A l'occasion d'une consigne d'atelier d'écriture, j'ai écrit l'an dernier ce fragment d'une nouvelle que j'espère encore à venir. Une nouvelle très en retard puisqu'elle aurait dû faire partie du Butin d'Odin chez Argemmios (un appel à textes de 2009…), une nouvelle dont l'inspiration première était :
- une citation de Tolkien dans The Lord of the Rings: "He said that if I had the cheek to make verses about Eärendil in the house of Elrond, it was my affair."
- la légende nordique d'Aurvandil
- et une chanson de Celtic Frost.
« Tu as toujours été un putain de veinard. »
Aurvandil sourit derrière le casque. Il ne peut pas s’en empêcher, malgré tout. Parce que c’est vrai, que la chance l’a toujours accompagné, même à présent. Il a mal partout, il lutte avec ses doigts engourdis, maladroits sous les gants épais, il s’efforce de ne pas prendre appui sur son pied blessé, de ne pas penser au spectacle qui l’attend dans le reste du vaisseau. De ne pas regarder le corps de son second qu’il installe sur la couchette de l’infirmerie.
« Les Nornes… t’ont à la bonne… couches avec ? »
Son corps est friable comme la glace qui l’a saisi, sa peau est d’un blanc cireux, veiné de bleu, tâché du noir et du pourpre des tissus nécrosés. Son pouls est si lent qu’il est presque imperceptible. Et il parle, l’imbécile. Comment peut-il parler ? Pour dire de pareilles conneries, en plus.
« …blague… Dis à ma femme… »
Il s’immobilise, un corps à jamais gelé, passé dans l’Hiver éternel. Aurvandil le regarde, à présent, et se tait, incapable de prononcer une bénédiction. Est-ce le froid qui colle sa langue au palais ? Pas sous le casque.
Alors, puisqu’il est trop tard, puisqu’il n’y a plus rien d’autre à faire, il retourne sur la passerelle de commandement, passe au milieu des statues de glace qui furent ses compagnons, et va s’asseoir sur son fauteuil, face au vide.
Dis à ma femme…
Il lui restera à inventer la fin. Ce n’est pas difficile. Ce n’est pas la première fois qu’il perd un homme, il faut toujours inventer un message pour les veuves, sans même ce début de vérité, la plupart du temps.
Mais ils sont allés si loin, cette fois. Ils ont atteint la zone où les étoiles gèlent, où les vérités tuent.
Tu as toujours été un putain de veinard.
Il en est ainsi. La chance est une forme de magie. Il est seul dans un vaisseau glacé de cadavres et, lentement, il remet les moteurs en marche. Les étoiles dehors semblent dégeler aussi, elles palpitent, leurs cœurs de feu fondent leurs armures de glace. Aurvandil n’a jamais pu décider si elles appartenaient aux ténèbres ou à la lumière. Cela devient terriblement important, soudain, il ne sait pas trop pourquoi.
Son cerveau fonctionne au ralenti. C’est le froid. Peut-être est-il plus atteint qu’il ne l’avait pensé.
Les lumières du vaisseau se rallument peu à peu. Il se lève, avec effort. Les écrans ne suffisent plus, il doit voir ces foutues étoiles de plus près, à travers les vitres panoramiques. Elles clignotent. Aurvandil a souvent rêvé que c’était un langage, une sorte de Morse, qu’il serait un jour capable de décrypter. Qui d’autre que lui le pourrait ? Qui est allé aussi loin que lui, aux quatre confins de l’espace ?
A qui d’autre parleraient les étoiles ?
Par la trappe d’évacuation il fait glisser, un à un, les corps de ses hommes. Qu’ils rejoignent l’espace, qu’ils y dérivent, glaces parmi les glaces, jusqu’à ce que les étoiles les consument. Mais elles réclament davantage, toujours. Alors il jette aussi la petite sphère gelée de son orteil coupé, elle virevolte étrangement sous ses yeux, renvoyant la lumière comme si elle était, elle aussi, devenue une étoile. Il cligne des yeux jusqu’à ce qu’il ne puisse plus distinguer l’orteil — ou le distinguer des étoiles.
