Chapter 57 fifty seven

Our conversation was momentarily interrupted when Mrs. Coutrass saw her friend return.Mrs. Coutras burst in like a boat with bulging sails.She was a tall, fat woman with swollen, tightly corseted breasts.She has a big aquiline nose, three rings of fat drooping under her chin, and her body is straight.Lazy and indolent as tropical climates generally are, they didn't affect her in the slightest.Mrs. Coutrass, on the contrary, had a spirit, a worldly intelligence, a quickness of action, and an energy that no one in this sleepy region would have expected from her.Also, she's obviously a very talkative person; from the minute she walks in the door, she's talking about this, commenting on that, and she's talking a lot.Our conversation just now seemed very remote and unreal when Mrs. Coutras entered the room.

After a while Dr. Coutrass said to me: "The picture Strickland gave me has been hanging in my study. Would you like to see it?" "I'd love to see it." We got up and the doctor led me out onto the balcony that surrounds the house.We stood outside for a while, looking at the gorgeous blooms in his garden. "I have been haunted for a long time by those strange pictures which Strickland adorned the walls of his house," he said thoughtfully. That's exactly what I had in mind.It seems that Strickland has finally fully expressed his inner world.He worked in silence, knowing full well that this was the last chance of his life.I think Strickland must have expressed in images the life he understood and the world he saw with his eyes.I also think that he may have finally found peace of mind while creating these giant paintings; the demon that haunted him was finally uprooted.His tormented life seems to have been a preparation for these frescoes, and when they were completed, his tortured soul, far away from the world, found rest.He would rather welcome death, because the goal he pursued in his life has been achieved.

"What are the subjects of his paintings?" I asked. "I don't know. His paintings are strange and absurd. They seem to be pictures from the beginning of the universe-Eden, Adam and Eve. . A hymn is an ode to nature; nature is both sublime and indifferent, beautiful and cruel...it makes you feel the infinite space and the eternity of time, and makes you feel a sense of fear. He painted many Trees, coconut trees, banyan trees, flame flowers, avocados...all those I see every day; but these trees are completely different when I look at them after he painted them. I seem to see that they all have souls, Each has a secret, as if their soul and secret are about to be captured by me, but they always escape. The colors are all familiar to me, but different; they all have their own Unique importance. And those naked men and women, they are both earthly, the dust they kneaded, and gods. The most primitive nature of man is naked before your eyes, and what you see Sometimes you can't help but be terrified because what you see is yourself."

Dr. Coutras shrugged and smiled. "You'll laugh at me. I'm a materialist, and I'm a fat, stupid--kind of Falstaff-like, isn't it?--lyric sentiment doesn't quite suit me. I'm messing with People laugh. But I have never seen a painting that left such a deep impression on me. To be honest, when I saw this painting, I felt as if I entered the Sestine Chapel in Rome. There, I also felt that the painter who painted on the ceiling was very great, and I admired and awed. It was really a genius painting, so majestic, it made people feel dizzy. In front of such a great mural, I felt very small, Insignificant. But people are still mentally prepared for the greatness of Michelangelo, and in such a small wooden house lived by natives, far away from the civilized world, in the arms of mountains overlooking the village of Tarawo, I did not expect it at all You will see such astonishing works of art. In addition, Michelangelo is sane and healthy. His great works give people a sublime and solemn feeling. But here, although what I see is also beautiful, it is Makes me feel uneasy. I don't know what it is, but it does make me restless. It gives me the impression that I'm sitting next to an empty room that I know is empty, But I don't know why, and I feel like there's someone inside again, and I'm terrified. You scold yourself; you know it's just your nerves at work—but, but... After a while, you won't be able to Resist the terror that grips you. You are gripped in the grip of an invisible terror from which you cannot escape. Yes, I confess that when I hear of the destruction of these singular masterpieces, I am not only Feel sorry."

