Chapter 16 Ligeia

In it there is a will, and the will is immortal.Who knows the mystery and power of the will?God is a great will that permeates all things with its singleness.A mortal who has no weakness of will will never submit to angels, nor to death. ——Joseph Granville (Joseph Granville (1636-1680), British philosopher, priest, and writer. He is a theist and believes that everything is determined by the actions of God. The above inscription is not from Granville's hand, invented by Poe to match the central idea of ​​this article.) To be honest, when I told Ligeia (Ligeia, originally Greek, it means crisp throat. Poe Once in the poem "The Star" lines 258-259 wrote: "Ligeia! Ligeia! My beauty!" According to the American poet and critic Woodberry (1855-1930) , the author hears the evening wind and thinks of the harmony of all things in the world, and uses the three characters Ligeia to form the fairy in "Star"; I can’t remember how Miss met, when we met, or even where we met.That was many years ago, not to mention that I have experienced vicissitudes of life and my memory is bad.Otherwise, I can’t recall such details right now, maybe it’s because my sweetheart’s temperament, profound knowledge, elegant and stunning beauty, and the drunken whispers like flowing water and songs are subtly imprinted in my heart, so I didn’t notice it, and I didn’t notice it. don't know.But then again, I probably met her by chance in an old, run-down big city near the Rhine, and we've been seeing her often since.Her family background has indeed been talked about by her.Needless to say, it is a family with a long history.Ligeia!Ligeia!I am absorbed in a science more suited to oblivion than all others, and these three melodious words--Ligeia--make me seem to see her, when she is long gone .Right now, writing this article in my hand, I suddenly remembered that I don’t even know what her surname is. In fact, she is still my good friend, my fiancée, and later became my schoolmate, and finally became my love wife.Is it possible to jokingly say that this is my Ligeia?Or, is this the touchstone of my love, so I don't need to ask her last name?Or is it still my own fancy—a coquettish offering before the shrine of passionate love?This matter is only vaguely remembered in my mind, no wonder I have completely forgotten the cause and effect!Seriously, if that fairy named Merry—if she, the pale, cicada-winged fairy of idol-worshipping Egypt, Aihu Taufi (Aihu Taufi, there is no such god in Egyptian mythology, is suspected to be astarte According to "Astarte" is the Phoenician goddess of love and beauty, that is, "Astaroth" in the Bible.), as people say, it is in charge of bad marriages, so she must be controlling my life marriage.

Having said that, there is one precious thing that I have not forgotten.It was Ligeia's appearance.She was tall and slender, a bit delicate, and before she died, she was in limbo.It is delusional to ask me to draw her graceful and luxurious demeanor, to describe her infinitely light and graceful steps.She comes and goes without a trace, like a ghost.If it weren't for her hand on my shoulder, and her soft whisper like a song, I wouldn't have heard her enter my study room with the door closed.No girl in the world can match her beautiful face.Like the colorful dreams of drug addicts--the illusory dreams that are refreshing and pleasurable, compared to the sleepy Delos (Delos, one of the Cyclades Islands in the Aegean Sea. Legend has it that the god Apollo and Artemis were born.) Women's hearts The lingering fantasy is even more gorgeous.Pagan classics often falsely direct us to admiration for good looks, but she was not of that type.Bacon, Baron of Van Lulam (Bacon (1561-1626), British statesman and philosopher. He was named Baron of Van Lulam in 1621.) He said well about all forms and types of beauty, "well-proportioned If there is no difference in the middle, it is not enough to be called excellent color" (according to Bacon's original text, this sentence should be "If there is no difference in the well-proportioned, it is not enough to be called good color." "Good" (excellent) is changed to "excellent "(exquisite) is obviously a clerical error of Edgar Allan Poe.).Although I can see that Ligeia's appearance is not a correct classical beauty-although I can see that her beauty is really "excellent", and I also feel that there are many "odd spots" on her face, but if I think about it It is useless to see what is wrong and to find the "strangeness" in my mind.I gazed at the high, pale brow--it was flawless; how plain that word was for such a divine majesty!Then look at the skin similar to pure white ivory, the reserved and serene, wide and full heaven; then look at the shiny, thick and fluffy silk, and vividly tell Homer (Homer (born about 850 BC), ancient Greek epic poet, and the author of "The Odyssey.") type adjective "like hyacinth" ("like hyacinth", according to Greek mythology, Apollo fell in love with the beautiful boy Hycintos, and when the two played discus throwing, Apollo Unfortunately, Hecintos was killed and could not be revived, so his blood turned into hyacinths, and the words ai ai were printed on the petals. Usually this word is interpreted as white, but Homer used this word to represent black.) The whole meaning!I gazed at the onion nose, so gracefully contoured that it was only seen in the graceful reliefs of the