by Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
DURING A pedestrian trip last summer, through
one or two of the river counties of New York, I found myself,
as the day declined, somewhat embarrassed about the road I was
pursuing. The land undulated very remarkably; and my path, for
the last hour, had wound about and about so confusedly, in its
effort to keep in the valleys, that I no longer knew in what
direction lay the sweet village of B-, where I had determined
to stop for the night. The sun had scarcely shone- strictly
speaking- during the day, which nevertheless, had been
unpleasantly warm. A smoky mist, resembling that of the Indian
summer, enveloped all things, and of course, added to my
uncertainty. Not that I cared much about the matter. If I did
not hit upon the village before sunset, or even before dark, it
was more than possible that a little Dutch farmhouse, or
something of that kind, would soon make its appearance-
although, in fact, the neighborhood (perhaps on account of
being more picturesque than fertile) was very sparsely
inhabited. At all events, with my knapsack for a pillow, and my
hound as a sentry, a bivouac in the open air was just the thing
which would have amused me. I sauntered on, therefore, quite at
ease- Ponto taking charge of my gun- until at length, just as I
had begun to consider whether the numerous little glades that
led hither and thither, were intended to be paths at all, I was
conducted by one of them into an unquestionable carriage track.
There could be no mistaking it. The traces of light wheels were
evident; and although the tall shrubberies and overgrown
undergrowth met overhead, there was no obstruction whatever
below, even to the passage of a Virginian mountain wagon- the
most aspiring vehicle, I take it, of its kind. The road,
however, except in being open through the wood- if wood be not
too weighty a name for such an assemblage of light trees- and
except in the particulars of evident wheel-tracks- bore no
resemblance to any road I had before seen. The tracks of which
I speak were but faintly perceptible- having been impressed
upon the firm, yet pleasantly moist surface of- what looked
more like green Genoese velvet than any thing else. It was
grass, clearly- but grass such as we seldom see out of England-
so short, so thick, so even, and so vivid in color. Not a
single impediment lay in the wheel-route- not even a chip or
dead twig. The stones that once obstructed the way had been
carefully placed- not thrown-along the sides of the lane, so as
to define its boundaries at bottom with a kind of half-precise,
half-negligent, and wholly picturesque definition. Clumps of
wild flowers grew everywhere, luxuriantly, in the
interspaces.
What to make of all this, of course I knew not.
Here was art undoubtedly- that did not surprise me- all roads,
in the ordinary sense, are works of art; nor can I say that
there was much to wonder at in the mere excess of art
manifested; all that seemed to have been done, might have been
done here- with such natural "capabilities" (as they have it in
the books on Landscape Gardening)- with very little labor and
expense. No; it was not the amount but the character of the art
which caused me to take a seat on one of the blossomy stones
and gaze up and down this fairy- like avenue for half an hour
or more in bewildered admiration. One thing became more and
more evident the longer I gazed: an artist, and one with a most
scrupulous eye for form, had superintended all these
arrangements. The greatest care had been taken to preserve a
due medium between the neat and graceful on the one hand, and
the pittoresque, in the true sense of the Italian term, on the
other. There were few straight, and no long uninterrupted
lines. The same effect of curvature or of color appeared twice,
usually, but not oftener, at any one point of view. Everywhere
was variety in uniformity. It was a piece of "composition," in
which the most fastidiously critical taste could scarcely have
suggested an emendation.
I had turned to the right as I entered this road,
and now, arising, I continued in the same direction. The path
was so serpentine, that at no moment could I trace its course
for more than two or three paces in advance. Its character did
not undergo any material change.
Presently the murmur of water fell gently upon my
ear- and in a few moments afterward, as I turned with the road
somewhat more abruptly than hitherto, I became aware that a
building of some kind lay at the foot of a gentle declivity
just before me. I could see nothing distinctly on account of
the mist which occupied all the little valley below. A gentle
breeze, however, now arose, as the sun was about descending;
and while I remained standing on the brow of the slope, the fog
gradually became dissipated into wreaths, and so floated over
the scene.
