Nouvelles histoires extraordinaires

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 162

d'un coeur tumultueux.

AGATHOS.--_Ils ne semblent pas, ils sont! ils sont_ rêves et passions!
Cette étrange étoile,--il y a de cela trois siècles,--c'est moi qui, les
mains crispées et les yeux ruisselants,--aux pieds de ma
bien-aimée,--l'ai proférée à la vie avec quelques phrases passionnées.
Ses brillantes fleurs _sont_ les plus chers de tous les rêves non
réalisés, et ses volcans forcenés _sont_ les passions du plus tumultueux
et du plus insulté des coeurs!




COLLOQUE ENTRE MONOS ET UNA

_Choses futures._
Sophocle--_Antigone_.


UNA.--_Ressuscité?_

MONOS.--Oui, très-belle et très-adorée Una, _ressuscité_. Tel était le
mot sur le sens mystique duquel j'avais si longtemps médité, repoussant
les explications de la prêtraille jusqu'à tant que la mort elle-même
vînt résoudre l'énigme pour moi.

UNA.--La Mort!

MONOS.--Comme tu fais étrangement écho à mes paroles, douce Una!
J'observe aussi une vacillation dans ta démarche,--une joyeuse
inquiétude dans tes yeux. Tu es troublée, oppressée par la majestueuse
nouveauté de la Vie Éternelle. Oui, c'était de la Mort que je parlais.
Et comme ce mot résonne singulièrement _ici_, ce mot qui jadis portait
l'angoisse dans tous les coeurs,--jetait une tache sur tous les
plaisirs!

UNA.--Ah! la Mort, le spectre qui s'asseyait à tous les festins! Que de
fois, Monos, nous nous sommes perdus en méditations sur sa nature! Comme
il se dressait, mystérieux contrôleur, devant le bonheur humain, lui
disant: «Jusque-là, et pas plus loin!» Cet ardent amour mutuel, mon
Monos, qui brûlait dans nos poitrines, comme vainement nous nous étions
flattés, nous sentant si heureux sitôt qu'il prit naissance, de voir
notre bonheur grandir de sa force! Hélas! il grandit, cet amour, et avec
lui grandissait dans nos coeurs la terreur de l'heure fatale qui
accourait pour nous séparer à jamais! Ainsi, avec le temps, aimer devint
une douleur. Pour lors, la haine nous eût été une miséricorde.

MONOS.--Ne parle pas ici de ces peines, chère Una,--mienne maintenant,
mienne pour toujours!

UNA.--Mais n'est-ce pas le souvenir du chagrin passé qui fait la joie du
présent? Je voudrais parler longtemps, longtemps encore, des choses qui
ne sont plus. Par-dessus tout, je brûle de connaître les incidents de
ton voyage à travers l'Ombre et la noire Vallée.

MONOS.--Quand donc la radieuse Una demanda-t-elle en vain quelque chose
à son Monos? Je raconterai tout minutieusement;--mais à quel point doit
commencer le récit mystérieux?

UNA.--À quel point?

MONOS.--Oui, à quel point?

UNA.--Je te comprends, Monos. La Mort nous a révélé à tous deux le
penchant de l'homme à définir l'indéfinissable. Je ne dirai donc pas:
Commence au point où cesse la vie,--mais: Commence à ce triste, triste
moment où, la fièvre t'ayant quitté, tu tombas dans une torpeur sans
souffle et sans mouvement, et où je

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