Hebrews.The same smooth as creamy nose, the same dark aquiline bridge of the nose, the same nostrils with well-proportioned lines, exuding a bold and unrestrained spirit.I stare at the painful mouth.It was the pinnacle of perfection—the short, stately upper lip; the soft, alluring, mesmerizing lower lip; the joyous dimples, the bright red color of her lips; her calm, poised, yet radiant smile. , Rays of holy light shone on the teeth, and the surprisingly bright teeth reflected the rays of holy light.I looked at the chin—I also saw the Greek chin, broad and round, soft and majestic, full and refined—this outline, the god Apollo (Apollo, in Greek mythology) The son of Zeus and Leto, the god of prophecy, medicine, and literature.) Only in a dream did the son of the Athenians, Cliomini (Cliomini, the famous sculptor of Athens in the third century. Medici’s Venus statue for its famous work.) See.So I fixed on Ligeia's large eyes.

There was no such pair of eyes in ancient times.My sweetheart's eyes probably also harbored the secret mentioned by Baron van Lulam.Admittedly, the average eye of our race is not that big.Not even the roundest antelope eyes (antelope eyes, referring to gentle brown eyes.) among the people of Noyehad Valley (Noyehad Valley, source unknown, suspected to be invented by Poe.) are not so round.But then again, it was only in moments of euphoria that this characteristic was often evident in Ligeia.When encountering such a moment, her beauty is that of the jade girl in the sky, the kind of fairy outside the world—the Huoli in Turkish mythology (Huoli, the goddess of heaven in Islam, is famous for her eternal youth and beauty. It is said that it is composed of musk and made of spices. Every pious Mohammedan gets twelve halberds.) That kind of thing; maybe it's just my imagination that makes it look like that.The pupils are black and shining, and the long black eyelashes cover the eyes.The eyebrows are not neatly grown, and they are also so black.However, the "unusual points" seen in the eyes are completely different in nature from the appearance, color, and expression of the face. In the final analysis, there must be "unusual points" in the expression.Ah, what a meaningless word look!We hide our ignorance of spirituality by simply uttering this broad word.Ligeia's eyes!How absorbed and silent I have been thinking for a whole half day!How absorbed I have been in trying to understand all through a midsummer evening!Hidden deep in the eyes of my sweetheart - the well of Democritus (Democritus (before 460?—before 362?), an ancient Greek philosopher. He said: "The truth is at the bottom of the well", the so-called The "well" refers to the space in which atoms move in his imagination.) It is also profound—what is it?What is it?All I wanted was to expose the secret.Those eyes!Those big, bright, beautiful eyes!Those eyes became Leda in my mind (Leda, the wife of King Tyndarius of Sparta in Greek mythology. Zeus loved her beauty, seduced her, and gave birth to two eggs, one of which turned into Helen; the other turned into Castor and Polyducus, twin stars of the constellation Gemini.) I became the most zealous astrologer of those eyes.

There are many elusive abnormalities in psychology, and the most frightening ones are probably never mentioned in school lectures. This is when we try desperately to recall a long-forgotten past event, and often find that we are about to recall it, but the result is Still can't remember.When I look closely at Ligeia's eyes, I often feel that I am about to comprehend it completely—I feel that the eyes are about to be comprehended by me—but I don't understand it very well, and the result is finally inexplicable!It's strange to say, ah, it's an extremely strange mystery. I can see many similar things in the most ordinary things in the world.I mean, Ligeia's beauty crept into my mind and haunted me like a shrine, and after that, whenever I saw anything in the world, I had a feeling, whenever I saw her big, watery pair. Eyes, always this mood.But what kind of mood is it, I still can't explain it, I can't analyze it, I can't even speculate all the time.Let me repeat, sometimes when I look at a rapidly growing grape, staring at a moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, or a stream of water, I can see through this feeling.Seeing the ocean, seeing meteors falling, I have experienced it before.Seeing the eyes of an old man who is nearly seventy years old, I have experienced it before.Use a telescope to carefully illuminate one or two stars in the sky, especially the sixth-magnitude stars, double stars, and variable stars (referring to Vega.) near the big star in the constellation Lyra. I have realized it before.When I heard certain sounds of stringed instruments, I used to be filled with this feeling; when I read a few chapters in the book, I couldn't help being filled with this feeling from time to time.Among innumerable other instances, I particularly fondly remember a passage in a book by Joseph Granville that always makes me feel this way—probably only because the passage is oddly written; who can tell? ——"There is a will in it, and the will is immortal. Who knows the mystery and power of the will? God is a great will, which permeates all things with its unique characteristics. If no mortal has the defect of weak will, he will never surrender Angels do not submit to death."

