(100%) De Profundis (6)

in #kr5 years ago (edited)

본 글은 지적활동증명(Proof of Brain) 워크시트입니다. 참여를 위해서는 반드시 번역 가이드를 읽으세요.


[88E] ✔︎ But with the dynamic forces of life, and those in whom those dynamic forces become incarnate, it is different. People whose desire is solely for self-realisation never know where they are going. They can't know. In one sense of the word it is of course necessary, as the Greek oracle said, to know oneself: that is the first achievement of knowledge. But to recognise that the soul of a man is unknowable, is the ultimate achievement of wisdom. The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul? When the son went out to look for his father's asses, he did not know that a man of God was waiting for him with the very chrism of coronation, and that his own soul was already the soul of a king.

[89E] ✔︎ I hope to live long enough and to produce work of such a character that I shall be able at the end of my days to say, 'Yes! this is just where the artistic life leads a man!' Two of the most perfect lives I have come across in my own experience are the lives of Verlaine and of Prince Kropotkin: both of them men who have passed years in prison: the first, the one Christian poet since Dante; the other, a man with a soul of that beautiful white Christ which seems coming out of Russia. And for the last seven or eight months, in spite of a succession of great troubles reaching me from the outside world almost without intermission, I have been placed in direct contact with a new spirit working in this prison through man and things, that has helped me beyond any possibility of expression in words: so that while for the first year of my imprisonment I did nothing else, and can remember doing nothing else, but wring my hands in impotent despair, and say, 'What an ending, what an appalling ending!' now I try to say to myself, and sometimes when I am not torturing myself do really and sincerely say, 'What a beginning, what a wonderful beginning!' It may really be so. It may become so. If it does I shall owe much to this new personality that has altered every man's life in this place.

[90E] ✔︎ You may realise it when I say that had I been released last May, as I tried to be, I would have left this place loathing it and every official in it with a bitterness of hatred that would have poisoned my life. I have had a year longer of imprisonment, but humanity has been in the prison along with us all, and now when I go out I shall always remember great kindnesses that I have received here from almost everybody, and on the day of my release I shall give many thanks to many people, and ask to be remembered by them in turn.

[91E] ✔︎ The prison style is absolutely and entirely wrong. I would give anything to be able to alter it when I go out. I intend to try. But there is nothing in the world so wrong but that the spirit of humanity, which is the spirit of love, the spirit of the Christ who is not in churches, may make it, if not right, at least possible to be borne without too much bitterness of heart.

[92E] ✔︎ I know also that much is waiting for me outside that is very delightful, from what St. Francis of Assisi calls 'my brother the wind, and my sister the rain,' lovely things both of them, down to the shop-windows and sunsets of great cities. If I made a list of all that still remains to me, I don't know where I should stop: for, indeed, God made the world just as much for me as for any one else. Perhaps I may go out with something that I had not got before. I need not tell you that to me reformations in morals are as meaningless and vulgar as Reformations in theology. But while to propose to be a better man is a piece of unscientific cant, to have become a deeper man is the privilege of those who have suffered. And such I think I have become.

[93E] ✔︎ If after I am free a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I should not mind a bit. I can be perfectly happy by myself. With freedom, flowers, books, and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy? Besides, feasts are not for me any more. I have given too many to care about them. That side of life is over for me, very fortunately, I dare say. But if after I am free a friend of mine had a sorrow and refused to allow me to share it, I should feel it most bitterly. If he shut the doors of the house of mourning against me, I would come back again and again and beg to be admitted, so that I might share in what I was entitled to share in. If he thought me unworthy, unfit to weep with him, I should feel it as the most poignant humiliation, as the most terrible mode in which disgrace could be inflicted on me. But that could not be. I have a right to share in sorrow, and he who can look at the loveliness of the world and share its sorrow, and realise something of the wonder of both, is in immediate contact with divine things, and has got as near to God's secret as any one can get.

[94E] ✔︎ Perhaps there may come into my art also, no less than into my life, a still deeper note, one of greater unity of passion, and directness of impulse. Not width but intensity is the true aim of modern art. We are no longer in art concerned with the type. It is with the exception that we have to do. I cannot put my sufferings into any form they took, I need hardly say. Art only begins where Imitation ends, but something must come into my work, of fuller memory of words perhaps, of richer cadences, of more curious effects, of simpler architectural order, of some aesthetic quality at any rate.

