Місяць і гріш

Chapter LVII

           Theyweresombreblues,opaquelikeadelicatelycarvedbowlinlapislazuli,andyetwithaquiveringlustrethatsuggestedthepalpitationofmysteriouslife;therewerepurples,horriblelikerawandputridflesh,andyetwithaglowing,sensualpassionthatcalledupvaguememoriesoftheRomanEmpireofHeliogabalus;therewerereds,shrillliketheberriesofholly—onethoughtofChristmasinEngland,andthesnow,thegoodcheer,andthepleasureofchildren—andyetbysomemagicsoftenedtilltheyhadtheswooningtendernessofadove’sbreast;thereweredeepyellowsthatdiedwithanunnaturalpassionintoagreenasfragrantasthespringandaspureasthesparklingwaterofamountainbrook.Whocantellwhatanguishedfancymadethesefruits?TheybelongedtoaPolynesiangardenoftheHesperides.Therewassomethingstrangelyaliveinthem,asthoughtheywerecreatedinastageoftheearth’sdarkhistorywhenthingswerenotirrevocablyfixedtotheirforms.Theywereextravagantlyluxurious.Theywereheavywithtropicalodours.Theyseemedtopossessasombrepassionoftheirown.Itwasenchantedfruit,totastewhichmightopenthegatewaytoGodknowswhatsecretsofthesoulandtomysteriouspalacesoftheimagination.Theyweresullenwithunawaiteddangers,andtoeatthemmightturnamantobeastorgod

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