One day, Mrs. Swan invited me to a big banquet. I don't know who the guests at the same table are. When I arrived, something happened in the hall that made me nervous and confused. Mrs Swan always adopts the etiquette that is considered the most fashionable in the season, but is soon abandoned because of the outdated (for example, many years ago she had hanCsomcab, or had an interview with a celebrity of a certain size printed on an invitation to dinner). These etiquettes are not mysterious and can be introduced without teaching. Audrey used a small invention imported from Britain at that time, and asked her husband to print some business cards, which were crowned Mr. (Mr.) before Charles Swan's name. After my first visit to Mrs. Swan, she came to my house and left me such a "card" (in her words) that no one had ever left me a business card before, so I was extremely proud, excited and grateful. In addition to excitement, I ordered a very beautiful basket of camellias from all my pockets for Mrs. Swan. I pleaded with my father to leave a business card at her house and print "Mr" in front of his name first, but I was disappointed that he had ignored the two requests, but a few days later I thought maybe he was right to do so. The meaning of "Mr" is clear, though it's only a decoration, but the other etiquette I saw on the day of dinner is puzzling. As I was about to walk into the living room from the waiting room, the Butler handed me a long envelope with my name on it. I thanked him in surprise, looked at the envelope, and did not know what to do with it, just as foreigners did not know what to do with the gadgets distributed at Chinese banquets. The envelope was sealed, and it seemed bold to open it at once, so I put it in my pocket with an empathetic expression. A few days ago, Mrs. Swan wrote to invite me to her house to have dinner with some acquaintances. On that day, there were sixteen guests, and I had no idea that there was Bergott among them. Mrs. Swan said "Name" to several guests one after another. Suddenly, after my name, she spoke out the name of the gentle white-haired singer (as if we were just guests in the evening). "Bergott" shocked me like a bullet fired at me, but I bowed instinctively to him to show composure. In front of me was a young-looking man, not tall, stout, short-sighted, with a snail-shell-like upturned red nose and a black goatee beard. He stood in front of me as if he were a magician: he wore a dress and was safe in the smoke of the gunshot, but a pigeon flew out of the muzzle of the gun. I am very depressed, because it is not only the thin old man who has just been blown up as powdered lime powder (he has disappeared), but also the beauty in the great works. I have made it dwell in the weak and sacred body that I have built for it (like a temple), and the short man with nose and black beard in front of me, his. Where can a sturdy body (full of blood vessels, bones, nerve knots) have a beautiful habitat? I used the transparent beauty in Bergott's works to shape Bergott, slowly, carefully, like a bell-milk-stone drops by drops, but in an instant, this Bergott was meaningless, because I had to keep his nose and black beard, as if we didn't see all the data when we worked out the problem. It is meaningless to solve a problem without considering what the total should be. Nose and beard are unavoidable factors, which make me very difficult to reconstruct the character of Bergott. They seem to imply, produce and constantly secrete a certain spirit of accession and complacency, which is inconsistent with his familiar, peaceful and sacred. There is nothing in common in the temperament of wisdom. Starting from the works, I will never reach the nose. Starting from this seemingly unconcerned, self-indulgent, casual nose, I went in the opposite direction of Bergott's work. My mental state was like a hurried Engineer - when people greeted him, he did not wait for greetings, and he naturally answered, "Thank you, how about you?" " If someone says he's happy to meet him, he uses what he thinks is an effective, clever and fashionable ellipsis: "each other" to avoid wasting valuable time on meaningless greetings. Name is obviously a freewheeling painter. It's a fantastic sketch for the place of the characters. So when we face the visible world instead of the imaginary world (it's not the real world, because our senses and imagination are not good at reproducing the real world; the visible world is very different from the imaginary world. Similarly, our sketches of reality are quite different from what we see. We are often surprised. As far as Bergott is concerned, what makes me more embarrassed is not my preconceived view of his name, but my understanding of his works. I had to tie men with goatees to these works as if they were balloons, worrying that they would not lift up. However, the books I love do seem to be his works, because when Mrs. Swan told him regularly that I admire one of his works, he did not seem to think it was a misunderstanding of his calm praise for him, not for other guests. He wore dresses for these guests, under which was the body waiting for meals greedily. His attention was focused on some more important realities. So when we mentioned his works, he smiled as if they were just fragments of his old life, as if what we mentioned was just masquerade dancing. It was a trivial matter to dress up as Duke Giss. In this smile, the value of his works fell sharply in front of me (and affected all the values of beauty, the universe and life), and became a poor pastime for men with goatees. I think he worked hard at pen farming. In fact, if he lived on an island rich in pearls, he would not be pen farming, but would run a Pearl business. His creation is no longer destined as before. So I wonder if uniqueness * really proves that great writers are gods in their own kingdom, or that all this is pure fiction. In fact, the difference between works comes from labor, not from the fundamental * essential difference between different personalities *.

At this time we are seated. Next to my plate was a carnation wrapped in silver paper around its stem. It doesn't confuse me as much as the envelope I just got in the waiting room (and I've forgotten it). Although this etiquette is novel to me, it seems not difficult to understand, because I saw all the guests pick up the same diamond flowers from the cutlery and insert them into the button eyes of the dress. I did the same, with a natural look, as if an atheist had come to the church. He didn't know what Mass was about, but when people stood up, he stood up and everyone knelt. Another strange, but fleeting etiquette made me very unhappy. On the other side of my plate, there was a smaller plate with something black and pasty inside (I didn't know it was caviar), and I didn't know what to do with it, but I was determined not to touch it. paradise lost