[95E] ✔︎ When Marsyas was 'torn from the scabbard of his limbs'-- 「della vagina della membre sue」, to use one of Dante's most terrible Tacitean phrases--he had no more song, the Greek said. Apollo had been victor. The lyre had vanquished the reed. But perhaps the Greeks were mistaken. I hear in much modern Art the cry of Marsyas. It is bitter in Baudelaire, sweet and plaintive in Lamartine, mystic in Verlaine. It is in the deferred resolutions of Chopin's music. It is in the discontent that haunts Burne-Jones's women. Even Matthew Arnold, whose song of Callicles tells of 'the triumph of the sweet persuasive lyre,' and the 'famous final victory,' in such a clear note of lyrical beauty, has not a little of it; in the troubled undertone of doubt and distress that haunts his verses, neither Goethe nor Wordsworth could help him, though he followed each in turn, and when he seeks to mourn for 「Thyrsis」 or to sing of the 「Scholar Gipsy」, it is the reed that he has to take for the rendering of his strain. But whether or not the Phrygian Faun was silent, I cannot be. Expression is as necessary to me as leaf and blossoms are to the black branches of the trees that show themselves above the prison walls and are so restless in the wind. Between my art and the world there is now a wide gulf, but between art and myself there is none. I hope at least that there is none.

[96E] ✔︎ To each of us different fates are meted out. My lot has been one of public infamy, of long imprisonment, of misery, of ruin, of disgrace, but I am not worthy of it--not yet, at any rate. I remember that I used to say that I thought I could bear a real tragedy if it came to me with purple pall and a mask of noble sorrow, but that the dreadful thing about modernity was that it put tragedy into the raiment of comedy, so that the great realities seemed commonplace or grotesque or lacking in style. It is quite true about modernity. It has probably always been true about actual life. It is said that all martyrdoms seemed mean to the looker on. The nineteenth century is no exception to the rule.

[97E] ✔︎ Everything about my tragedy has been hideous, mean, repellent, lacking in style; our very dress makes us grotesque. We are the zanies of sorrow. We are clowns whose hearts are broken. We are specially designed to appeal to the sense of humour. On November 13th, 1895, I was brought down here from London. From two o'clock till half-past two on that day I had to stand on the centre platform of Clapham Junction in convict dress, and handcuffed, for the world to look at. I had been taken out of the hospital ward without a moment's notice being given to me. Of all possible objects I was the most grotesque. When people saw me they laughed. Each train as it came up swelled the audience. Nothing could exceed their amusement. That was, of course, before they knew who I was. As soon as they had been informed they laughed still more. For half an hour I stood there in the grey November rain surrounded by a jeering mob.

[98E] ✔︎ For a year after that was done to me I wept every day at the same hour and for the same space of time. That is not such a tragic thing as possibly it sounds to you. To those who are in prison tears are a part of every day's experience. A day in prison on which one does not weep is a day on which one's heart is hard, not a day on which one's heart is happy.

[99E] ✔︎ Well, now I am really beginning to feel more regret for the people who laughed than for myself. Of course when they saw me I was not on my pedestal, I was in the pillory. But it is a very unimaginative nature that only cares for people on their pedestals. A pedestal may be a very unreal thing. A pillory is a terrific reality. They should have known also how to interpret sorrow better. I have said that behind sorrow there is always sorrow. It were wiser still to say that behind sorrow there is always a soul. And to mock at a soul in pain is a dreadful thing. In the strangely simple economy of the world people only get what they give, and to those who have not enough imagination to penetrate the mere outward of things, and feel pity, what pity can be given save that of scorn?

[100E] ✔︎ I write this account of the mode of my being transferred here simply that it should be realised how hard it has been for me to get anything out of my punishment but bitterness and despair. I have, however, to do it, and now and then I have moments of submission and acceptance. All the spring may be hidden in the single bud, and the low ground nest of the lark may hold the joy that is to herald the feet of many rose-red dawns. So perhaps whatever beauty of life still remains to me is contained in some moment of surrender, abasement, and humiliation. I can, at any rate, merely proceed on the lines of my own development, and, accepting all that has happened to me, make myself worthy of it.

