penguin island-第14部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


ll　souls　that　had　not　been　corrupted　by　sophisms。　This　is　the　explanation　of　the　unity　of　belief。　A　constant　practice　of　the　Church　doubtless　contributed　also　to　maintain　this　happy　communion　of　the　faithfulevery　Penguin　who　thought　differently　from　the　others　was　immediately　burned　at　the　stake。



IV。　LETTERS：　JOHANNES　TALPA

During　the　minority　of　King　Gun；　Johannes　Talpa；　in　the　monastery　of　Beargarden；　where　at　the　age　of　fourteen　he　had　made　his　profession　and　from　which　he　never　departed　for　a　single　day　throughout　his　life；　composed　his　celebrated　Latin　chronicle　in　twelve　books　called　〃De　Gestis　Penguinorum。〃

The　monastery　of　Beargarden　lifts　its　high　walls　on　the　summit　of　an　inaccessible　peak。　One　sees　around　it　only　the　blue　tops　of　mountains；　divided　by　the　clouds。

When　he　began　to　write　his　〃Gesta　Penguinorum；〃　Johannes　Talpa　was　already　old。　The　good　monk　has　taken　care　to　tell　us　this　in　his　book：　〃My　head　has　long　since　lost；〃　he　says；　〃its　adornment　of　fair　hair；　and　my　scalp　resembles　those　convex　mirrors　of　metal　which　the　Penguin　ladies　consult　with　so　much　care　and　zeal。　My　stature；　naturally　small；　has　with　years　become　diminished　and　bent。　My　white　beard　gives　warmth　to　my　breast。〃

With　a　charming　simplicity；　Talpa　informs　us　of　certain　circumstances　in　his　life　and　some　features　in　his　character。　〃Descended；〃　he　tells　us；　〃from　a　noble　family；　and　destined　from　childhood　for　the　ecclesiastical　state；　I　was　taught　grammar　and　music。　I　learnt　to　read　under　the　guidance　of　a　master　who　was　called　Amicus；　and　who　would　have　been　better　named　Inimicus。　As　I　did　not　easily　attain　to　a　knowledge　of　my　letters；　he　beat　me　violently　with　rods　so　that　I　can　say　that　he　printed　the　alphabet　in　strokes　upon　my　back。〃

In　another　passage　Talpa　confesses　his　natural　inclination　towards　pleasure。　These　are　his　expressive　words：　〃In　my　youth　the　ardour　of　my　senses　was　such　that　in　the　shadow　of　the　woods　I　experienced　a　sensation　of　boiling　in　a　pot　rather　than　of　breathing　the　fresh　air。　I　fled　from　women；　but　in　vain；　for　every　object　recalled　them　to　me。〃

While　he　was　writing　his　chronicle；　a　terrible　war；　at　once　foreign　and　domestic；　laid　waste　the　Penguin　land。　The　soldiers　of　Crucha　came　to　defend　the　monastery　of　Beargarden　against　the　Penguin　barbarians　and　established　themselves　strongly　within　its　walls。　In　order　to　render　it　impregnable　they　pierced　loop…holes　through　the　walls　and　they　took　the　lead　off　the　church　roof　to　make　balls　for　their　slings。　At　night　they　lighted　huge　fires　in　the　courts　and　cloisters　and　on　them　they　roasted　whole　oxen　which　they　spitted　upon　the　ancient　pine…trees　of　the　mountain。　Sitting　around　the　flames；　amid　smoke　filled　with　a　mingled　odour　of　resin　and　fat；　they　broached　huge　casks　of　wine　and　beer。　Their　songs；　their　blasphemies；　and　the　noise　of　their　quarrels　drowned　the　sound　of　the　morning　bells。

At　last　the　Porpoises；　having　crossed　the　defiles；　laid　siege　to　the　monastery。　They　were　warriors　from　the　North；　clad　in　copper　armour。　They　fastened　ladders　a　hundred　and　fifty　fathoms　long　to　the　sides　of　the　cliffs　and　sometimes　in　the　darkness　and　storm　these　broke　beneath　the　weight　of　men　and　arms；　and　bunches　of　the　besiegers　were　hurled　into　the　ravines　and　precipices。　A　prolonged　wail　would　be　heard　going　down　into　the　darkness；　and　the　assault　would　begin　again。　The　Penguins　poured　streams　of　burning　wax　upon　their　assailants；　which　made　them　blaze　like　torches。　Sixty　times　the　enraged　Porpoises　attempted　to　scale　the　monastery　and　sixty　times　they　were　repulsed。

