'Morella' by Edgar Allen Poe

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Itself, by itself, solely, one everlasting, and single.

WITH a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never before known; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the altar, and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She, however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream.
Morella's erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were of no common order- her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and, in many matters, became her pupil. I soon, however, found that, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, she placed before me a number of those mystical writings which are usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her favourite and constant study- and that in process of time they became my own, should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example.
In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And then- then, when poring over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden spirit enkindling within me- would Morella place her cold hand upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in upon my memory. And then, hour after hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the music of her voice, until at length its melody was tainted with terror, and there fell a shadow upon my soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon became Ge-Henna.
It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fichte; the modified Paliggenedia of the Pythagoreans; and, above all, the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling, were generally the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That identity which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the saneness of rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which we call ourselves, thereby distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our personal identity. But the principium indivduationis, the notion of that identity which at death is or is not lost for ever, was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense interest; not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them.
But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly, and, smiling, called it fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause, to me unknown, for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent; and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in, next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss.
Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella's decease? I did; but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days, for many weeks and irksome months, until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay, and, with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days and the hours and the bitter moments, which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined, like shadows in the dying of the day.
But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen.
"It is a day of days," she said, as I approached; "a day of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of earth and life- ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and death!"
I kissed her forehead, and she continued:
"I am dying, yet shall I live."
"The days have never been when thou couldst love me- but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore."
"I repeat I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection- ah, how little!- which thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live- thy child and mine, Morella's. But thy days shall be days of sorrow- that sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Paestum twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do the Moslemin at Mecca."
"Morella!" I cried, "Morella! how knowest thou this?" but she turned away her face upon the pillow and a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.
Yet, as she had foretold, her child, to which in dying she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no more, her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed, and I loved her with a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth.
But, ere long the heaven of this pure affection became darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange, indeed, was her rapid increase in bodily size, but terrible, oh! terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the development of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the adult powers and faculties of the woman? when the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy? and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye? When, I say, all this beeame evident to my appalled senses, when I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled to receive it, is it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, and in the rigorous seclusion of my home, watched with an agonizing anxiety over all which concerned the beloved.
And as years rolled away, and I gazed day after day upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and poured over her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy and the dead. And hourly grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more perplexing, and more hideously terrible in their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother's I could bear; but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity, that her eyes were like Morella's I could endure; but then they, too, often looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella's own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above all- oh, above all, in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror, for a worm that would not die.
Thus passed away two lustra of her life, and as yet my daughter remained nameless upon the earth. "My child," and "my love," were the designations usually prompted by a father's affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morella's name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter, it was impossible to speak. Indeed, during the brief period of her existence, the latter had received no impressions from the outward world, save such as might have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my own and foreign lands, came thronging to my lips, with many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and the good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which in its very recollection was wont to make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul, when amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man the syllables- Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven, and falling prostrate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded- "I am here!"
Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead rolled hissingly into my brain. Years- years may pass away, but the memory of that epoch never. Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine- but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only- Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore- Morella. But she died; and with my own hands I bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh as I found no traces of the first in the channel where I laid the second.- Morella.

Editor 1 Interpretation

Morella: A Dark Exploration of the Human Psyche


Edgar Allan Poe is renowned as one of the greatest writers of the horror genre, noted for his dark and unsettling tales that explore the deepest recesses of the human psyche. One of his most famous works is "Morella," a short story that delves into themes of obsession, grief, and the supernatural. In this literary criticism and interpretation, we will examine the plot, characters, and themes of "Morella" and explore how Poe uses his masterful writing skills to create a haunting and thought-provoking tale.

Plot Summary

"Morella" tells the story of a man who is haunted by the memory of his deceased wife, Morella. The narrator is consumed by grief and becomes obsessed with the idea that his wife's spirit lives on in their daughter, also named Morella. He believes that his wife's soul has been reincarnated in their child, and that he must protect her at all costs.

The story takes a dark turn when the daughter becomes ill, and the narrator becomes convinced that her illness is a result of his wife's spirit leaving her body. He becomes increasingly unhinged, and the story ends with a chilling twist that leaves the reader questioning the sanity of the narrator.

Character Analysis

The protagonist of "Morella" is a deeply troubled man who is consumed by grief and obsessed with the idea that his wife's spirit lives on in their daughter. He is a complex character who is both sympathetic and disturbing, as we see his mental state deteriorate throughout the course of the story.

Morella, the wife and daughter, is a mysterious and otherworldly figure who haunts the narrator's thoughts and actions. Her presence is felt throughout the story, even though she is only physically present in a few scenes.