[101E] ✔︎ People used to say of me that I was too individualistic. I must be far more of an individualist than ever I was. I must get far more out of myself than ever I got, and ask far less of the world than ever I asked. Indeed, my ruin came not from too great individualism of life, but from too little. The one disgraceful, unpardonable, and to all time contemptible action of my life was to allow myself to appeal to society for help and protection. To have made such an appeal would have been from the individualist point of view bad enough, but what excuse can there ever be put forward for having made it? Of course once I had put into motion the forces of society, society turned on me and said, 'Have you been living all this time in defiance of my laws, and do you now appeal to those laws for protection? You shall have those laws exercised to the full. You shall abide by what you have appealed to.' The result is I am in gaol. Certainly no man ever fell so ignobly, and by such ignoble instruments, as I did.

[102E] ✔︎ The Philistine element in life is not the failure to understand art. Charming people, such as fishermen, shepherds, ploughboys, peasants and the like, know nothing about art, and are the very salt of the earth. He is the Philistine who upholds and aids the heavy, cumbrous, blind, mechanical forces of society, and who does not recognise dynamic force when he meets it either in a man or a movement.

[103E] ✔︎ People thought it dreadful of me to have entertained at dinner the evil things of life, and to have found pleasure in their company. But then, from the point of view through which I, as an artist in life, approach them they were delightfully suggestive and stimulating. The danger was half the excitement. . . . My business as an artist was with Ariel. I set myself to wrestle with Caliban. . . .

[104E] ✔︎ A great friend of mine--a friend of ten years' standing--came to see me some time ago, and told me that he did not believe a single word of what was said against me, and wished me to know that he considered me quite innocent, and the victim of a hideous plot. I burst into tears at what he said, and told him that while there was much amongst the definite charges that was quite untrue and transferred to me by revolting malice, still that my life had been full of perverse pleasures, and that unless he accepted that as a fact about me and realised it to the full I could not possibly be friends with him any more, or ever be in his company. It was a terrible shock to him, but we are friends, and I have not got his friendship on false pretences.

[105E] ✔︎ Emotional forces, as I say somewhere in 「Intentions」, are as limited in extent and duration as the forces of physical energy. The little cup that is made to hold so much can hold so much and no more, though all the purple vats of Burgundy be filled with wine to the brim, and the treaders stand knee-deep in the gathered grapes of the stony vineyards of Spain. There is no error more common than that of thinking that those who are the causes or occasions of great tragedies share in the feelings suitable to the tragic mood: no error more fatal than expecting it of them. The martyr in his 'shirt of flame' may be looking on the face of God, but to him who is piling the faggots or loosening the logs for the blast the whole scene is no more than the slaying of an ox is to the butcher, or the felling of a tree to the charcoal burner in the forest, or the fall of a flower to one who is mowing down the grass with a scythe. Great passions are for the great of soul, and great events can be seen only by those who are on a level with them.

[106E] ✔︎ I know of nothing in all drama more incomparable from the point of view of art, nothing more suggestive in its subtlety of observation, than Shakespeare's drawing of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They are Hamlet's college friends. They have been his companions. They bring with them memories of pleasant days together. At the moment when they come across him in the play he is staggering under the weight of a burden intolerable to one of his temperament. The dead have come armed out of the grave to impose on him a mission at once too great and too mean for him. He is a dreamer, and he is called upon to act. He has the nature of the poet, and he is asked to grapple with the common complexity of cause and effect, with life in its practical realisation, of which he knows nothing, not with life in its ideal essence, of which he knows so much. He has no conception of what to do, and his folly is to feign folly. Brutus used madness as a cloak to conceal the sword of his purpose, the dagger of his will, but the Hamlet madness is a mere mask for the hiding of weakness. In the making of fancies and jests he sees a chance of delay. He keeps playing with action as an artist plays with a theory. He makes himself the spy of his proper actions, and listening to his own words knows them to be but 'words, words, words.' Instead of trying to be the hero of his own history, he seeks to be the spectator of his own tragedy. He disbelieves in everything, including himself, and yet his doubt helps him not, as it comes not from scepticism but from a divided will.

