M, Konopnicka - W Parmie.docx

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                                                                                                                                                                                           W Parmie                                                                                                                                                                                                     Nad opactwem w San Paolo                                                                                                                              Sieje żarem strop niebieski…                                                                                                                              -Abbaresas Giovannina                                                                                                                              W parlatorium chce mieć freski.                                                                                                                              Abbaressę Giovantinę                                                                                                                                            Już pół wieku habit kryje                                                                                                                              Gruby habit z ciemnej wełny                                                                                                                              Gruby kaptur – aż po szyję.                                                                                                                Abbatessa Giovanina                                                                                                                                            Piękną głowę w myślach kłoni                                                                                                                              I podpiera blade czoło                                                                                                                                            Na wysmukłej bladej dłoni.                                                                                                                                            Z czarodziejstwa swojej sztuki                                                                                                                              Mistrz Corregio w Parnie znany                                                                                                                On swym pędzlem przeczaruje                                                                                                                              Parlatoria nagie ściany.                                                                                                                Mistrz Gorregio w swej palecie                                                                                                                                                                      Ma te wszystkie barwy, blaski.                                                                                                                                                                                Jakie tylko mogą cieszyć                                                                                                                                                                                       Ludzkie oczy z bożej łaski. -                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Nad opactwem Sn Paolo                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Gasną w mrokach zorze blade…                                                                                                                                                               Abbatessa Giovanina                                                                                                                                                                                                            Długą z mistrzem ma naradę.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Długo zgodzić się nie może                                                                                                                                                                                                    Na wybranie fresków treści,                                                                                                                                                               Choć się ciśnie tłum postaci                                                                                                                                                                                 Z świętych legend i powieści.                                                                                                                                                                                           Z starej Biblii, z księgi starej                                                                                                                                                                                                     Mistrz poddaje obraz, słowo;                                                                                                                                                                    Abbatessa Giovanina                                                                                                                                                                                  Przeczy ręką, przeczy głową.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Przykrzy sobie pode drzwiami                                                                                                                                                                                               Najciekawsza nowicjuszka;                                                                                                                                                                                Mówią z cicha, szmer zaledwie                                                                                                                                                                                     Dolatuje do jej uszka…                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Już i pełnia księżycowa                                                                                                                                                                                Błyska w szyby bladym złotem,                                                                                                                                                Kiedy pojął mistrz Gorregio,                                                                                                                                                                                             Co ma fresków być przedmiotem.                                                                                                                                                                Od poranka San Paolo                                                                                                                                          Rozebrzmiało pracy wrzawa...                                                                                                                                                                                                         Lecz mistrz zamknął się w komnacie                                                                                                                                         Z swym natchnieniem i  z swą sławą.                                                                                                                                                                                              -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------              Drobnym krokiem mniszki chodzą                                                                                                                                                                                                    Ze schowaną w kaptur głową,                                                                                                                                                                                 O cudownym  malowaniu                                                                                                                                                        Szepcą sobie to i owo.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              - Co? Ucieczka do Egiptu?                                                                                                                                               - Co?... Wskrzeszenie Lazarzowe?                                                  1050                                                              Co?...  Farao?... Pokłon Magów?...                                                                                                                                                                        Wąż na puszczy>… Cuda nowe?...                                                                                                                                           Próżno gubią się w domysłach!                                                                                                                      Nieme ściany, grube mury…                                                                                                                          Na „silentium” dzwonek woła                                                                                                                                                                                Do „inchiostra”, do klauzury.                                                                                                                                                Sama tylko abbatessa                                                                                                                                          Wstęp ma wolny do komnaty;                                                                                                                                                                                          Często widać cień kej smukły,                                                                                                                                                                                           Często słychać chrzęst jej szaty.                                                                                                                                                                               Sama tylko abbatessa                                                                                                                                                                                       Na rusztowań wchodzi deski                                                                                                                                          I odrzuca kaptur z czoła,                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Żeby lepiej widzieć freski.                                                                                                                                                                                           To pochwali, to przygani,                                                                                                                                                                                                             ...

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