In ‘The Premature Burial’, the first-person unnamed narrator describes his struggle with things such as ‘attacks of the singular disorder which physicians have agreed to term catalepsy, ‘ a condition where he randomly falls into a death-like trance. This leads to his fear of being buried alive (‘The true wretchedness, ‘ he says, is ‘to be buried while alive.’). He emphasizes his fear by mentioning several people who have been buried alive. In the first case, the tragic accident was only discovered much later, when the victim’s crypt was reopened. In others, victims revived and were able to draw attention to themselves in time to be freed from their ghastly prisons. The narrator reviews these examples in order to provide context for his nearly crippling phobia of being buried alive. As he explains, his condition made him prone to slipping into a trance state of unconsciousness, a disease that grew progressively worse over time. He became obsessed with the idea that he would fall into such a state while away from home, and that his state would be mistaken for death. He extracts promises from his friends that they will not bury him prematurely, refuses to leave his home, and builds an elaborate tomb with equipment allowing him to signal for help in case he should awaken after ‘death’. Il est certains sujets portant en eux un intérêt poignant, mais qui causent trop d’horreur pour qu’on puisse légitimement les traiter dans une fiction. Les romanciers, s’ils ne veulent offenser ou dégoûter le lecteur, doivent éviter de les mettre en œuvre. On ne peut y toucher que sanctionné et soutenu par la majesté du vrai. Le passage de la Bérésina, le tremblement de terre de Lisbonne, la peste de Londres, le massacre de la Saint-Barthélemy, la mort des cent vingt-trois prisonniers étouffés dans le trou noir de Calcutta, nous font passer par la plus intense des souffrances voluptueuses. Mais c’est le fait, c’est la réalité historique qui nous émeuvent dans ces récits. Inventés de toutes pièces, nous les considérerions avec horreur. Je viens de mentionner les plus augustes et les plus formi-dables calamités dont on se souvienne. Notre fantaisie y est impressionnée par la grandeur autant que par la nature de la catastrophe. Mais je n’ai pas besoin de rappeler au lecteur que, dans la liste longue et fatale des infortunes humaines, j’aurais pu choisir des exemples individuels plus saturés d’horreur, qu’aucun de ces vastes désastres. La véritable misère, la souffrance extrême échoient au petit nombre seul et non pas à la multitude. Remercions un Dieu de miséricorde d’avoir réservé les agonies dernières à l’homme-unité et d’en avoir préservé l’homme-foule.
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