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  • Nyarlathotep by H. P. Lovecraft

  • Nyarlathotep...the crawling chaos... I am the last... I will tell the audient

  • void...

  • I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago.

  • The general tension was horrible.

  • To a season of political and social upheaval was added a

  • strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger;

  • a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the

  • most terrible phantasms of the night.

  • I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces,

  • and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared

  • consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard.

  • A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept

  • chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places.

  • There was a demoniac alteration in the sequence of the seasons

  • the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps

  • the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces

  • to that of gods or forces which were unknown.

  • And it was then that Nyarlathotep came out of Egypt.

  • Who he was, none could tell,

  • but he was of the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh.

  • The fellahin knelt when they saw him, yet could not say why.

  • He said he had risen up out of the blackness of twenty-seven

  • centuries, and that he had heard messages from places

  • not on this planet.

  • Into the lands of civilisation came Nyarlathotep, swarthy,

  • slender, and sinister,

  • always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and

  • combining them into instruments yet stranger.

  • He spoke much of the sciences of electricity and psychology

  • and gave exhibitions of power which sent his spectators away

  • speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude.

  • Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep, and shuddered.

  • And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished,

  • for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare.

  • Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a public

  • problem; now the wise men almost wished they could

  • forbid sleep in the small hours,

  • that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale,

  • pitying moon as it glimmered on green waters gliding under

  • bridges, and old steeples crumbling against a sickly

  • sky. I remember when Nyarlathotep came to my city

  • the great, the old,

  • the terrible city of unnumbered crimes.

  • My friend had told me of him, and of the impelling fascination and allurement

  • of his revelations,

  • and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries.

  • My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my

  • most fevered imaginings; and what was thrown on a screen in the darkened

  • room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared

  • prophesy, and in the sputter of his sparks there was

  • taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which

  • shewed only in the eyes.

  • And I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew Nyarlathotep

  • looked on sights which others saw not. It was in the hot autumn that I went through

  • the night with the restless crowds to see Nyarlathotep;

  • through the stifling night and up the endless stairs into the

  • choking room.

  • And shadowed on a screen, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins,

  • and yellow evil faces peering from behind fallen monuments.

  • And I saw the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate

  • space; whirling,

  • churning, struggling around the dimming,

  • cooling sun.

  • Then the sparks played amazingly around the heads of the

  • spectators, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more

  • grotesque than I can tell came out and squatted on the heads.

  • And when I, who was colder and more scientific than the

  • rest, mumbled a trembling protest about "imposture"

  • and "static electricity," Nyarlathotep drove us all out,

  • down the dizzy stairs into the damp, hot,

  • deserted midnight streets.

  • I screamed aloud that I was not afraid; that I never could be afraid;

  • and others screamed with me for solace.

  • We swore to one another that the city was exactly the same,

  • and still alive; and when the electric lights began to fade

  • we cursed the company over and over again,

  • and laughed at the queer faces we made. I believe we felt something coming down from

  • the greenish moon, for when we began to depend on its light we

  • drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and

  • seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of

  • them.

  • Once we looked at the pavement and found the blocks loose and

  • displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew

  • where the tramways had run.

  • And again we saw a tram-car, lone,

  • windowless, dilapidated,

  • and almost on its side.

  • When we gazed around the horizon, we could not find the third tower by the river,

  • and noticed that the silhouette of the second tower was ragged

  • at the top.

  • Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a different

  • direction.

  • One disappeared in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the echo of a shocking moan.

  • Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a laughter that was mad.

  • My own column was sucked toward the open country, and presently I felt a chill which was not

  • of the hot autumn; for as we stalked out on the dark moor,

  • we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows.

  • Trackless, inexplicable snows,

  • swept asunder in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering

  • walls.

  • The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into

  • the gulf.

  • I lingered behind, for the black rift in the green-litten snow

  • was frightful, and I thought I had heard the reverberations

  • of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished;

  • but my power to linger was slight.

  • As if beckoned by those who had gone before, I half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts,

  • quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the unimaginable.

  • Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious,

  • only the gods that were can tell.

  • A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are

  • not hands, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights

  • of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were

  • cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars

  • and make them flicker low.

  • Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things;

  • half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on

  • nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above

  • the spheres of light and darkness.

  • And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the

  • muffled, maddening beating of drums,

  • and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from

  • inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time;

  • the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly,

  • awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic,

  • tenebrous ultimate gods the blind, voiceless,

  • mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.

Nyarlathotep by H. P. Lovecraft

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尼亞拉霍特普(1920年),《洛夫克拉夫特夢之循環》第八篇。 (Nyarlathotep (1920), 8th Story in The Dream Cycle of H. P. Lovecraft)

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    林道逸 發佈於 2021 年 01 月 14 日
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