After a lapse of many years, after some review, I can really find out some of Ligeia's characters, which are somewhat indirectly related to this section of the article by the British ethicist (referring to Joseph Granville.).Her single-mindedness in thinking, in acting, in talking, was perhaps the product, or at least the reflection, of that marvelous will, of which no other more concrete indications had come from our long intercourse.She was the only woman I had ever known, Ligeia, who was outwardly composed and always composed, and tormented by a passion so overwhelming.This enthusiasm, I can't estimate, or only by the amazingly large eyes, which amazed me so much; by the clear, calm, cadenced, almost enchanted intonation of her quiet voice ; with her usual aggressive speech (compared with her speaking air, the aggressive force is more obvious), perhaps it can be estimated.

Ligeia's learning was mentioned above: it is so profound that I have never heard of such learning in a ladylike woman.She was fluent in classical languages; as far as my knowledge of modern European dialects was concerned, I never saw her stumped at all.Indeed, on any subject of reverence--because it was the deepest of the college's vaunted learning--had Ligeia ever been found stumped?Only in these recent years has this feature of the wife been so unusual, and so thrilling, that it demands one's full attention!As mentioned above, I have never heard of a lady with such knowledge, but where in the world is there a man who dabbles in psychology, physics, mathematics, physics, etc., and has achieved outstanding results?I didn't know at the time that Ligeia's talents were astounding, and I only realized it now; but at the time I knew that she had the supreme power to control me, and I felt at ease like a child, allowing her to guide me to study the mysterious and the mysterious. Xuan's metaphysics; during the years after marriage, it was metaphysics that I studied tirelessly.Just as I was studying knowledge that few people explored——that few people knew about it, she leaned on me. I was so proud, joyful, and full of beautiful longings. The long, untouched and glorious road can reach the end of knowledge. This kind of knowledge is so precious that people cannot help but study it.

So, after a few years, how much sorrow must have been in my heart to see those well-founded hopes blown away in a gust of wind!Without Ligeia, I was but a child, groping in the dark.With her in front of me, just listening to her explanation, the transcendentalism (transcendentalism, which was created by the German philosopher Kant (1724-1804) ), he combined time, space, causality, inevitability and other categories and basic principles of logic. Known as a form of cognition beyond the scope of experience.) Many difficulties in this are easily solved.Without her shining eyes, the gleaming gold letters were paler than lead.But now it's becoming more and more rare for those eyes to cum on the books I'm familiar with.Ligeia is ill.The bewildered eyes shone brightly; the pale fingers were a corpse-like sallow; the blue veins on the high forehead rose and fell with the most delicate emotions.I saw in my eyes that she was going to die—and in my heart I was desperately fighting against the hideous impermanence.But I never expected that my amorous wife would fight death more fiercely than me.Her ruthless character is enough to convince me that, in her mind, death is never terrible;-but it is not the case.The fiery resistance she desperately fought against the god of death cannot be described by pen and ink.Seeing this miserable state, I sighed in pain.I really want to comfort her, I really want to persuade her; but she really wants to live—want to live—just wants to live—to comfort her, persuade her, that would be stupid.Although her burning heart was tossing and tossing, until the last moment, her seemingly calm attitude remained unchanged.The voice grew softer--lower--and she whispered something, the grotesque significance of which I will not dwell on.I listened dazedly, in a trance, listening to the extraordinary voiceless sound——listening to the delusions and hopes that have never existed in the world.

