未来千年文学备忘录_卡尔维诺-第21章

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there　was　a　pause。　then　the　old　man　spoke　again。　〃i　have　been　at　work　upon　it　for　ten　years；　young　man；　but　what　are　ten　short　years　in　a　struggle　with　nature？　do　we　know　how　long　sir　pygmalion　wrought　at　the　one　statue　that　came　to　life？〃　the　old　man　fell　into　deep　musings；　and　gazed　before　him　with　unseeing　eyes；　while　he　played　unheedingly　with　his　knife。

〃look；　he　is　in　conversation　with　his　_domon！_〃　murmured　porbus。

at　the　word；　nicolas　poussin　felt　himself　carried　away　by　an　unaccountable　accession　of　artists　curiosity。　for　him　the　old　man；　at　once　intent　and　inert；　the　seer　with　the　unseeing　eyes；　became　something　more　than　a　mana　fantastic　spirit　living　in　a　mysterious　world；　and　countless　vague　thoughts　awoke　within　his　soul。　the　effect　of　this　species　of　fascination　upon　his　mind　can　no　more　be　described　in　words　than　the　passionate　longing　awakened　in　an　exiles　heart　by　the　song　that　recalls　his　home。　he　thought　of　the　scorn　that　the　old　man　affected　to　display　for　the　noblest　efforts　of　art；　of　his　wealth；　his　manners；　of　the　deference　paid　to　him　by　porbus。　the　mysterious　picture；　the　work　of　patience　on　which　he　had　wrought　so　long　in　secret；　was　doubtless　a　work　of　genius；　for　the　head　of　the　virgin　which　young　poussin　had　admired　so　frankly　was　beautiful　even　beside　mabuses　〃adam〃there　was　no　mistaking　the　imperial　manner　of　one　of　the　princes　of　art。　everything　bined　to　set　the　old　man　beyond　the　limits　of　human　nature。

out　of　the　wealth　of　fancies　in　nicolas　poussins　brain　an　idea　grew；　and　gathered　shape　and　clearness。　he　saw　in　this　supernatural　being　a　plete　type　of　the　artist　nature；　a　nature　mocking　and　kindly；　barren　and　prolific；　an　erratic　spirit　intrusted　with　great　and　manifold　powers　which　she　too　often　abuses；　leading　sober　reason；　the　philistine；　and　sometimes　even　the　amateur　forth　into　a　stony　wilderness　where　they　see　nothing；　but　the　white…winged　maiden　herself；　wild　as　her　fancies　may　be；　finds　epics　there　and　castles　and　works　of　art。　for　poussin；　the　enthusiast；　the　old　man；　was　suddenly　transfigured；　and　became　art　incarnate；　art　with　its　mysteries；　its　vehement　passion　and　its　dreams。

〃yes；　my　dear　porbus；〃　frenhofer　continued；　〃hitherto　i　have　never　found　a　flawless　model；　a　body　with　outlines　of　perfect　beauty；　the　carnationsah！　where　does　she　live？〃　he　cried；　breaking　in　upon　himself；　〃the　undiscoverable　venus　of　the　older　time；　for　whom　we　have　sought　so　often；　only　to　find　the　scattered　gleams　of　her　beauty　here　and　there？　oh！　to　behold　once　and　for　one　moment；　nature　grown　perfect　and　divine；　the　ideal　at　last；　i　would　give　all　that　i　possess。。。。　nay；　beauty　divine；　i　would　go　to　seek　thee　in　the　dim　land　of　the　dead；　like　orpheus；　i　would　go　down　into　the　hades　of　art　to　bring　back　the　life　of　art　from　among　the　shadows　of　death。〃

〃we　can　go　now；〃　said　porbus　to　poussin。　〃he　neither　hears　nor　sees　us　any　longer。〃

〃let　us　go　to　his　studio；〃　said　young　poussin；　wondering　greatly。

〃oh！　the　old　fox　takes　care　that　no　one　shall　enter　it。　his　treasures　are　so　carefully　guarded　that　it　is　impossible　for　us　to　e　at　them。　i　have　not　waited　for　your　suggestion　and　your　fancy　to　attempt　to　lay　hands　on　this　mystery　by　force。〃