For　six　months　they　had　closely　invested　the　monastery；　when；　on　the　day　of　the　Epiphany；　a　shepherd　of　the　valley　showed　them　a　hidden　path　by　which　they　climbed　the　mountain；　penetrated　into　the　vaults　of　the　abbey；　ran　through　the　cloisters；　the　kitchens；　the　church；　the　chapter　halls；　the　library；　the　laundry；　the　cells；　the　refectories；　and　the　dormitories；　and　burned　the　buildings；　killing　and　violating　without　distinction　of　age　or　sex。　The　Penguins；　awakened　unexpectedly；　ran　to　arms；　but　in　the　darkness　and　alarm　they　struck　at　one　another；　whilst　the　Porpoises　with　blows　of　their　axes　disputed　the　sacred　vessels；　the　censers；　the　candlesticks；　dalmatics；　reliquaries；　golden　crosses；　and　precious　stones。

The　air　was　filled　with　an　acrid　odour　of　burnt　flesh。　Groans　and　death…cries　arose　in　the　midst　of　the　flames；　and　on　the　edges　of　the　crumbling　roofs　monks　ran　in　thousands　like　ants；　and　fell　into　the　valley。　Yet　Johannes　Talpa　kept　on　writing　his　Chronicle。　The　soldiers　of　Crucha　retreated　speedily　and　filled　up　all　the　issues　from　the　monastery　with　pieces　of　rock　so　as　to　shut　up　the　Porpoises　in　the　burning　buildings。　And　to　crush　the　enemy　beneath　the　ruin　they　employed　the　trunks　of　old　oaks　as　battering…rams。　The　burning　timbers　fell　in　with　a　noise　like　thunder　and　the　lofty　arches　of　the　naves　crumbled　beneath　the　shock　of　these　giant　trees　when　moved　by　six　hundred　men　together。　Soon　there　was　left　nothing　of　the　rich　and　extensive　abbey　but　the　cell　of　Johannes　Talpa；　which；　by　a　marvellous　chance；　hung　from　the　ruin　of　a　smoking　gable。　The　old　chronicler　still　kept　writing。

This　admirable　intensity　of　thought　may　seem　excessive　in　the　case　of　an　annalist　who　applies　himself　to　relate　the　events　of　his　own　time。　However　abstracted　and　detached　we　may　be　from　surrounding　things；　we　nevertheless　resent　their　influence。　I　have　consulted　the　original　manuscript　of　Johannes　Talpa　in　the　National　Library；　where　it　is　preserved　（Monumenta　Peng。；　K。　L6。；　12390　four）。　It　is　a　parchment　manuscript　of　628　leaves。　The　writing　is　extremely　confused；　the　letters　instead　of　being　in　a　straight　line；　stray　in　all　directions　and　are　mingled　together　in　great　disorder；　or；　more　correctly　speaking；　in　absolute　confusion。　They　are　so　badly　formed　that　for　the　most　part　it　is　impossible　not　merely　to　say　what　they　are；　but　even　to　distinguish　them　from　the　splashes　of　ink　with　which　they　are　plentifully　interspersed。　Those　inestimable　pages　bear　witness　in　this　way　to　the　troubles　amid　which　they　were　written。　To　read　them　is　difficult。　On　the　other　hand；　the　monk　of　Beargarden's　style　shows　no　trace　of　emotion。　The　tone　of　the　〃Gesta　Penguinorum〃　never　departs　from　simplicity。　The　narration　is　rapid　and　of　a　conciseness　that　sometimes　approaches　dryness。　The　reflections　are　rare　and；　as　a　rule；　judicious。



V。　THE　ARTS：　THE　PRIMITIVES　OF　PENGUIN　PAINTING

The　Penguin　critics　vie　with　one　another　in　affirming　that　Penguin　art　has　from　its　origin　been　distinguished　by　a　powerful　and　pleasing　originality；　and　that　we　may　look　elsewhere　in　vain　for　the　qualities　of　grace　and　reason　that　characterise　its　earliest　works。　But　the　Porpoises　claim　that　their　artists　were　undoubtedly　the　instructors　and　masters　of　the　Penguins。　It　is　difficult　to　form　an　opinion　on　the　matter；　because　the　Penguins；　before　they　began　to　admire　their　primitive　painters；　destroyed　all　their　works。

