Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “Shadow. A Fable” (Study Text - Duane copy of the Southern Literary Messenger)


Texts Represented:

  • 1835-01 - Southern Literary Messenger (September 1835)
  • 1839-02 - Duane copy of Southern Literary Messenger, with Poe’s manuscript changes SLM-WMD (about 1839), made in anticipation of publication in Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque.


[page 762, column 2, continued:]

For the Southern Literary Messenger.



// 1839-02:



Ye who read are still among the living, but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass away ere these memorials be seen of men. And when seen there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron.

The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than terror {{1839-02: , }} for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies and signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those, nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the Heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among others {{1839-02: , }} it was evident {{1835-01: , }} that now had arrived the alternation of that seven hundred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries, the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, if I mistake not {{1835-01: , }} greatly {{1839-02: , }} made itself manifest, not only in the physical orb of the earth, but in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of mankind.

Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble hall, in a dim city by the melancholy sea, we sat, at night, a company of seven. And to our chamber there was no entrance save by a lofty door of brass: and the door was fashioned by the artizan Corinnos, and {{1839-02: , }} being of rare workmanship {{1839-02: , }} was fastened from within. Black draperies, likewise, in the gloomy room {{1839-02: , }} shut out from our view the moon, the lurid stars, and the peopleless streets — but the boding and the memory of Evil, they would not be so excluded. There were things around us and about of which I can render no distinct account — things material and spiritual {{1835-01: . Heaviness // 1839-02: — heaviness }} in the atmosphere — a sense of suffocation — anxiety — and above all, that terrible state of existence which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly living and awake, and meanwhile the powers of [page 763:] thought lie dormant. A dead weight hung upon us. It hung upon our limbs — upon the household furniture — upon the goblets from which we drank; and all things were depressed, and borne down thereby — all things save only the flames of the seven iron lamps which illumined our revel. Uprearing themselves in tall slender lines of light, they thus remained burning all pallid and motionless; and in the mirror which their lustre formed upon the round table of ebony at which we sat, each of us there assembled beheld the pallor of his own countenance, and the unquiet glare in the downcast eyes of his companions. Yet we laughed and were merry in our proper way — which was hysterical; and sang the songs of Anacreon — which are madness; and drank deeply — although the purple wine reminded us of blood. For there was yet another tenant of our chamber in the person of young Zoilus. Dead, and at full length he lay, enshrouded — the genius and the demon of the scene. Alas! he bore no portion in our mirth, save that his countenance distorted with the plague, and his eyes in which Death had but half extinguished the fire of the pestilence, seemed to take such interest in our merriment as the dead may {{1839-02: haply }} take in the merriment of those who are to die. But although I, Oinos, felt that the eyes of the departed were upon me, still I forced myself not to perceive the bitterness of their expression, and, gazing down steadily into the depths of the ebony mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous voice the songs of the son of Teios. But gradually my songs they ceased, and their echoes {{1839-02: , }} rolling afar off among the sable draperies of the chamber {{1839-02: , }} became weak, and indistinguishable, and so fainted away. And lo! from among those sable draperies where the sounds of the song departed, there came forth a dark and undefined shadow — a shadow such as the moon {{1839-02: , }} when low in Heaven {{1839-02: , }} might fashion from the figure of a man: but it was the shadow neither of man, nor of God, nor of any familiar thing. And {{1839-02: , }} quivering awhile among the draperies of the room, it at length rested in full view upon the surface of the door of brass. But the shadow was vague, and formless, and indefinitive, and was the shadow neither of man nor God — neither God of Greece, nor God of Chaldæa, nor any Egyptian God. And the shadow rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of the entablature of the door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but there became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the shadow rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the young Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having seen the shadow as it came out from among the draperies, dared not steadily behold it, but cast down our eyes, and gazed continually into the depths of the mirror of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking some low words, demanded of the shadow its dwelling and its appellation. And the shadow answered, “I am SHADOW, and my dwelling is near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal.” And then did we, the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and shuddering, and aghast: for the tones in the voice of the shadow were not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of beings, and, varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable, fell duskily upon our ears in the well remembered and familiar accents of many thousand departed friends.



For an explanation of the formatting used in this comparative text, see editorial policies and methods.

The changes made in this unique copy of the Southern Literary Messenger were verifed by J. A. Savoye and the current owner, Lawrence Fox, on August 21, 2011. Mabbott records verbal variants, but not usually minor differences, such as spellings and punctuation, which have been included in the present text. Poe’s changes are made in light pencil, which has faded over time (and in some cases may have been intentionally erased). As a consequence, some of the changes are difficult to read, but generally appear to agree with what was printed in Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, which has been helpful in clarifying some of the readings.

Because Poe’s changes here are made in a printed copy of the Southern Literary Messenger, the pagination of that edition has been retained in the present text.

The rows of asterisks, mostly marked for reduction in 1839, were eliminated entirely from the 1840 text.


[S:1 - JAS] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Tales - Shadow. A Fable (Study Text - SLM-WMD)