the advice of White ...
Avignon Crimes
INTRODUCTION
Years ago, when his mind had not yet been tainted by demons or evil, when it was just a promising artist, his hands looked like a lady: fine, with clean, well-trimmed fingernails and very smooth whitish skin. Today, however, his fingers were bony and crooked, like branches erratic, heirs of a sun elusive and unattainable, and skin, once so clear, so smooth, was now cracked from the dryness of the stone and chisel hardness .
Nevertheless, he did not care.
The only thing that mattered was what he could achieve with them, the perfection of the works and life seemed to spring from his small sculptures.
And that was without doubt the best.
It seemed that he was stroking that little slab of alabaster, cold and bright as a star, and at least as beautiful. Gently tapped the chisel, afraid of breaking dark patina that he loved working, and with each stroke, each small incision, the figure would come to life, as if a superior force breath of God breathed into him or gave him a scourge do you transpose the threshold that is birth.
escrow, plic, plic ...
Small pieces of black iridescent dotted the desk. Maybe later crushed and grind to used in some of his paintings. Maybe throw out, as they used to do with people's lives those who obeyed. But that would be decided later, when the sculpture was finished off and the Brotherhood had to order his most desired. Yes Finally the would. He would make this possible, an ominous low-relief carving which would reflect all the damage, all the horror that they could produce.
escrow, plic, plic ...
Figure and could see clearly. It was a masterpiece, no doubt, but had to be crazy to contemplate it without feeling a deep disgust. In stony blackness seemed to inhabit the very devil, half hidden in its interior; waiting for the talent of the sculptor to overturn the stone that surrounded and thus free him from prison where he was. Evil in its purest form, getting rid of the dross that constrained him to reveal his wicked glory.
The silhouette stood out just a couple of millimeters, almost like a swelling or a rash, the player lying on the ground, his face turned to his executioner, and his back, naked from the knife that he hit him, seemed to curl by pain.
escrow, click, click. Tapped more, another skinning knife that bare back.
Absorbed in his work, the sculptor seemed dazed by those scarification small punch that left in its wake. A crazed smile looked out her lips, moist passion and frenzy, and his eyes, unconscionable, almost hysterical, were fixed intently on the tile, imprisoned by an influx operator not allowed to escape. For him there was more of the world that the stone chipped to tap-nothing more important than that, nothing more intoxicating and absorbent, just black stone, carved grooves of cruelty that recreated the features of death or horror, broken faces, tears of pain and dark blood, caught in the dust of alabaster.
The sublime work of a brilliant mind, the sublime work of a madman
Avignon, January 14, 1358
The cell was very dark, almost black, and consisted of thick stone walls full of moisture. A number of stains and brownish tinged with ocher, but just the darkness loomed. The poor old man, lying on an old mattress seams broken spotted, shaking like a reed bent by the wind, shivering with cold and fear. His death was very close, just a faint breath cheered their lungs, but still kept alive.
His body, thin and long like a spindle, it was unable to bear any longer the torture he was regularly subjected, but their strength of spirit, strong will and great love for God had allowed him to endure much pain stoically. Showing resistance to his captors remained perplexed. They had never witnessed such a feat, so hard, but in the end would come the inevitable.
His mind was far away in a place where the horror had no shelter, in a place without walls black. Perhaps he was imprisoned in the old abbey that both missed, where she felt safe and secure, surrounded by loved ones who cared and away from grief and pain. That
abbey ... Yes, if it was somewhere at home, this was the monastery ... Even
could clearly see the fed orchards cultivated with his brothers, gorged with black earth and water, which poured its dedication in vegetables and fruit, the legendary library, your favorite room, where all the accumulated wisdom of man, or her old room, austere but welcoming, where nothing was foreign and was always so close to God. That
old abbey was his life had been for over sixty years, since, as a boy, and enjoyment of himself and his family, had joined the order. There had been a man, had made a name-a good name, "and had achieved success. There in that abbey, had been happy.
God, what memories!
Perhaps those memories to find the necessary comfort before death. Maybe. But unfortunately for him, were only memories.
After a few seconds, breaking the oppressive silence of the night, a prolonged creak startled the old man. Without moving from his bed, opened his eyes to watch the men then approached him.
A few feet away, haughty and arrogant, his enemies saw them.
"Good night, holy man sarcastically greeted a visitor, a man wearing a long brown robe richly brocaded, which be divined their high social position.
-you are back as hyenas, sir, your aproximándoos to victims during the night sealed the elderly, rising slowly and heavily the bed to stand in front of their captors. Is it you, Mr Conde, who thus hangs over his captive?
standing motionless in the middle of the room, her body so mangled that hardly managed to stay upright, the old man saw how the rich gentleman was coming to him.
-The day of reckoning has come for you, old man, so let's gibberish. If the little discernment leads you to persist in your refusal to recognize the commandments of the Brotherhood, and thus deny Rome, I will be happy to witness the death rattle of your Excellency, "threatened with a deep gravelly voice and the Count, rising very straight forward in the elderly.
-Renegade of your belief, renounce them and will avoid the sad sight of torture, "he said, stroking a huge solo gold gleamed in the murky darkness of the cell.
insist, in vain, Your Excellency. If the Almighty has made this test of faith in my way, I'll gladly accept it, even if it means my death. Never gettin to renounce God.
The old man showed extraordinary courage, the proximity death seemed to make a dent in it, and the pain of torture seemed to him an inevitable evil to be borne with the utmost of integrity.
"If that is your desire, be it, Pater. It will be a pleasure to see your agony. Take it to the camera he ordered the men with him, "and we witnessed the death of a Christian.
The two men who accompanied the Earl grabbed the old man's arms and forced him to walk on the basis of shoving.
Minutes later, the torture would begin.