〃so　there　is　a　mystery？〃　〃yes；〃　answered　porbus。　〃old　frenhofer　is　the　only　pupil　mabuse　would　take。　frenhofer　became　the　painters　friend；　deliverer；　and　father；　he　sacrificed　the　greater　part　of　his　fortune　to　enable　mabuse　to　indulge　in　riotous　extravagance；　and　in　return　mabuse　bequeathed　to　him　the　secret　of　relief；　the　power　of　giving　to　his　figures　the　wonderful　life；　the　flower　of　nature；　the　eternal　despair　of　art；　the　secret　which　ma…buse　knew　so　well　that　one　day　when　he　had　sold　the　flowered　brocade　suit　in　which　he　should　have　appeared　at　the　entry　of　charles　v；　he　acpanied　his　master　in　a　suit　of　paper　painted　to　resemble　the　brocade。　the　peculiar　richness　and　splendor　of　the　stuff　struck　the　emperor；　he　plimented　the　old　drunkards　patron　on　the　artists　appearance；　and　so　the　trick　was　brought　to　light。　frenhofer　is　a　passionate　enthusiast；　who　sees　above　and　beyond　other　painters。　he　has　meditated　profoundly　on　color；　and　the　absolute　truth　of　line；　but　by　the　way　of　much　research　he　has　e　to　doubt　the　very　existence　of　the　objects　of　his　search。　he　says；　in　moments　of　despondency；　that　there　is　no　such　thing　as　drawing；　and　that　by　means　of　lines　we　can　only　reproduce　geometrical　figures；　but　that　is　overshooting　the　mark；　for　by　outline　and　shadow　you　can　reproduce　form　without　any　color　at　all；　which　shows　that　our　art；　like　nature；　is　posed　of　an　infinite　number　of　elements。　drawing　gives　you　the　skeleton；　the　anatomical　frame…　work；　and　color　puts　the　life　into　it；　but　life　without　the　skeleton　is　even　more　inplete　than　a　skeleton　without　life。　but　there　is　something　else　truer　still；　and　it　is　thisf　or　painters；　practise　and　observation　are　everything；　and　when　theories　and　poetical　ideas　begin　to　quarrel　with　the　brushes；　the　end　is　doubt；　as　has　happened　with　our　good　friend；　who　is　half　crack…brained　enthusiast；　half　painter。　a　sublime　painter！　but　unlucky　for　him；　he　was　born　to　riches；　and　so　he　has　leisure　to　follow　his　fancies。　do　not　you　follow　his　example！　work！　painters　have　no　business　to　think；　except　brush　in　hand。〃

〃we　will　find　a　way　into　his　studio！〃　cried　poussin　confidently。　he　had　ceased　to　heed　porbuss　remarks。　the　other　smiled　at　the　young　painters　enthusiasm；　asked　him　to　e　to　see　him　again；　and　they　parted。　nicolas　poussin　went　slowly　back　to　the　rue　de　la　harpe；　and　passed　the　modest　hostelry　where　he　was　lodging　without　noticing　it。　a　feeling　of　uneasiness　prompted　him　to　hurry　up　the　crazy　staircase　till　he　reached　a　room　at　the　top；　a　quaint；　airy　recess　under　the　steep；　high…pitched　roof　mon　among　houses　in　old　paris。　in　the　one　dingy　window　of　the　place　sat　a　young　girl；　who　sprang　up　at　once　when　she　heard　some　one　at　the　door；　it　was　the　prompting　of　love；　she　had　recognized　the　painters　touch　on　the　latch。

