Chapter 88 Chapter 88

With a knock on the door, a group of children swarmed in.At this moment, each of them was clean and tidy.The little faces glistened with fresh soap.The wet hair was combed submissively.They will go to Sunday School with Sally leading them.Athelny was beaming, and joked with the children as if in a play.It is not difficult to see that he still blames them for loving them.He was proud of his children growing up strong and vigorous, and his proud look was quite touching.Philip had a vague feeling that the children were restrained in his presence, and when their father sent them off they fled away with evident relief.In a few minutes Madame Athelny entered.At this time, the clips of the curly hair were removed, and the bangs on the forehead were combed neatly.She wore a plain black coat and a hat decorated with some cheap flowers.Now she was trying to slip gloves on hands that were red and rough with work.

"I'm going to church now, Athelny," she said. "You don't need anything, do you?" "Just your prayers, Betty." "My prayers won't do you any good. You don't even have the heart to listen." She smiled, and then, turning to Philip, said slowly: "I can't ask him to go to church with me. He's not much better than an atheist." "Does she look like Rubens' second wife?" Athelny exclaimed suddenly. "Doesn't she look graceful in seventeenth-century dress? If you want a wife, you want a wife like her, my brother. Look at her!"

"I know you're going to be poor again, Athelny," she replied calmly. Madame Athelny managed to press the snap button of the glove.Before leaving, she turned to Philip with a kind but slightly embarrassed smile on her face. "You stay for your tea, won't you? Athelny likes to talk to someone, and it's not always easy to find someone with a head." "That's up to you, of course he wants tea here," said Athelny.After his wife had gone, he continued, "I make it a rule that the children go to Sunday school, and I like Betty to go to church. I think women should be religious. I don't believe in religion myself, but I like women and children to be religious."

Philip, who was himself extremely scrupulous about matters of truth, was slightly taken aback by Athelny's frivolity. "How can you be indifferent and let your children accept exactly what you think is not true?" "So long as it's beautiful, it doesn't matter what it is. Asking everything to fit your senses as well as your aesthetics is asking too much. I wanted Betty to be Catholic I'd love to see her convert to Catholicism with a paper flower crown on her head. But she's a Jesuit, and it's hopeless. Besides, being religious is a matter of temperament. If you're born with a religious heart If you don't have a religious head, you'll get rid of them by degrees, if you don't have a religious head. Religion is probably the best school of morals Now, this is like one of the medicines that you gentlemen often use. If you don’t use this medicine and use another medicine, it can also solve the problem. This means that the medicine itself has no effect, but it breaks down other medicines to make it easier Absorbed. You choose your morality because it is combined with religion. You lose your religion, but your morality remains. If a person does not study the philosophical works of Herbert Spencer But if you cultivate yourself by loving God, then it will be easier for him to be a good man."

Philip's point of view was exactly the opposite of Athelny's.He still believed that Christianity was a degrading yoke that must be destroyed at all costs.In his mind this idea of ​​his was always, consciously or unconsciously, connected with the wearisome services of Canterbury Cathedral and the tedious sermons in the cold churches of Blackstable.It seemed to him that the morality of which Athelny had just been speaking was a part of a religion which, once the beliefs which had established it were discarded, had only a trembling god to protect it.While Philip was pondering his answer, Athelny suddenly delivered a tirade on Roman Catholicism, a man much more interested in hearing himself than anyone else.In his eyes, Roman Catholicism is the essence of Spain.Spain was special to him, for he had finally found spiritual sanctuary in Spain, freed from the shackles of tradition, which his married life had taught him was tiresome.Athelny described to Philip the dark and empty sanctuary of the Spanish cathedral, the large pieces of gold on the screen behind the altar, the stately iron ornaments that had been gilded but faded, and the interior of the church. How cigarettes linger, how silently.While speaking, Athelny also used rich expressions and sometimes emphasized his tone, making what he said more touching.Philip seemed to see the list of saints written on the broad white surplice worn by the bishop, and the monks in red surplices were walking from the sacristy to the pew, and he seemed to hear the monotonous vespers singing in his ears.The place names such as Avila, Taragoyo, Zaragoza, Segovia, and Cordoba mentioned by Aterhan in the conversation are like trumpets in his heart.He also seemed to see, in the wilderness full of loess, desolate and howling with cold wind, piles of huge gray granite stones stood up in the ancient Spanish cities.

"I always thought I should go and see Seville," Philippe blurted out, but Athelny raised a hand dramatically and stood there for a moment. "Seville!" cried Athelny. "No, no, don't go there. Seville, when you mention this place, you will think of girls dancing to the rhythm of castanets and singing in the gardens on the banks of the Guadalquivir River. Think of bullfights, orange blossoms, and women's thin hoods and mantones de Manila. That's Opera Comic and Montmartre's Spain. Such a facile gimmick can only give endless pleasure to those of ordinary intellect and a taste for it .Although there are so many interesting and beautiful things in Seville, Tawarfiel Gautier ran out of there. We go to follow his footsteps, and we can only experience what he experienced. His Those big, fat hands touched only the obvious. Yet there was nothing there but the obvious. Everything there was fingerprinted and worn. The painter there was called Myrerio."

