I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care Yet have never again found the Rue d’Auseil. Despite all I have done It remains an humiliating fact that I cannot find the house The street, or even the locality Where, during the last months of my impoverished life As a student of metaphysics at the university I heard the music of Erich Zann That my memory is broken I do not wonder For my health, physical and mental, was gravely disturbed Throughout the period of my residence in the Rue d’Auseil But that I cannot find the place again Is both singular and perplexing
I have never met a person who has seen the Rue d’Auseil I do not know how I came to live on such a street But I was not myself when I moved there I had been living in many poor places Always evicted for want of money Until at last I came upon that tottering house in the Rue d’Auseil Kept by the paralytic Blandot.
It was the third house from the top of the street And by far the tallest of them all My room was on the fifth story The only inhabited room there Since the house was almost empty On the night I arrived I heard strange music From the peaked garret overhead And the next day asked old Blandot about it He told me it was an old German viol-player A strange dumb man who signed his name as Erich Zann And who played evenings in a cheap theatre orchestra Adding that Zann’s desire to play in the night After his return from the theatre was the reason He had chosen this lofty and isolated garret room Whose single gable window was the only point on the street From which one could look over the terminating wall At the declivity and panorama beyond
Thereafter I heard Zann every night And although he kept me awake I was haunted by the weirdness of his music. Knowing little of the art myself I was yet certain that none of his harmonies Had any relation to music I had heard before And concluded that he was a composer of highly original genius. The longer I listened, the more I was fascinated Until after a week I resolved to make the old man’s acquaintance
One night, as he was returning from his work I intercepted Zann in the hallway And told him that I would like to know him And be with him when he played He was a small, lean, bent person With shabby clothes, blue eyes, grotesque Satyr-like face, and nearly bald head And at my first words seemed both angered And frightened. My obvious friendliness However, finally melted him
And he grudgingly motioned to me to follow him up the dark Creaking, and rickety attic stairs His room, one of only two in the steeply pitched garret Was on the west side Toward the high wall that formed the upper end of the street Its size was very great, and seemed the greater Because of its extraordinary bareness and neglect The abundance of dust and cobwebs Made the place seem more deserted than inhabited Evidently Erich Zann’s world of beauty Lay in some far cosmos of the imagination
Motioning me to sit down, the dumb man closed the door Turned the large wooden bolt And lighted a candle to augment the one he had brought with him He now removed his viol from its moth-eaten covering And playing from memory, Enchanted me for over an hour with strains I had never heard before Strains which must have been of his own devising To describe their exact nature Is impossible for one unversed in music They were a kind of fugue With recurrent passages of the most captivating quality But they were notable for the absence of any of the weird notes I had overheard from my room below on other occasions
Those haunting notes I had remembered And had often hummed and whistled inaccurately to myself So when the player at length laid down his bow I asked him if he would render some of them As I began my request the wrinkled satyr-like face lost the bored placidity It had possessed during the playing And seemed to shew the same curious mixture of anger and fright Which I had noticed when first I accosted the old man
I tried to awaken my host’s weirder mood By whistling a few of the strains To which I had listened the night before But I did not pursue this course for more than a moment For when the dumb musician recognised the whistled air His face grew suddenly distorted With an expression wholly beyond analysis And his long, cold, bony right hand Reached out to stop my mouth And silence the crude imitation
As he did this he further demonstrated his eccentricity By casting a startled glance toward the lone curtained window As if fearful of some intruder— A glance doubly absurd Since the garret stood high And inaccessible above all the adjacent roofs This window being the only point on the steep street As the concierge had told me From which one could see over the wall at the summit The old man’s glance brought Blandot’s remark to my mind And with a certain capriciousness I felt a wish to look out over the wide And dizzying panorama of moonlit roofs And city lights beyond the hill-top Which of all the dwellers in the Rue d’Auseil Only this crabbed musician could see