Avignon Crimes
INTRODUCTION
Years ago, when his mind had not yet been tainted by demons or evil, when it was just a promising artist, his hands looked like a lady: fine, with clean, well-trimmed fingernails and very smooth whitish skin. Today, however, his fingers were bony and crooked, like branches erratic, heirs of a sun elusive and unattainable, and skin, once so clear, so smooth, was now cracked from the dryness of the stone and chisel hardness .
Nevertheless, he did not care.
The only thing that mattered was what he could achieve with them, the perfection of the works and life seemed to spring from his small sculptures.
And that was without doubt the best.
It seemed that he was stroking that little slab of alabaster, cold and bright as a star, and at least as beautiful. Gently tapped the chisel, afraid of breaking dark patina that he loved working, and with each stroke, each small incision, the figure would come to life, as if a superior force breath of God breathed into him or gave him a scourge do you transpose the threshold that is birth.
escrow, plic, plic ...
Small pieces of black iridescent dotted the desk. Maybe later crushed and grind to used in some of his paintings. Maybe throw out, as they used to do with people's lives those who obeyed. But that would be decided later, when the sculpture was finished off and the Brotherhood had to order his most desired. Yes Finally the would. He would make this possible, an ominous low-relief carving which would reflect all the damage, all the horror that they could produce.
escrow, plic, plic ...
Figure and could see clearly. It was a masterpiece, no doubt, but had to be crazy to contemplate it without feeling a deep disgust. In stony blackness seemed to inhabit the very devil, half hidden in its interior; waiting for the talent of the sculptor to overturn the stone that surrounded and thus free him from prison where he was. Evil in its purest form, getting rid of the dross that constrained him to reveal his wicked glory.
The silhouette stood out just a couple of millimeters, almost like a swelling or a rash, the player lying on the ground, his face turned to his executioner, and his back, naked from the knife that he hit him, seemed to curl by pain.
escrow, click, click. Tapped more, another skinning knife that bare back.
Absorbed in his work, the sculptor seemed dazed by those scarification small punch that left in its wake. A crazed smile looked out her lips, moist passion and frenzy, and his eyes, unconscionable, almost hysterical, were fixed intently on the tile, imprisoned by an influx operator not allowed to escape. For him there was more of the world that the stone chipped to tap-nothing more important than that, nothing more intoxicating and absorbent, just black stone, carved grooves of cruelty that recreated the features of death or horror, broken faces, tears of pain and dark blood, caught in the dust of alabaster.
The sublime work of a brilliant mind, the sublime work of a madman
Avignon, January 14, 1358
The cell was very dark, almost black, and consisted of thick stone walls full of moisture. A number of stains and brownish tinged with ocher, but just the darkness loomed. The poor old man, lying on an old mattress seams broken spotted, shaking like a reed bent by the wind, shivering with cold and fear. His death was very close, just a faint breath cheered their lungs, but still kept alive.
His body, thin and long like a spindle, it was unable to bear any longer the torture he was regularly subjected, but their strength of spirit, strong will and great love for God had allowed him to endure much pain stoically. Showing resistance to his captors remained perplexed. They had never witnessed such a feat, so hard, but in the end would come the inevitable.
His mind was far away in a place where the horror had no shelter, in a place without walls black. Perhaps he was imprisoned in the old abbey that both missed, where she felt safe and secure, surrounded by loved ones who cared and away from grief and pain. That
abbey ... Yes, if it was somewhere at home, this was the monastery ... Even
could clearly see the fed orchards cultivated with his brothers, gorged with black earth and water, which poured its dedication in vegetables and fruit, the legendary library, your favorite room, where all the accumulated wisdom of man, or her old room, austere but welcoming, where nothing was foreign and was always so close to God. That
old abbey was his life had been for over sixty years, since, as a boy, and enjoyment of himself and his family, had joined the order. There had been a man, had made a name-a good name, "and had achieved success. There in that abbey, had been happy.
God, what memories!
Perhaps those memories to find the necessary comfort before death. Maybe. But unfortunately for him, were only memories.
After a few seconds, breaking the oppressive silence of the night, a prolonged creak startled the old man. Without moving from his bed, opened his eyes to watch the men then approached him.
A few feet away, haughty and arrogant, his enemies saw them.
"Good night, holy man sarcastically greeted a visitor, a man wearing a long brown robe richly brocaded, which be divined their high social position.
-you are back as hyenas, sir, your aproximándoos to victims during the night sealed the elderly, rising slowly and heavily the bed to stand in front of their captors. Is it you, Mr Conde, who thus hangs over his captive?
standing motionless in the middle of the room, her body so mangled that hardly managed to stay upright, the old man saw how the rich gentleman was coming to him.
-The day of reckoning has come for you, old man, so let's gibberish. If the little discernment leads you to persist in your refusal to recognize the commandments of the Brotherhood, and thus deny Rome, I will be happy to witness the death rattle of your Excellency, "threatened with a deep gravelly voice and the Count, rising very straight forward in the elderly.
-Renegade of your belief, renounce them and will avoid the sad sight of torture, "he said, stroking a huge solo gold gleamed in the murky darkness of the cell.
insist, in vain, Your Excellency. If the Almighty has made this test of faith in my way, I'll gladly accept it, even if it means my death. Never gettin to renounce God.
The old man showed extraordinary courage, the proximity death seemed to make a dent in it, and the pain of torture seemed to him an inevitable evil to be borne with the utmost of integrity.
"If that is your desire, be it, Pater. It will be a pleasure to see your agony. Take it to the camera he ordered the men with him, "and we witnessed the death of a Christian.
The two men who accompanied the Earl grabbed the old man's arms and forced him to walk on the basis of shoving.
Minutes later, the torture would begin.
(To be continued ... if you wish)
0 comments:
Post a Comment