Bergott sat not far from me, and I heard his words very clearly. Suddenly I understood why Mr. de Nobwa had that impression on him. He does have an odd organ. Nothing can change the material quality of sound more than the ideas contained in it. Thoughts influence the strength of binary vowels, the strength of lip sounds, and tones. His way of speaking seems to be completely different from that of writing, even the content he says and the content he writes. His voice came from a mask, but it did not make us immediately recognize the face behind the mask that we saw in his writing. It took me a long time to discover that some of the fragments in his conversation (the way he used to speak only seemed pretentious and unpleasant in Mr. De Nobwa's eyes) corresponded perfectly to some parts of his work, and that the form of his work became so poetic and musical. He believes that his discourse has a kind of modelling beauty which has nothing to do with the meaning of words. Since human language is connected with the soul but does not express the soul as a literary style, Bergott's words seem to be inverted. He protracts certain words. Moreover, if he pursues a single image, he connects the words in series to form a monotonous and tiresome liaison. Therefore, a pretentious, exaggerated and monotonous way of speaking is the symbol of the aesthetic quality of his speech and the embodiment of his ability to create a series of harmonious images in his works. I took great pains to realize this because what he said at that time did not look like what Bergott said because it came from Bergott himself. These rich and precise ideas are lacking in what many columnists call their own "Bergott Style". This dissimilarity may be rooted in another aspect of the fact that you can only see it vaguely in conversation, like looking at a picture through sunglasses. When you read a page of Begott's work, you feel that it is something no ordinary imitator can write at any time, although they use the image of "Begott" in newspapers and magazines. And thought to greatly beautify their own words. The stylistic difference is that "Bergott Style" is first excavated. The great writer uses genius to dig out the precious and real factors hidden in everything. The purpose of this gentle singer's creation is to dig out - not "Bergott Style". In fact, since he is Bergott, whether he wants to or not, he is practicing this style. In this sense, every new beauty in his works is just every Bergott he excavates from things. However, if every point of beauty is related to other beauties and easy to identify, it still has particularity *, and its excavation has particularity *. Since beauty is new, it is different from the so-called Bergott style, which is actually a general synthesis of Bergott's various Bergotts that Bergott has discovered and written. It can never help mediocre people to anticipate what they will find elsewhere. For all great writers, the beauty of their words, like that of women who have not yet met, is unpredictable. This creation of beauty is attached to something that they think of - not themselves - but has not yet been expressed. Today's memoir writers, if they want to imitate St. Simon without showing too much trace, can write like the first paragraph in Villar's portrait: "This is a tall brown-haired man... It's vivid, cheerful and expressive, but who can guarantee that he finds the first sentence of the second paragraph, "and it's really a little crazy"? Real diversity * lies in the rich, real, unexpected factors, in the unexpected blue branches that pop up on the fences that are already covered with spring flowers, while pure imitation of diversity * (which can be extended to all other stylistic features) is nothing but emptiness and rigidity --- The real diversity of the fences in the spring is not the same. The most incompatible feature of diversity is that. Only those who do not understand the diversity of masterpieces will have the illusion or recollection of the diversity of imitators.

(Former) Saint Simon (1675-1755), French writer; Villar is a dignified French marshal in his memoirs.

Bergott's words might be fascinating if they weren't closely linked to his working, working thoughts, which could not be immediately captured by the ear. On the other hand, because Bergott applied his thoughts precisely to his favorite reality, his language had something real and nutritious, which disappointed those who only expected him to talk about "the eternal flood of form" and "the mysterious tremor of beauty". The invaluable and novel qualities in his works are transformed into a very subtle way of observing things in conversation. He neglected all known aspects, as if he were caught in a mistake and contradicted himself, so his thoughts seemed extremely confused. In fact, what we call clear thinking is just the same level of confusion as ours. In addition, novelty has a prerequisite, that is, to eliminate the stereotypes we are used to and regard as reality incarnates. Therefore, any new conversation, like all original painting music, is always too elaborate and boring at first. Novel conversations are based on rhetorical devices that we are not accustomed to. It seems that the speaker only uses metaphor. The listener is tired of it and feels lack of authenticity. (In fact, the ancient language forms used to be difficult to understand if the listener has not yet understood the world they depict. However, for a long time, people believed in the world as it was real. Therefore, when Bergott said that Godard was a sinker in search of balance (the analogy seems simple today), when he said that Brishaw "spent more effort on hairstyle than Mrs. Swan because he had double considerations: image and reputation, his hairstyle must make him look like both a lion and a philosopher", the listener was quick. Boredom, they want to grasp the so-called more specific things, in fact, is more common things. The indecipherable words from the mask in front of me really belong to the author I admire. Of course, it can't be stuffed into the book like a jigsaw puzzle. It has a different nature and requires transformation. Because of this transformation, one day when I repeat the words I heard to myself. I suddenly found that it had the same structure as his style. In this spoken language which I thought was totally different, I recognized and saw all the factors in his style.

From a secondary point of view, he often uses some words and adjectives in his speech, and always emphasizes them. When he pronounces these sounds, he uses a special, over-elaborate and intense way (highlighting all syllables, prolonging the final syllables, such as always replacing figure with visage, and adding a lot of v, a, g to the visage, which seems to explode from his open hand at the moment). This way of pronunciation is with him. The prominence given to these favorite words in the text fits perfectly. In front of these words is a blank, words are arranged according to the total rhyme of the sentence. Therefore, people must give full play to their "length", otherwise the rhythm will be disordered. However, there is no light in Bergott's language that often changes the shape of words in his or some other writers'works, probably because his language comes from the deepest level, and its light does not shine on our words; because when we open our hearts to others in conversation, in a sense, we are But close to yourself. From this point of view, his works have more tone changes and more tone than words. This tone is independent of stylistic beauty and is closely related to the author's deepest personality, so he may not be aware of it himself. It was this intonation that made Bergott's words, which were often insignificant at the time, rhythmic when he was narrating his works freely. These intonations are not marked or marked in the works, but they are automatically attached to the words (words can only be read in this way). They are the shortest and deepest things in the author's body, and they will be the witness of the author's essence to illustrate the author's tenderness (although he often does). Speaking well) and warmth (though lustful).

In French, these two words are "faces".