〃what　is　the　matter　with　you？〃　she　asked。

〃the　matter　is。。。　is。。。　oh！　i　have　felt　that　i　am　a　painter！　until　to…day　i　have　had　doubts；　but　now　i　believe　in　myself！　there　is　the　making　of　a　great　man　in　me！　never　mind；　gillette；　we　shall　be　rich　and　happy！　there　is　gold　at　the　tips　of　those　brushes〃

he　broke　off　suddenly。　the　joy　faded　from　his　powerful　and　earnest　face　as　he　pared　his　vast　hopes　with　his　slender　resources。　the　walls　were　covered　with　sketches　in　chalk　on　sheets　of　mon　paper。　there　were　but　four　canvases　in　the　room。　colors　were　very　costly；　and　the　young　painters　palette　was　almost　bare。　yet　in　the　midst　of　his　poverty　he　possessed　and　was　conscious　of　the　possession　of　inexhaustible　treasures　of　the　heart；　of　a　devouring　genius　equal　to　all　the　tasks　that　lay　before　him。

he　had　been　brought　to　paris　by　a　nobleman　among　his　friends；　or　perchance　by　the　consciousness　of　his　powers；　and　in　paris　he　had　found　a　mistress；　one　of　those　noble　and　generous　souls　who　choose　to　suffer　by　a　great　mans　side；　who　share　his　struggles　and　strive　to　understand　his　fancies；　accepting　their　lot　of　poverty　and　love　as　bravely　and　dauntlessly　as　other　women　will　set　themselves　to　bear　the　burden　of　riches　and　make　a　parade　of　their　insensibility。　the　smile　that　stole　over　gillettes　lips　filled　the　garret　with　golden　light；　and　rivaled　the　brightness　of　the　sun　in　heaven。　the　sun；　moreover；　does　not　always　shine　in　heaven；　whereas　gillette　was　always　in　the　garret；　absorbed　in　her　passion；　occupied　by　poussins　happiness　and　sorrow；　consoling　the　genius　which　found　an　outlet　in　love　before　art　engrossed　it。

〃listen；　gillette。　e　here。〃

the　girl　obeyed　joyously；　and　sprang　upon　the　painters　knee。　hers　was　perfect　grace　and　beauty；　and　the　loveliness　of　spring；　she　was　adorned　with　all　luxuriant　fairness　of　outward　form；　lighted　up　by　the　glow　of　a　fair　soul　within。

〃oh！　god；〃　he　cried；　〃i　shall　never　dare　to　tell　her〃

〃a　secret？〃　she　cried；　〃i　must　know　it！〃

poussin　was　absorbed　in　his　dreams。

〃do　tell　it　me！〃

〃gillette。。。　poor　beloved　heart！。。。〃

〃oh！　do　you　want　something　of　me？〃

〃yes。〃

〃if　you　wish　me　to　sit　once　more　for　you　as　i　did　the　other　day；〃　she　continued　with　playful　petulance；　〃i　will　never　consent　to　do　such　a　thing　again；　for　your　eyes　say　nothing　all　the　while。　you　do　not　think　of　me　at　all；　and　yet　you　look　at　me〃

〃would　you　rather　have　me　draw　another　woman？〃

〃perhapsif　she　were　very　ugly；〃　she　said。

〃well；〃　said　poussin　gravely；　〃and　if；　for　the　sake　of　my　fame　to　e；　if　to　make　me　a　great　painter；　you　must　sit　to　some　one　else？〃

〃you　may　try　me；〃　she　said；　〃you　know　quite　well　that　i　would　not。〃

poussins　head　sank　on　her　breast；　he　seemed　to　be　overpowered　by　some　intolerable　joy　or　sorrow。

〃listen；〃　she　cried；　plucking　at　the　sleeve　of　poussins　threadbare　doublet；　〃i　told　you；　nick；　that　i　would　lay　down　my　life　for　you；　but　i　never　promised　you　that　i　in　my　lifetime　would　lay　down　my　love。〃

〃your　love？〃　cried　the　young　artist。

〃if　i　showed　myself　thus　to　another；　you　would　love　me　no　longer；　and　i　should　feel　myself　unworthy　of　you。　obedience　to　your　fancies　was　a　natural　and　simple　thing；　was　it　not？　even　against　my　ow