Il revient, en boitant, sur la passerelle. Les machines sont à nouveau opérationnelles — assez pour repartir, en tout cas. Leur bourdonnement sourd accompagne, en contrepoint, le chant des étoiles. Il est temps de rentrer, encore une fois. D’oublier ce qu’il a vu. Le voyage de retour est programmé. Les doigts d’Aurvandil sont suspendus au-dessus du tableau de bord.
Mais les étoiles fredonnent dans leur langue, au-delà des ténèbres glacées, et son pied amputé l’entraîne vers elles.
Le vaisseau est plus léger à présent qu’il a jeté le lest des cadavres, une bulle fragile sur la crête des galaxies, et sa tête aussi est légère.
Dis à ma femme…
Aurvandil pense à sa propre femme, désormais, mais ne parvient pas non plus à terminer la phrase. Il ne parvient pas à dire qu’il l’aime, à demander qu’elle lui pardonne. Il est trop loin, et le bourdonnement des étoiles couvre toute autre pensée.
Ses mains se remettent en mouvement, annulent le trajet programmé.
Il est seul, ivre dans un vaisseau ivre qui cingle vers les lointaines étoiles.
Cette fois, il ne rentrera pas.
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est Tolkien. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est Tolkien. Afficher tous les articles
mardi 20 décembre 2011
samedi 14 mars 2009
QUE LISENT LES ÉCRIVAINS ?
se demande Télérama, et de poser la question à 100 écrivains francophones en leur demandant non pas ce qu'ils lisent en ce moment mais de choisir 10 livres qui les ont marqués.
Je ne suis pas écrivain. Ou à peine. En tout cas, je ne me définis pas comme écrivain.
Et j'ai toujours été incapable de dresser ce genre de listes.
Mais je l'ai fait, un peu avant Télérama, à la demande de l'écrivain et amie Léonor Lara (elle non plus ne se définit pas comme écrivain, elle préfère "auteur".)
Je m'essaie donc à tailler dans le vif de cette liste, à choisir, à déchirer, pour vous livrer ces 10 livres qui m'ont marquée, me marquent sûrement encore.
J.R.R. Tolkien, Le Seigneur des Anneaux
Vous êtes nombreux à connaître l'histoire. Ma mère, enceinte, lisait Le Seigneur des Anneaux. Elle l'a emporté à la maternité et s'est hâtée de le finir avant ma naissance, afin que je puisse en profiter (sans quoi, disait-elle, il faudrait attendre que j'apprenne à lire.)
J'ai donc eu ce privilège insolite d'absorber l'oeuvre de Tolkien in utero.
Plus tard, pour mon neuvième anniversaire, un garçon qui ne connaissait pas cette histoire m'a offert Bilbo le Hobbit. J'étais amoureuse de lui et n'ai pas osé lui dire que je l'avais déjà lu, un ou deux ans auparavant. Plus tard encore, je me suis lancée dans une lecture, ou relecture, du Seigneur des Anneaux, ai pleuré la mort de Boromir, aimé Aragorn et Glorfindel. Bien plus tard encore je l'ai relu, en anglais.
A l'évidence, ma vie en a été infléchie. Je rêve encore de Rivendell. Je l'écris, même, quelquefois. Et les voiles qui s'estompent à l'Ouest me mettront toujours les larmes aux yeux.
A suivre…
Je ne suis pas écrivain. Ou à peine. En tout cas, je ne me définis pas comme écrivain.
Et j'ai toujours été incapable de dresser ce genre de listes.
Mais je l'ai fait, un peu avant Télérama, à la demande de l'écrivain et amie Léonor Lara (elle non plus ne se définit pas comme écrivain, elle préfère "auteur".)
Je m'essaie donc à tailler dans le vif de cette liste, à choisir, à déchirer, pour vous livrer ces 10 livres qui m'ont marquée, me marquent sûrement encore.
J.R.R. Tolkien, Le Seigneur des Anneaux
Vous êtes nombreux à connaître l'histoire. Ma mère, enceinte, lisait Le Seigneur des Anneaux. Elle l'a emporté à la maternité et s'est hâtée de le finir avant ma naissance, afin que je puisse en profiter (sans quoi, disait-elle, il faudrait attendre que j'apprenne à lire.)