Some of the weak features of Bergott's talk are not unique to him. I later met his brothers and sisters and found that these characteristics were more prominent in them. In happy sentences, the last few words always contain a sudden, hoarse voice, while sad sentences always end with a weak, dying voice. Swan knew the master when he was young, so he told me that he often heard Bergott and his brothers and sisters utter this kind of voice, which could be said to be a family voice, sometimes a loud cry of joy, sometimes a slow, melancholy whisper, and when they played together in the hall, at that time they were deafening and powerless. In the chorus, the part of Bergott sings best. The voices that people blurt out, however unique, are short-lived and disappear at the same time, but Bergott's family pronunciation is different. If, even in the case of Craftsman Singer, the artist's ability to create music by listening to bird songs is incomprehensible, then it is equally surprising that Bergott converts and fixes his long pronunciation into text, either as a repeated cry of joy or as a slow and sad one. Sigh. In his works, the clang voice at the end of the sentence repeats and continues like the last note in the opera prelude. He has to repeat it again and again until the conductor puts down the conductor's flattery. Later, I found that the end of the sentence coincided with the bronze-like pronunciation of the Bergott family. But for Bergott, since he converted brass music into his works, he has unconsciously ceased to use it in conversation. From the day he began to write, let alone when I met him, his voice lost its brass music forever.

Wagner's Nuremberg Craftsman Singer.

These young Bergotts, future writers and their brothers and sisters, are no better than other youths who are more elegant and intelligent. In the latter's eyes, the Bergotts were noisy and even vulgar, and their unpleasant jokes marked their "style" - pretentious and silly. However, genius, or even the greatest genius, is not mainly derived from superior intellectual factors and communicative accomplishment, but from the ability to transform and transform them. If we use electric bulbs to heat liquids, we don't need the strongest bulb, but a light bulb that is no longer illuminated, can be converted into electricity, and has heat rather than light. In order to roam in the air, we need not the strongest engine, but another engine that can convert the plane speed into ascending force (it no longer runs on the ground, but replaces the original horizontal line with the vertical line). Similarly, the creators of gifted works are not those who speak amazingly, knowledgeably and live in the most elegant atmosphere, but those who suddenly cease to exist for themselves and turn their personality * into a mirror reflecting their lives, even from a social point of view, even in a certain sense. From the ideological point of view, this life is mediocre, but genius lies in the projection, not in the essence of the reflected object. The young Bergott was able to show his readers the mediocre salon he had lived in as a child and the dull conversations he had with his brothers. At the moment, he has risen higher than his family's friends, though they are smarter and more elegant. They could ride home in a beautiful Rawls-Royce, scorning the vulgar taste of the Bergotts, and his simple engine finally took off, looking down at them from above.

Other features of his speech are that he shares with some writers of his time, not with his family members. Some younger writers began to deny him, claiming that they had nothing in common with him, and they showed it unintentionally, because they used his repeated adverbs and prepositions, and they used the same sentence structure as him, with the same tone of weakening and slowing down (this is the same as the previous one). The language reaction of generational population is like a suspended river. These young people may not know Bergott (we will see that several of them do not), but his ideas have been infused into them and there have been changes in syntax and intonation, which are inevitably linked to the uniqueness of ideas. This relationship needs further explanation below. If Bergott does not inherit anyone in style, he has inherited an old classmate in conversation. He is an excellent talker and has a great influence on Bergott. So Bergott unconsciously imitates him in speaking, but his talent is not as good as Bergott, and he never writes really good works. If remarkable speech is taken as the criterion, then Bergott can only be attributed to disciples and transfer writers. However, under the influence of friends'speech, he is a writer of uniqueness and creativity. Bergott has always wanted to be different from his predecessors who preferred abstract concepts and platitudes, so when he admired a book, he often emphasized and quoted a vivid scene, a picture with irrational * meanings. Ah! Good! "" Wonderful! A little girl wearing an orange scarf, ah! All right! " Or "Ah! Yes, there's a description of the regiment going through the city, ah! Yes, very good! " Stylistically, he is not exactly in tune with the times (and he belongs to his country because he hates Tolstoy, George Eliot, Ibsen and Dostoevsky). When he praises a certain style, he often uses the word "mild". Yes, I like Chateau Brion's Adala better than Lonser, I think the former is more mild. He spoke like a doctor: the patient complained that milk made his stomach uncomfortable, and the doctor answered, "Milk is mild." There is a certain harmony in Bergott's writing, which is very similar to the harmony admired by the ancients in the orator, and this kind of sexual praise is difficult to understand today, because we are used to modern language, which is not the effect pursued by modern language.

When people praised some of his chapters, he smiled shyly and said, "I think it's more real, more accurate and probably useful." But it's just modesty, like a woman saying, "It's comfortable" when she hears someone admiring her clothes or her daughter. Or "She has a good temper." However, the architect's instinct is deeply rooted in Bergott, so it is impossible for him not to know that only joy, given by his works - first to him, then to others - is the conclusive evidence that his architecture is both useful and true. However, many years later, his talent was exhausted, and he often wrote his unsatisfactory works, but he did not obliterate them as he ought to, but insisted on publishing them. For this reason, he said to himself, "In any case, it is quite accurate and will not be of little use to my country." He used to say this in front of his admirers out of cunning modesty, but later in his heart he said it out of self-esteem. This same remark, which used to be a superfluous reason for Bergott to justify the value of the original work, later seemed to be his ineffective self-comfort for the last mediocre work.

He has strict appreciation, and what he writes must meet his requirements: "This is very mild". Therefore, for many years he has been regarded as a low-yielding, artificial artist with little skill of carving insects. In fact, this strict appreciation is the secret of his strength, because habits not only cultivate the style of writers, but also human nature.* Lattice. If the writer is satisfied with some pleasure repeatedly in expressing his thoughts, then he delimits a permanent boundary for his abilities. Similarly, if a man often submits to such emotions as pleasure, laziness, fear, pain and so on, he will personally sketch out (and finally cannot modify) the images and virtues of his bad habits in his own personality. Limits of rows.