Athelny got up from his chair, went to the Spanish chest, unlocked the gleaming lock, and opened the wide door on gilded hinges, revealing a series of small drawers inside.He took out a stack of photos from it. "Do you know El Greco?" he asked Philip. "Oh, I remember when I was in Paris, there was a guy who was obsessed with El Greco." "El Greco was a Toledo painter. Betty couldn't find the picture I'm going to show you. El Greco painted his favorite city in that picture. More real than any picture. Come sit down at the table." Philip moved his chair forward, and Athelny placed the pictures on the table in front of him.He watched in amazement, and for a moment held his breath and said nothing.He reached for the other photographs, and Athelny handed them over.He had never seen the work of the enigmatic painter.At first glance, he was confused by the random painting method: the figure has an unusually long body, a particularly small head, and a wild and unruly expression.This is not a realistic brushwork, however; nonetheless, the images leave an unsettlingly real impression.Athelny was eagerly busy explaining, using all vivid words, but Philip only caught a few words vaguely.He was puzzled.He was inexplicably moved.In his opinion, these pictures seem to have some meaning, but he can't tell what they mean.Some men on the screen, with wide-open eyes full of sadness, seem to be telling you something, but you don’t understand; long-legged monks with Franciscan or Dominican characteristics, one by one With a blushing face and a thick neck, he gestured inexplicably.There is a painting of the Assumption of the Virgin.The other is a scene of the crucifixion of Jesus. In this painting, the painter successfully demonstrated with a magical feeling that the body of Jesus is by no means a mortal body, but a divine body.There is also a picture of the Ascension of Jesus, on which Jesus Christ is slowly rising into space, as if he is stepping on the solid earth instead of the air: the apostles of Christ are ecstatic, raising their arms and waving their scarves, all of which are impressive. With an impression of holy joy and ecstasy the background of all these pictures is almost always the night sky: the night of the soul, hell, whistling, whistling clouds, gray and yellow in the twinkling moonlight .

Philip now remembered how Clutton had been under the influence of this incredible painter.This was the first time in his life that he witnessed the painter's ink.He thought Clutton the most interesting of all the men he had known in Paris.He was sarcastic, arrogant, and hostile to everything, which made it difficult for others to understand him.Looking back, Philip seemed to feel that there was a tragic force in Clutton, and he tried every means to express it in the painting, but he failed in the end.He was a grotesque man, as incomprehensible as an age devoid of mystic tendencies; he could not bear life, because he felt himself unable to express the meaning suggested by the faint beating of his heart.His intellect is not adapted to the functions of the mind.No wonder, then, that he felt great sympathy for the Greek who took a new approach to expressing his inner longing.Philip glanced at the portraits of the Spanish gentlemen again, and saw that their faces were wrinkled and pointed, and their faces were very pale against the light black clothes and the dark background.El Greco is a painter who reveals the soul.And those gentlemen were pale and haggard, not because of overwork but because of mental depression.Their minds were brutally destroyed.They walk as if unconscious of the beauty of the world.Because their eyes are only on their own hearts, they are dazzled by the splendor of the spirit world.No painter has revealed more relentlessly than El Greco that the world is a temporary toilet.His characters express their inner desires through their eyes: their senses are insensitive to sound, smell and color, but they are very sensitive to the subtle emotions of the heart.The great painter, wandering about with a bodhisattva's heart, saw all kinds of illusions that the dead who ascended to heaven also see, and yet he was not in the least surprised.His mouth had never been one that opened easily into a smile.