[107E] ✔︎ Of all this Guildenstern and Rosencrantz realise nothing. They bow and smirk and smile, and what the one says the other echoes with sickliest intonation. When, at last, by means of the play within the play, and the puppets in their dalliance, Hamlet 'catches the conscience' of the King, and drives the wretched man in terror from his throne, Guildenstern and Rosencrantz see no more in his conduct than a rather painful breach of Court etiquette. That is as far as they can attain to in 'the contemplation of the spectacle of life with appropriate emotions.' They are close to his very secret and know nothing of it. Nor would there be any use in telling them. They are the little cups that can hold so much and no more. Towards the close it is suggested that, caught in a cunning spring set for another, they have met, or may meet, with a violent and sudden death. But a tragic ending of this kind, though touched by Hamlet's humour with something of the surprise and justice of comedy, is really not for such as they. They never die. Horatio, who in order to 'report Hamlet and his cause aright to the unsatisfied,'

[108E] ✔︎ 'Absents him from felicity a while,
And in this harsh world draws his breath in pain,'

[109E] ✔︎ dies, but Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are as immortal as Angelo and Tartuffe, and should rank with them. They are what modern life has contributed to the antique ideal of friendship. He who writes a new 「De Amicitia」 must find a niche for them, and praise them in Tusculan prose. They are types fixed for all time. To censure them would show 'a lack of appreciation.' They are merely out of their sphere: that is all. In sublimity of soul there is no contagion. High thoughts and high emotions are by their very existence isolated.

[110E] ✔︎ I am to be released, if all goes well with me, towards the end of May, and hope to go at once to some little sea-side village abroad with R--- and M---.

[111E] ✔︎ The sea, as Euripides says in one of his plays about Iphigeneia, washes away the stains and wounds of the world.

[112E] ✔︎ I hope to be at least a month with my friends, and to gain peace and balance, and a less troubled heart, and a sweeter mood. I have a strange longing for the great simple primeval things, such as the sea, to me no less of a mother than the Earth. It seems to me that we all look at Nature too much, and live with her too little. I discern great sanity in the Greek attitude. They never chattered about sunsets, or discussed whether the shadows on the grass were really mauve or not. But they saw that the sea was for the swimmer, and the sand for the feet of the runner. They loved the trees for the shadow that they cast, and the forest for its silence at noon. The vineyard-dresser wreathed his hair with ivy that he might keep off the rays of the sun as he stooped over the young shoots, and for the artist and the athlete, the two types that Greece gave us, they plaited with garlands the leaves of the bitter laurel and of the wild parsley, which else had been of no service to men.

[113E] ✔︎ We call ours a utilitarian age, and we do not know the uses of any single thing. We have forgotten that water can cleanse, and fire purify, and that the Earth is mother to us all. As a consequence our art is of the moon and plays with shadows, while Greek art is of the sun and deals directly with things. I feel sure that in elemental forces there is purification, and I want to go back to them and live in their presence.

[114E] ✔︎ Of course to one so modern as I am, 'Enfant de mon siecle,' merely to look at the world will be always lovely. I tremble with pleasure when I think that on the very day of my leaving prison both the laburnum and the lilac will be blooming in the gardens, and that I shall see the wind stir into restless beauty the swaying gold of the one, and make the other toss the pale purple of its plumes, so that all the air shall be Arabia for me. Linnaeus fell on his knees and wept for joy when he saw for the first time the long heath of some English upland made yellow with the tawny aromatic brooms of the common furze; and I know that for me, to whom flowers are part of desire, there are tears waiting in the petals of some rose. It has always been so with me from my boyhood. There is not a single colour hidden away in the chalice of a flower, or the curve of a shell, to which, by some subtle sympathy with the very soul of things, my nature does not answer. Like Gautier, I have always been one of those 'pour qui le monde visible existe.'

