Місяць і гріш

Chapter LVII

           Tenez,IhadjustthesamefeelingaswhenIwenttotheSistineChapelinRome.TheretooIwasawedbythegreatnessofthemanwhohadpaintedthatceiling.Itwasgenius,anditwasstupendousandoverwhelming.Ifeltsmallandinsignificant.ButyouarepreparedforthegreatnessofMichaelAngelo.Nothinghadpreparedmefortheimmensesurpriseofthesepicturesinanativehut,farawayfromcivilisation,inafoldofthemountainaboveTaravao.AndMichaelAngeloissaneandhealthy.Thosegreatworksofhishavethecalmofthesublime;buthere,notwithstandingbeauty,wassomethingtroubling.Idonotknowwhatitwas.Itmademeuneasy.Itgavemetheimpressionyougetwhenyouaresittingnextdoortoaroomthatyouknowisempty,butinwhich,youknownotwhy,youhaveadreadfulconsciousnessthatnotwithstandingthereissomeone.Youscoldyourself;youknowitisonlyyournerves—andyet,andyet...Inalittlewhileitisimpossibletoresisttheterrorthatseizesyou,andyouarehelplessintheclutchofanunseenhorror.Yes;IconfessIwasnotaltogethersorrywhenIheardthatthosestrangemasterpieceshadbeendestroyed."

           "Destroyed?"Icried.

           "Maisoui;didyounotknow?"

           "HowshouldIknow?ItistrueIhadneverheardofthiswork;butIthoughtperhapsithadfallenintothehandsofaprivateowner.EvennowthereisnocertainlistofStrickland’spaintings."

           "Whenhegrewblindhewouldsithourafterhourinthosetworoomsthathehadpainted,lookingathisworkswithsightlesseyes,andseeing,perhaps,morethanhehadeverseeninhislifebefore.

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