I moved toward the window And would have drawn aside the nondescript curtains When with a frightened rage The dumb lodger was upon me again This time motioning with his head toward the door As he nervously strove to drag me thither with both hands Now thoroughly disgusted with my host I ordered him to release me And told him I would go at once
My liking for him did not grow Though the attic room and the weird music Seemed to hold an odd fascination for me I had a curious desire to look out of that window Over the wall and down the unseen slope at the glittering roofs And spires which must lie outspread there Once I went up to the garret during theatre hours When Zann was away, but the door was locked What I did succeed in doing Was to overhear the nocturnal playing of the dumb old man
I would climb the last creaking staircase To the peaked garret And there I often heard sounds which filled me With an indefinable dread— The dread of vague wonder and brooding mystery It was not that the sounds were hideous for they were not But that they held vibrations Suggesting nothing on this globe of earth And that at certain intervals they assumed a symphonic quality Which I could hardly conceive as produced by one player Certainly, Erich Zann was a genius of wild power
As the weeks passed, the playing grew wilder Whilst the old musician acquired an increasing haggardness And furtiveness pitiful to behold He now refused to admit me at any time And shunned me whenever we met on the stairs Then one night as I listened at the door I heard the shrieking viol swell into a chaotic babel of sound A pandemonium which would have led me To doubt my own shaking sanity had there not come from behind That barred portal a piteous proof that the horror was real— The awful inarticulate cry which only a mute can utter And which rises only in moments of the most terrible fear or anguish
I knocked repeatedly at the door, but received no response Afterward I waited in the black hallway, shivering with cold and fear Till I heard the poor musician’s feeble effort To rise from the floor Believing him just conscious after a fainting fit I renewed my rapping, at the same time calling out my name reassuringly I heard Zann stumble to the window and close both shutter and sash Then stumble to the door, which he falteringly unfastened to admit me
This time his delight at having me present was real For his distorted face gleamed with relief While he clutched at my coat as a child clutches at its mother’s skirts Shaking pathetically The old man forced me into a chair whilst he sank into another Beside which his viol and bow lay carelessly on the floor He sat for some time inactive, nodding oddly But having a paradoxical suggestion of intense and frightened listening
Unmistakably he was looking at the curtained window and listening shudderingly Then I half fancied I heard a sound myself Though it was not a horrible sound But rather an exquisitely low and infinitely distant musical note Suggesting a player in one of the neighbouring houses Or in some abode beyond the lofty wall over which I had never been able to look Upon Zann the effect was terrible Suddenly he rose Seized his viol And commenced to rend the night with the wildest playing I had ever heard
I could now see the expression of his face And could realise that this time the motive was stark fear He was trying to make a noise; To ward something off or drown something out—what I could not imagine, awesome though I felt it must be Thne the shrieking and whining of that desperate Grew fantastic, delirious, and hysterical Louder and louder, wilder and wilder The player was dripping with an uncanny perspiration And twisted like a monkey Always looking frantically at the curtained window In his frenzied strains I could almost see shadowy satyrs And Bacchanals dancing and whirling insanely Through seething abysses of clouds and smoke and lightning. Then I thought I heard a shriller Steadier note that was not from the viol A calm, deliberate, purposeful, mocking note from far away in the west
At this juncture the shutter began to rattle in a howling night-wind Which had sprung up outside as if in answer to the mad playing within Zann’s screaming viol now outdid itself Emitting sounds I had never thought a viol could emit The shutter rattled more loudly, unfastened, And commenced slamming against the window Then the glass broke shiveringly under the persistent impacts And the chill wind rushed in Making the candles sputter And rustling the sheets of paper on the table Where Zann had begun to write out his horrible secret
