Chapter 44 love painting

one The mountain is very quiet and the house is big.The living room is full of medieval wooden furniture and colorful tapestry depicting Samson's body: the hair has grown, and the eyes have been gouged out; Delilah is still greedy and reluctant to let go of his uncontainable energy.The owner of the house, William Morris, was not at home, and went to Iceland to collect materials on medieval folklore.Mrs. Maurice Jeanne and her lover Dani Gabriel Rossetti consume the desire settled in the body in the living room dyed with twilight.Her hair was thick and long, flowing like water over Rossetti's body.

"..." She wrapped him tightly. "..." He closed his eyes and let the tide of thought follow her body: his paintbrush scratched every inch of her skin.She was the lustful queen of his King Arthur.She is his mistress in heaven.She is his "Bia": the terrace of the old castle is bleak, and the stone walls are cold and wet; the branches and leaves of the fig tree are extraordinarily lush, and they are all dark green;A group of crows flew around, and the black wings dipped in ink splashed impromptu in the dark sky.There is no wind.His Bea sat there with her back against the stone wall, her hands crossed on her knees.The twilight of that day was also as vast as it is now, her dress was completely covered with lavender water patterns, and ripples appeared all over her body.A string of rosary beads, a scripture book, a sundial, and several old letters from her husband are by her side.Everything changes silently: her eyes condense many stories.His Jenny became her "Bea"; her "Bea" became his Jenny.In Dante's "Purgatory", this woman is locked by her husband in this old castle in a malaria-infested area to wait to die: Bia's karmic relationship is over; what is endless is the frightening brilliance of Jeanne under Rossetti's brush.The poet Swinburne said: "The idea of ​​marrying her is a madman's idea; at most a man dares to dream of kissing her toes." .Jenny's husband, Morris, said to her that year: "I can't paint you, I can only love you." Morris then married the daughter of the old man who took care of the stables in Oxford.Morris is no madman.

two Rossetti dared not open his eyes.The dark fragrance of long hair does not intoxicate his conscience: Morris is his old friend, together they paint, write poems, buy drunk and laugh together in Victorian London, imitate the style of painting in medieval Italy before Raphael, and run business together Design company, manufacture wallpaper, fabrics, stained window panes, and paint Jenny together.But Jenny finally married Morris and had a daughter. (Jenny scratches his beard lightly with her lips.) Rossetti finally married Lizzy too.Lizzy is a lily, chaste and refined, implying "unfeeling" and dying; Jenny is a rose, smelting and compelling, implying "indulging" and dying.Lisi is rational, delicate, and cold; it symbolizes wisdom.Jenny is sensual, fertile, sensational; symbolizing desire. (In an instant, desire dissolves into a thick pool of stagnant water, and Jenny lets go of Rossetti's body like a paper boat...) Lizzy is pregnant.Lizzy's baby died at birth.Lizzy sedated herself with opium.He came home in the middle of the night to find Lizzie dead from an opium overdose.He buried all his handwritten poems in Lisie's coffin; love is dead, and poetry is dead.After six years of widowhood, Rossetti finally fell into a wine glass and into Jenny's black hair.Someone said: "The old love is still revived; he had pursued Jenny back then, but because of his moral responsibility to Lizzy, he had to encourage Morris to marry Jenny." And marry Lisi." (Jenny said: Go to sleep, I'll poke the fire in the fireplace.) Rossetti dreamed of his "Bia", dreamed of Jenny under his brush: "The terrace of the old castle It is desolate, the stone walls are cold and wet; the fig tree's leaves are extraordinarily lush..." These are not love poems; they are love paintings.

three Morris came back from the cold Iceland, and returned to Jenny's cold eyes.Morris and Jenny had less and less to talk about.Morris is becoming more and more like Marx.He preached "Guiltic Socialism".He attacked the British factory system.He advocated collective ownership of production methods.He was fascinated by the life of a medieval craftsman.He wrote books: "Art and Socialism", "True and False Society", "Useful Work and Useless Toil".Jenny is too far away from him: "I can't paint you and I can't love you".It is Rossetti who loves you: Rossetti writes letters, draws pictures, and writes poems to Jeanne.He dug up Lisi's coffin, took back the manuscript, and resent emotional poetry.He is getting more and more tired.Jenny couldn't be with him every day, so she could only write to him: "My dear... I felt that I was too slow to respond to that song about Shang Lai. It's sad to think about it. In fact, I received that song when I was sick." Poetry; when I first read it, I felt that the whole poem was extremely sad and touched a lot; unfortunately, I didn’t know whether my judgment was right or wrong: I thought later that you must have written it while you were sick, otherwise it wouldn’t be so desolate. So I Not a word. That's the truth. I made you sad by doing this; forgive me. I hope you understand why I didn't say a word about that poem, and don't ask me any more. . . . " "Next week you must Let me come to see you..." "I will come to see you on Tuesday afternoon at three or three-thirty, even though you wrote me such a dirty letter..." In 1881, Rosie took five Thirteen.In the autumn of that year, he went to the Lake District to recuperate for a month, and wrote the last letter to Jenny in the inn: "More than ten copies of my new poetry collection have been sent. Do you want me to send you one? Which one should I send to?" Address? Or send two copies, one to you and one to Morris? Tell me what you want me to do." Jenny didn't hear from him for six months after that.On Easter, 1882, Rossetti died.On the night before his death, he made a will and left three chalk drawings of Jenny to Jenny.Fourteen years later, Morris also passed away.Jenny lived until she died at the age of seventy-five in 1914: "The crows flew wildly, and their ink-soaked black wings splashed impromptu in the dark sky. There was no wind."…

In the early summer of 1984, I read the first Raphaelite album.