[115E] ✔︎ Still, I am conscious now that behind all this beauty, satisfying though it may be, there is some spirit hidden of which the painted forms and shapes are but modes of manifestation, and it is with this spirit that I desire to become in harmony. I have grown tired of the articulate utterances of men and things. The Mystical in Art, the Mystical in Life, the Mystical in Nature this is what I am looking for. It is absolutely necessary for me to find it somewhere.

[116E] ✔︎ All trials are trials for one's life, just as all sentences are sentences of death; and three times have I been tried. The first time I left the box to be arrested, the second time to be led back to the house of detention, the third time to pass into a prison for two years. Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.

Sort:  

[106] 나는 예술의 관점에서 어떤 연극도 셰익스피어가 그려낸 로젠크란츠와 길덴스턴에 비할 수 없으며, 섬세한 관찰에 있어 자극을 줄 수 없다. 그들은 햄릿의 대학 친구들이다. 그들은 그의 동료였다. 그들은 즐거운 날의 추억을 공유하고 있다. 극 중에서 그들이 햄릿과 마주쳤을 때, 햄릿은 자신의 견딜 수 없는 기질로 인한 참을 수 없는 부담에 비틀거리고 있었다. 죽은 자들이 햄릿에게는 너무 크고 지나친 임무를 주기 위해 무덤에서 무장을 하고 나왔다. 햄릿은 몽상가이고, 행동할 것을 요청받는다. 햄릿은 시인의 본성을 갖고 있으며, 자신이 잘 아는 삶의 이상적인 본질이 아닌, 아무것도 모르는 인과관계의 복잡성과 삶의 실제화와 싸울 것을 요청받는다. 햄릿은 무엇을 해야 할지에 대한 개념이 없으며, 햄릿의 어리석음은 어리석은 채 하는 것이다. 브루투스는 목적의 검, 의지의 단검을 감추기 위한 망토로 사용했지만, 햄릿에게 광기는 나약함을 감추기 위한 단순한 가면에 불과하다. 햄릿은 상상과 농담이 지연될 가능성을 본다. 햄릿은 예술가가 이론을 따라 행동하는 것처럼 계속 행동한다. 햄릿은 자신의 적절한 행동에 대한 스파이를 자처하며, 자신의 말을 듣는데 이는 '말, 말, 말'뿐이라는 것을 알고 있다. 자신의 역사의 영웅이 되려고 애쓰는 대신 햄릿은 자신의 비극의 구경꾼이 되려 한다. 햄릿은 자신을 포함해 아무것도 믿지 않는다. 그러나 의심은 그를 도와주지 않는데, 이는 회의주의에서 오는 것이 아니라 분열된 의지에서 나온 것이기 때문이다.

[89] 나는 충분히 오래 살며 그러한 성격의 작품을 만들기를 바라며, 내 날이 끝날 때쯤에는 '그래! 이것이 바로 예술적인 삶이 인간을 이끄는 곳이야!'라고 말할 수 있기를 바란다 .내가 우연히 경험했던 가장 완벽한 두 가지 삶은 베를렌과 크로포트킨 귀족의 삶이다. 그들 모두 수년 간을 감옥에서 보냈다. 한 명은 단테 이후 최초의, 그리스도 시인이었으며, 다른 한 명은 아름답고 하얀 그리스도의 영혼을 가진 러시아 사람이었다. 지난 7, 8개월 동안 세계 밖에서 끊임없이 내게 밀려오는 커다란 문제들에도 불구하고, 나는 감옥 안의 사람과 물건들을 통해 새로운 영혼의 작용과 직접적으로 접촉하게 되었고, 이는 그 어떤 표현된 말의 가능성보다도 내게 도움이 됐다. 그래서수감된 처음 1년 동안은 아무 것도 하지 않았고, 어떤 일도 하지 않고 무력한 절망 속에서 손을 움켜쥐며, '끝이구나. 형편없는 끝이구나!'라고 말했다. 나는 이제 자신을 정말로 고문하지 않고 진심으로 말한다. '시작이구나. 아름다운 시작이구나!' 정말 그럴지도 모른다. 그렇게 될지도 모른다. 만약 그렇다면 이곳의 모든 이의 삶을 변화시킨 이 새로운 성격에 큰 빚을 지는 것이다.