She loves me, there is no need to doubt it; in her kind of breast, love is unusual, that is also evident.However, it was only at the time of her death that I was completely moved by the deep and great affection for her.For a whole half a day, she held my hand tightly and poured out her heartfelt songs face to face. The infatuation in her heart that is as strong as passionate love is no different from true love.How can I deserve to hear it? ——How should I be so unlucky to meet the moment when my sweetheart pours out his heart (some versions, such as Collier's version, this sentence is "meet the moment when I pour out my heart". This article is translated from the Nove version.), unexpectedly seeing She passed away?It is too much to bear to dwell on it.Let's just say it, man!Seeing Ligeia's passionate love for someone who should not be loved and who is not worthy of being loved, she finally saw that her life was coming to an end, and she wanted to live with a sincere longing.This burning desire, this burning desire to live, just to live, I have no power to describe, I have no words to express.

On the night of her death, in the middle of the night, she couldn't help but invite me to her side and asked me to reread a poem she wrote a few days ago.I complied.The content is as follows - look!It's a night of revelry, in dreary old age! The protagonist is the "Poison Gu Overlord". (In 1838, when the author first published this article, the above verse did not exist. The poem was first published in Graham's Magazine in January 1843 under the title "The King of Poison Gu". In four or five years, the author slightly changed the whole poem (such as changing the word "obscure" in the thirteenth line to "invisible", the last paragraph "dying" to "shuddering", "haggard" to "whitening", etc. ), insert this article, and publish it later.) "Ah, my God!" I finished reading this poem, and Ligeia jumped up, raised her hands like a frightened wind, and cried in a half-scream, "Ah, My God! Oh, my God!—Is this always going to be the same?—Is this overlord never going to be king? Are we not your flesh and blood, God? Who... knows the mystery of the will and its power? No defect of weakness of will, never subject to angels, nor to death."

At this time, she seemed to have vented her full of resentment, exhausted, her two snow-white arms were put down, and she went back to the bed to die with a serious face.As he was dying, there were still words in his mouth.I bent down and listened with my ears, and it turned out to be the last sentence in Granville's article: "If a mortal has no defect of weakness of will, he will never submit to angels, nor will he submit to death." She died—and my heart was broken with grief, and I couldn't bear to live alone in that gloomy ruined city on the Rhine.I have no shortage of what the world calls wealth.Ligeia has brought me far more wealth than mortals are usually destined to enjoy, much more.Therefore, after two or three months of weary wandering, I finally bought a monastery in a deserted and sparsely populated place in the beautiful and beautiful England, and repaired it.The name of the temple is not mentioned.I was so hopeless that I came to this isolated and remote village; this desolate majestic mansion, this desolate manor, and many sad souvenirs related to the mansion and manor, which have a long history, are all the same. My disillusioned mood matched that.Although the exterior of the temple has not changed, and the green shade is withered and ruined, I am self-willed like a child. Maybe I have a glimmer of hope secretly, hoping to alleviate the sadness in my heart.This kind of stupid thing has been a habit since childhood, and now it seems that I have lived in a miserable old age, and I have started to do it again.My God, look at the grotesque flower curtains, the solemn Egyptian carvings, the grotesque borders and furniture, and the scrambled gold silk carpet, I think there are many symptoms of incipient madness!I have long been an addict, and both my work and my habits have the characteristics of an opium dream.But the pen must not turn away from detailing such absurdities.Let's just talk about a haunted room.In a moment of insanity, I worshiped at the altar, took that blue-eyed Miss Rowena Trevanon of Tremain, as bride, and as a substitute for Ligeia who haunted me, and went away. In that bedroom.

