The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2Poe, Edgar Allan
General
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories
I am the descendant of a race whose imaginative and easily
excitable temperament has at all times rendered them remarkable;
and, in my earliest infancy, I gave evidence of having fully
inherited the family character. As I advanced in years it was
more strongly developed; becoming, for many reasons, a cause of
serious disquietude to my friends, and of positive injury to
myself. I grew self-willed, addicted to the wildest caprices, and
a prey to the most ungovernable passions. Weak-minded, and beset
with constitutional infirmities akin to my own, my parents could
do but little to check the evil propensities which distinguished
me. Some feeble and ill-directed efforts resulted in complete
failure on their part, and, of course, in total triumph on mine.
Thenceforward my voice was a household law; and at an age when
few children have abandoned their leading-strings, I was left to
the guidance of my own will, and became, in all but name, the
master of my own actions.
My earliest recollections of a school-life, are connected with a
large, rambling, Elizabethan house, in a misty-looking village of
England, where were a vast number of gigantic and gnarled trees,
and where all the houses were excessively ancient. In truth, it
was a dream-like and spirit-soothing place, that venerable old
town. At this moment, in fancy, I feel the refreshing chilliness
of its deeply-shadowed avenues, inhale the fragrance of its
thousand shrubberies, and thrill anew with undefinable delight,
at the deep hollow note of the church-bell, breaking, each hour,
with sullen and sudden roar, upon the stillness of the dusky
atmosphere in which the fretted Gothic steeple lay imbedded and
asleep.
It gives me, perhaps, as much of pleasure as I can now in any
manner experience, to dwell upon minute recollections of the
school and its concerns. Steeped in misery as I am—misery, alas!
only too real—I shall be pardoned for seeking relief, however
slight and temporary, in the weakness of a few rambling details.
These, moreover, utterly trivial, and even ridiculous in
themselves, assume, to my fancy, adventitious importance, as
connected with a period and a locality when and where I recognise
the first ambiguous monitions of the destiny which afterwards so
fully overshadowed me. Let me then remember.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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