[93] 자유로워진 다음 친구 한 명이 내게 잔치를 열고 나를 초대하지 않는다 해도 나는 조금도 개의치 않을 것이다. 나는 혼자서 더할 나위 없이 행복할 수 있다. 자유, 꽃, 책, 달과 함께라면 누구나 더할 나위 없이 행복하지 않겠는가? 게다가 잔치는 더 이상 나를 위한 것이 아니다. 나는 이를 위해 너무 많은 것을 바쳤다. 내 삶의 그런 측면은 다행스럽게도 끝났다고 감히 말할 수 있다. 그러나 내가 자유로워진 다음 친구 한 명이 슬픔을 느끼며 이를 내게 공유하려 하지 않는다면, 나는 이를 가장 씁쓸한 것으로 느낄 것이다. 그가 상가의 문을 닫는다면, 나는 다시 돌아오고 돌아와 들어갈 수 있게 해달라고 간청할 것이며, 내가 마땅히 나눌 수 있는 것을 나누려 할 것이다. 그가 만일 나를 필요로 하지 않고, 자신과 함께 울 수 없다 생각한다면, 나는 그것을 가장 가슴아픈 굴욕으로 느낄 것이며, 내게 가장 끔찍한 방식의 치욕이라 느낄 것이다. 그러나 그럴 리가 없다. 나는 슬픔 속에서 나눌 권리가 있다. 세상의 사랑스러움을 보고 그 슬픔을 나눌 수 있고, 그 두 가지의 경이로움을 깨닫는 그는 신성한 것과 즉각적으로 연결되어 있으며, 누구나 다가갈 수 있는 신의 비밀에 가까워져 있는 것이다.

[95] 마르쉬아스가 '그의 사지를 뜯겼을 때'-- 「그의 몸의 세포」, 단테의 가장 끔찍한 타키투스 구절--그에게는 더는 노래가 없다고 그리스인은 말했다. 아폴로는 승리했다. 리라는 갈대를 짓밟았다. 그러나 아마도 그리스인들이 잘못 알고 있었다. 나는 현대의 예술에서 마르쉬아스의 울음을 더 많이 듣는다. 이는 보들레르의 씁쓸함이며, 라마르틴의 달콤함과 애처로움이며, 베를렌의 신비주의다. 이는 쇼팽의 음악의 미뤄진 결단에 있다. 이는 번 존스의 여인을 사로잡는 불만에 있다. 분명하고 음조의 서정적인 아름다움으로 '달콤하고 감동적인 리라의 승리'와 '유명한 최후의 승리'를 이야기 하는 마태 애널드의 캘리클래스의 노래에도 그것이 적잖게 있다. 그의 가사를 잠식하고 있는 의심과 고통의 숨은 의미 속에서, 괴테나 워즈워스도 그를 도울 수 없으며, 비록 그가 차례로 따라가며, 「시르시스」 를 애도하거나 「스콜라 집시를 부르려 할 때, 이러한 연주의 압박을 위해 그가 잡아야 하는 건 갈대였다. 하지만 프리지아 파우누스가 침묵했든 아니든 나는 그럴 수 없다. 감옥의 벽 위로 모습을 드러내고, 바람결에 흔들거리는 검은 가지의 잎과 꽃처럼 나는 표현해야 한다. 나의 예술과 세계 사이에는 커다란 격차가 있지만, 예술과 나 사이에는 아무 것도 없다. 적어도 나는 아무 것도 없기를 바란다.