I later found many similarities between writers and human beings, but at first at Mrs. Swan's house, I did not believe that it was Bergott who stood in front of me, the author of many sacred works. It was not unreasonable for me to do so, because Bergott himself (the real meaning of the word) did not "believe". He did not believe this, so he was very attentive to the communicators (although he was not subordinate and elegant) and literati journalists who were thousands of miles away from him. Of course, he now learns from other people's admiration that he has talent, and that social status and official position are worthless compared with genius. He knew he was talented, but he didn't believe it, because he continued to act respectfully towards mediocre writers in order to become an academician of the French Academy soon. In fact, the French Academy or the St. Germain District had nothing to do with the "eternal spirit" that produced Bergott's works, just like the law of cause and effect and the general outline of God. Nothing is the same. He also knows this, just as a theft addict knows it's not good to steal, but can't do anything about it. The man with a goatee beard and a snubbed nose acted like a gentleman stealing knives and forks to approach the academician throne he hoped for and a duchess with multiple votes, but he tried not to let his tricks be detected by those who condemned them. He was only half successful. When he spoke to us, he was a real Bergott, sometimes a selfish and ambitious Bergott, who talked about powerful, noble or wealthy people in order to raise his status, while the real Bergott described the poor as clear as a spring in his works so perfectly. Charm.

As for the other vices Mr. De Nobwa talked about, such as the near ** love (which is said to be accompanied by money fraud), they clearly run counter to the tendencies of Bergott's latest novel. These novels are full of the pursuit of goodness, persistent and painful pursuit. Every joy of the protagonist is mixed with shadow and shadow. Even the readers feel anxious. In this anxiety, the happiest life seems unbearable. Nevertheless, even if Bergott's bad habits are true, he can't be said to be a literary deception, nor can he be said to be rich in sensitivities * just acting on the spot. In pathology, some phenomena are similar on the surface, but their causes are different. Some are due to excessive blood pressure, secretion and so on, while others are due to insufficiency. Similarly, the causes of bad habits can be oversensitivity or lack of sensitivity. Perhaps in a real depraved life, the moral question has an anxious intensity, and the artist's answer to this question is not from personal life, but from the general * literary * answer - for him this is the real life. The great saints of the Church often come into contact with all the evils of human beings while keeping themselves clean, and get their own personal sanctity from them. The same is true of great artists, who often use their bad habits to draw moral standards for all of us while doing evil. Writers'habits in their living environment (or just the laughing stock of their weaknesses), frivolous and tedious conversations, disgusting frivolities of their daughters, infidelity of their wives, and their own mistakes are all the things most frequently condemned by writers, but they do not change the way they live at home or where they live. Filled with vulgar sentiment. This contradiction was not as startling as it was in the Bergott era, because, on the one hand, the growing degradation of society has made moral concepts more and more purified, and on the other hand, the public is more eager than ever to understand the writer's private life. Several nights in the theatre, people pointed at the author whom I admired so much when I was in Gombre. He was sitting deep in the box, and his companions were enough to footnote the ideas in his recent works - either ridiculous or sharp irony or shameless denial of them. What these people or those people say to me does not make me know more about Bergott's good or evil. A friend offered evidence that he was ruthless, and a stranger cited another example (touching, because Bergott was obviously reluctant to speak out) to show that he was very emotional. Although he was unkind to his wife, when he spent the night lodging in a village shop, he was waiting for the poor woman who tried to throw himself into the water. Moreover, when he had to leave, he left a lot of money for the shopkeeper to keep the poor woman away and let him take care of her. Perhaps, with the ups and downs of great writers and goatees in Bergott, his personal life has become more and more submerged in the waves of life he imagined. He no longer has to fulfil his actual obligations. Because it has been replaced by the duty to imagine all kinds of life. At the same time, since he imagines other people's feelings as his own, when the situation requires him to deal with an unfortunate person (at least temporarily unfortunate), his point of view is no longer his own, but that of the suffering person; since he proceeds from that point of view, all who disregard the suffering of others, will fight with all his heart. The language of the man with his little abacus is hated by him, and therefore he arouses around him a natural resentment and indelible gratitude.

What this person really likes in his heart is only some images, which are composed and depicted in words (like pocket paintings on the bottom of a small box). If someone gives him something small that inspires him to weave his image, he thanks again and again, but he is not grateful for an expensive gift. If he appeared in court to defend, he would not consider what effect they would have on the judges, but would involuntarily emphasize the image that the judges certainly did not see.

On the day when the Hilbert family first met Bergott, I told him that I had seen Rabema's Fidel not long ago. He told me that there was a scene in which Raberma stood still and her arms were raised flat - the scene that was applauded warmly - which was a clever representation of classical masterpieces in her superb skills that she probably had never seen before, such as the Hesperides in the lintel of the Temple of Olympus, and the ancient Ere. The beautiful virgin in the Temple of Kesaiweng.

"It may be intuitive, but I think she must have gone to the museum." It would be meaningful to make a judgment of this point ('judgment'is a common term used by Bergott. Some young people, though they have never seen him before, borrow his vocabulary and imitate his speech through the so-called long-distance revelation).

"You mean the female portrait column?" Swan asked. I'm a cat.

"No, no," said Bergott. "Of course, when she admitted her love to Onona, the gesture was very similar to the figure on the Hergesso tablet of Kelamicos, but besides that, she reproduced a more ancient art. I have just mentioned the old Kariatid statues of the Ericsson Monastery. I admit that they have nothing in common with Racine's art, but Fidel is so rich in content... What if I add a little more? Ah! Besides, Fidel Jr. in the 6th century was really beautiful, with straight arms and curly marble statuary hair. Yes, it's amazing that she came up with these. Compared with many'classical'works this year, the classical flavor of the play is much stronger.

(1) The French plural Hesperides is the three daughters of Atlas, the Greek mythological figure.

(2) Ericsson is a temple on the Acropolis in Athens, Greece, with famous statue pillars.

(3) Kelamikos, the ancient area of Athens, has several tombstones of the 4th century BC in the cemetery, including Hergesso's Square, on which a female slave presents jewelry boxes to the hostess.