I looked at Zann, and saw that he was past conscious observation His blue eyes were bulging, glassy, and sightless, And the frantic playing had become a blind, mechanical, Unrecognisable orgy that no pen could even suggest A sudden gust, stronger than the others Caught up the manuscript and bore it toward the window I followed the flying sheets in desperation But they were gone before I reached the demolished panes
I remembered my old wish to gaze from this window The only window in the Rue d’Auseil From which one might see the slope beyond the wall And the city outspread beneath It was very dark, but the city’s lights always burned And I expected to see them there amidst the rain and wind Yet when I looked from that highest of all gable windows Looked while the candles sputtered And the insane viol howled with the night-wind I saw no city spread below And no friendly lights gleaming from remembered streets But only the blackness of space illimitable
Unimagined space alive with motion and music And having no semblance to anything on earth And as I stood there looking in terror The wind blew out both the candles in that ancient peaked garret Leaving me in savage and impenetrable darkness With chaos and pandemonium before me And the daemon madness of that night-baying viol behind me I staggered back in the dark Without the means of striking a light Crashing against the table, overturning a chair And finally groping my way to the place Where the blackness screamed with shocking music To save myself and Erich Zann I could at least try
Whatever the powers opposed to me Once I thought some chill thing brushed me And I screamed But my scream could not be heard above that hideous viol Suddenly out of the blackness the madly sawing bow struck me I felt ahead, touched the back of Zann’s chair And then found and shook his shoulder in an effort To bring him to his senses He did not respond And still the viol shrieked on without slackening I moved my hand to his head Whose mechanical nodding I was able to stop And shouted in his ear That we must both flee from the unknown things of the night But he neither answered me nor abated the frenzy of his unutterable music While all through the garret strange currents of wind Seemed to dance in the darkness and babel
And when my hand touched his ear I shuddered Though I knew not why—knew not why till I felt of the still face The ice-cold, stiffened Unbreathing face whose glassy eyes bulged uselessly into the void And then, by some miracle finding the door and the large wooden bolt I plunged wildly away from that glassy-eyed thing in the dark And from the ghoulish howling of that accursed viol Whose fury increased even as I plunged Leaping, floating, flying down those endless stairs through the dark house Racing mindlessly out into the narrow, steep and ancient street All these are terrible impressions that linger with me
And I recall that there was no wind, and that the moon was out And that all the lights of the city twinkled Despite my most careful searches and investigations I have never since been able to find the Rue d’Auseil But I am not wholly sorry Either for this or for the loss In undreamable abysses of the closely written sheets Which alone could have explained the music of Erich Zann
[00:00.43]I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care [00:03.38]Yet have never again found the Rue d’Auseil. [00:08.92]Despite all I have done [00:10.12]It remains an humiliating fact that I cannot find the house [00:15.45]The street, or even the locality [00:18.36]Where, during the last months of my impoverished life [00:21.00]As a student of metaphysics at the university [00:25.05]I heard the music of Erich Zann [00:29.25]That my memory is broken [00:31.45]I do not wonder [00:32.77]For my health, physical and mental, was gravely disturbed [00:37.49]Throughout the period of my residence in the Rue d’Auseil [00:42.16]But that I cannot find the place again [00:44.06]Is both singular and perplexing [00:48.96] [00:48.99]I have never met a person who has seen the Rue d’Auseil [00:52.96]I do not know how I came to live on such a street [00:56.92]But I was not myself when I moved there [01:00.30]I had been living in many poor places [01:02.40]Always evicted for want of money [01:04.95]Until at last [01:07.05]I came upon that tottering house in the Rue d’Auseil [01:11.75]Kept by the paralytic Blandot. [01:13.55] [01:20.07]It was the third house from the top of the street [01:22.33]And by far the tallest of them all [01:25.84]My room was on the fifth story [01:28.44]The only inhabited room there [01:30.05]Since the house was almost empty [01:32.30]On the night I arrived I heard strange music [01:38.20]From the peaked garret overhead [01:41.04]And the next day asked old Blandot about it [01:44.73]He told