We　cannot　be　too　sorry　for　this　loss。　For　my　own　part　I　feel　it　cruelly；　for　I　venerate　the　Penguin　antiquities　and　I　adore　the　primitives。　They　are　delightful。　I　do　not　say　the　are　all　alike；　for　that　would　be　untrue；　but　they　have　common　characters　that　are　found　in　all　schoolsI　mean　formulas　from　which　they　never　departand　there　is　besides　something　finished　in　their　work；　for　what　they　know　they　know　well。　Luckily　we　can　form　a　notion　of　the　Penguin　primitives　from　the　Italian；　Flemish；　and　Dutch　primitives；　and　from　the　French　primitives；　who　are　superior　to　all　the　rest；　as　M。　Gruyer　tells　us　they　are　more　logical；　logic　being　a　peculiarly　French　quality。　Even　if　this　is　denied　it　must　at　least　be　admitted　that　to　France　belongs　the　credit　of　having　kept　primitives　when　the　other　nations　knew　them　no　longer。　The　Exhibition　of　French　Primitives　at　the　Pavilion　Marsan　in　1904　contained　several　little　panels　contemporary　with　the　later　Valois　kings　and　with　Henry　IV。

I　have　made　many　journeys　to　see　the　pictures　of　the　brothers　Van　Eyck；　of　Memling；　of　Roger　van　der　Weyden；　of　the　painter　of　the　death　of　Mary；　of　Ambrogio　Lorenzetti；　and　of　the　old　Umbrian　masters。　It　was；　however；　neither　Bruges；　nor　Cologne；　nor　Sienna；　nor　Perugia；　that　completed　my　initiation；　it　was　in　the　little　town　of　Arezzo　that　I　became　a　conscious　adept　in　primitive　painting。　That　was　ten　years　ago　or　even　longer。　At　that　period　of　indigence　and　simplicity；　the　municipal　museums；　though　usually　kept　shut；　were　always　opened　to　foreigners。　One　evening　an　old　woman　with　a　candle　showed　me；　for　half　a　lira；　the　sordid　museum　of　Arezzo；　and　in　it　I　discovered　a　painting　by　Margaritone；　a　〃St。　Francis；〃　the　pious　sadness　of　which　moved　me　to　tears。　I　was　deeply　touched；　and　Margaritone；of　Arezzo　became　from　that　day　my　dearest　primitive。

I　picture　to　myself　the　Penguin　primitives　in　conformity　with　the　works　of　that　master。　It　will　not　therefore　be　thought　superfluous　if　in　this　place　I　consider　his　works　with　some　attention；　if　not　in　detail；　at　least　under　their　more　general　and；　if　I　dare　say　so；　most　representative　aspect。

We　possess　five　or　six　pictures　signed　with　his　hand。　His　masterpiece；　preserved　in　the　National　Gallery　of　London；　represents　the　Virgin　seated　on　a　throne　and　holding　the　infant　Jesus　in　her　arms。　What　strikes　one　first　when　one　looks　at　this　figure　is　the　proportion。　The　body　from　the　neck　to　the　feet　is　only　twice　as　long　as　the　head；　so　that　it　appears　extremely　short　and　podgy。　This　work　is　not　less　remarkable　for　its　painting　than　for　its　drawing。　The　great　Margaritone　had　but　a　limited　number　of　colours　in　his　possession；　and　he　used　them　in　all　their　purity　without　ever　modifying　the　tones。　From　this　it　follows　that　his　colouring　has　more　vivacity　than　harmony。　The　cheeks　of　the　Virgin　and　those　of　the　Child　are　of　a　bright　vermilion　which　the　old　master；　from　a　naive　preference　for　clear　definitions；　has　placed　on　each　face　in　two　circumferences　as　exact　as　if　they　had　been　traced　out　by　a　pair　of　compasses。

A　learned　critic　of　the　eighteenth　century；　the　Abbe　Lanzi；　has　treated　Margaritone's　works　with　profound　disdain。　〃They　are；〃　he　says。　〃merely　crude　daubs。　In　those　unfortunate　times　pe