Bergott once made a famous pilgrimage to these ancient statues in a book, so his words at this moment are clear to me, which makes me more interested in Rabema's acting skills. I tried to recall and recall what I remembered when she raised her arms flat, and I thought, "This is Hesperides of Olympus, a sister of the statue of the beautiful prayer in the Acropolis of Athens, and this is noble art." However, in order to beautify Rabema's posture with these ideas, Bergott should have provided me with ideas before performing. In that case, I can extract the concept of ancient sculpture from the actress's posture when it does appear in front of me (that is, when what is going on is still fully authentic). Now, all I have to remember about Rabema in this play is that it can't be changed any more. It's a thin image, lacking the depth of the present, unable to be excavated, unable to provide people with new things. We can't add a new interpretation to this image, because this interpretation can't be checked and approved by objective reality. In order to join the conversation, Mrs. Swan asked me if Hillbert had asked me to read Beckett's article on Fidel. I have a very naughty daughter." She added. Bergott smiled modestly, arguing that the article was of little value.

"Where else, this pamphlet is wonderful! Wonderful! Mrs Swan said that in order to show that she was a good housewife and make people believe that she had read the book, she not only liked to compliment Bergott, but also liked to praise some of his works and inspire him. She did inspire him in ways she could not imagine. In short, there is a close relationship between the elegant atmosphere of Mrs. Swan's salon and some aspect of Bergott's works. For the old people today, they can annotate each other.

I talked casually about perception. Bergott disagreed, but let me go on. I told him I liked Fidel's green light when he raised his arm." Ah! The setter will be glad to hear that. He's a great artist. I want to tell him what you think. He's very proud of the lighting design. As for me, to tell you the truth, I don't like this kind of light very much. It keeps everything covered in sea blue mist. Little Fidel stands there like a coral branch on the bottom of an aquarium. You would say it highlights the universality of the play, and that's true. However, if the plot takes place in the palace of the God of the sea, then the setting is more appropriate. Yes, of course, I know that there is revenge from the sea god in this play. No, I don't ask people to think only of Borneol, but Racine is not talking about the love of the sea god after all. Come back to that. This is my friend's idea. It's very effective and, in the final analysis, quite beautiful. In short, you like it, you understand it, right, our ideas on this point are fundamentally the same, his idea is a bit absurd, right, but after all, original. When Bergott's opinions are contrary to mine, he will never silence me as Mr. de Nobwa might have done, but that does not mean that Bergott is inferior to the Ambassador's opinions, on the contrary. Strong ideas often give the rebuttator strength from them. This thought itself is a part of the eternal value of thought. It clings to and grafts on the spirit of the people it refutes. The latter takes advantage of some adjacent ideas to recapture a little advantage, thus supplementing and revising the original ideas. Therefore, the final conclusion can be regarded as the joint work of two controversial people. Only those ideas which are not strictly thought, those which have no foundation, can not find any support in the spirit of their opponents, and any ideas of adjacent relations can make their opponents speechless, because they are facing pure emptiness. Mr. de Nobwa's argument (about art) is irrefutable because it is illusory.

Since Bergott did not reject my different views, I told him that Mr. de Nobwa had sniffed at me." This is a simple-minded old man, "he said." He pecked you a few times because he always thought there was muffin or cuttlefish in front of him. " Swan asked me, "Why, do you know Nobua?" Ah, he's as boring as a raindrop, "interrupted his wife, who trusted Bergott's judgment and might be afraid that Mr. de Nobwa would speak ill of her in front of us." I wanted to talk to him after dinner, but he looked dull, not knowing whether it was due to age or digestion. Inject him with stimulants!" Bergott went on to say, "Yes, yes, he often has to keep silent so that he won't end up talking all his silly stories about shirt bosoms and white waistcoats without leaving the room." I don't think Beckett and my wife are too harsh, "Swan said, playing a sensible role at home." Of course, Nobua won't interest you very much, but from another point of view (Swan likes to collect the beauty of life), he's quite eccentric and an eccentric lover, "he waited. "He was a secretary in Rome when he had a mistress in Paris. He was mad with love. He came back twice a week and spent only two hours with her. The woman is beautiful and intelligent, but now she is an old lady. During this time he had many mistresses. If I stay in Rome and the woman I love lives in Paris, I will go mad. For neurotic people, they have to condescend to fall in love, because in this way, the women they love will consider their interests and accommodate them. Swan suddenly found that I could apply this motto to his relationship with Audrey, and he was very disgusted with me, because even when good people seemed to soar above life with you, their self-esteem was still narrow. Swan only showed this disgust in his restless eyes and said nothing. This is not surprising. It is said (fabricated, but repeated daily in Paris) that when Racine mentioned Scaron to Louis XVI, the most powerful king in the world said nothing to the poet that night, but the next day Racine fell out of favor.

(1) Scaron (1610-1660), French writer, after his death, Louis XIV secretly married his widow.

The theory required full expression, so Swan supplemented his thoughts after a moment of displeasure and wiping the lenses. In my later recollections, his words seemed to be a warning, but I was not aware of them at that time. "However, the danger of this kind of love is that women's surrender can temporarily alleviate men's jealousy, but at the same time make it more harsh," he said. Men can even make mistresses live like prisoners: they are watched by lights day and night to prevent them from escaping.

And it often ends in tragedy."

I'm back on De Nobwa. Don't trust him. He's a bad talker." Mrs Swan said that the tone seemed to indicate that Mr. de Nobwa had spoken ill of her, for Swan looked at her reproachfully as if he did not want her to go on.