"What, ruined?" I yelled. "Yeah. Don't you know?" "How would I know? It's true that I hadn't heard of them, but I thought they had fallen into the hands of some private collector. How many pictures did Strickland paint, to this day? No one has compiled a catalog." "Since he was blind, he has always sat motionless for hours in the two rooms painted with murals. He looked at his work with a pair of blind eyes, and perhaps what he saw More than he had seen in his life. Ata told me that he never complained about his fate, and he was never depressed. Until the last moment of his life, his mind was peaceful and peaceful. But he Make Ata promise that when she bury him—I tell you no, I dug his grave with my own hands, for no native would come near this germ-infested house, and we both buried him in Under the mango tree, Ata and I, his body was wrapped with three pieces of Palio sewn together—he asked Aita to promise to set fire to the house, and asked her to watch the house burn down , don't go away till every log is burnt."

For a long time I did not speak; I was lost in thought, and at last I said: "So, he hasn't changed until his death." "You understand? I have to tell you that I felt it was my duty at the time to dissuade her from doing it." "Did you really say that afterward?" "Yes. Because I know it is the work of a great genius, and I don't think we have the right to deprive mankind of it. But Ata will not listen to my advice. She has promised him. I don't want to wait any longer. Was there and saw the savage sabotage. Only after it happened I heard how she did it. She poured kerosene on dry floors and straw mats and lit a fire. No After a while, the house was reduced to ashes, and a great masterpiece was thus reduced to ashes."

"I think Strickland knew it was a masterpiece. He's got what he's after. He can say he's dead. He's made a world and he's seen how good he's made it. . Later, in pride and contempt, he destroyed it again." "I still have to show you my drawing," said Dr. Coutras, walking on. "What became of Ata and their children?" "They've moved to the Marquesas. She has relatives there. I hear their boy is a sailor on a Cameroonian brig. People say he looks like his dead father." Walking to the door leading from the balcony to the consulting room, Dr. Coutras stopped and smiled at me.

"My painting is a still life of fruit. You might think it would be inappropriate to have it in a doctor's office, but my wife would never have it in the living room. She says it gives a sense of Obscenity." "Still life with fruit is obscene?" I exclaimed in surprise. We walked into the house and my eyes immediately fell on the painting.I have been watching it for a long time. It's a bunch of fruit: mangoes, bananas, oranges, and something I can't name.At first glance, there is nothing weird about the painting.If placed in an exhibition of Post-Impressionist paintings, a casual person will think that this is a good, but not outstanding painting. In terms of style, it is not different from this school.But after seeing it, maybe this painting will always come back to his memory, even he himself doesn't know why.From then on, I guess, he'll never be able to get it out of his mind.

The coloring of the painting is so grotesque and unsettling that it is difficult to pinpoint its feeling.The thick blue is opaque, like a finely carved lapis lazuli plate, but it trembles and sparkles, reminding one of the mysterious throbbing of life; A fiery desire, vaguely reminiscent of the Roman Empire under Helios Gabalus; the red is as bright and piercing as the little red berries of a holly bush--one thinks of Christmas in England, snowy and merry The atmosphere and children's laughter and noise——but the painter used his magic brush to soften the luster, making it as tender as the breast of a pigeon, which is pleasing to the eye; the deep yellow is somewhat abrupt. Turning green, it brings the fragrance of spring and the cleanliness of the foaming mountain spring.Who can know what painful fantasy created these fruits?Could it be that the three Hesperides sisters who guard the golden apple orchard cultivated it in the Polynesian orchard!The strange thing is that these fruits are all alive, as if they were created at the beginning of chaos, when nothing had a fixed shape, they were plump and plump, exuding a strong tropical atmosphere, as if they had a unique melancholic feelings.They are the fruits of magic, and anyone who tastes them can open the door to the unknown soul secrets, and can enter the mysterious palace of illusion.They harbor unforeseen dangers, and a single bite may transform a man into a beast, or perhaps into a god.All the healthy and normal things, all the good friendships and simple joys of simple people are far away from them; but they are also very attractive, just like the wisdom fruit that can distinguish between good and evil in the Garden of Eden. , can lead people into the unknown realm.

In the end, I left the painting.I feel like Strickland has been taking his secrets to the grave. "Hello, Rene, dear," came Mrs. Coutras's cheerful and loud voice from outside, "what have you been doing all this time? The aperitif is ready. Ask the gentleman if he would like to." Have a small glass of Guinapi du Bonnet." "Of course I would, ma'am," I said, going out to the balcony. The charm of the picture is broken.