me it was an old German viol-player [01:48.38]A strange dumb man who signed his name as Erich Zann [01:55.26]And who played evenings in a cheap theatre orchestra [01:59.56]Adding that Zann’s desire to play in the night [02:02.10]After his return from the theatre was the reason [02:05.45]He had chosen this lofty and isolated garret room [02:09.64]Whose single gable window was the only point on the street [02:13.14]From which one could look over the terminating wall [02:16.29]At the declivity and panorama beyond [02:21.23] [02:23.37]Thereafter I heard Zann every night [02:26.68]And although he kept me awake [02:28.13]I was haunted by the weirdness of his music. [02:31.37]Knowing little of the art myself [02:33.62]I was yet certain that none of his harmonies [02:36.12]Had any relation to music I had heard before [02:40.17]And concluded that he was a composer of highly original genius. [02:45.16]The longer I listened, the more I was fascinated [02:50.01]Until after a week I resolved to make the old man’s acquaintance [02:54.30] [02:55.74]One night, as he was returning from his work [02:58.61]I intercepted Zann in the hallway [03:01.62]And told him that I would like to know him [03:03.57]And be with him when he played [03:06.47]He was a small, lean, bent person [03:09.76]With shabby clothes, blue eyes, grotesque [03:13.87]Satyr-like face, and nearly bald head [03:18.16]And at my first words seemed both angered [03:20.67]And frightened. My obvious friendliness [03:23.11]However, finally melted him [03:24.83] [03:25.93]And he grudgingly motioned to me to follow him up the dark [03:29.08]Creaking, and rickety attic stairs [03:34.83]His room, one of only two in the steeply pitched garret [03:39.37]Was on the west side [03:41.56]Toward the high wall that formed the upper end of the street [03:44.89]Its size was very great, and seemed the greater [03:49.69]Because of its extraordinary bareness and neglect [03:53.66]The abundance of dust and cobwebs [03:54.99]Made the place seem more deserted than inhabited [04:00.18]Evidently Erich Zann’s world of beauty [04:04.37]Lay in some far cosmos of the imagination [04:09.50] [04:11.25]Motioning me to sit down, the dumb man closed the door [04:14.43]Turned the large wooden bolt [04:16.78]And lighted a candle to augment the one he had brought with him [04:21.67]He now removed his viol from its moth-eaten covering [04:25.81]And playing from memory, [04:27.77]Enchanted me for over an hour with strains I had never heard before [04:32.38]Strains which must have been of his own devising [04:36.48]To describe their exact nature [04:39.38]Is impossible for one unversed in music [04:42.78]They were a kind of fugue [04:44.77]With recurrent passages of the most captivating quality [04:50.04]But they were notable for the absence of any of the weird notes [04:53.17]I had overheard from my room below on other occasions [04:56.96] [04:57.46]Those haunting notes I had remembered [04:59.25]And had often hummed and whistled inaccurately to myself [05:03.35]So when the player at length laid down his bow [05:06.34]I asked him if he would render some of them [05:09.48]As I began my request the wrinkled satyr-like face lost the bored placidity [05:14.16]It had possessed during the playing [05:16.60]And seemed to shew the same curious mixture of anger and fright [05:21.25]Which I had noticed when first I accosted the old man [05:24.16] [05:25.36]I tried to awaken my host’s weirder mood [05:27.77]By whistling a few of the strains [05:29.36]To which I had listened the night before [05:32.33]But I did not pursue this course for more than a moment [05:35.99]For when the dumb musician recognised the whistled air [05:38.91]His face grew suddenly distorted [05:40.81]With an expression wholly beyond analysis [05:43.36]And his long, cold, bony right hand [05:46.90]Reached out to stop my mouth [05:48.59]And silence the crude imitation [05:50.64] [05:52.26]As he did this he further demonstrated his eccentricity [05:57.04]By casting a startled glance toward the lone curtained window [06:02.62]As if fearful of some intruder— [06:06.98]A glance doubly absurd [06:09.61]Since the garret stood high [06:11.63]And inaccessible above all the adjacent roofs [06:15.49]This window being the only point on the steep street [06:18.75]As the concierge had told me [06:21.05]From which one could see over the wall at the summit [06:24.69]The old man’s glance brought Blandot’s remark to my mind [06:31.38]And with a certain capriciousness [06:34.53]I felt a wish to look out over the wide [06:36.52]And dizzying panorama of moonlit roofs [06:40.53]And city lights beyond the hill-top [06:43.42]Which of all the dwellers in the Rue d’Auseil [06:46.61]Only this crabbed musician could see [06:49.51] [06:51.91]I moved toward the window [06:53.15]And would have