Hillbert had been urged twice to dress and go out, but she stayed there to listen to us. She sat between her mother and her father, and leaned coquettishly on her father's shoulder. At first glance, she is not like Mrs Swan. Mrs Swan has brown hair, while the girl has red hair and golden skin. But in a moment, you'll recognize her mother's face in Hilbert's face, such as her nose, sharply and accurately sharpened by the invisible sculptor, who has captured knives for generations, as well as her facial expressions and movements. If we take another kind of art as an analogy, we can say that she is Mrs. Swan's portrait, but not very similar. The painter, out of a temporary hobby for color, seems to let Mrs. Swan half dress up as a Venetian woman going to the "masquerade" banquet while posing. Not only is the wig golden | Color * but all dark * elements are excluded from her body, and the body is even more naked when the brown * screen has been removed. It is covered only by the light emitted by the inner sun. Therefore, this disguise is not only surface, it has been embedded in the body. Hilbert seems to be a legendary animal or a mythical figure dressed up. Her orange skin came from her father. When nature first created her, it seemed that she only needed to think about how to reproduce Mrs. Swan piece by piece. All the materials came from Mr. Swan's skin. Nature uses skin perfectly, just as carpenters try to expose the textures and scars of wood. On Hilbert's face, next to the delicate Audrey's nose, the raised skin meticulously reproduced Mr. Swan's two beautiful nevi. Sitting next to Mrs. Swan was her new variety, like the lilac next to the white lilac. But we can't think of an absolutely clear demarcation line between these two similarities. Sometimes, when Hillbert smiled, we saw her mother-like face with oval cheeks that resembled her father's, and God seemed to deliberately put them together to examine the effect of this mixture. The ellipse became clearer and clearer, gradually forming like an embryo. It extended obliquely and swelled up, then disappeared a moment later. Hilbert had his father's kind and frank eyes in his eyes. She gave me the agate marble and said, "Take it as a souvenir of our friendship!" Then I saw that look. But if you ask Hilbert questions and ask her what she has done, you will feel embarrassed, hesitant, dodging and sad in the same eyes, which was the look of Audrey in the past - Swan asked where she had gone and she lied. This kind of lie once made his lover sad and desperate, but now he is a prudent husband, he does not pursue the lie, but immediately change the topic. On Champs Elysees, I often see this look on Hilbert, and in most cases it's groundless, because it's just a vestige of her mother's pure physiology, at least in terms of it, and it doesn't mean anything. When Hilbert finishes school, or when she has to go home to do her homework, her pupils twinkle, just as Audrey used to be afraid of letting people know that she had received a lover during the day or was anxious to go out for a tryst. In this way, I saw the two natures of Mr. Swan and Mrs. Swan * fluctuate, surge and fall on the body of this Merusina.

Melvina, a legendary figure of the Middle Ages, was punished every Saturday to become half a snake and half a woman.

Everyone knows that a child can be like both father and mother, but the advantages and disadvantages he inherits are so peculiar in matching that there seem to be two indivisible advantages in a father or mother that there is only one left in the child, accompanied by the shortcomings of the other parent and this shortcoming Point and other advantages seem incompatible with each other. Spiritual advantages are accompanied by incompatible physical shortcomings, which is even a rule that children are similar to their parents. Among the two sisters, one will be as respectable as his father, but also as intelligent and mediocre as his mother. The other will be full of wisdom from his father, but she will put on her mother's shell, her mother's big nose, dry chest, and even her voice. It is like a gift to abandon her original beautiful appearance and change clothes. Therefore, any of the two sisters can rightly say that she is the most like her father or mother. Hilbert is an only child, but there are at least two Hilbert. The two attributes of father and mother * not only interbreed with her, but also compete for her, but it is not exact enough to mistake a third Hillbert for the bitterness of the struggle. In fact, Hillbert alternately is this or that she, and in the meantime she can only be one of them. That is to say, when she is a bad Hilbert, she will not suffer. Since the good Hilbert has retired temporarily, how can we see this degeneration? Therefore, the bad Hilbert of the two Hilbert's can safely engage in entertainment with a low style. When another Hilbert speaks with her father's mind, she has a great vision and you are very happy to work with her in a good and beneficial career. You say that to her, but when you are about to sign the contract, her mother's temperament prevails again, and you answer it, so you are disappointed, discouraged, almost puzzled, as if. There was another man in front of him, for at this moment Hillbert was happily expressing mediocre ideas, accompanied by a sly sneer. Sometimes, the two Hillbats are so far apart that you have to ask yourself (in vain) what you did wrong to make her completely turn her around. She asked for a date with you, but she didn't come, and she didn't apologize afterwards. And whatever the reason she changed her mind, she behaved like two people afterwards, so that you thought you were deceived by a similar appearance (like the main plot of Twin Brothers). The person in front of you wasn't so eager. I'd like to meet you. Sometimes she expressed anger, which showed that she was guilty and unwilling to explain.

(1) Plato, an ancient Roman comedian.

"Well, go ahead, or we'll have to wait for you again." Mother said to her.

"How comfortable it is to be with my dear father. I want to stay a little longer." Hilbert answered, as he drilled his head under his arm, he gently stroked her blonde hair with his fingers.

Swan belongs to this kind of man. They live in love fantasy for a long time. They have given many women comfortable conditions to make them happier, but they have not received any expression of gratitude or warmth. However, they think that there is a feeling embedded in their children's names, which will make them die. Yusheng. When Charles Swan no longer exists, Swan's group, or Mrs. Swan's maiden name, still exists and still loves her dead father. Even too much, Swan thought, because he answered Hilbert, "You are a good daughter." The voice is agitated - when we think of the future, when someone will continue to love us deeply after our death, we feel uneasy at the moment. To hide his excitement, Swan joined us in our talk about Rabema. He adopted a detached, bored tone, as if trying to keep a distance from what he said. He reminded me that the actress said to Onona, "You already know!" How clever and astonishingly accurate is the tone of the time. He is right. This tone has at least a clear and understandable meaning, it can fully satisfy my desire to find the exact evidence to appreciate Rabema, however, because it is clear at a glance, it can not satisfy my desire. Such a clever tone is accompanied by such clear intentions and meanings. It can exist independently, and any smart actress can learn it. Of course, it's a good move, but anyone can take possession of it after they have fully conceived it. Of course, Rabema's credit lies in finding it, but can the word "discovery" be used here? Since as far as it is concerned, there is no difference between discovery and acceptance, since in essence it does not come from your nature, since others can completely copy it!