As it came fully into view- thus gradually as I
describe it- piece by piece, here a tree, there a glimpse of
water, and here again the summit of a chimney, I could scarcely
help fancying that the whole was one of the ingenious illusions
sometimes exhibited under the name of "vanishing pictures."
By the time, however, that the fog had thoroughly
disappeared, the sun had made its way down behind the gentle
hills, and thence, as it with a slight chassez to the south,
had come again fully into sight, glaring with a purplish lustre
through a chasm that entered the valley from the west.
Suddenly, therefore- and as if by the hand of magic- this whole
valley and every thing in it became brilliantly visible.
The first coup d'oeil, as the sun slid into the
position described, impressed me very much as I have been
impressed, when a boy, by the concluding scene of some
well-arranged theatrical spectacle or melodrama. Not even the
monstrosity of color was wanting; for the sunlight came out
through the chasm, tinted all orange and purple; while the
vivid green of the grass in the valley was reflected more or
less upon all objects from the curtain of vapor that still hung
overhead, as if loth to take its total departure from a scene
so enchantingly beautiful.
The little vale into which I thus peered down from
under the fog canopy could not have been more than four hundred
yards long; while in breadth it varied from fifty to one
hundred and fifty or perhaps two hundred. It was most narrow at
its northern extremity, opening out as it tended southwardly,
but with no very precise regularity. The widest portion was
within eighty yards of the southern extreme. The slopes which
encompassed the vale could not fairly be called hills, unless
at their northern face. Here a precipitous ledge of granite
arose to a height of some ninety feet; and, as I have
mentioned, the valley at this point was not more than fifty
feet wide; but as the visiter proceeded southwardly from the
cliff, he found on his right hand and on his left, declivities
at once less high, less precipitous, and less rocky. All, in a
word, sloped and softened to the south; and yet the whole vale
was engirdled by eminences, more or less high, except at two
points. One of these I have already spoken of. It lay
considerably to the north of west, and was where the setting
sun made its way, as I have before described, into the
amphitheatre, through a cleanly cut natural cleft in the
granite embankment; this fissure might have been ten yards wide
at its widest point, so far as the eye could trace it. It
seemed to lead up, up like a natural causeway, into the
recesses of unexplored mountains and forests. The other opening
was directly at the southern end of the vale. Here, generally,
the slopes were nothing more than gentle inclinations,
extending from east to west about one hundred and fifty yards.
In the middle of this extent was a depression, level with the
ordinary floor of the valley. As regards vegetation, as well as
in respect to every thing else, the scene softened and sloped
to the south. To the north- on the craggy precipice- a few
paces from the verge- up sprang the magnificent trunks of
numerous hickories, black walnuts, and chestnuts, interspersed
with occasional oak, and the strong lateral branches thrown out
by the walnuts especially, spread far over the edge of the
cliff. Proceeding southwardly, the explorer saw, at first, the
same class of trees, but less and less lofty and Salvatorish in
character; then he saw the gentler elm, succeeded by the
sassafras and locust- these again by the softer linden,
red-bud, catalpa, and maple- these yet again by still more
graceful and more modest varieties. The whole face of the
southern declivity was covered with wild shrubbery alone- an
occasional silver willow or white poplar excepted. In the
bottom of the valley itself- (for it must be borne in mind that
the vegetation hitherto mentioned grew only on the cliffs or
hillsides)- were to be seen three insulated trees. One was an
elm of fine size and exquisite form: it stood guard over the
southern gate of the vale. Another was a hickory, much larger
than the elm, and altogether a much finer tree, although both
were exceedingly beautiful: it seemed to have taken charge of
the northwestern entrance, springing from a group of rocks in
the very jaws of the ravine, and throwing its graceful body, at
an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, far out into the