drawn aside the nondescript curtains [06:55.39]When with a frightened rage [06:57.79]The dumb lodger was upon me again [07:00.37]This time motioning with his head toward the door [07:02.72]As he nervously strove to drag me thither with both hands [07:06.85]Now thoroughly disgusted with my host [07:10.00]I ordered him to release me [07:12.68]And told him I would go at once [07:18.34] [07:24.28]My liking for him did not grow [07:27.07]Though the attic room and the weird music [07:29.19]Seemed to hold an odd fascination for me [07:32.84]I had a curious desire to look out of that window [07:36.19]Over the wall and down the unseen slope at the glittering roofs [07:40.43]And spires which must lie outspread there [07:44.73]Once I went up to the garret during theatre hours [07:49.61]When Zann was away, but the door was locked [07:54.61]What I did succeed in doing [07:56.85]Was to overhear the nocturnal playing of the dumb old man [08:00.03] [08:01.48]I would climb the last creaking staircase [08:04.54]To the peaked garret [08:06.68]And there I often heard sounds which filled me [08:12.46]With an indefinable dread— [08:15.81]The dread of vague wonder and brooding mystery [08:22.75]It was not that the sounds were hideous for they were not [08:26.03]But that they held vibrations [08:27.81]Suggesting nothing on this globe of earth [08:31.05]And that at certain intervals they assumed a symphonic quality [08:36.88]Which I could hardly conceive as produced by one player [08:41.88]Certainly, Erich Zann was a genius of wild power [08:50.15] [09:01.78]As the weeks passed, the playing grew wilder [09:05.76]Whilst the old musician acquired an increasing haggardness [09:10.26]And furtiveness pitiful to behold [09:13.28]He now refused to admit me at any time [09:16.32]And shunned me whenever we met on the stairs [09:20.66]Then one night as I listened at the door [09:24.48]I heard the shrieking viol swell into a chaotic babel of sound [09:30.42]A pandemonium which would have led me [09:32.16]To doubt my own shaking sanity had there not come from behind [09:36.99]That barred portal a piteous proof that the horror was real— [09:43.30]The awful inarticulate cry which only a mute can utter [09:48.33]And which rises only in moments of the most terrible fear or anguish [09:55.89] [09:56.44]I knocked repeatedly at the door, but received no response [10:00.03]Afterward I waited in the black hallway, shivering with cold and fear [10:04.02]Till I heard the poor musician’s feeble effort [10:07.47]To rise from the floor [10:09.33]Believing him just conscious after a fainting fit [10:13.13]I renewed my rapping, at the same time calling out my name reassuringly [10:17.63]I heard Zann stumble to the window and close both shutter and sash [10:22.21]Then stumble to the door, which he falteringly unfastened to admit me [10:26.95] [10:28.40]This time his delight at having me present was real [10:32.24]For his distorted face gleamed with relief [10:34.54]While he clutched at my coat as a child clutches at its mother’s skirts [10:38.97]Shaking pathetically [10:39.99]The old man forced me into a chair whilst he sank into another [10:44.57]Beside which his viol and bow lay carelessly on the floor [10:49.51]He sat for some time inactive, nodding oddly [10:56.14]But having a paradoxical suggestion of intense and frightened listening [11:02.62] [11:03.32]Unmistakably he was looking at the curtained window and listening shudderingly [11:10.78]Then I half fancied I heard a sound myself [11:16.32]Though it was not a horrible sound [11:19.97]But rather an exquisitely low and infinitely distant musical note [11:26.16]Suggesting a player in one of the neighbouring houses [11:29.90]Or in some abode beyond the lofty wall over which I had never been able to look [11:34.59]Upon Zann the effect was terrible [11:41.88]Suddenly he rose [11:43.38]Seized his viol [11:44.68]And commenced to rend the night with the wildest playing I had ever heard [11:49.83] [12:00.45]I could now see the expression of his face [12:03.36]And could realise that this time the motive was stark fear [12:07.99]He was trying to make a noise; [12:09.58]To ward something off or drown something out—what [12:13.39]I could not imagine, awesome though I felt it must be [12:18.66]Thne the shrieking and whining of that desperate [12:22.70]Grew fantastic, delirious, and hysterical [12:26.46]Louder and louder, wilder and wilder [12:29.86]The player was dripping with an uncanny perspiration [12:32.99]And twisted like a monkey [12:34.60]Always looking frantically at the curtained window [12:38.29]In his frenzied strains I could almost see shadowy satyrs [12:41.82]And Bacchanals dancing and whirling insanely [12:44.64]Through seething abysses of clouds and smoke and lightning. [12:47.97]Then I thought I heard a shriller [12:50.84]Steadier