The Sphinx (Poe)
Short Summary
New York state, during a cholera epidemic. A young man accepted a relative's invitation to spend two weeks at his secluded cottage by the Hudson River, attempting to escape the city's devastating health crisis. Each daily report from the city deepened his fear, causing him constant melancholy and dread.
One afternoon, while reading by the window, he spotted a terrifying creature descending a distant hill. Terrified, he observed that it appeared enormous, larger than a naval ship, with massive wings, a proboscis, gigantic crystal-like antennas, and a death's-head symbol on its chest. When it let out a mournful cry, he fainted in sheer horror.
After recovering, he was reluctant to share this strange vision but eventually confided in his host. While recounting it, the creature reappeared. Panicking, he tried to direct his host's attention to it, but the relative saw nothing. He recounted, "I was now immeasurably alarmed, for I considered the vision either as an omen of my death, or, worse, as the fore-runner of an attack of mania. I threw myself passionately back in my chair, and for some moments buried my face in my hands."
I was now immeasurably alarmed, for I considered the vision either as an omen of my death, or, worse, as the fore-runner of an attack of mania. I threw myself passionately back in my chair, and for some moments buried my face in my hands.
Calmly, his host opened a book on natural history, read aloud about a tiny insect known as the Death's-headed Sphinx moth, and switched chairs with the narrator. From this different perspective, the narrator realized with deep embarrassment that the fearsome giant was actually a minuscule insect crawling along a spider's thread on the window—an optical illusion caused entirely by his mistaken sense of distance.
Detailed Summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
The Cholera Epidemic and the Narrator's Retreat
During a devastating cholera epidemic in New York, the narrator accepted an invitation from a relative to spend a fortnight at his cottage on the banks of the Hudson River. Despite having access to various summer amusements such as rambling in the woods, sketching, boating, fishing, and reading, their enjoyment was overshadowed by the grim news that reached them daily from the city.
Not a day elapsed which did not bring us news of the decease of some acquaintance. Then, as the fatality increased, we learned to expect daily the loss of some friend. At length we trembled at the approach of every messenger.
The narrator became completely consumed by thoughts of death, unable to speak, think, or dream of anything else. His host, though also depressed, attempted to maintain his composure and tried to lift the narrator's spirits. Unlike the narrator, the host possessed a philosophical intellect that was not affected by unrealities – he acknowledged genuine terrors but did not fear shadows.
Superstitious Thoughts and Ominous Feelings
The narrator's morbid state of mind was intensified by certain volumes he had found in his host's library. These books nurtured the seeds of hereditary superstition that lay dormant within him. He read them without his host's knowledge, which left the host puzzled by the strong impressions that had taken hold of the narrator's imagination.
One of the narrator's favorite topics of discussion with his host was the popular belief in omens. At this particular point in his life, the narrator was almost seriously inclined to defend such beliefs. They had lengthy debates on the subject, with the host maintaining that faith in omens was entirely groundless, while the narrator argued that popular sentiments arising spontaneously contained elements of truth.
It appalled, and at the same time so confounded and bewildered me, that many days elapsed before I could make up my mind to communicate the circumstances to my friend.
The Monstrous Apparition on the Hillside
Near the end of an exceptionally warm day, the narrator was sitting by an open window with a book in hand. His thoughts had wandered from the volume to the gloom and desolation of the nearby city. When he lifted his eyes from the page, they fell upon the naked face of a distant hill, partially denuded of trees by a landslide. There, he spotted what appeared to be a living monster of hideous form rapidly making its way down the hillside before disappearing into the dense forest below.
As this creature first came in sight, I doubted my own sanity — or at least the evidence of my own eyes; and many minutes passed before I succeeded in convincing myself that I was neither mad nor in a dream.
The narrator described the creature in meticulous detail. Judging by its size in comparison to the large trees it passed, he estimated it to be larger than any ship of the line in existence. The monster had a mouth situated at the end of a proboscis about sixty or seventy feet long and as thick as an elephant's body. Near the root of this trunk was an immense quantity of black shaggy hair, with two gleaming tusks projecting downward and laterally, resembling those of a wild boar but of infinitely greater dimension.
Extending forward parallel to the proboscis were two gigantic crystal staffs. The creature had two pairs of wings, each nearly one hundred yards in length and covered with metal scales. Most disturbingly, its breast featured a representation of a Death's Head, accurately traced in glaring white against the dark body. As the narrator observed this terrifying animal, he was filled with a sense of horror and impending doom that he could not suppress through reason.
Suddenly, the jaws at the end of the proboscis expanded, and the creature emitted a sound so loud and woeful that it struck the narrator's nerves like a death knell. As the monster disappeared at the foot of the hill, the narrator fainted.
The Second Sighting and the Scientific Explanation
Upon recovering, the narrator felt a strange reluctance to tell his host about what he had seen and heard. Several days after the incident, they were sitting together in the same room where the apparition had appeared, with the narrator occupying the same seat by the window. The association of place and time compelled him to finally recount the phenomenon to his host, who initially laughed heartily but then adopted an extremely grave demeanor, as if concerned about the narrator's mental state.
At that moment, the narrator caught sight of the monster again and, with a shout of terror, directed his host's attention to it. Despite the narrator's detailed description of the creature's path down the hillside, his host claimed to see nothing. This alarmed the narrator immensely, as he feared the vision was either an omen of his death or the precursor to an attack of mania. When he uncovered his eyes after burying his face in his hands for a few moments, the apparition had vanished.
The host, having regained his composure, questioned the narrator thoroughly about the creature's appearance. Once satisfied with the description, he sighed deeply as if relieved of a burden and began discussing various points of speculative philosophy. He particularly emphasized how a principal source of error in human investigations was the tendency to misjudge an object's importance by miscalculating its proximity.
I find it to be about the sixteenth of an inch in its extreme length, and also about the sixteenth of an inch distant from the pupil of my eye!
The host then retrieved a natural history book from his bookcase and asked to exchange seats with the narrator so he could better read the fine print. From the narrator's chair by the window, he read aloud a description of the genus Sphinx, a type of moth from the family Crepuscularia. The account mentioned that the Death's-headed Sphinx had caused much terror among common people due to the melancholy cry it utters and the death insignia on its body. Looking up from the book, the host exclaimed that he could see the creature ascending the window sash – it was merely a tiny sphinx moth crawling along a spider's thread.