Derniers Contes

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 52

son chien, et proteste qu'il est pret a faire honneur a son
obligation--aussitot qu'on pourra en fournir une preuve evidente.

Voici une filouterie assez mesquine. Une dame est insultee dans la rue
par le compere d'un filou. Le filou lui-meme vole au secours de la dame,
et, apres avoir rosse son ami d'importance, insiste pour accompagner la
dame jusqu'a sa porte. Il s'incline, la main sur son coeur, et lui dit
tres respectueusement adieu. La dame invite son sauveur a la suivre,
disant qu'elle va le presenter a son grand frere et a son papa. Le
sauveur soupire et decline l'invitation. "N'y a-t-il donc aucun moyen,
murmure-t-elle, de vous prouver ma reconnaissance?"

"Si, madame, il y en a un. Veuillez etre assez bonne pour me preter une
couple de shillings."

Dans la premiere emotion du moment, la dame songe a disparaitre
sur-le-champ. Apres y avoir pense deux fois, cependant, elle ouvre sa
bourse et s'execute. C'est la, dis-je, une filouterie mesquine--car il
faut que la moitie de la somme empruntee soit payee au monsieur qui a eu
la peine d'insulter la dame, et d'etre rosse par dessus le marche pour
l'avoir insultee.

Autre filouterie mesquine, mais toujours scientifique. Le filou
s'approche du comptoir d'une taverne et demande deux cordes de tabac. On
les lui donne, quand tout a coup apres les avoir rapidement examinees,
il se met a dire:

"Ce tabac n'est pas de mon gout. Reprenez-le et donnez-moi a la place un
verre de grog."

Le grog servi et avale, le filou gagne la porte pour s'en aller. Mais la
voix du tavernier l'arrete:

"Je crois, monsieur, que vous avez oublie de payer votre grog."

"Payer mon grog!--Ne vous ai-je pas donne le tabac en retour? Que vous
faut-il de plus?"

"Mais, s'il vous plait, monsieur je ne me souviens pas que vous ayez
paye le tabac."

"Que voulez-vous dire par la, coquin?--Ne vous ai-je pas rendu votre
tabac? Attendez-vous que je vous paie ce que je n'ai pas pris?

"Mais, monsieur," dit le marchand, ne sachant plus que dire, "mais,

"Il n'y a pas de mais qui tienne, monsieur," interrompt le filou,
faisant semblant d'entrer dans une grande colere, et fermant la porte
avec violence derriere lui, "il n'y a pas de mais qui tienne, nous
connaissons vos tours d'escamotage."

Voici encore une tres habile filouterie, qui se recommande surtout par
sa simplicite. Une bourse a ete perdue; et celui qui l'a perdue fait
inserer dans les journaux du jour un avertissement accompagne d'une
description tres detaillee.

Aussitot notre filou de copier les details de l'avertissement, en
changeant l'en-tete, la phraseologie generale, et l'adresse. Par
exemple, l'original, long et verbeux, porte cet

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Text Comparison with The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Including Essays on Poetry

Page 12
If it be true, as alleged, that several of his brother cadets aided his efforts by subscribing for his little work, there is some possibility that a few dollars rewarded this latest venture.
Page 16
" But a change came o'er the spirit of his dream! His severance from 'Graham's', owing to we know not what causes, took place, and his fragile schemes of happiness faded as fast as the sunset.
Page 57
Page 58
Politian is expected Hourly in Rome--Politian, Earl of Leicester! We'll have him at the wedding.
Page 70
Alas! alas! I _cannot_ die, having within my heart So keen a relish for the beautiful As hath.
Page 79
Politian! _Pol_.
Page 83
_What_ didst thou say? What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar? With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes Laden from yonder bowers!--a fairer day, Or one more worthy Italy, methinks No mortal eyes have seen!--_what_ said the Count? _Bal_.
Page 90
Be not, my son, Too positive again.
Page 92
[_Politian bows haughtily_.
Page 101
Page 108
The rhythmical number Which lull'd him to rest?" Spirits in wing, and angels to the view, A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro', Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight-- Seraphs in all but "Knowledge," the keen light That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds afar, O death! from eye of God upon that star; Sweet was that error--sweeter still that death-- Sweet was that error--ev'n with _us_ the breath Of Science dims the mirror of our joy-- To them 'twere the Simoom, and would destroy-- For what (to them) availeth it to know That Truth is Falsehood--or that Bliss is Woe? Sweet was their death--with them to die was rife With the last ecstasy of satiate life-- Beyond that death no immortality-- But sleep that pondereth and is not "to be"-- And there--oh! may my weary spirit dwell-- Apart from Heaven's Eternity--and yet how far from Hell! [26] What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn? But two: they fell: for heaven no grace imparts To those who hear not for their beating hearts.
Page 116
I reached my home--my home no more-- For all had flown who made it so.
Page 141
I fancied that each shadow, as the sun descended lower and lower, separated itself sullenly from the trunk that gave it birth, and thus became absorbed by the stream, while other shadows issued momently from the trees, taking the place of their predecessors thus entombed.
Page 142
" And again the boat appeared and the Fay, but about the attitude of the latter there was more of care and uncertainty and less of elastic joy.
Page 148
There were periods in each of the five or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolution when arose some vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those principles whose truth appears now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly obvious --principles which should have taught our race to submit to the guidance of the natural laws rather than attempt their control.
Page 174
_That_ pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating, and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the Beautiful.
Page 176
The rhythmical flow here is even voluptuous--nothing could be more melodious.
Page 178
These will necessarily speak for themselves.
Page 188
Within this limit, the extent of a poem may be made to bear mathematical relation to its merit--in other words, to the excitement or elevation--again, in other words, to the degree of the true poetical effect which it is capable of inducing; for it is clear that the brevity must be in direct ratio of the intensity of the intended effect--this, with one proviso--that a certain degree of duration is absolutely requisite for the production of any effect at all.
Page 193
It has an indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention, and, of course, must not be confounded with mere unity of place.