Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) đ
- Author: Edgar Allan Poe
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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 onceâ âoh, 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 forever 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 onceâ âat 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?â âOh, 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 themâ âand of her.
I weddedâ ânor dreaded the curse I had invoked; and its bitterness was not visited upon me. And onceâ âbut 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:
âSleep 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.â
Three Sundays in a WeekâYou hardheaded, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!â said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle Rumgudgeonâ âshaking my fist at him in imagination.
Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did exist, just then, between what I said and what I had not the courage to sayâ âbetween what I did and what I had half a mind to do.
The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting with his feet upon the mantelpiece, and a bumper of port in his paw, making strenuous efforts to accomplish the ditty.
Remplis ton verre vide!
Vide ton verre plein!
âMy dear uncle,â said I, closing the door gently, and approaching him with the blandest of smiles, âyou are always so very kind and considerate, and have evinced your benevolence in so manyâ âso very many waysâ âthatâ âthat I feel I have only to suggest this little point to you once more to make sure of your full acquiescence.â
âHem!â said he, âgood boy! go on!â
âI am sure, my dearest uncle [you confounded old rascal!], that you have no design really, seriously, to oppose my union with Kate. This is merely a joke of yours, I knowâ âha! ha! ha!â âhow very pleasant you are at times.â
âHa! ha! ha!â said he, âcurse you! yes!â
âTo be sureâ âof course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all that Kate and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us with your advice asâ âas regards the timeâ âyou know, uncleâ âin short, when will it be most convenient for yourself, that the wedding shallâ âshallâ âcome off, you know?â
âCome off, you scoundrel!â âwhat do you mean by that?â âBetter wait till it goes on.â
âHa! ha! ha!â âhe! he! he!â âhi! hi! hi!â âho! ho! ho!â âhu! hu! hu!â âoh, thatâs good!â âoh, thatâs capitalâ âsuch a wit! But all we want just now, you know, uncle, is that you would indicate the time precisely.â
âAh!â âprecisely?â
âYes, uncleâ âthat is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself.â
âWouldnât it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at randomâ âsome time within a year or so, for example?â âmust I say precisely?â
âIf you please, uncleâ âprecisely.â
âWell, then, Bobby, my boyâ âyouâre a fine fellow, arenât you?â âsince you will have the exact time Iâllâ âwhy Iâll oblige you for once.â
âDear uncle!â
âHush, sir!â [drowning my voice]â ââIâll oblige you for once. You shall have my consentâ âand the plum, we musânât forget the plumâ âlet me see! when shall it be? Todayâs Sundayâ âisnât it? Well, then, you shall be married preciselyâ âprecisely, now mind!â âwhen three Sundays come together in a week! Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and her plum when three Sundays come together in a weekâ âbut not till thenâ âyou young scapegraceâ ânot till then, if I die for it. You know meâ âIâm a man of my wordâ ânow be off!â Here he swallowed his bumper of port, while I rushed from the room in despair.
A very âfine old English gentleman,â was my granduncle Rumgudgeon, but unlike him of the song, he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy, pompous, passionate semicircular somebody, with a red nose, a thick
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