sunshine of the amphitheatre. About thirty yards east of this
tree stood, however, the pride of the valley, and beyond all
question the most magnificent tree I have ever seen, unless,
perhaps, among the cypresses of the Itchiatuckanee. It was a
triple- stemmed tulip-tree- the Liriodendron Tulipiferum- one
of the natural order of magnolias. Its three trunks separated
from the parent at about three feet from the soil, and
diverging very slightly and gradually, were not more than four
feet apart at the point where the largest stem shot out into
foliage: this was at an elevation of about eighty feet. The
whole height of the principal division was one hundred and
twenty feet. Nothing can surpass in beauty the form, or the
glossy, vivid green of the leaves of the tulip-tree. In the
present instance they were fully eight inches wide; but their
glory was altogether eclipsed by the gorgeous splendor of the
profuse blossoms. Conceive, closely congregated, a million of
the largest and most resplendent tulips! Only thus can the
reader get any idea of the picture I would convey. And then the
stately grace of the clean, delicately- granulated columnar
stems, the largest four feet in diameter, at twenty from the
ground. The innumerable blossoms, mingling with those of other
trees scarcely less beautiful, although infinitely less
majestic, filled the valley with more than Arabian
perfumes.
The general floor of the amphitheatre was grass of
the same character as that I had found in the road; if
anything, more deliciously soft, thick, velvety, and
miraculously green. It was hard to conceive how all this beauty
had been attained.
I have spoken of two openings into the vale. From
the one to the northwest issued a rivulet, which came, gently
murmuring and slightly foaming, down the ravine, until it
dashed against the group of rocks out of which sprang the
insulated hickory. Here, after encircling the tree, it passed
on a little to the north of east, leaving the tulip tree some
twenty feet to the south, and making no decided alteration in
its course until it came near the midway between the eastern
and western boundaries of the valley. At this point, after a
series of sweeps, it turned off at right angles and pursued a
generally southern direction meandering as it went- until it
became lost in a small lake of irregular figure (although
roughly oval), that lay gleaming near the lower extremity of
the vale. This lakelet was, perhaps, a hundred yards in
diameter at its widest part. No crystal could be clearer than
its waters. Its bottom, which could be distinctly seen,
consisted altogether, of pebbles brilliantly white. Its banks,
of the emerald grass already described, rounded, rather than
sloped, off into the clear heaven below; and so clear was this
heaven, so perfectly, at times, did it reflect all objects
above it, that where the true bank ended and where the mimic
one commenced, it was a point of no little difficulty to
determine. The trout, and some other varieties of fish, with
which this pond seemed to be almost inconveniently crowded, had
all the appearance of veritable flying-fish. It was almost
impossible to believe that they were not absolutely suspended
in the air. A light birch canoe that lay placidly on the water,
was reflected in its minutest fibres with a fidelity
unsurpassed by the most exquisitely polished mirror. A small
island, fairly laughing with flowers in full bloom, and
affording little more space than just enough for a picturesque
little building, seemingly a fowl-house- arose from the lake
not far from its northern shore- to which it was connected by
means of an inconceivably light- looking and yet very primitive
bridge. It was formed of a single, broad and thick plank of the
tulip wood. This was forty feet long, and spanned the interval
between shore and shore with a slight but very perceptible
arch, preventing all oscillation. From the southern extreme of
the lake issued a continuation of the rivulet, which, after
meandering for, perhaps, thirty yards, finally passed through
the "depression" (already described) in the middle of the
southern declivity, and tumbling down a sheer precipice of a
hundred feet, made its devious and unnoticed way to the
Hudson.
The lake was deep- at some points thirty feet- but
the rivulet seldom exceeded three, while its greatest width was
about eight. Its bottom and banks were as those of the pond- if
a defect could have been attributed, in point of
picturesqueness, it was that of excessive neatness.