"My God, your presence has upgraded the conversation!" Swan said to me as if to apologize to Bergott. Swan developed the habit of entertaining great artists as friends in the Gelmont social circle, paying attention to inviting them to enjoy their favorite tea, play games, or, in the countryside, engage them in their favorite sports. It seems that we are really talking about art." Swan said again. That's good. I like it. Mrs Swan said, looking at me gratefully, she might be out of kindness, perhaps because she was still as interested in intellectual conversation as ever. Later, Bergott talked to others, especially Hillbert. I have expressed all my feelings for him, and I am not at all restrained (even surprised by myself) because over the years (in countless loneliness and reading moments, Bergott seems to be the best part of me), in my relationship with him, I have become accustomed to sincerity, frankness and trust, so he is not like the first conversation. I'm afraid of people like that. However, for the same reason, I fear that I have left a bad impression on him, because I assume that his contempt for my thoughts did not begin today, but in the long past, from the time when I first read his works in Gombre Garden. Perhaps I should remind myself that since on the one hand I admire Bergott's works, on the other hand I feel inexplicably disappointed in the theatre, and are equally sincere and unavoidable, the two instinctive movements that drive me should not be very different from each other, but follow the same rules. The ideas I like in Bergott's book cannot be irrelevant to my disappointment (which I can't explain) or absolutely opposed, because my intelligence is a whole, and maybe there is only one intelligence in the world. Everyone is only its participant, and every one has his own individual body. To cast a deep eye on it is like in a theatre where everyone has his own seat, but there is only one stage. Of course, the thought I like to explore is not necessarily the thought Bergott often delves into in his works. He cherishes it and smiles at it, because, no matter what assumptions I make, his mind's eyes always retain the part of intelligence that enters his works. (I used to imagine all his spiritual world on this basis) Another part of the different intelligence. The priests have the richest spiritual experience, and they can forgive the sins they would not commit. Similarly, genius has the richest intellectual experience and can understand the ideas most opposed to the basic ideas of their own works. All this I should have reminded myself, though not very pleasant, that the goodwill of the best often results in the ignorance and hostility of the mediocre. Great writers'kindness (at least found in their works) gives far less happiness than women's hostility (people love her not because she is smart, but because she makes people unable to love). I should have reminded myself of all this, but I did not say to myself that I was convinced that I was foolish in front of Bergott, when Hillbert whispered in my ear:

"I am delighted that you have won the admiration of my good friend Bergott. He told his mother that he thought you were smart.

"Where shall we go?" I asked Hibert.

"Ah! Anywhere you go, me, you know, go here or there..."

Since the event of her grandfather's anniversary, I suspect that her sexuality is not what I imagined; that her indifferent attitude to everything, that restraint, that calmness, that unfailing tenderness, probably concealed a very passionate desire, and that she was bound only by her self-esteem. Only when desire | hope is occasionally frustrated, does she suddenly fight back and reveal something.

Bergott and my parents live on the same block, so we walk together. In the car, he mentioned my health: "Our friend just told me that you had been ill. I feel sorry. Nevertheless, I am not too sorry, because I can see that you have intellectual pleasure, which may be the most important for you and all those who experience it."

Alas! I felt how inappropriate his remarks were to me, and I was indifferent to any clever reasoning. I am happy only when I am strolling, when I feel comfortable. I clearly feel that my desire for life is purely material, and I can easily put my intelligence aside. I can't tell the different sources of fun, the different depths, the different persistence*, so when I answered Bergott, I thought I liked the kind of life that would awaken Gombrey's memory by interacting with the Duchess of Gelmont, like the old tax Cary on Champs Elysees Street. There is no place for intellectual pleasure in the ideal of life I dare not confide to him.

"No, sir, intellectual pleasure means nothing to me. It's not what I'm looking for. I don't even know if I've experienced it."

"Do you really think so?" He answered, "Well, listen to me. Really, your favorite must be it. I can see it clearly, I'm sure."

Of course he didn't convince me, but I felt happier and more outgoing. Mr. de Nobwa's words once made me think that my moments of reverie, enthusiasm and self-confidence were purely subjective and lacking in authenticity. But Bergott seems to understand me. He thinks the opposite, that I should abandon suspicion and self-disgust. His comments on Mr. de Nobwa overshadowed the latter's judgment (which I thought could not be denied).

"Are you treating the disease carefully?" Bergott asked me, "Who's going to see you?" I said Dr. Godard had been here, and he was coming. He said, "He is not suitable for you. I don't know what his medical skills are, but I met him at Mrs. Swan's house. This is a fool. Even a fool can be a good doctor (I can hardly believe it), but he can't treat artists and smart people after all. People like you need special doctors, or even special recipes, special medicines. Godard will bore you, and boredom will make his treatment ineffective. Your treatment should be different from that of anyone else. Three quarters of the illnesses of smart people come from their intelligence, and the doctors they need should at least be aware of their illnesses. How can you expect Godard to cure you? He could estimate that the sauce was not easy to digest and that stomach function would be impaired, but he could not imagine the effect of Shakespeare's works... Therefore, the application of his estimate to you is a fallacy, the balance has been destroyed, and the small ups and downs have come up again. He will find that your stomach is dilated. In fact, he doesn't need to examine it. He has this in his eyes for a long time. You can see it. It's reflected in his single lens. This way of speaking makes me tired, and the pedantic common sense makes me think, "Professor Godard's glasses do not reflect stomach dilatation at all, just as Mr. de Nobwa's white vest does not contain silly words." "I recommend Dr. Di Bourbon to you. He's a very smart man," Bergott added. It must be your enthusiastic admirer." I answered. Obviously, Bergott knew this, so I concluded that it was rare for people of the same kind to get together and have real "strangers". Bergott's comment on Godard surprised me, and it was the opposite of what I thought. I don't care whether my doctor hates it or not. What I expect from him is that he uses a skill I don't know how to test my guts and thus make an unquestionable allegory about my health. I do not ask him to use his intelligence (which I may outdo him in this respect) to try to understand my intelligence; in my imagination, intelligence itself is of no value, only a means of achieving external truth. I doubt that the treatment that smart people need should be different from that of fools, and I'm fully prepared to accept the treatment of fools. There's a man who needs a good doctor, our friend Swan." Bergott said. When I asked if Swan was ill, he answered, "Yes, he married a prostitute. The ladies who refused to receive her, and the men who slept with her, how many snakes Swan Qiang swallowed every day! They deformed his mouth. When can you pay a little attention to it? He went home and saw how tight his brows were when the guests were present. It's new to me that Bergott slanders his long-time close friends in front of strangers, and whispers in front of Swan and his wife, because the sweet words he repeatedly says to Swan are those that my aunt and grandmother can't say at all. Grandma is a person who often says unpleasant things to people she loves, but she never tells them unpleasant things behind her back. Gombre's circle of communication is quite different from that of the upper class. Swan's circle is already a transition to the upper class and to the capricious waves in the upper class. It is not the sea, but it is the lagoon. Don't pass it on." Bergott said when he broke up with me at my door. In a few years, I would say, "I won't say it." This is a common saying in the community and a false guarantee for libels. I should have answered Bergott that day, too, because when you act as a social figure, it is impossible for you to create all the words you speak, but I had not learned the proverb at that time. In addition, my aunt and grandmother would say, "Why don't you tell me if you don't want me to talk about it?" She is a hard-to-communicate, aggressive person. I'm not such a person, so I nodded and said nothing.