[114] 물론 나처럼 현대적인 사람에게는, '내 시대의 아기', 그저 세상을 바라보는 게 언제나 사랑스러울 것이다. 내가 감옥을 떠나는 바로 그 날과 나도싸리와 라일락이 정원에서 피어나는 날을 생각할 때면 기쁨의 전율이 느껴진다. 나는 바람이 누군가의 흔들리는 금 쉴새없는 아름다움에 뒤섞이게 하고, 엷은 보라색 깃털을 흔들리게 하는 것을 볼 것이다. 그렇게 모든 공기는 나를 위한 아라비아가 될 것이다. 린네는 처음으로 어느 영국 고원의 넓은 황야가 황갈색 향이 좋은 일반적인 가시 금작화로 노랗게 뒤덮인 것을 보고 무릎을 꿇고 기쁨에 겨워할 것이다. 그리고 나는 그것이 나를 위한 것임을 안다. 내게 꽃은 욕망의 일부이며, 어떤 장미의 꽃잎에는 눈물이 기다리고 있음을 안다. 어리적부터 항상 그랬다. 꽃의 성배 안이나 꽃잎의 둥근 표면에는 단 하나의 색깔만 숨겨져 있지 않았는데, 그 사물의 영혼에 대한 어떤 미묘한 동정에 의해, 내 본성은 응답하지 않는다. 고티에처럼 나는 언제나 '보이는 세계는 언제나' 나를 위해 존재한다고 보는 사람이었다.

[105] 「의향」의 어딘가에서 말한 것처럼, 감정적인 힘은 물리적인 힘처럼 범위와 지속 시간이 한정되어 있다. 많은 것을 담기 위해 만들어진 작은 컵은 많은 것을 담을 수 있지만 그 이상은 아니다. 그럼에도 버건디 보라색 통은 윗부분까지 와인이 가득차 있고, 스페인의 돌투성이 포도밭에서 포도를 밟는 이들은 포도가 무릎 높이까지 차 있다. 커다란 비극의 원인이거나 이를 일으키는 사람들이 비극적인 기분에 적합한 감정을 공유하고 생각하는 것보다 더욱 흔한 오류도 없다. 이들보다 더 치명적인 오류도 없다. '불꽃의 셔츠'를 입은 순교자는 신의 얼굴을 보고 있을지도 모르나, 말뚝을 박거나, 강풍에 대비해 통나무를 느슨하게 해두는 이들에게는, 그러한 모습이 정육점에서 소를 죽이거나, 숲에서 숯을 굽는 이들에게 나무 쓰러지거나, 큰 낫으로 풀을 베고 있는 이에게 꽃이 떨어지는 것이나 다름없다. 위대한 열정은 위대한 영혼을 위한 것이며, 위대한 사건은 그들과 동등한 수준에 있는 사람들만 볼 수 있다.

[107] 로젠크란츠와 길덴스턴는 아무것도 깨닫지 못한다. 그들은 고개를 숙이고 히죽히죽 웃고, 미소를 짓는다. 누군가 다른 이에게 병약한 억양으로 말한다. 마침내 연극 안의 연극을 통해, 그들의 놀아나는 꼭두 각시를 통해, 햄릿이 왕의 '양심을 밝혀'내고, 공포에 질린 이를 왕좌에서 몰아낼 때, 로젠크라츠와 길데스턴은 햄릿의 행동에서 다소 고통스러운 법정의 예의를 어기는 것 이상을 보지 않는다. 그것이 그들이 '적절한 감정을 가진 삶의 광경을 응시'에서 얻을 수 있는 것이다. 그들은 햄릿의 비밀과 가깝지고, 아무것도 알지 못한다. 그들에게 말해도 소용 없을 것이다. 그들은 그만큼만 담을 수 있는, 그 이상은 안되는 작은 컵이다. 머지 않아 그들은 다른 이를 위한 교활한 샘물에 걸려들어, 폭력적이고 갑작스러운 죽음을 마주했거나 마주하게 될 것이다. 비록 햄릿의 유머와 함께 희극의 놀라움과 정의에 감동을 받긴 했지만, 이러한 비극적인 결말은 정말이지 그들과 같은 이를 위한 것이 아니다. 그들은 결코 죽지 않는다. '불만족스러워 하는 이들에게 제대로 햄릿과 그의 원인을 보고하기 위한' 허레이쇼는,