The expanse of the green turf was relieved, here
and there, by an occasional showy shrub, such as the hydrangea,
or the common snowball, or the aromatic seringa; or, more
frequently, by a clump of geraniums blossoming gorgeously in
great varieties. These latter grew in pots which were carefully
buried in the soil, so as to give the plants the appearance of
being indigenous. Besides all this, the lawn's velvet was
exquisitely spotted with sheep- a considerable flock of which
roamed about the vale, in company with three tamed deer, and a
vast number of brilliantly- plumed ducks. A very large mastiff
seemed to be in vigilant attendance upon these animals, each
and all.
Along the eastern and western cliffs- where,
toward the upper portion of the amphitheatre, the boundaries
were more or less precipitous- grew ivy in great profusion- so
that only here and there could even a glimpse of the naked rock
be obtained. The northern precipice, in like manner, was almost
entirely clothed by grape-vines of rare luxuriance; some
springing from the soil at the base of the cliff, and others
from ledges on its face.
The slight elevation which formed the lower
boundary of this little domain, was crowned by a neat stone
wall, of sufficient height to prevent the escape of the deer.
Nothing of the fence kind was observable elsewhere; for nowhere
else was an artificial enclosure needed:- any stray sheep, for
example, which should attempt to make its way out of the vale
by means of the ravine, would find its progress arrested, after
a few yards' advance, by the precipitous ledge of rock over
which tumbled the cascade that had arrested my attention as I
first drew near the domain. In short, the only ingress or
egress was through a gate occupying a rocky pass in the road, a
few paces below the point at which I stopped to reconnoitre the
scene.
I have described the brook as meandering very
irregularly through the whole of its course. Its two general
directions, as I have said, were first from west to east, and
then from north to south. At the turn, the stream, sweeping
backward, made an almost circular loop, so as to form a
peninsula which was very nearly an island, and which included
about the sixteenth of an acre. On this peninsula stood a
dwelling-house- and when I say that this house, like the
infernal terrace seen by Vathek, "etait d'une architecture
inconnue dans les annales de la terre," I mean, merely, that
its tout ensemble struck me with the keenest sense of combined
novelty and propriety- in a word, of poetry- (for, than in the
words just employed, I could scarcely give, of poetry in the
abstract, a more rigorous definition)- and I do not mean that
merely outre was perceptible in any respect.
In fact nothing could well be more simple- more
utterly unpretending than this cottage. Its marvellous effect
lay altogether in its artistic arrangement as a picture. I
could have fancied, while I looked at it, that some eminent
landscape-painter had built it with his brush.
The point of view from which I first saw the
valley, was not altogether, although it was nearly, the best
point from which to survey the house. I will therefore describe
it as I afterwards saw it- from a position on the stone wall at
the southern extreme of the amphitheatre.
The main building was about twenty-four feet long
and sixteen broad- certainly not more. Its total height, from
the ground to the apex of the roof, could not have exceeded
eighteen feet. To the west end of this structure was attached
one about a third smaller in all its proportions:- the line of
its front standing back about two yards from that of the larger
house, and the line of its roof, of course, being considerably
depressed below that of the roof adjoining. At right angles to
these buildings, and from the rear of the main one- not exactly
in the middle- extended a third compartment, very small- being,
in general, one-third less than the western wing. The roofs of
the two larger were very steep- sweeping down from the
ridge-beam with a long concave curve, and extending at least
four feet beyond the walls in front, so as to form the roofs of
two piazzas. These latter roofs, of course, needed no support;
but as they had the air of needing it, slight and perfectly
plain pillars were inserted at the corners alone. The roof of
the northern wing was merely an extension of a portion of the
main roof. Between the chief building and western wing arose a
very tall and rather slender square chimney of hard Dutch
bricks, alternately black and red:- a slight cornice of
projecting bricks at the top. Over the gables the roofs also
projected very much:- in the main building about four feet to
the east and two to the west. The principal door was not
exactly in the main division, being a little to the east- while
the two windows were to the west. These latter did not extend
to the floor, but were much longer and narrower than usual-
they had single shutters like doors- the panes were of lozenge
form, but quite large. The door itself had its upper half of
glass, also in lozenge panes- a movable shutter secured it at
night. The door to the west wing was in its gable, and quite
simple- a single window looked out to the south. There was no
external door to the north wing, and it also had only one
window to the east.