Some of the literati I admire have spent years trying to establish contact with Bergott (always in the study, in secret literary contacts), and I have made friends with the famous writer all of a sudden and effortlessly. People are queuing, but they can only buy bad tickets, and you, you go in through the secret door of refusing the public and get the best seat. Swan opened this secret door for us, probably in reason, just as the king invited his children's friends to the royal box or boarded the Royal yacht. Hilbert's parents also opened their daughter's friends to the precious things they had and, more preciously, regarded him as a confidant of the family. But at that time, I thought (perhaps justifiably), Swan's friendly gesture was indirectly directed at my parents. When I was still in Gombre, I seemed to have heard that when he saw me worshipping Bergott, he volunteered to take me to his house for dinner, but his parents disagreed, saying that I was too young, too nervous to go out. My parents'image in the eyes of some people (who I think are the most outstanding) is totally different from what I think of them. When the pink lady praised her father, now I hope my parents will thank Swan because the gift I just got is priceless. The generous and courteous Swan gave me the gift, or gave it to them, without seemingly realizing its value, just like the charming, blond-haired worshipper in the murals of Luini. People used to say Swan was very similar to the people in the painting.

Luini (1480-1532), Italian painter and disciple of Leonardo Da Vinci.

When I returned home, before I could take off my coat, I announced Swan's preferential treatment to my parents, hoping to arouse the same excitement in their hearts as I did, so that they could make important and critical "thanks" to Swan and his wife. Unfortunately, they did not seem to appreciate it very much. Swan introduced you to Bergott? What a wonderful friend! What a charming interaction! That's the end!" My father cried out sarcastically. Unfortunately, I went on to say that Bergott did not appreciate Mr. de Nobwa at all.

"That's all right," said the father. "It just proves that he's a clever, ill-intentioned man. My poor son, I don't think you have any common sense. I'm sorry to be with people who have ruined your future.

My visit to Swan's family had made my parents very unhappy. Their acquaintance with Bergott seemed to them to be the inevitable consequence of their first mistake, their weak concessions (which Grandpa would call "lack of foresight"). I feel that if I add that the bad man who is not very fond of Mr. De Nobwa thinks I'm smart, then my parents will jump into a rage. When my father thinks that someone, such as one of my classmates, has gone astray --- like me at the moment --- he will be more convinced that his harsh judgment is correct and that the other person is bad if he sees that the lost person is praised by the people he disdains. I seemed to hear him shouting, "Of course, it's the same thing!" I was terrified by this statement, which seemed to announce that certain changes, some very vague, very large changes would break into my peaceful life. However, even if I didn't say what Bergott thought of me, I couldn't erase the impression my parents had made, so I broke the jar. Besides, I think they are extremely unfair and insist on making mistakes. I no longer hope, or even say, I no longer think about getting them back on the right footing. However, when I opened my mouth, I felt that Bergott's appreciation of me would make us panicky --- because he regarded a wise man as a fool, who was sneered at by an elegant gentleman, whose praise (which I admire) would lead me to a bad way --- so I was ashamed to say in a low voice, "He told us at last." Mr. and Mrs. Wan said he thought I was smart. A dog was poisoned and grazed in the field, and the grass was poisoned. So was I. Before I knew it, I said the only thing in the world that could overcome my parents'prejudice against Bergott --- and the best argument I could make, all the approval I could say could not eliminate that prejudice. In an instant, the situation changed abruptly.

"Ah!" He said you were smart? Mother said, "I'm happy because he's a very talented man."

"Really! Is that what he said? The father went on to say... I have no denial of his literary talent, which is well-known. It's a pity that his life is not very orderly. Old man Nobua hinted at it." Father said so, and he did not realize that the words I had just uttered had magical supremacy, in which Bergott's corrupt habits and poor judgment were defeated.

"Ah! Honey, "interrupted Mother," what evidence is there to be sure that this is true? People always talk nonsense. Besides, although Mr. De Nobwa is friendly, he is not always kind to others, especially to those who are not in the right way with him."

"That's true, and I'm aware of it." The father said. iliad

"Besides, since Bergott admires my lovely son, we should forgive him in many places." Mother said as she stroked my hair with her finger and gazed at me dreamfully for a long time.

Before Bergott's ruling, my mother had told me that I could invite Hilbert to lunch when a friend came. But I dare not invite her. There are two reasons. One is that the Hilbert family never only drinks tea. On the contrary, our family insists on chocolate besides tea. I am afraid that Hilbert will think it is very vulgar and thus despise us. Another reason is that I have never been able to solve the etiquette problem. Every time I go to Mrs Swan's house, she always asks me:

"How is your Lord Ling Tang?"

I mentioned to my mother whether Hillbert could ask the same question when she came, because it was as important as the title of "Your Highness" in Louis XIV. But Mom didn't listen to me at all.

"No, I don't know Mrs Swan."

"But she doesn't know you either."

"I didn't say she knew me. But we don't have to do everything the same. I'm going to treat Hillbert in a different way than Mrs Swan did to you."

I'm not convinced, so I'd rather not invite Hilbert.

I left my parents to change clothes. When I took out my pockets, I suddenly found the envelope that Swan's Butler handed me when he showed me into the living room. Now that I'm alone, I open it and see that there's a card that says which lady I should extend my arm to and take her to the table.