Right now, the structure and furnishings in the new house are all vivid.The bride's natal family is snobbish and greedy for money, but let such a lovely girl and a rich man step into such a decorated room, where is their integrity?As I have just said, I have memorized every detail of the room in my mind, but I am so sad that I forget the important events; there is no order and harmony in the whimsical arrangement, and there is nothing left. impression.This room is in the shape of a pentagon and is very spacious on a towering tower in a castle-like monastery.There was a single window on the south side--a huge piece of unbroken Venetian glass--only a window frame, painted blue-gray, through which sunlight and moonlight came in, casting a gloomy cast on everything in the room. of light.On the upper part of this large window a trellis was erected, with old vines climbing up the great wall of the tower.The dead oak ceiling, of immense height, arched, and fretworked, part Gothic, part Droi Droi believers who know magic and prophecy. Its pattern is five-point shape.), it is really strange and absurd.In the center of this desolate dome, hangs a long gold chain, hanging a huge Saracen (Sarasen, originally refers to the nomads in the desert between Syria and Arabia, and later refers to the Arabs who believe in Islam.) The golden censer, with thousands of holes and colorful sparks, is like a python, flowing in and out of the holes in the furnace. There are a few long couches and a few golden candlesticks around, all of which are in the oriental style.There was also an Indian-style couch—the acacia bed—low, carved in solid ebony, and hung with a coffin-like bed curtain.There are huge black granite coffins erected at the four corners of the bedroom, all of which were taken from the royal mausoleum opposite Luxor Excavated, the old coffin cover is full of patterns carved in unknown years and months.God!The most grotesque thing is the curtain in the room.The majestic four walls are really unattainable, even disproportionately high. From top to foot, huge and heavy curtains are hung one after another—the material of the curtains seems to be the same as that of carpets, bed curtains, and couch. The covers, the ebony bedcovers, the ribbed curtains that half-closed the windows were identical.It is all extremely luxurious gold cloth, covered with arabesque patterns (a wall decoration pattern admired by Arabs, which is called arabesque with branches, leaves and swirls intertwined.), or far or Closer, each cluster was about a foot in diameter, forming a dark pattern on the cloth.But it is only from one angle that it bears a certain authentic arabesque.After some design (this kind of design is currently popular in the world, in fact, it has existed in ancient times), these patterns appear infinitely varied.As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt it was a strange shape; but after walking a few steps, the strangeness gradually disappeared; turning east and west in the room, I gradually saw ghosts flowing around, or the superstition of the Normans. The one in the legend, or the one that appeared in the evil dreams of monks.A constant gust of wind blew violently behind the curtains, and the phantasmagorical sensation was multiplied tenfold—and everything in the room had a terrible, restless dynamism. In such a hall--in such a new house--I spent my honeymoon with the lady from Tremaine, and passed it carefree.I couldn't help seeing that my wife was afraid of my moodiness--seeing that she avoided me, and didn't really love me; but I was glad.I gritted my teeth with hatred for her, the kind of resentment only monsters have.For a moment I thought of Ligeia, my kinsman, my angel, my beauty, my dead wife, and what a pity I felt!I was fascinated by the remembrance of her purity, her wisdom, her sublime miraculous character, her gluey infatuation.So without any hesitation, he burned with a raging passion, even hotter than her.In the wild dreams after swallowing opium (because I am addicted to drugs), I will call her name aloud, or in the silence of the night, or in the daytime, in the hidden valleys and valleys, as if only my heart itch The elusive, passionate and sincere memory of a dead wife is like bringing her back to the path of life she has long since abandoned—oh, can it be like this forever? About the beginning of the second month of marriage, Miss Rowena suddenly fell ill, and she remained ill for a long time.The fever, which destroyed her health, kept her awake at night; and in the restless state of half-sleep she spoke of the sounds and movements of this chamber in the tower.I judged it to be nothing more than her fancy, or perhaps the influence of the phantom appeal in the room.At last she gradually recovered—healed at last.Unexpectedly, it didn't take long before she fell ill again, this time it was even more serious, and she fell into a lingering sick bed; her body was always weak, and after this