Ιστορίες αλλόκοτες

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 64

το πνεύμα μοÏ
η σκέψις ν' αφαιρέσω την ζωήν από τον
γέροντα αÏ
τόν, και ν' απαλλαγώ τοιοÏ
τοτρόπως από το μάτι τοÏ
.

Επί τοÏ
παρόντος, ιδού το ζήτημα. Φαντάζεσθε ότι είμαι τρελλός,
αλλ' οι τρελλοί δεν γνωρίζοÏ
ν τίποτε! Έπρεπε να παρατηρήσετε,
έπρεπε να ιδήτε πόσον εστάθην σÏ
νετός κατά την διάρκειαν της
Ï
ποθέσεως αÏ
τής . . . . με πόσην προφύλαξιν, με πόσην πρόνοιαν, με
πόσην μÏ
στικότητα εξετέλεσα το έργον μοÏ
αÏ
τό. Ποτέ δεν εσÏ
μπάθησα
άνθρωπον περισσότερον από τον γέροντα αÏ
τόν καθ' όλην την
προηγοÏ
μένην εβδομάδα της δολοφονίας. Και κάθε νύκτα, όταν ήρχετο
το μεσονύκτιον, έστρεφα το ρόπτρον της θύρας τοÏ
και την άνοιγα!
ω! τόσον ήσÏ
χα! Και τότε, όταν το άνοιγμα ήτο αρκετόν διά να
περάση η κεφαλή μοÏ
, έβαζα μέσα ένα κρÏ
φοφάναρο, κλειστό, πολύ
κλειστό, διά να μη φεύγη κανένα φως, και τότε επερνούσα το κεφάλι
μοÏ
εις το δωμάτιον. Ω! θα είχετε γελάσει εάν εβλέπατε όταν έβαζα
το κεφάλι μοÏ
, με πόσην προφύλαξιν το έβαζα! Το επροχώροÏ
ν αργά,
πολύ αργά, διά να μη ταράξω τον ύπνον τοÏ
γέροντος. Έπρεπε να
παρέλθη τοÏ
λάχιστον μία όλη ώρα έως να χώσω το κεφάλι μοÏ
μέσα εις
την οπήν, αρκετά μακράν διά να τον ίδω αναπαÏ
όμενον επάνω εις το
κρεββάτι τοÏ
. Α! Πώς ένας τρελλός θα ήτο τόσον γνωστικός; Και
τότε, όταν το κεφάλι μοÏ
εÏ
ρίσκετο μέσα εις το δωμάτιον, άνοιγα το
φανάρι μοÏ
με προφύλαξιν, ω! με πόσην προφύλαξιν, διότι αι
στρόφιγγες έτριζαν — το μισάνοιξα τόσον, ώστε να είναι δÏ
νατόν το
πέρασμα μιας λεπτής δέσμης φωτός, την οποίαν διηύθÏ
να εις το
γύπειον μάτι. Και αÏ
τό, το επανέλαβα, επί επτά όλας νύκτα — κάθε
νύκτα το μεσονύκτιον ακριβώς. Αλλά πάντοτε εύρισκα το μάτι
κλειστόν και ούτω δεν ήτο δÏ
νατόν να θέσω εις πέρας τον σκοπόν
μοÏ
, διά τον απλούστατον λόγον ότι εκείνο ποÏ
με ετάρασσε δεν ήτο
ο γέρων αλλά το μάτι. Και κάθε πρωί, όταν εξημέρωνεν, επήγαινα
αποφασιστικά εις το δωμάτιόν τοÏ
, και τοÏ
ωμιλούσα ελεύθερα,
μεταχειριζόμεμος το όνομά τοÏ
με πολύ φιλικόν τόνον, και ερωτών
πώς είχε περάσει την νύκτα. Όπως λοιπόν βλέπετε καλά, είναι πολύ
αληθές ότι τίποτε δεν σÏ
νέβη απρόοπτον εις τον γέροντα, ώστε να
Ï
ποψιασθή ότι κάθε νύκτα, ακριβώς την δωδεκάτην ώραν, τον
παρετήροÏ
ν να κοιμάται.

