Borges siempre habla muy bien sobre los ensayos de De Quincey. Hasta hace poco sólo había leído Confessions of an English Opium-Eater y me bastaba para entender la opinión de Borges ya que es un excelente libro. Pero es más novela que ensayo. Ayer leí On the knocking at the gate in Macbeth y estoy muy impresionado. Es el ensayo en nivel que pocos manejan. Paso del libro a la pantalla lo que considero la mejor parte: el final del ensayo.
In Macbeth, for the sake of gratifying his own enormous and teeming faculty of creation, Shakespeare has introduced two murderers: and, as usual in his hands, they are remarkably discriminated: but -though in Macbeth the strife of mind is grater than in his wife, the tiger spirit not so awake, and his spirits caught chiefly by contagion from her- yet, as both were finally involved in the guilt of murder, the murderous mind of necessity is finally to be presumed in both. This was to be expressed; and, on its own account, as well as to make it a more proportionable antagonist to the unoffending nature of their victim, ‘the gracious Duncan,’ this was to be expressed with peculiar energy. We were to be made to feel that the human nature -i.e. the divine nature of love and mercy, spread through the hearts of all creatures, and seldom utterly withdrawn from man- was gone, vanished, extinct, and that the fiendish nature had taken its place. And, as this effect is marvellously accomplished in the dialogues and soliloquies themselves, so it is finally consummated by the expedient under consideration; and it is to this that I now solicit the reader’s attention. If the reader has ever witnessed a wife, daughter, or sister in a fainting fit, he may chance to have observed that the most affecting moment in such a spectacle is that in which a sigh and a stirring announce the recommencement of suspended life. Or, if the reader has ever been present in a vast metropolis on the day when some great national idol was carried in funeral pomp to his grave, and, chancing to walk near the course through which it passed, Has felt powerfully, in the silence and desertions of the streets, and in the stagnation of ordinary business, the deep interest which at that moment was possessing the heart of man -if all at once he should hear the death-like stillness broken up by the sound of wheels rattling away from the scene, and making known that the transitory vision has dissolved, he will be aware that at no moment his sense of the complete suspension and pause in ordinary human concerns so full and affecting as at that moment when the suspension ceases, and the goings-on of human life are suddenly resumed. All action in any direction is best expounded, measured, and made apprehensible, by reaction. Now, apply this to the case in Macbeth. Here, as I have said, the retiring of the human heart and the entrance of the fiendish heart was to be expressed and made sensible. Another world has stepped in; and the murderers are taken out of the region of human things, human purposes, human desires. They are transfigured: Lady Macbeth is ‘unsexed’; Macbeth has forgot that he was born of woman; both are conformed to the image of devils; and the world of devils is suddenly revealed. But how shall this be conveyed and made palpable? In order that a new world may step in, this world must for a time disappear. The murderers and the murder may be insulated -cut off by an immeasurable gulf from the ordinary tide and succession of human affairs- locked and sequestered in some deep recess; we must be made sensible that the world of ordinary life is suddenly arrested, laid asleep, tranced, racked into a dread armistice; time must be annihilated, relation to things without abolished; and all must pass self-withdrawn into a deep syncope and suspension of earthly passion. Hence it is that, when the deed is done, when the work of darkness is perfect, then the world of darkness passes away like a pageantry in the clouds: the knocking at the gate is heard, and it makes known audibly that the reaction has commenced; the human has made its reflux upon the fiendish; the pulses of life are beginning to beat again; and the re-establishment of the goings-on of the world in which we live first makes us profoundly sensible of the awful parenthesis that had suspended them.
O mighty poet! Thy works are not as those of other men, simply and merely great works of art, but are also like the phenomena of nature, like the sun and the sea, the stars and the flowers, like the frost and snow, rain and dew, hail-storm and thunder, which are to be studied in entire submission of our own faculties, and in the perfect faith that in them there can be no too much or too little, nothing useless or inert, but that, the farther we press in our discoveries, the more we shall see proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement where the careless eye had seen nothing but accident.
Me tardé bastante en pasarlo. Aprécienlo.
I recently sawpictures of him making boats. Another strange feeling. As if all the myths sourrounding him became true; like a picture of Alexander cutting the knot, of Musashi fighting with a boken, of Odysseus braving sea beasts on his own.
PD. espero que la razón por la cuál nadie comento en el post pasado tiene que ver que no se leen blogs los sábados y no porque tengan algo contra Pato.