[101] 사람들은 내가 지나치게 개인주의적이었다고 말하곤 했다. 나는 그 어느때보다 더한 개인주의자임에 틀림없다. 나는 그 어느 때보다도 훨씬 더 많이 내 자신에게서 벗어나고, 그 어느 때보다도 훨씬 덜 세계에게 물어야 한다. 실제로 나의 지나친 개인주의적 삶으로 인해 내가 파멸하는 것이 아니라, 지나치게 그렇지 못하기 때문이다. 수치스럽고, 용서할 수 없으며, 내 삶의 언제나 경멸스러운 행동들은 사회의 도움과 보호를 호소할 수 있게 했다. 그런 호소를 했다는 건 개인주의자 입장에서는 분명 좋지 않은 일이었겠지만, 그러한 일에 대해 어떠한 변명을 할 수 있을까? 물론 내가 사회를 움직이는 힘을 갖게 되자, 사회는 내게 등을 돌리며, '이제까지 내 법을 무시하고 살았는가? 그런데 이제 그러한 법의 보호를 호소하는가? 법을 온전하게 지켜야 한다. 네가 호소한 것을 따라야 한다.' 결과적으로 나는 감옥에 있다. 확실히 누구도 나처럼 그렇게 비열하게, 비열한 방식으로 넘어지는 이는 없었다.

[112] 나는 평화와 균형을 얻고, 덜 괴로운 마음과, 더 달콤한 기분을 얻기 위해 적어도 한 달간 친구들과 있기를 바란다. 나는 바다처럼 아주 단순하고 원시적인 것에 대한 이상한 갈망을 갖고 있는데, 내게는 지구보다 어머니 같은 것이다. 내가 보기에 우리 모두는 자연을 너무 많이 바라보고, 그녀와는 너무 적게 시간을 보내는 것 같다. 나는 그리스인들의 태도에서 대단한 정신을 분간한다. 그들은 결코 일몰에 대해 수다를 떨지 않았고, 풀밭의 그림자가 정말로 연보라색인지 아닌지에 대해 논하지도 않았다. 그러나 그들은 바다는 수영하는 사람을 위한 것이고, 모래는 달리는 이의 발을 위한 것이라 봤다. 그들은 그림자를 드리운 나무를 사랑했고, 정오의 적막한 숲을 사랑했다. 포도밭에서 일하는 옷을 입은 이는 어린 새싹 앞에 멈춰서서 태양 빛을 막아줄 수 있는 담쟁이덩굴을 머리에 두르고, 그리스인들이 우리에게 전해 준 예술가와 운동 선수라는 두 부류, 이들을 위해 쓰디쓴 월계수와 야생 파슬리 잎으로 만든 화환을 땋았는데, 이들을 제외한 이들에게는 아무런 도움이 되지 않았다.

[93E] 자유로워진 다음 친구 한 명이 내게 잔치를 열고 나를 초대하지 않는다 해도 나는 조금도 개의치 않을 것이다. 나는 혼자서 더할 나위 없이 행복할 수 있다. 자유, 꽃, 책, 달과 함께라면 누구나 더할 나위 없이 행복하지 않겠는가? 게다가 잔치는 더 이상 나를 위한 것이 아니다. 나는 이를 위해 너무 많은 것을 바쳤다. 내 삶에서 그런 일들은, 무척이나 다행스럽게도, 이제 끝났다고 감히 말할 수 있다. 그러나 내가 자유로워진 다음 친구 한 명이 슬픔을 느끼며 이를 나와 나누려 하지 않는다면, 나는 이를 가장 씁쓸한 것으로 느낄 것이다. 그가 애도의 집의 문을 닫는다면, 나는 다시 돌아오고 돌아와 들어갈 수 있게 해달라고 간청할 것이며, 내가 마땅히 나눌 수 있는 것을 나누려 할 것이다. 그가 만일 내가 그러기에 적절하지 않고, 자신과 함께 울 수 없다 생각한다면, 나는 그것을 가장 가슴 아픈 굴욕으로 느낄 것이며, 내게 가해진 가장 끔찍한 치욕이라 느낄 것이다. 그러나 그럴 리가 없다. 나는 슬픔 속에서 나눌 자격을 갖고 있다. 세상의 사랑스러움을 보고 세상의 슬픔을 함께 나누고, 그 두 가지의 경이로움을 깨닫는 그는 신성한 것과 직접적으로 연결되어 있으며, 그 누구보다 신의 비밀에 가까이 다가가 있는 것이다.

Coin Marketplace

STEEM 0.25
TRX 0.28
JST 0.044
BTC 97482.49
ETH 3750.61
USDT 1.00
SBD 3.59