,
indeed,
be the living Rowena who confronted me? Why, why should
I
doubt it? The bandage lay heavily about the mouth — but then it was the
mouth of the breathing Lady of Tremaine. And the cheeks — there were
the
roses as in her noon of life — yes, these were indeed the fair cheeks
of
the living Lady of Tremaine. And the chin, with its dimples, as in
health,
was it not hers? — but had she then grown taller since her malady?
What inexpressible madness seized me with that thought? One bound, and
I had reached her feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her
head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and
there
streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses
of long and dishevelled hair. It was blacker than the raven wings
of
the midnight! And now the eyes opened of the figure which stood
before
me. “Here then, at least,” I shrieked aloud, “can I never — can I never
be mistaken — these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes — of
the lady — of the Lady Ligeia!”

[The running header on even numbered pages is: "GROTESQUE AND
ARABESQUE."
On odd numbered pages, the page header is: "LIGEIA."]
 

~~~ End of Text ~~~

[S:0 - TGA, 1840]

Blogged with Flock