J'ai donc eu ce privilège insolite d'absorber l'oeuvre de Tolkien in utero.
Plus tard, pour mon neuvième anniversaire, un garçon qui ne connaissait pas cette histoire m'a offert Bilbo le Hobbit. J'étais amoureuse de lui et n'ai pas osé lui dire que je l'avais déjà lu, un ou deux ans auparavant. Plus tard encore, je me suis lancée dans une lecture, ou relecture, du Seigneur des Anneaux, ai pleuré la mort de Boromir, aimé Aragorn et Glorfindel. Bien plus tard encore je l'ai relu, en anglais.
A l'évidence, ma vie en a été infléchie. Je rêve encore de Rivendell. Je l'écris, même, quelquefois. Et les voiles qui s'estompent à l'Ouest me mettront toujours les larmes aux yeux.
A suivre…
jeudi 19 février 2009
ERRANTE ET ÉTERNELLE ? (SUITE ET FIN)
A few months later, King Elessar lied down to rest and said his farewell to his people and his family. What he then told to his son is known, and how he and Queen Arwen tried a last time to convince each other to change their choices. But in the end it was as their daughter had foretold. And he gave his son the Sceptre and the Winged Crown. But none has told what he said to his youngest child, nor the fate of the Elessar.
As she came to her father, he opened his left hand, revealing the green shining of the stone. “I want you to bear the Elessar, he said. For Estel I was, in times which are now forgotten, but Estel you’ll have to be, in times I cannot yet see. I wish I could give you the light of Eärendil, as the Lady Galadriel did for Frodo, but the only light I can claim for mine and give you is this one. Keep it, for you’ll have to bear the inheritance of Elves and Dunedain into distant ages.”
Then he hesitated, for he loved her dearly, and felt sad and worried for her. But as she had said before, there shouldn’t be any untold words between them. So he went on : “That will be a lonely road.”
And she was weeping, but gripped the Elessar in her hand and answered : “I know, Father. But you will be with me, and also will Mother."
"No one can advise you, for no one followed this road before you. But if I see right, I would tell you to walk cross Middle Earth, to be a Wanderer, as I was in my youth, and as Mithrandir was, in past ages of the world. For all lands will need you, not only the western realms. And you will need them, too."
"I will do as you said, Father.”
And he saw stars in her eyes, but perhaps were they just tears.
Then he softly caressed her cheek and gave her the name which is still hers.
“Eldawen Calacolindë” he said. And added : “Aure entuluva.”(*) We have to suppose these were the last words they shared.
After the death of the King, her brother and sister tried to convince their mother to stay with them, but Eldawen didn’t join them. She left the White City at nightfall, as all the eyes were fixed on Queen Arwen’s departure. Her sister only saw her leaving, and said : “Shall I lose in the same day all the people I love ? He had to leave, and I suppose she couldn’t stay after him, but you ? You are young, and spent so few years among the people of Gondor. You have time.”
But Eldawen answered : “Utùlie’n aure. Time has come. I will miss you, and our brother, and all the people. I will miss the gardens of Ithilien, and the morninglight over the White Tower of Ecthelion. Yet I shall leave.”
And her sister saw the light on her head and under her cloak. But she added :
“Where will you go ?"
"All around Middle Earth, she answered. I don’t know if we’ll meet again in this world.”
She kissed her sister and went out of Minas Tirith. If she met her mother and they had a last meeting before Arwen’s death on Cerin Amroth, their words haven’t reached us.
It is told that Eldawen was on the shore when Legolas and Gimli sailed over Sea, and that Legolas offered her to join them, for he had seen her nature, and alone among Arwen’s children she would have the choice of the Half-Elven. But she knew this was too easy a way, and too fast.
It is told that she was seen from time to time in the following centuries — walking in a wood, fighting for a cause, singing in a lost valley, learning a foreign language or teaching an ancient magic. It is told that she still inhabits Middle Earth, bearing the Light of the Elessar and her own Light.
It is little for a story. But the time will come, when Middle Earth will need the heritage of the Peredhil. And then, the time for her story to be told.
Marseille, France, Middle Earth, 7.12.2003
(*) which means, in high-elvish, Eldawen Light-Bearer and Day shall come again.
