"The Man of the Crowd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Poe Edgar Allan)

1850
THE MAN OF THE CROWD
by Edgar Allan Poe

Ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir etre seul.
LA BRUYERE.

IT WAS well said of a certain German book that "er lasst sich
nicht lesen"- it does not permit itself to be read. There are some
secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. Men die nightly
in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors, and looking
them piteously in the eyes- die with despair of heart and convulsion
of throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not
suffer themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience
of man takes up a burden so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down
only into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.
Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in autumn, I sat at
the large bow- window of the D-- Coffee-House in London. For some
months I had been ill in health, but was now convalescent, and, with
returning strength, found myself in one of those happy moods which are
so precisely the converse of ennui-moods of the keenest appetency,
when the film from the mental vision departs- achlus os prin epeen-
and the intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its everyday
condition, as does the vivid yet candid reason of Leibnitz, the mad
and flimsy rhetoric of Gorgias. Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and I
derived positive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources
of pain. I felt a calm but inquisitive interest in every thing. With a
cigar in my mouth and a newspaper in my lap, I had been amusing myself
for the greater part of the afternoon, now in poring over
advertisements, now in observing the promiscuous company in the
room, and now in peering through the smoky panes into the street.
This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and
had been very much crowded during the whole day. But, as the
darkness came on, the throng momently increased; and, by the time
the lamps were well lighted, two dense and continuous tides of
population were rushing past the door. At this particular period of
the evening I had never before been in a similar situation, and the
tumultuous sea of human heads filled me, therefore, with a delicious
novelty of emotion. I gave up, at length, all care of things within
the hotel, and became absorbed in contemplation of the scene without.
At first my observations took an abstract and generalizing turn. I
looked at the passengers in masses, and thought of them in their
aggregate relations. Soon, however, I descended to details, and
regarded with minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure,
dress, air, gait, visage, and expression of countenance.
By far the greater number of those who went by had a satisfied,
business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their
way through the press. Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled
quickly; when pushed against by fellow-wayfarers they evinced no
symptom of impatience, but adjusted their clothes and hurried on.