musicians of old

Chapter 809 Before Easter
The next day, the rain stopped and the chestnut trees in spring were still lovely, but for Fanning, his world seemed to still be confined to the small world of his writing room.

Too many things were pushing him forward: duties, pursuits, sacred music review, commissioned manuscripts, the "March and Hymns in A Minor" for Easter, the study of his posthumous work "The Discourse on the Obscure"—all these things were pressing him from behind, or pulling him from the front.

"Art serves divine conscience," perhaps, but how easy it is to merely gaze at the distant "inner moral principles," while how difficult it is to grasp the solitary things before one's eyes. For Fanning, there was simply no time to ponder those perplexing and hesitant matters—except during a short walk after dinner.

"Yeah, the little cheat sheet is long, anyway, that's how I feel."

During a break from work, Vincent once again lowered himself from the dizzying height of the church. He squatted in front of the rain bucket and rubbed his hands, which were covered in lapis lazuli paint.

"The power of the Father, guiding the sunlight to converge and the burning of objects, was definitely achieved through the music of the mass ceremony and the mystical properties of these murals on the vault. Although I only understand paintings, my spiritual premonition about this point is correct. Your monastery's request for me to carry out restoration and color matching at this time is definitely for this reason."

“You could call it divine power, that’s absolutely right, but to call it a ‘miracle’? Heh heh, that’s an exaggeration,” Vincent commented with a laugh.

Fanning gazed once more at the enormous dome above.

Those diamond-shaped glass pieces are products left by the Romans' design, and behind the slightly lower altar, on the entire wall, three or four hundred lifelike figures are interwoven and presented, completely integrated by a whirlwind-like force!
"The Last Judgment," also known as "The Day of Wrath," comes from a group of muralists in 913 AD whose backgrounds are shrouded in mystery. The names recorded in the scrolls include Marais, Cumier, and Claude.

It is indeed very mysterious and bizarre. Sometimes, Fanning feels that it doesn't seem to be a product from more than 100 years ago at all.

The complex composition of the intersection of horizontal and vertical lines alone is beyond the scope of technical understanding. Even Fanning thought it was hard to say whether it could be painted 500 years later.

On the west side of the dome, where the robes of several angels were, was the area where Vincent had just added his brushstrokes. After only a short while, Fanning had a vague feeling that the way the mural reflected light had changed again.

The array of diamond-shaped glass and stained-glass windows above seemed to direct beams of light toward the exterior space behind the church—the open-air square where the Easter Mass and public trial were about to take place.

Miracles and divine power
Fanning continued to ponder the meaning of those two words.

They are undoubtedly different in nature.

One, from a truly supreme gift or judgment.

The other, at best, depends on the degree of mastery of doctrine, namely, "the power of authority" or "the authority of power."

"Power" and "authority" are things that can be studied, acquired, surpassed, or even replaced.

Fan Ning felt he had grasped the direction more firmly, the direction that could resolve his confusion and hesitation. However, he still felt the path was not so clear and his determination was not so firm.

Moreover, there are even more important things that require me to work day and night.

"Vincent, I have to go now." Fanning waved.

“Tomorrow there will be more fig cheese chips, and a long handwritten note. Oh, by the way, if you have any specific suggestions on ‘adjusting the lighting effects of the murals,’ I’d love to hear them.” Vincent was applying the paint he would use the next day, and he didn’t turn back until Fanning’s figure disappeared into the twilight.

Fanning didn't have any good specific suggestions.

Furthermore, Father Squier's confessional appointments were indeed very difficult to secure. Although his elder sister had arranged an appointment for him, Fanning was told that the appointment would be scheduled for noon seven days later.

That is, the last day before Easter.

We can only wait, but of course, we can't just wait idly.

The March in A minor and the chorus had already been completed, and Fanning was determined to finalize it without further revisions. So, apart from a few short walks during his evening meals, he devoted almost all his energy to the research and completion of Guido Daletzo's "Debate and the Floating Light".

"Strive to please God and be a worker who does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."

The admonition of 2 Timothy 2:15 always echoed in Fanning's mind.

For the past three years, he has been diligently organizing the puzzle pieces in his mind. Inspiration has not been waving beautifully in front of him. He has been working with the same dedication as a strong bull. But in the last few days, he suddenly realized that these puzzle pieces seem to be ready to be assembled!

Some of them can be combined to form a larger puzzle, while others corroborate and dissolve each other, removing redundant parts and making the true picture of truth more realistically presented—"Debating the Subtle." Fanning discovered that the desires arising from the world of appearances could be elevated to a selfless spiritual realm, and the troubles, hesitations, and pains of youth could be completely discarded in the process of study. As the days passed, because the monastery was busy preparing for Easter, Bogle and the group of monks in the joint investigation even postponed their daily schedule of summoning Fanning to inquire about the investigation.

Was Fanning eager for this? Not necessarily; he might not even have realized that "no one is summoning him."

In the last two or three days, he ate and slept entirely in this writing room. He probably didn't even realize what he had just eaten when the nuns removed the plates.

He was so engrossed in his research that the yearning was so intense that Fan Ning thought about it constantly, keeping it on his mind at all times. From head to toe, his entire body was filled with this thought. He felt that even if a razor blade were to cut his finger at any moment, what would flow from the wound would probably not be blood, but this "thought".

Finally, when the logic was closed and he put down his pen, Fan Ning didn't really know whether his study of "Distinguishing the Subtle" was accurate enough to hit the truth. He just felt that a lot of fireworks were exploding in his mind!

It took a long time before I regained my physical sense of the world's appearance.

"Why is it so dark?"

Fanning sprang up from her seat, grabbed the candle, and strode down the corridor before finally seeing the time on the clock.

"It's over, it's over, Father Squiabbe's situation."

Fan Ning finally seemed to wake up from his drunken stupor and muttered anxiously to himself.

Perhaps from Fanning's own perspective, the matter of "Debate on the Void" went much more smoothly than expected, but the confessional service that her elder sister had arranged for her was supposed to take place at noon today!
And now, it's almost midnight!

"There are less than seven hours until tomorrow's public trial, Nancy, the acclaimed heretics, the musical scores that are about to be burned, and, crucially, I seem to have broken my promise—that too is a sin! How could I have suddenly become so engrossed?"

Fan Ning looked anxious, his eyes darting around.

Suddenly, he dashed down the tower.

"Professor Fan Ning?" "Head scribe!" Colleagues who had gathered around at the sound of the commotion exclaimed in surprise, but Fan Ning's figure had already disappeared around the corner of the stone steps.

In the dead of night, when all was quiet, Fanning, carrying a lantern, ran wildly through the monastery.

Father F. Nikolayevich Squiaben, the former abbot of the monastery, arranged this meeting for the Sacrament of Confession in the most prominent confessional room within the church.

“Da da da da!!”

Fan Ning ran towards this place, nearly falling several times along the way, the candlelight in his lantern flickering intermittently.

Even though it might be pointless, I can only go there and take a look.

But as Fanning approached the confessional, he was taken aback.

Orange-yellow lights shone from the room like tiny beans.

There was someone waiting for me inside!

The curtain was lifted.

It seemed that because the Sacrament of Confession was "over," the barrier had been removed, and Fanning came face to face with the person sitting across the long table.

Surprisingly, it's still there.

Father Squierben was dressed in a pure black robe, with cloud-like gray hair and a broad, upturned mustache. His voice, however, was not particularly old.
"We meet again, Master Fan Ning. Please have a seat."

(End of this chapter)