《未来千年文学备忘录》第30章

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　breeze……you　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　host；　〃it　is　an　early　daub　of　mine……〃
〃gramercy！　i　am　in　the　abode　of　the　god　of　painting；　it　seems！〃　cried　poussin　ingenuously。
the　old　man　smiled　as　if　he　had　long　grown　familiar　with　such　praise。
〃master　frenhofer！〃　said　porbus；　〃do　you　think　you　could　spare　me　a　little　of　your　capital　rhine　wine？〃
〃a　couple　of　pipes！〃　answered　his　host；　〃one　to　discharge　a　debt；　for　the　pleasure　of　seeing　your　pretty　sinner；　the　other　as　a　present　from　a　friend。〃
〃ah！　if　i　had　my　health；〃　returned　porbus；　〃and　if　you　would　but　let　me　see　your　belle　noiseuse；　i　would　paint　some　great　picture；　with　breadth　in　it　and　depth；　the　figures　should　be　life…size。〃
〃let　you　see　my　work！〃　cried　the　painter　in　agitation。　〃no；　no！　it　is　not　perfect　yet；　something　still　remains　for　me　to　do。　yesterday；　in　the　dusk；〃　he　said；　〃i　thought　i　had　reached　the　end。　her　eyes　seemed　moist；　the　flesh　quivered；　something　stirred　the　tresses　of　her　hair。　she　breathed！　but　though　i　have　succeeded　in　reproducing　natures　roundness　and　relief　on　the　flat　surface　of　the　canvas；　this　morning；　by　daylight；　i　found　out　my　mistake。　ah！　to　achieve　that　glorious　result　i　have　studied　the　works　of　the　great　masters　of　color；　stripping　off　coat　after　coat　of　color　from　titians　canvas；　analyzing　the　pigments　of　the　king　of　light。　like　that　sovereign　painter；　i　began　the　face　in　a　slight　tone　with　a　supple　and　fat　paste……for　shadow　is　but　an　accident；　bear　that　in　mind；　youngster！……then　i　began　afresh；　and　by　half…tones　and　thin　glazes　of　color　less　and　less　transparent；　i　gradually　deepened　the　tints　to　the　deepest　black　of　the　strongest　shadows。　an　ordinary　painter　makes　his　shadows　something　entirely　different　in　nature　from　the　high　lights；　they　are　wood　or　brass；　or　what　you　will；　anything　but　flesh　in　shadow。　you　feel　that　even　if　those　figures　were　to　alter　their　position；　those　shadow　stains　would　never　be　cleansed　away；　those　parts　of　the　picture　would　never　glow　with　light。
〃i　have　escaped　one　mistake；　into　which　the　most　famous　painters　have　sometimes　fallen；　in　my　canvas　the　whiteness　shines　through　the　densest　and　most　persistent　shadow。　i　have　not　marked　out　the　limits　of　my　figure　in　hard；　dry　outlines；　and　brought　every　least　anatomical　detail　into　prominence　（like　a　host　of　dunces；　who　fancy　that　they　can　draw　because　they　can　trace　a　line　elaborately　smooth　and　clean）；　for　the　human　body　is　not　contained　within　the　limits　of　line。　in　this　the　sculptor　can　approach　the　truth　more　nearly　than　we　painters。　natures　way　is　a　plicated　succession　of　curve　within　curve。　strictly　speaking；　there　is　no　such　thing　as　drawing。……do　not　laugh；　young　man；　strange　as　that　speech　may　seem　to　you；　you　will　understand　the　truth　in　it　some　day。……a　line　is　a　method　of　expressing　the　effect　of　light　upon　an　object；　but　there　are　no　lines　in　nature；　everything　is　solid。　we　draw　by　modeling；　that　is　to　say；　that　we　disengage　an　object　from　its　setting；　the　distribution　of　the　light　alone　gives　to　a　body　the　appearance　by　which　we　know　it。　so　i　have　not　defined　the　outlines；　i　have　suffused　them　with　a　haze　of　half…tints　warm　or　golden；　in　such　a　sort　that　you　can　not　lay　your　finger　on　the　exact　spot　where　background　and　contours　meet。　seen　from　near；　the　picture　looks　a　blur；　it　seems　to　lack　definition；　but　step　back　two　paces；　and　the　whole　thing　bees　clear；　distinct；　and　solid；　the　body　stands　out；　the　rounded　form　es　into　relief；　you　feel　that　the　air　plays　round　it。　and　yet……i　am　not　satisfied；　i　have　misgivings。　perhaps　one　ought　not　to　draw　a　single　line；　perhaps　it　would　be　better　to　attack　the　face　from　the　centre；　taking　the　highest　prominences　first；　proceeding　from　them　through　the　whole　range　of　shadows　to　the　heaviest　of　all。　is　not　this　the　method　of　the　sun；　the　divine　painter　of　the　world？　oh；　nature；　nature！　who　has　surprised　thee；　fugitive？　but；　after　all；　too　much　knowledge；　like　ignorance；　brings　you　to　a　negation。　i　have　doubts　about　my　work。〃
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