Την ογδόην νύκτα, μετεχειρίσθην μεγαλÏ
τέραν αφ' ό,τι σÏ
νήθως
προφύλαξιν διά ν' ανοίξω την θύραν.

Ο ωροδείκτης ενός ωρολογίοÏ
προχωρεί ταχύτερον από το ιδικόν μοÏ

χέρι. Ποτέ, μέχρι της νÏ
κτός αÏ
τής, δεν είχα εις καλÏ
τέραν
κατάστασιν όλας τας πνεÏ
ματικάς δÏ
νάμεις μοÏ
, όλην μοÏ
την
φρόνησιν. Μόλις ήτο δÏ
νατόν να σÏ
γκρατήσω τα αισθήματά μοÏ
από
ικανοποίησιν. Σκεφθήτε ότι ήμοÏ
ν εκεί, ότι ήνοιγα την πόρταν λίγο-
λίγο και ότι ο γέρων δεν ήτο δÏ
νατόν να διανοηθή τας πράξεις
ούτε τας σκέψεις τας οποίας έκρÏ
πτα. Και όμως

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! .
Page 2
Hear the tolling of the bells-- Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats .
Page 3
And the people--ah, the people-- They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone-- They are neither man nor woman-- They are neither brute nor human-- They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells-- Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells-- To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To.
Page 4
the rolling of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells: To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-- Bells, bells, bells-- To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Page 8
" And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor .
Page 10
It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, Upon the upturned faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe-- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death-- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.
Page 11
Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a.
Page 13
All Beauty sleeps!--and lo! where lies Irene, with her Destinies! [Illustration: The Sleeper] O, lady bright! can it be right-- This window open to the night? The wanton airs, from the tree-top, Laughingly through the lattice drop-- The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully--so fearfully-- Above the closed and fringèd lid "Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, That, o'er the floor and down the wall, Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? Why and what art thou dreaming here? Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress, Strange, above all, thy.
Page 14
[Illustration: Ulalume] Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-- Our memories were treacherous and sere-- For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year-- (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber-- (Though once we had journeyed down here), Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Page 15
" In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust-- In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust-- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
Page 16
But were stopped by the door of a tomb-- By the door of a legended tomb; And I said--"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied--"Ulalume--Ulalume-- 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere-- As the leaves that were withering and sere; And I cried--"It was surely October On _this_ very night of last year That I journeyed--I journeyed down here-- That I brought a dread burden down here-- On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-- This misty mid region of Weir-- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Page 17
_THE CONQUEROR WORM_ Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres.
Page 18
[Illustration: The Conqueror Worm] _SONNET--TO ZANTE_ Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many scenes of what departed bliss! How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is No more--no more upon thy verdant slopes! _No more!_ alas, that magical sad sound Transforming all! Thy charms shall please _no more_-- Thy memory _no more!_ Accursèd ground Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!" _TO M.
Page 19
The Sephalica, budding with young bees, Upreared its purple stem around her knees:-- And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam'd-- Inmate of highest stars, where.
Page 21
their own-- Thy will is done, O God! The star hath ridden high Thro' many a tempest, but she rode Beneath thy burning eye; And here, in thought, to thee-- In thought that can alone Ascend thy empire and so be A partner of thy throne-- By wingèd Fantasy, My embassy is given, Till secrecy shall knowledge be In the environs of Heaven.
Page 28
Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining-- Whose solitary sole could make An Eden of that dim lake.
Page 31
_SONG_ I saw thee on thy bridal day-- When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee: And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see.
Page 32
[Illustration: Fairy-land] _THE COLISEUM_ Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length--at length--after so many days Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now--I feel ye in your strength-- O spells more sure than e'er Judaean king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars! Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones! But stay! these walls--these ivy-clad arcades-- These mouldering plinths--these sad and blackened.
Page 33
" _DREAMLAND_ By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule-- From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE--out of TIME.
Page 35
let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed-- And, _to sleep_, you must slumber In just such a bed.