The blank wall of the eastern gable was relieved
by stairs (with a balustrade) running diagonally across it- the
ascent being from the south. Under cover of the widely
projecting eave these steps gave access to a door leading to
the garret, or rather loft- for it was lighted only by a single
window to the north, and seemed to have been intended as a
store-room.
The piazzas of the main building and western wing
had no floors, as is usual; but at the doors and at each
window, large, flat irregular slabs of granite lay imbedded in
the delicious turf, affording comfortable footing in all
weather. Excellent paths of the same material- not nicely
adapted, but with the velvety sod filling frequent intervals
between the stones, led hither and thither from the house, to a
crystal spring about five paces off, to the road, or to one or
two out- houses that lay to the north, beyond the brook, and
were thoroughly concealed by a few locusts and catalpas.
Not more than six steps from the main door of the
cottage stood the dead trunk of a fantastic pear-tree, so
clothed from head to foot in the gorgeous bignonia blossoms
that one required no little scrutiny to determine what manner
of sweet thing it could be. From various arms of this tree hung
cages of different kinds. In one, a large wicker cylinder with
a ring at top, revelled a mocking bird; in another an oriole;
in a third the impudent bobolink- while three or four more
delicate prisons were loudly vocal with canaries.
The pillars of the piazza were enwreathed in
jasmine and sweet honeysuckle; while from the angle formed by
the main structure and its west wing, in front, sprang a
grape-vine of unexampled luxuriance. Scorning all restraint, it
had clambered first to the lower roof- then to the higher; and
along the ridge of this latter it continued to writhe on,
throwing out tendrils to the right and left, until at length it
fairly attained the east gable, and fell trailing over the
stairs.
The whole house, with its wings, was constructed
of the old-fashioned Dutch shingles- broad, and with unrounded
corners. It is a peculiarity of this material to give houses
built of it the appearance of being wider at bottom than at
top- after the manner of Egyptian architecture; and in the
present instance, this exceedingly picturesque effect was aided
by numerous pots of gorgeous flowers that almost encompassed
the base of the buildings.
The shingles were painted a dull gray; and the
happiness with which this neutral tint melted into the vivid
green of the tulip tree leaves that partially overshadowed the
cottage, can readily be conceived by an artist.
From the position near the stone wall, as
described, the buildings were seen at great advantage- for the
southeastern angle was thrown forward- so that the eye took in
at once the whole of the two fronts, with the picturesque
eastern gable, and at the same time obtained just a sufficient
glimpse of the northern wing, with parts of a pretty roof to
the spring-house, and nearly half of a light bridge that
spanned the brook in the near vicinity of the main
buildings.
I did not remain very long on the brow of the
hill, although long enough to make a thorough survey of the
scene at my feet. It was clear that I had wandered from the
road to the village, and I had thus good traveller's excuse to
open the gate before me, and inquire my way, at all events; so,
without more ado, I proceeded.
The road, after passing the gate, seemed to lie
upon a natural ledge, sloping gradually down along the face of
the north-eastern cliffs. It led me on to the foot of the
northern precipice, and thence over the bridge, round by the
eastern gable to the front door. In this progress, I took
notice that no sight of the out-houses could be obtained.
As I turned the corner of the gable, the mastiff
bounded towards me in stern silence, but with the eye and the
whole air of a tiger. I held him out my hand, however, in token
of amity- and I never yet knew the dog who was proof against
such an appeal to his courtesy. He not only shut his mouth and
wagged his tail, but absolutely offered me his paw-afterward
extending his civilities to Ponto.
