On conteste, on dispute, on proclame, on ignore.
\nChaque religion est une tour sonore ;
\nCe qu\u2019un pr\u00eatre \u00e9difie, un pr\u00eatre le d\u00e9truit ;
\nChaque temple, tirant sa corde dans la nuit,
\nFait, dans l\u2019obscurit\u00e9 sinistre et solennelle,
\nRendre un son diff\u00e9rent \u00e0 la cloche \u00e9ternelle.
\nNul ne conna\u00eet le fond, nul ne voit le sommet.
\nTout l\u2019\u00e9quipage humain semble en d\u00e9mence ; on met
\nUn aveugle en vigie, un manchot \u00e0 la barre ;
\n\u00c0 peine a-t-on pass\u00e9 du sauvage au barbare,
\n\u00c0 peine a-t-on franchi le plus noir de l\u2019horreur,
\n\u00c0 peine a-t-on, parmi le vertige et l\u2019erreur,
\nDans ce brouillard o\u00f9 l\u2019homme attend, songe et soupire,
\nSans sortir du mauvais, fait un pas hors du pire,
\nQue le vieux temps revient et nous mord les talons,
\nEt nous crie : Arr\u00eatez ! Socrate dit : Allons !
\nJ\u00e9sus-Christ dit : Plus loin ! et le sage et l\u2019ap\u00f4tre
\nS\u2019en vont se demander dans le ciel l\u2019un \u00e0 l\u2019autre
\nQuel go\u00fbt a la cigu\u00eb et quel go\u00fbt a le fiel.
\nPar moments, voyant l\u2019homme ingrat, fourbe et cruel,
\nSatan lui prend la main sous le linceul de l\u2019ombre.
\nNous appelons science un t\u00e2tonnement sombre.
\nL\u2019ab\u00eeme, autour de nous, lugubre tremblement,
\nS\u2019ouvre et se ferme ; et l\u2019\u0153il s\u2019effraie \u00e9galement
\nDe ce qui s\u2019engloutit et de ce qui surnage.
\nSans cesse le progr\u00e8s, roue au double engrenage,
\nFait marcher quelque chose en \u00e9crasant quelqu\u2019un.
\nLe mal peut \u00eatre joie, et le poison parfum.
\nLe crime avec la loi morne et m\u00e9lancolique
\nLutte ; le poignard parle, et l\u2019\u00e9chafaud r\u00e9plique.
\nNous entendons, sans voir la source ni la fin,
\nDerri\u00e8re notre nuit, derri\u00e8re notre faim,
\nRire l\u2019ombre Ignorance et la larve Mis\u00e8re.
\nLe lys a-t-il raison ? et l\u2019astre est-il sinc\u00e8re ?
\nJe dis oui, tu dis non. T\u00e9n\u00e8bres et rayons
\nAffirment \u00e0 la fois. Doute, Adam ! Nous voyons
\nDe la nuit dans l\u2019enfant, de la nuit dans la femme ;
\nEt sur notre avenir nous querellons notre \u00e2me ;
\nEt, br\u00fbl\u00e9, puis glac\u00e9, chaos, semoun, frimas,
\nL\u2019homme de l\u2019infini traverse les climats.
\nTout est brume ; le vent souffle avec des hu\u00e9es,
\nEt de nos passions arrache des nu\u00e9es ;
\nRousseau dit : L\u2019homme monte ; et de Maistre : Il descend !
\nMais, \u00f4 Dieu ! le navire \u00e9norme et fr\u00e9missant,
\nLe monstrueux vaisseau sans agr\u00e8s et sans voiles,
\nQui flotte, globe noir, dans la mer des \u00e9toiles,
\nEt qui porte nos maux, fourmillement humain,
\nVa, marche, vogue et roule, et conna\u00eet son chemin ;
\nLe ciel sombre, o\u00f9 parfois la blancheur semble \u00e9clore,
\n\u00c0 l\u2019effrayant roulis m\u00eale un frisson d\u2019aurore ;
\nDe moment en moment le sort est moins obscur ;
\nEt l\u2019on sent bien qu\u2019on est emport\u00e9 vers l\u2019azur.<\/p>\n
Marine-Terrace, octobre 1855.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"parent":0,"template":"","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"default","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}}},"annee":[224],"poems-book":[225],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[206],"class_list":["post-9300","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-224","poems-book-les-contemplations","poete-victor-hugo"],"yoast_head":"\n