illness, she has not improved since then.After this period, the disease is really serious, and the old disease relapses, which is very serious. The doctor tried all his medical skills and tried his best, but he couldn't cure him no matter what.This chronic disease is getting more and more serious, and it is obvious that it has entangled her tightly, and it is irreparable with manpower. I can see that her restless temper is also getting worse; The excitement is also getting stronger.She had spoken of voices--slight voices--unusual movements between the veils, and now she spoke of them again, more often and more persistently. One evening in late September, she brought this nagging problem to my attention.She just woke up from a chaotic dream, and I saw her thin face twitching non-stop, and I felt anxious and faintly afraid.I sat on an Indian divan near her ebony bed.She half-rises, and speaks earnestly in a low voice of the voices she heard, but I couldn't hear--of the movement she saw, but I couldn't see them.The wind was blowing behind the curtain, and I really wanted to tell her that the barely audible sound, the barely changing shadow on the wall, was caused by the wind blowing all the time, but let’s be honest, it didn’t even happen. I can't believe it myself.Having said that, seeing her pale face, I knew it in my heart, even though I tried my best to reassure her, it was still in vain.It looked like she was about to faint, but she didn't have a servant around her to handle.I remembered that there was a bottle of light wine prescribed by the doctor on the other side of the bedroom, so I hurried to get it.Unexpectedly, when I first arrived under the light of the censer, there were two amazing things that I couldn't help but notice.I just felt that something invisible but felt was passing by; I also saw a bright light from the incense burner, and there was a shadow on the golden carpet in the middle—a blurred shadow that looked like a fairy—this kind of Shadows may be mistaken for phantoms.But I was so drunk with so much opium that I just ignored it and didn't tell Rowena.I found the wine, went back to the other side of the bedroom, poured a glass, and brought it to the lips of the unconscious lady.Now she was a little bit awake, reached for the cup, and I sat down on a nearby long couch, watching her helplessly.At this moment, I clearly heard a slight sound of footsteps on the carpet near the bed; in the blink of an eye, Rowena was raising the glass to her mouth, when I suddenly saw three or four drops of glistening, bright red juice that seemed to flow from the room. From some invisible spring in the mid-air, it spilled into the wine glass; or maybe I was dreaming.If I saw it—Rowena didn't see it.Without hesitation, she drank the wine in one gulp. I held back and didn't say it. In my opinion, it all came down to seeing Miss Rowena frightened to death, swallowing opium, and three times. And at night, the imagination is very active, and the imagination is rich, which is bound to arouse this kind of association. But I couldn't cover my eyes, and when the few drops of red liquid were spilled into the wine glass, my wife's condition suddenly deteriorated; on the third night, the servants were going to bury her, and on the fourth day , I was left alone, with her quilt-wrapped corpse, sitting in the strange bedroom, my new house and hers. ——an absurd vision unfolded in front of him, the vision that can only be obtained after swallowing opium, flickering and blurry.Dazzled, I stared at the four sarcophagi in the four corners of the room, at the ever-changing patterns on the curtains, and at the multi-colored tongues of fire piercing in and out of the censer above my head.Thinking about the events of the previous few nights, I couldn't help but focus on the place under the light of the censer.I saw dim shadows there before, but they are gone now.Breathing in comfortably, I looked at the pale, stiff corpse on the bed.So Ligeia's countless deeds suddenly emerged one by one—in the blink of an eye, it was like a torrent, and the indescribable sorrow that surged up in my heart when I saw her wrapped in a quilt like this.The night is over; I still stare blankly at Rowena's body, and I still think bitterly of the only relative I am deeply infatuated with. It was about late at night, maybe a little earlier or a little later, I didn't pay attention to the time, and suddenly there was a sob in my ear, low, soft, but clear, I couldn't help waking up from the dream, I just felt From the ebony bed--from Rowena's deathbed.I couldn't help being superstitious, and I listened with fear to death-who knows that I never heard the second sound.I opened my eyes wide to see if there was any movement in the body-who knew I couldn't see it at all.It's not necessarily an illusion.No matter how soft the voice is, I have heard it, and my mind is not sober.I stared resolutely at the corpse.Nothing that could solve the riddle appeared.After