As no bell was discernible, I rapped with my stick
against the door, which stood half open. Instantly a figure
advanced to the threshold- that of a young woman about
twenty-eight years of age- slender, or rather slight, and
somewhat above the medium height. As she approached, with a
certain modest decision of step altogether indescribable. I
said to myself, "Surely here I have found the perfection of
natural, in contradistinction from artificial grace." The
second impression which she made on me, but by far the more
vivid of the two, was that of enthusiasm. So intense an
expression of romance, perhaps I should call it, or of
unworldliness, as that which gleamed from her deep-set eyes,
had never so sunk into my heart of hearts before. I know not
how it is, but this peculiar expression of the eye, wreathing
itself occasionally into the lips, is the most powerful, if not
absolutely the sole spell, which rivets my interest in woman.
"Romance, provided my readers fully comprehended what I would
here imply by the word- "romance" and "womanliness" seem to me
convertible terms: and, after all, what man truly loves in
woman, is simply her womanhood. The eyes of Annie (I heard some
one from the interior call her "Annie, darling!") were
"spiritual grey;" her hair, a light chestnut: this is all I had
time to observe of her.
At her most courteous of invitations, I entered-
passing first into a tolerably wide vestibule. Having come
mainly to observe, I took notice that to my right as I stepped
in, was a window, such as those in front of the house; to the
left, a door leading into the principal room; while, opposite
me, an open door enabled me to see a small apartment, just the
size of the vestibule, arranged as a study, and having a large
bow window looking out to the north.
Passing into the parlor, I found myself with Mr.
Landor- for this, I afterwards found, was his name. He was
civil, even cordial in his manner, but just then, I was more
intent on observing the arrangements of the dwelling which had
so much interested me, than the personal appearance of the
tenant.
The north wing, I now saw, was a bed-chamber, its
door opened into the parlor. West of this door was a single
window, looking toward the brook. At the west end of the
parlor, were a fireplace, and a door leading into the west
wing- probably a kitchen.
Nothing could be more rigorously simple than the
furniture of the parlor. On the floor was an ingrain carpet, of
excellent texture- a white ground, spotted with small circular
green figures. At the windows were curtains of snowy white
jaconet muslin: they were tolerably full, and hung decisively,
perhaps rather formally in sharp, parallel plaits to the floor-
just to the floor. The walls were prepared with a French paper
of great delicacy, a silver ground, with a faint green cord
running zig-zag throughout. Its expanse was relieved merely by
three of Julien's exquisite lithographs a trois crayons,
fastened to the wall without frames. One of these drawings was
a scene of Oriental luxury, or rather voluptuousness; another
was a "carnival piece," spirited beyond compare; the third was
a Greek female head- a face so divinely beautiful, and yet of
an expression so provokingly indeterminate, never before
arrested my attention.
The more substantial furniture consisted of a
round table, a few chairs (including a large rocking-chair),
and a sofa, or rather "settee;" its material was plain maple
painted a creamy white, slightly interstriped with green; the
seat of cane. The chairs and table were "to match," but the
forms of all had evidently been designed by the same brain
which planned "the grounds;" it is impossible to conceive
anything more graceful.
On the table were a few books, a large, square,
crystal bottle of some novel perfume, a plain ground- glass
astral (not solar) lamp with an Italian shade, and a large vase
of resplendently-blooming flowers. Flowers, indeed, of gorgeous
colours and delicate odour formed the sole mere decoration of
the apartment. The fire-place was nearly filled with a vase of
brilliant geranium. On a triangular shelf in each angle of the
room stood also a similar vase, varied only as to its lovely
contents. One or two smaller bouquets adorned the mantel, and
late violets clustered about the open windows.
It is not the purpose of this work to do more than
give in detail, a picture of Mr. Landor's residence- as I found
it. How he made it what it was- and why- with some particulars
of Mr. Landor himself- may, possibly form the subject of
another article.