Ιστορίες αλλόκοτες

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 7

ένα
κομμάτι καταμεσής τοÏ
μηρού τοÏ
.

— Ήτον ένας μεγάλος τρελλός, σÏ
μφωνώ, διέκοψεν ένας άλλος
σÏ
νδαιτÏ
μών. Αλλά δεν ηδύνατο κανείς να τον παραβάλη προς ένα
πρόσωπον, το οποίον όλοι γνωρίζομεν εκτός τοÏ
ξένοÏ
μας. Ούτος
ενόμιζεν ότι ήτο φιάλη σαμπάνιας και διαρκώς έφεÏ
γε κραÏ
γάζων πότε
ποÏ
μ και πότε πςς . . . ς, ως εξής:

Και ο διηγούμενος ταύτα έβαλε τον λειχανόν της δεξιάς χειρός τοÏ

εις το αριστερόν μάγοÏ
λον και κτÏ
πών αÏ
τό και πλαταγίζων την
γλώσσαν τοÏ
εζητούσε να μιμηθή τον κρότον, τον οποίον κάμνει η
σαμπάνια όταν αφρίζοÏ
σα εξέρχεται από την φιάλην. Ο τρόπος αÏ
τός,
όπως παρετήρησα, δεν έγινε και τόσον αρεστός εις τον κ. Μαγιάρ.
Αλλ' ούτος ων άνθρωπος τοÏ
κόσμοÏ
δεν απέδειξε το παραμικρόν και η
σÏ
νομιλία επανελήφθη από ένα μικροσκοπικόν άνθρωπον πολύ λεπτόν
και με μεγάλην περρούκαν.

— Και έπειτα, είπεν, ήταν ένας τρελλός, ο οποίος εφαντάζετο τον
εαÏ
τόν τοÏ
για βάτραχον και, μα την αλήθειαν, είχε μίαν
τρομακτικήν ομοιότητα προς το ζώον αÏ
τό, λÏ
πούμαι δε διότι δεν τον
είχατε ιδή, είπεν αποτινόμενος προς εμέ· θα καταδιεσκεδάζατε
βλέποντες με πόσην επιτηδειότητα και φÏ
σικότητα έπαιζε τον ρόλον
τοÏ
. Κύριε, εάν αÏ
τός ο άνθρωπος δεν ήτο βάτραχος, θα ήτο μεγάλο
κρίμα δύναμαι να το βεβαιώσω. Εκόαζε πάντοτε . . . κοάξ, κοάξ . . .
Έβγαζε την τελειοτέρα μοÏ
σική νότα, ένα πραγματικό &σι-μπεμόλ&.
Και όταν ακοÏ
μπούσε επάνω εις το τραπέζι με τοÏ
ς αγκώνας
τοÏ
(έτσι), αφού ερροÏ
φούσε ένα ή δύο ποτήρια κρασιού και άνοιγε
διάπλατα το στόμα τοÏ
(έτσι), σÏ
νέστρεφε τα μάτια τοÏ
(έτσι) και
τα μισόκλεινε (έτσι). Α, κύριε, σας βεβαιώ ότι θα εμένετε έκθαμβος
ενώπιον της μεγαλοφÏ
ίας τοÏ
ανθρώποÏ
αÏ
τού!

— Δεν έχω λόγοÏ
ς ν' αμφιβάλλω.

— Και έπειτα, λέγει ένας άλλος από τοÏ
ς σÏ
νδαιτÏ
μόνας, είχαμε και
έναν μπιρμπαντάκο, ο οποίος εφαντάζετο ότι ήτο μία πρέζα ταμπάκοÏ

και ο οποίος δÏ
σηρεστείτο Ï
περβολικά, διότι δεν μπορούσε να
περιλάβη τον εαÏ
τόν τοÏ
μεταξύ τοÏ
δείκτοÏ
και τοÏ
αντίχειρος,
όπως πιάνοÏ
ν τον ταμπάκο.

— Κ' έπειτα ο Ιούλιος ΝτεζοÏ
λιέρ! Τι παράδοξος τύπος!
Ετρελλάθηκε, διότι εφαντάζετο τον εαÏ
τόν τοÏ
νεροκολοκύνθαν.
Παρεκάλει αδιακόπως τον μάγειρον να τον ρίψη εις τον τέντζερην,
αλλ' ο μάγειρος, πειραζόμενος απ' αÏ
τό, δεν τον ήκοÏ
εν. Όσον δι'
εμέ, δεν βλέπω διατί, μα την αλήθειαν, ένα βραστό κολοκύνθι
ΝτεζοÏ
λιέρ δεν θα ήτο θαÏ
μάσιον φαγητόν;

— Με εκπλήττετε, είπα και έρριψα εις τον κ. Μαγιάρ ένα
ερωτηματικόν βλέμμα.

— Α! Α! Είπεν ούτος. Απλώς αστείο! ΗσÏ
χάσατε, κύριε. Ο κύριος
αÏ
τός είναι ένα πειραχτήρι. Δεν πρέπει να πάρωμεν κατά γράμμα τα
λόγια τοÏ
.

Ένας άλλος από τοÏ
ς σÏ
νδαιτÏ
μόνας μας διηγήθηκε το εξής:

— Ήτο και ο ΜποÏ
φών Λεγκράν, ένας πολύ έκρÏ
θμος εις το είδος τοÏ
.
Ο έρως εσάλεψε τα μÏ
αλά τοÏ
και τον έκαμε να πιστεύη ότι

Last Page Next Page

Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 2
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows: Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-- Of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- In the clamour and the clangour of the bells! IV.
Page 6
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore-- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Nameless here for evermore.
Page 7
" Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-- Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never--nevermore'.
Page 9
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride.
Page 12
And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out for ever And laugh--but smile no more.
Page 13
blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
Page 14
length of tress, And this all solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie For ever with unopened eye, While the pale sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold-- Some vault that oft has flung its black And wingèd panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals-- Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone-- Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within.
Page 17
Not that the grass--O! may it thrive! On my grave is growing or grown-- But that, while I am dead yet alive I cannot be, lady, alone.
Page 21
PART II.
Page 22
A dome, by linked light from Heaven let down, Sat gently on these columns as a crown-- A window of one circular diamond, there, Look'd out above into the purple air, And rays from God shot down that meteor chain And hallow'd all the beauty twice again, Save when, between th' Empyrean and that ring, Some eager spirit flapp'd his dusky wing.
Page 23
[Illustration: Al Aaraaf] Ligeia! Ligeia! My beautiful one! Whose harshest idea Will to melody run, O! is it thy will On the breezes to toss? Or, capriciously still, Like the lone Albatross, Incumbent on night (As she on the air) To keep watch with delight .
Page 24
On the harmony there? Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee.
Page 27
On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 29
Maris Louise Shew)] _EVENING STAR_ 'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves.
Page 30
The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the.
Page 31
Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamoured moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Which were seven,) Pauses in Heaven.
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 34
For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-- For the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis--oh, 'tis an Eldorado! But the traveller, travelling through it, May not--dare not openly view it! Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringèd lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
Page 35
From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved _I_ loved alone.
Page 39
I pass'd from out its mossy door, And, tho' my tread was soft and low, A voice came from the threshold stone Of one whom I had earlier known-- O, I defy thee, Hell, to show On beds of fire that burn below, A humbler heart--a deeper woe.