note that was not from the viol [12:54.39]A calm, deliberate, purposeful, mocking note from far away in the west [13:01.91] [13:02.61]At this juncture the shutter began to rattle in a howling night-wind [13:06.70]Which had sprung up outside as if in answer to the mad playing within [13:11.48]Zann’s screaming viol now outdid itself [13:14.98]Emitting sounds I had never thought a viol could emit [13:19.91]The shutter rattled more loudly, unfastened, [13:18.44]And commenced slamming against the window [13:22.47]Then the glass broke shiveringly under the persistent impacts [13:26.61]And the chill wind rushed in [13:29.01]Making the candles sputter [13:30.86]And rustling the sheets of paper on the table [13:33.60]Where Zann had begun to write out his horrible secret [13:38.44] [13:38.64]I looked at Zann, and saw that he was past conscious observation [13:44.05]His blue eyes were bulging, glassy, and sightless, [13:47.95]And the frantic playing had become a blind, mechanical, [13:52.36]Unrecognisable orgy that no pen could even suggest [13:58.60]A sudden gust, stronger than the others [14:02.04]Caught up the manuscript and bore it toward the window [14:06.04]I followed the flying sheets in desperation [14:08.24]But they were gone before I reached the demolished panes [14:13.08] [14:17.07]I remembered my old wish to gaze from this window [14:20.01]The only window in the Rue d’Auseil [14:22.46]From which one might see the slope beyond the wall [14:24.70]And the city outspread beneath [14:27.34]It was very dark, but the city’s lights always burned [14:31.53]And I expected to see them there amidst the rain and wind [14:35.93]Yet when I looked from that highest of all gable windows [14:40.11]Looked while the candles sputtered [14:43.55]And the insane viol howled with the night-wind [14:46.70]I saw no city spread below [14:50.84]And no friendly lights gleaming from remembered streets [14:56.27]But only the blackness of space illimitable [15:00.72] [15:02.52]Unimagined space alive with motion and music [15:08.52]And having no semblance to anything on earth [15:14.25]And as I stood there looking in terror [15:17.54]The wind blew out both the candles in that ancient peaked garret [15:21.70]Leaving me in savage and impenetrable darkness [15:24.95]With chaos and pandemonium before me [15:28.10]And the daemon madness of that night-baying viol behind me [15:32.74]I staggered back in the dark [15:35.18]Without the means of striking a light [15:37.18]Crashing against the table, overturning a chair [15:39.84]And finally groping my way to the place [15:42.44]Where the blackness screamed with shocking music [15:45.82]To save myself and Erich Zann I could at least try [15:49.16] [15:50.17]Whatever the powers opposed to me [15:52.09]Once I thought some chill thing brushed me [15:57.31]And I screamed [15:58.56]But my scream could not be heard above that hideous viol [16:02.45]Suddenly out of the blackness the madly sawing bow struck me [16:07.69]I felt ahead, touched the back of Zann’s chair [16:12.12]And then found and shook his shoulder in an effort [16:15.41]To bring him to his senses [16:16.72]He did not respond [16:18.56]And still the viol shrieked on without slackening [16:22.45]I moved my hand to his head [16:24.40]Whose mechanical nodding I was able to stop [16:27.11]And shouted in his ear [16:28.71]That we must both flee from the unknown things of the night [16:32.21]But he neither answered me nor abated the frenzy of his unutterable music [16:37.39]While all through the garret strange currents of wind [16:41.38]Seemed to dance in the darkness and babel [16:43.97] [16:44.97]And when my hand touched his ear I shuddered [16:50.26]Though I knew not why—knew not why till I felt of the still face [16:56.86]The ice-cold, stiffened [17:01.51]Unbreathing face whose glassy eyes bulged uselessly into the void [17:10.55]And then, by some miracle finding the door and the large wooden bolt [17:15.35]I plunged wildly away from that glassy-eyed thing in the dark [17:20.09]And from the ghoulish howling of that accursed viol [17:23.44]Whose fury increased even as I plunged [17:27.18]Leaping, floating, flying down those endless stairs through the dark house [17:32.42]Racing mindlessly out into the narrow, steep and ancient street [17:37.82]All these are terrible impressions that linger with me [17:41.41] [17:45.30]And I recall that there was no wind, and that the moon was out [17:52.44]And that all the lights of the city twinkled [17:58.68]Despite my most careful searches and investigations [18:02.22]I have never since been able to find the Rue d’Auseil [18:06.96]But I am not wholly sorry [18:11.05]Either for this or for the loss [18:14.64]In undreamable abysses of the closely written sheets [18:18.68]Which alone could have explained the music of Erich Zann