Philip remained silent, and his eyes fell on the picture of Toledo again.To him it was the most striking of all the pictures.Nothing he could say could take his eyes off the picture.At this time, he couldn't help feeling an indescribable emotion in his heart. He felt that he had begun to have a new discovery of the true meaning of life.A thrill of adventure stirred within him.For a moment, he thought of the love that had exhausted him: love was of little importance except for the excitement that was stirring him now.The painting he was looking at was long and had a hill painted on it.The houses on the hill are row upon row and crowded; in one corner of the photo, there is a boy holding a large map of the city; in the other corner stands a classical figure symbolizing the Tagus River; in the sky, a group of angels surround the Virgin Mary .This view was exactly what Philip thought it would be, for for many years he had lived in a circle in which nothing but realism was valued.Now, however, he felt again that El Greco's picture had a stronger sense of reality than the achievements of those painters whom he had tried to imitate before.Why he felt this way, even he didn't know why.He had heard from Athelny that the picture was so realistic that when the citizens of Toledo were shown it, they recognized their houses.What El Greco painted was what his eyes saw, but he saw life with the eyes of his soul.In that gray city, there seemed to be a transcendent and holy atmosphere.In the bleak light, the city of the soul looks neither day nor night.The city stands on a green hill, but this green is not the color seen in this world.The city, surrounded by thick walls and bastions, will be destroyed by prayers, fasts, regretful sighs, and imprisoned passions, not by the modern machines and engines of modern man's invention and creation.This is God's fortress.Those gray and white houses are not made of a kind of stone that masons are familiar with, and they look terrifying. I don't know how people live in them.You may not be surprised when you walk through the streets and see that there seems to be no one there but it is not empty. There is no reason.In this mysterious city, one's imagination trembles, as if one has just stepped from light into darkness.The naked soul wanders to and fro, comprehending the unknowable, strangely aware of the intimate yet ineffable experience, and also strangely aware of the absolute.In the blue sky, people saw a group of angels with two blades and wings surrounding the Virgin in red robes and blue coats, but they were not surprised.The azure sky is plausible with a reality attested by the mind rather than the eye, and the clouds move with the strange cries and sighs of ghosts in hell .Philip felt that the inhabitants of the city were not surprised, either out of reverence or gratitude, at this marvelous sight, but were free to do what they wanted.

Athelny talked about Spanish mystic writers, about Teresa de Ávila, San Juan de la Quopus, Fray Diego de Leon and others.They share a strong feeling for the spirit world that Philip can only experience in El Greco's paintings: they both seem to have the ability to touch the invisible and see the spirit world.They were the Spaniards of their day, and in their hearts trembled the glorious deeds of a great people.Their imaginations were filled with the glory of America and the evergreen islands of the Caribbean; I feel that I have the ends of the earth, the tawny moors, the snow-covered Castile mountains, the sun and the blue sky, and the flowery plains of Andalusia.Life is full of passion and colorful.Because life has so much to offer, their desires are never-ending, always craving more and more.Just because they are human beings, their appetites are always insatiable, and they turn their exuberance into a passion for the ineffable.Athelny entertained himself for a while by translating poetry, and he was not without joy in finding someone who could read his translations.In his melodious, quivering voice he recited the hymn to the soul and Christ its lover, and the beautiful poem by Fray Luis de Leon, beginning en una noche oscura and noche serena?K Bag milk? Simple, but not without ingenuity.He felt that, no matter how he said it, the diction he used reflected the rough but powerful charm of the original work.El Greco's pictures explain the meaning of the poem, and the poem tells the truth in the picture.

Philip had a certain distaste for idealism.He had always had a strong love for life, and as far as he saw in his life, idealism mostly retreated timidly before life.Idealism retreats because he cannot bear the strife among men; he has not the courage to fight himself, and calls the struggle vulgar.He was mediocre himself, and consoled himself with contempt for his companions when they did not treat him as he regarded himself.In Philip's view, Hayward was such a person.Hayward, a fine-featured, languid man, was now bloated and bald.But he still cherishes the few remaining good looks with great care, and still talks interestingly and meaningfully about making something in that uncertain future.Behind all of this, however, is whiskey, chasing women in the streets, and reckless debauchery.Contrary to the view of life represented by Hayward, Philip echoed his demand that life be as it was, and that meanness, vice, and disability were all indifferent to him.He claimed that he wanted everyone to be naked and completely naked.Whenever baseness, cruelty, selfishness, or lust presented itself to him, he rubbed his hands gleefully: that was the way things were.In Paris he had learned that there was neither beauty nor ugliness, but only facts; the pursuit of beauty was purely sentimental.In order to get rid of the tyranny of beauty, didn't he just paint an advertisement for chocolate Menier on a landscape painting? In doing so, however, he seems to have sanctified one more thing.For a long time, he has always had some feelings about this, but he was always hesitant to be sure, and it was only now that he realized it.He felt that he was beginning to discover something, and vaguely felt that there was something more perfect in the world than the realism he admired so much, but of course this more perfect thing was not the idealism that faced the powerlessness of life.It is very strong, very forceful; it accepts all the joys, ugliness and beauty, baseness and heroism of life.It's still realism, but a higher kind of realism.In this realism, facts are transformed in a brighter glory.Philip seemed to see more deeply through the mournful eyes of the late nobles of Castile.And the facial expressions of those saints seemed a little crazy and strange at first glance, but now it seems that there is some elusive meaning in them.But Philip couldn't figure out what it meant.It was like a message, a very important message that he wanted to receive, but the message was delivered in a language he was unfamiliar with, and he couldn't understand it.He has been diligently exploring the meaning of life.He seemed to feel that the answer here had been provided for him, but it was too vague and general.He was puzzled.He seemed to see something like truth, like seeing the outline of a mountain by lightning in a stormy night.He seemed to realize that one's will is strong; that self-denial can be as strong and active as yielding to desire; The same colorful, the same colorful, the same full of experience.