As she came to her father, he opened his left hand, revealing the green shining of the stone. “I want you to bear the Elessar, he said. For Estel I was, in times which are now forgotten, but Estel you’ll have to be, in times I cannot yet see. I wish I could give you the light of Eärendil, as the Lady Galadriel did for Frodo, but the only light I can claim for mine and give you is this one. Keep it, for you’ll have to bear the inheritance of Elves and Dunedain into distant ages.”
Then he hesitated, for he loved her dearly, and felt sad and worried for her. But as she had said before, there shouldn’t be any untold words between them. So he went on : “That will be a lonely road.”
And she was weeping, but gripped the Elessar in her hand and answered : “I know, Father. But you will be with me, and also will Mother."
"No one can advise you, for no one followed this road before you. But if I see right, I would tell you to walk cross Middle Earth, to be a Wanderer, as I was in my youth, and as Mithrandir was, in past ages of the world. For all lands will need you, not only the western realms. And you will need them, too."
"I will do as you said, Father.”
And he saw stars in her eyes, but perhaps were they just tears.
Then he softly caressed her cheek and gave her the name which is still hers.
“Eldawen Calacolindë” he said. And added : “Aure entuluva.”(*) We have to suppose these were the last words they shared.
After the death of the King, her brother and sister tried to convince their mother to stay with them, but Eldawen didn’t join them. She left the White City at nightfall, as all the eyes were fixed on Queen Arwen’s departure. Her sister only saw her leaving, and said : “Shall I lose in the same day all the people I love ? He had to leave, and I suppose she couldn’t stay after him, but you ? You are young, and spent so few years among the people of Gondor. You have time.”
But Eldawen answered : “Utùlie’n aure. Time has come. I will miss you, and our brother, and all the people. I will miss the gardens of Ithilien, and the morninglight over the White Tower of Ecthelion. Yet I shall leave.”
And her sister saw the light on her head and under her cloak. But she added :
“Where will you go ?"
"All around Middle Earth, she answered. I don’t know if we’ll meet again in this world.”
She kissed her sister and went out of Minas Tirith. If she met her mother and they had a last meeting before Arwen’s death on Cerin Amroth, their words haven’t reached us.
It is told that Eldawen was on the shore when Legolas and Gimli sailed over Sea, and that Legolas offered her to join them, for he had seen her nature, and alone among Arwen’s children she would have the choice of the Half-Elven. But she knew this was too easy a way, and too fast.
It is told that she was seen from time to time in the following centuries — walking in a wood, fighting for a cause, singing in a lost valley, learning a foreign language or teaching an ancient magic. It is told that she still inhabits Middle Earth, bearing the Light of the Elessar and her own Light.
It is little for a story. But the time will come, when Middle Earth will need the heritage of the Peredhil. And then, the time for her story to be told.
Marseille, France, Middle Earth, 7.12.2003
(*) which means, in high-elvish, Eldawen Light-Bearer and Day shall come again.
mardi 17 février 2009
ERRANTE ET ÉTERNELLE ? (1)
Pour le Gabian, qui vient d'évoquer une autre Errante Eternelle, et de réveiller en moi non seulement le souvenir de St John Perse, mais aussi, plus humblement, celui de ce texte.
In the last months of his reign, the King was walking through the gardens of the White City with his youngest daughter. Their walk was peaceful, for they knew each other very well and few words were needed between them.
The people of Minas Tirith bowed to them, and the shine of twilight falled on their heads. The head of the King was noble and white, but the head of his daughter was golden, for she never had the dark hair of her family.
And finally they came to the Fontain and sat under the White Tree of Gondor, and there in the last sunbeams they were an image of the peace and beauty of a fading world.
The King looked at his youngest child and found she was tall, golden and white, and her face seemed to be at both that of a lady from ancient world and of the anxious child he had rocked some years earlier.
And he smiled to her, but it wasn’t a joyful smile.
“We have always tried to find whom you were bearing resemblance with, and I only see it today — the King said. For you are not like Eowyn was, even if you are slim and blonde and share her love for swords and a free life. And you are not like your brother and sister, and not like me, even if we understand each other more than father and daughter usually do. But it is only today I see what is your inheritance. And what will be your fate.”