One of the central themes of "Morella" is the idea of grief and its effects on the human psyche. The narrator is consumed by his grief over his wife's death, and his obsession with the idea that her spirit lives on in their daughter leads him down a dangerous path.

Another prominent theme in the story is the concept of the supernatural and the idea that the dead can communicate with the living. Poe explores this theme throughout the story, as the narrator becomes convinced that his wife's spirit is communicating with him through their daughter.

The theme of obsession is also prevalent in "Morella," as the narrator's fixation on his wife's memory and his daughter's well-being leads him to become increasingly unhinged.

Literary Analysis

Poe's writing style is masterful in "Morella," as he uses language to create a haunting and unsettling atmosphere. The story is filled with vivid imagery and poetic language, which adds to the eerie and foreboding mood.

One of the most striking aspects of the story is the way in which Poe portrays the narrator's mental state. The reader is able to see his descent into madness as he becomes increasingly obsessed with his wife's memory and his daughter's well-being. The use of first-person narration also adds to the sense of unease, as we are given a glimpse into the narrator's disturbed mind.

Poe also uses symbolism throughout the story to convey deeper meanings. For example, the repeated appearance of the name "Morella" represents the narrator's fixation on his wife's memory, and the use of mirrors symbolizes the idea of reflection and the duality of human nature.


"Morella" is a haunting and thought-provoking tale that explores themes of grief, obsession, and the supernatural. Poe's masterful writing style creates an eerie and foreboding atmosphere, and his use of symbolism adds depth and complexity to the story. The character of the narrator is both sympathetic and disturbing, as we see his mental state deteriorate throughout the course of the story. Overall, "Morella" is a classic example of Poe's skill as a writer and his ability to delve into the darkest corners of the human psyche.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Edgar Allan Poe is a name that resonates with anyone who has ever been a fan of horror literature. His works have been celebrated for their macabre themes, vivid imagery, and hauntingly beautiful prose. One of his most famous short stories, "Morella," is a perfect example of his mastery of the genre.

"Morella" was first published in 1835, and it tells the story of a man who marries a woman named Morella. From the very beginning, the story is shrouded in mystery and darkness. The protagonist is haunted by his wife's strange behavior and her obsession with the occult. As the story progresses, it becomes clear that Morella is not just a woman, but a force of nature, a symbol of death and decay.

The story is divided into three parts, each of which explores a different aspect of Morella's character. In the first part, we are introduced to the protagonist and his wife. The narrator is a man who is deeply in love with Morella, but he is also afraid of her. He describes her as "a woman of surpassing beauty" but also as "a being of evil." Morella is obsessed with the idea of immortality and spends her days studying ancient texts and performing strange rituals.

In the second part of the story, Morella gives birth to a daughter, whom she names after herself. The child is sickly and frail, and it becomes clear that she is a physical manifestation of Morella's own decay. As the child grows older, she becomes more and more like her mother, both in appearance and in temperament. She is intelligent and curious, but also cold and distant.

In the final part of the story, Morella dies, but her spirit lives on in her daughter. The narrator is haunted by the ghostly presence of Morella, who seems to be reaching out to him from beyond the grave. He becomes obsessed with the idea of reuniting with Morella, even if it means sacrificing his own life.

"Morella" is a deeply unsettling story that explores themes of death, decay, and the supernatural. It is a testament to Poe's skill as a writer that he is able to create such a vivid and haunting atmosphere with so few words. The story is filled with vivid imagery and poetic language, which adds to its eerie and unsettling tone.

One of the most striking aspects of "Morella" is the way in which Poe uses the character of Morella to explore the idea of female power. Morella is a woman who is both beautiful and terrifying, and she is not afraid to use her knowledge of the occult to achieve her goals. She is a symbol of the power that women can wield, even in a society that seeks to suppress them.

Another important theme in "Morella" is the idea of obsession. The narrator is obsessed with Morella, even after her death. He is willing to sacrifice everything to be with her, even if it means losing his own life. This obsession is a reflection of the larger theme of death and decay that runs throughout the story. Morella represents the inevitability of death, and the narrator's obsession with her is a way of trying to escape that inevitability.

In conclusion, "Morella" is a classic example of Edgar Allan Poe's mastery of the horror genre. It is a deeply unsettling story that explores themes of death, decay, and the supernatural. The character of Morella is a powerful symbol of female power, and the story is a testament to the enduring power of Poe's writing. If you are a fan of horror literature, "Morella" is a must-read.

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