A Dream of Armageddon - Apostilas - Comunicação Social_Parte2, Notas de estudo de Literatura. Pontifícia Universidade Católica de Minas Gerais (PUC-Minas)


Descrição: Apostilas de Comunicação Social sobre o estudo do Livro "A Dream of Armageddon".
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"I am forgetting everything," he said.
"And they carried guns?"
"Little guns, firing high explosive shells. They fired the guns backwards, out of the base of
the leaf, so to speak, and rammed with the beak. That was the theory, you know, but they
had never been fought. No one could tell exactly what was going to happen. And
meanwhile I suppose it was very fine to go whirling through the air like a flight of young
swallows, swift and easy. I guess the captains tried not to think too clearly what the real
thing would be like. And these flying war machines, you know, were only one sort of the
endless war contrivances that had been invented and had fallen into abeyance during the
long peace. There were all sorts of these things that people were routing out and furbishing
up; infernal things, silly things; things that had never been tried; big engines, terrible
explosives, great guns. You know the silly way of these ingenious sort of men who make
these things; they turn 'em out as beavers build dams, and with no more sense of the rivers
they're going to divert and the lands they're going to flood!
"As we went down the winding stepway to our hotel again, in the twilight, I foresaw it all: I
saw how clearly and inevitably things were driving for war in Evesham's silly, violent
hands, and I had some inkling of what war was bound to be under these new conditions.
And even then, though I knew it was drawing near the limit of my opportunity, I could find
no will to go back."
He sighed.
"That was my last chance.
"We didn't go into the city until the sky was full of stars, so we walked out upon the high
terrace, to and fro, and--she counselled me to go back.
"'My dearest,' she said, and her sweet face looked up to me, 'this is Death. This life you lead
is Death. Go back to them, go back to your duty--'
"She began to weep, saying, between her sobs, and clinging to my arm as she said it, 'Go
back--Go back.'
"Then suddenly she fell mute, and, glancing down at her face, I read in an instant the thing
she had thought to do. It was one of those moments when one sees.
"'No!' I said.
"'No?' she asked, in surprise and I think a little fearful at the answer to her thought.
"'Nothing,' I said, 'shall send me back. Nothing! I have chosen. Love, I have chosen, and the
world must go. Whatever happens I will live this life--I will live for you! It--nothing shall
turn me aside; nothing, my dear one. Even if you died--even if you died--'
"'Yes?' she murmured, softly.
"'Then--I also would die.'
"And before she could speak again I began to talk, talking eloquently--as I could do in that
life--talking to exalt love, to make the life we were living seem heroic and glorious; and the
thing I was deserting something hard and enormously ignoble that it was a fine thing to set
aside. I bent all my mind to throw that glamour upon it, seeking not only to convert her but
myself to that. We talked, and she clung to me, torn too between all that she deemed noble
and all that she knew was sweet. And at last I did make it heroic, made all the thickening
disaster of the world only a sort of glorious setting to our unparalleled love, and we two
poor foolish souls strutted there at last, clad in that splendid delusion, drunken rather with
that glorious delusion, under the still stars.
"And so my moment passed.
"It was my last chance. Even as we went to and fro there, the leaders of the south and east
were gathering their resolve, and the hot answer that shattered Evesham's bluffing for ever,
took shape and waited. And, all over Asia, and the ocean, and the South, the air and the
wires were throbbing with their warnings to prepare --prepare.
"No one living, you know, knew what war was; no one could imagine, with all these new
inventions, what horror war might bring. I believe most people still believed it would be a
matter of bright uniforms and shouting charges and triumphs and flags and bands--in a time
when half the world drew its food supply from regions ten thousand miles away--"
The man with the white face paused. I glanced at him, and his face was intent on the floor
of the carriage. A little railway station, a string of loaded trucks, a signal-box, and the back
of a cottage, shot by the carriage window, and a bridge passed with a clap of noise, echoing
the tumult of the train.
"After that," he said, "I dreamt often. For three weeks of nights that dream was my life. And
the worst of it was there were nights when I could not dream, when I lay tossing on a bed in
this accursed life; and there--somewhere lost to me--things were happening--momentous,
terrible things . . . I lived at nights--my days, my waking days, this life I am living now,
became a faded, far-away dream, a drab setting, the cover of the book."
He thought.
"I could tell you all, tell you every little thing in the dream, but as to what I did in the
daytime--no. I could not tell--I do not remember. My memory--my memory has gone. The
business of life slips from me--"
He leant forward, and pressed his hands upon his eyes. For a long time he said nothing.
"And then?" said I.
"The war burst like a hurricane."
He stared before him at unspeakable things.
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Universidade: Pontifícia Universidade Católica de Minas Gerais (PUC-Minas)
Subject: Literatura
Upload date: 02/04/2013
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