After that they kept silent for a while, until she stared at him and said :
“For one thing I am grateful. No untold words lie between us, so grief but no sorrow shall beget your loss.”
Then a shadow fell on the King and he muttered :
“Always your sight was deep, my child.”
And she still was a child, so she answered :
“World will be so dark a place, without you and Mother.”
And the King held her arm tightly and said :
“Your mother will be allowed to stay with you. Her fate is not mine, and she still can live on this Earth, or another.”
But she looked at him, and in her grey eyes he read understanding and sadness.
“No — she said— it isn’t time for this any more. There still can be ships to the West, but none for her. She has chosen to share your fate."
"She didn’t know what she was choosing."
"She chose love. This cannot be undone.”
And the King kept silent, for he knew in his heart she was right.
But she repeated softly : “So dark a place” and he saw tears in her eyes. Then he stood up again, and on his face a great power could be read, which was not only his own but that of all his ancestors. And he answered : “ So you’ll have to be the light.”
And his voice was like the voice of a Seer coming across many ages of the world.
“Eldarion is not my only heir, dear. The three of thou art. He has to be the King of Men, and thy sister is the Mother of a New World. But thou, my child, thou art the Light. Not only my heir, and the Kings of the West’s, but the heir of thy mother’s bloodline, of Elwë and Finwë, heir of the Eldar’s part in the world.
And unlike thy brother’s, this part of the story will not be told. For Men do not need to hear it, not yet. But a time will come when they will need thou, beyond all the stories.”
And as he finished, the sun set at West.
(A suivre)
In the last months of his reign, the King was walking through the gardens of the White City with his youngest daughter. Their walk was peaceful, for they knew each other very well and few words were needed between them.
The people of Minas Tirith bowed to them, and the shine of twilight falled on their heads. The head of the King was noble and white, but the head of his daughter was golden, for she never had the dark hair of her family.
And finally they came to the Fontain and sat under the White Tree of Gondor, and there in the last sunbeams they were an image of the peace and beauty of a fading world.
The King looked at his youngest child and found she was tall, golden and white, and her face seemed to be at both that of a lady from ancient world and of the anxious child he had rocked some years earlier.
And he smiled to her, but it wasn’t a joyful smile.
“We have always tried to find whom you were bearing resemblance with, and I only see it today — the King said. For you are not like Eowyn was, even if you are slim and blonde and share her love for swords and a free life. And you are not like your brother and sister, and not like me, even if we understand each other more than father and daughter usually do. But it is only today I see what is your inheritance. And what will be your fate.”
After that they kept silent for a while, until she stared at him and said :
“For one thing I am grateful. No untold words lie between us, so grief but no sorrow shall beget your loss.”
Then a shadow fell on the King and he muttered :
“Always your sight was deep, my child.”
And she still was a child, so she answered :
“World will be so dark a place, without you and Mother.”
And the King held her arm tightly and said :
“Your mother will be allowed to stay with you. Her fate is not mine, and she still can live on this Earth, or another.”
But she looked at him, and in her grey eyes he read understanding and sadness.
“No — she said— it isn’t time for this any more. There still can be ships to the West, but none for her. She has chosen to share your fate."
"She didn’t know what she was choosing."
"She chose love. This cannot be undone.”
And the King kept silent, for he knew in his heart she was right.
But she repeated softly : “So dark a place” and he saw tears in her eyes. Then he stood up again, and on his face a great power could be read, which was not only his own but that of all his ancestors. And he answered : “ So you’ll have to be the light.”
And his voice was like the voice of a Seer coming across many ages of the world.
“Eldarion is not my only heir, dear. The three of thou art. He has to be the King of Men, and thy sister is the Mother of a New World. But thou, my child, thou art the Light. Not only my heir, and the Kings of the West’s, but the heir of thy mother’s bloodline, of Elwë and Finwë, heir of the Eldar’s part in the world.
And unlike thy brother’s, this part of the story will not be told. For Men do not need to hear it, not yet. But a time will come when they will need thou, beyond all the stories.”
And as he finished, the sun set at West.
(A suivre)
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