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未来千年文学备忘录_卡尔维诺-第22章

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the young man roused himself from his deep musings。

〃why; my good man; the saint is sublime!〃 he cried。 〃there is a subtlety of imagination about those two figures; the saint mary and the shipman; that can not be found among italian masters; i do not know a single one of them capable of imagining the shipmans hesitation。〃

〃did that little malapert e with you?〃 asked porbus of the older man。

〃alas! master; pardon my boldness;〃 cried the neophyte; and the color mounted to his face。 〃i am unknowna dauber by instinct; and but lately e to this citythe fountain…head of all learning。〃

〃set to work;〃 said porbus; handing him a bit of red chalk and a sheet of paper。

the new…er quickly sketched the saint mary line for line。

〃aha!〃 exclaimed the old man。 〃your name?〃 he added。

the young man wrote 〃nicolas poussin〃 below the sketch。

〃not bad that for a beginning;〃 said the strange speaker; who had discoursed so wildly。 〃i see that we can talk of art in your presence。 i do not blame you for admiring porbuss saint。 in the eyes of the world she is a masterpiece; and those alone who have been initiated into the inmost mysteries of art can discover her shortings。 but it is worth while to give you the lesson; for you are able to understand it; so i will show you how little it needs to plete this picture。 you must be all eyes; all attention; for it may be that such a chance of learning will never e in your way againporbus! your palette。〃

porbus went in search of palette and brushes。 the little old man turned back his sleeves with impatient energy; seized the palette; covered with many hues; that porbus handed to him; and snatched rather than took a handful of brushes of various sizes from the hands of his acquaintance。 his pointed beard suddenly bristleda menacing movement that expressed the prick of a lovers fancy。 as he loaded his brush; he muttered between his teeth; 〃these paints are only fit to fling out of the window; together with the fellow who ground them; their crudeness and falseness are disgusting! how can one paint with this?〃

he dipped the tip of the brush with feverish eagerness in the different pigments; making the circuit of the palette several times more quickly than the organist of a cathedral sweeps the octaves on the keyboard of his clavier for the 〃o filii〃 at easter。

porbus and poussin; on either side of the easel; stood stock…still; watching with intense interest。

〃look; young man;〃 he began again; 〃see how three or four strokes of the brush and a thin glaze of blue let in the free air to play about the head of the poor saint; who must have felt stifled and oppressed by the close atmosphere! see how the drapery begins to flutter; you feel that it is lifted by the breeze! a moment ago it hung as heavily and stiffly as if it were held out by pins。 do you see how the satin sheen that i have just given to the breast rends the pliant; silken softness of a young girls skin; and how the brown…red; blended with burnt ochre; brings warmth into the cold gray of the deep shadow where the blood lay congealed instead of coursing through the veins? young man; young man; no master could teach you how to do this that i am doing before your eyes。 mabuse alone possessed the secret of giving life to his figures; mabuse had but one pupilthat was i。 i have had none; and i am old。 you have sufficient intelligence to imagine the rest from the glimpses that i am giving you。〃

while the old man was speaking; he gave a touch here and there; sometimes two strokes of the brush; sometimes a single one; but every stroke told so well; that the whole picture seemed transfiguredthe painting was flooded with light。 he worked with such passionate fervor that beads of sweat gathered upon his bare forehead; he worked so quickly; in brief; impatient jerks; that it seemed to young poussin as if some familiar spirit inhabiting the body of this strange being took a grotesque pleasure in making use of the mans hands against his own will。 the unearthly glitter of his eyes; the convulsive movements that seemed like struggles; gave to this fancy a semblance of truth which could not but stir a young imagination。 the old man continued; saying as he did so

〃paf! paf! that is how to lay it on; young man!little touches! e and bring a glow into those icy cold tones for me! just so! pon! pon! pon!〃 and those parts of the picture that he had pointed out as cold and lifeless flushed with warmer hues; a few bold strokes of color brought all the tones of the picture into the required harmony with the glowing tints of the egyptian; and the differences in temperament vanished。

〃look you; youngster; the last touches make the picture。 porbus has given it a hundred strokes for every one of mine。 no one thanks us for what lies beneath。 bear that in mind。〃

at last the restless spirit stopped; and turning to porbus and poussin; who were speechless with admiration; he spoke

〃this is not as good as my belle noiseuse; still one might put ones name to such a thing as this。yes; i would put my name to it;〃 he added; rising to reach for a mirror; in which he looked at the picture。〃and now;〃 he said; 〃will you both e and breakfast with me? i have a smoked ham and some very fair wine!。。。 eh! eh! the times may be bad; but we can still have some talk about art! we can talk like equals。。。。 here is a little fellow who has aptitude;〃 he added; laying a hand on nicolas poussins shoulder。

in this way the stranger became aware of the threadbare condition of the normans doublet。 he drew a leather purse from his girdle; felt in it; found two gold coins; and held them out。

〃i will buy your sketch;〃 he said。

〃take it;〃 said porbus; as he saw the other start and flush with embarrassment; for poussin had the pride of poverty。 〃pray; take it; he has a couple of kings ransoms in his pouch!〃

the three came down together from the studio; and; talking of art by the way; reached a picturesque wooden house hard by the pont saint…michel。 poussin wondered a moment at its ornament; at the knocker; at the frames of the casements; at the scroll…work designs; and in the next he stood in a vast low…ceiled room。 a table; covered with tempting dishes; stood near the blazing fire; and (luck unhoped for) he was in the pany of two great artists full of genial good humor。

〃do not look too long at that canvas; young man;〃 said porbus; when he saw that poussin was standing; struck with wonder; before a painting。 〃you would fall a victim to despair。〃

it was the 〃adam〃 painted by mabuse to purchase his release from the prison; where his creditors had so long kept him。 and; as a matter of fact; the figure stood out so boldly and convincingly; that nicolas poussin began to understand the real meaning of the words poured out by the old artist; who was himself looking at the picture with apparent satisfaction; but without enthusiasm。 〃i have done better than that!〃 he seemed to be saying to himself。

〃there is life in it;〃 he said aloud; 〃in that respect my poor master here surpassed himself; but there is some lack of truth in the background。 the man lives indeed; he is rising; and will e toward us; but the atmosphere; the sky; the air; the breath of the breezeyou look and feel for them; but they are not there。 and then the man himself is; after all; only a man! ah! but the one man in the world who came direct from the hands of god must have had a something divine about him that is wanting here。 mabuse himself would grind his teeth and say so when he was not drunk。〃

poussin looked from the speaker to porbus; and from porbus to the speaker; with restless curiosity。 he went up to the latter to ask for the name of their host; but the painter laid a finger on his lips with an air of mystery。 the young mans interest was excited; he kept silence; but hoped that sooner or later some word might be let fall that would reveal the name of his entertainer。 it was evident that he was a man of talent and very wealthy; for porbus listened to him respectfully; and the vast room was crowded with marvels of art。

a magnificent portrait of a woman; hung against the dark oak panels of the wall; next caught poussins attention。

〃what a glorious giorgione!〃 he cried。

〃no;〃 said his h
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