a while, I finally saw clearly the sunken capillaries in the cheeks and on the eyelids, and suddenly a slight layer of red appeared, so faint that I couldn't see clearly.There was an indescribable fear in my heart, which cannot be fully expressed in mortal language. I just felt that my heart stopped beating and my hands and feet were stiff as I sat there.However, a sense of responsibility finally reassured me.I'm sure things were rushed too quickly—Rowena's still alive.but the tower was far from the servants in the corner of the monastery--and there were no servants at hand--could not call their help without leaving the room for a few minutes--and dared not leave.So alone, I tried my best to wake up this wandering soul.In less than a moment, the old disease undoubtedly relapsed; the blood on the eyelids and cheeks faded, leaving a white patch, which was even whiter than marble; In an instant it became sticky, cold, and disgusting; immediately afterwards, it became stiff again.I had risen from the bed, so startled, that I sank down again in a shudder, and was once again absorbed in thinking of Ligeia's ardent phantom. After an hour of this, I heard a faint sound coming from the bed for the second time—is it real?I listened—terrified.Here it comes again—a sigh.I hurried to the dead body, only to see that my lips were trembling, and I could see it clearly.In the blink of an eye, she stopped shaking, revealing a row of pearl-like white teeth.In my heart, I was just afraid, but now I am surprised, and I am flustered.I just felt that my eyes were dazzled and my mind was confused; it took all my strength to cheer up, and spurred by a sense of responsibility, I went to do the work of bringing the dead back to life again.At this time, the forehead, cheeks, and throat of the dead body were flushed; there was warmth all over the body; even the heart throbbed slightly.Miss Rowena is alive.I went to work with the utmost zeal; I scrubbed the temples and hands of the dead body, and did everything I could know from experience, without reading any medical books.Who knows that all the effort is wasted.Suddenly, the blood disappeared without a trace, the heart stopped beating, and the mouth showed a look of death. In a blink of an eye, the whole body was cold, a piece of gray, extremely stiff, and only bones were left. After a few days, he had already become a dead person All the hideous traits of her were revealed. I thought again of Ligeia's phantom--a faint cry sounded in my ears (how inconceivable that I am shivering while I am writing!)--and a faint whimper sounded from the ebony bed. came.But why dwell on all the unspeakable horrors that took place that night?Why switch to this horror of resurrection?Why bother to say that before the gray dawn comes, this horror drama is repeated again and again; the terrible relapse of the old disease time and time again, the result is nothing but an increasingly hideous death, which is obviously irreversible; ;Desperate again and again, the result is that there are always inexplicable and grotesque changes in the appearance of the dead body; why bother to describe all this in detail?Just finish writing the article quickly. Most of that terrible night was over, and she was dead long ago, but she was moving again--more violently this time than the previous times, though the resurrection was hopeless and more terrible than anything else.I hadn’t fought or moved a long time ago. I just sat stiffly on the couch, with all my emotions and desires emerging one by one. I was tortured helplessly, and the extreme fear in it was not terrible at all, and it didn’t drain my energy.Let me say it again, the dead body moved, this time more violently than the previous few times.The face was suddenly bloody, and this strength was unusual—the hands and feet were no longer stiff—if the eyelids were not still closed, if the corpse was not covered with bandages and drape, and it still looked like a gloomy corpse, I might One would think that Rowena really broke free from the shackles imposed on her by the god of death.But if this thought was not entirely true even at the time, at least it is certain that the cloaked monster really got up on the bed, his legs were weak, his eyes were closed, and he staggered like someone in a nightmare. As I walked, I floated into the room inch by inch, really (according to Nuofu's version, "boldly" is conspicuous here, and this article is translated from Faggin's version.), clear and clear. 我并没哆嗦——我并没动弹——因为那人形的神气、身材、举止，使我想起不少说不出的幻想，在脑子里匆匆打转，害得我反而麻木了——浑身冰凉，成了石头人。我并没动弹——只是怔怔地望着这个鬼怪。心里乱七八糟——翻江倒海似的平静不了。眼前站着的当真是活生生的罗维娜吗？当真是罗维娜——特瑞缅因那位秀发碧眼的罗维娜·特瑞梵侬小姐吗？何必，何必疑心呢？绷带不是紧紧扎在嘴边吗——这难道会不是活生生的特瑞缅因那位小姐的嘴？还有脸蛋——不是红艳艳的，就跟她妙龄时代一样吗——对，这确是活生生的特瑞缅因那位小姐的漂亮脸蛋。还有下巴，两个酒窝，就跟她健康时一样，难道会不是她的？——但话可说回来，难道病了以后，身体就会长高了？一想到这念头，我疯狂透顶了！一个箭步跳到她面前！她往后一缩，不让人碰着，听凭头上裹着的阴森森的寿衾掉下来，松开来，密密麻麻的一头蓬松长发，就飘拂在房里川流不息的空气中了；比深夜里的乌鸦翅膀还黑呢！这时，站在我面前的人形慢慢睁开眼睛。我出声尖叫了：“啊，至少我决不会——决不会弄错——这对滚圆的，漆黑的，惶惑的眼睛——是亡故的爱人的——是小姐的——是丽姬娅小姐的。”