The criminal look of misery and hatred on
the fixed, violated face and in the bloodshot eyes is almost impossible.
He is conquered, beaten, broken, his body is a mass of torture, an
unthinkable shame. Yet his will remains obstinate and ugly, integral
with utter hatred.
It is a great shock to find this figure sitting in a handsome, baroque,
pink-washed shrine in one of those Alpine valleys which to our thinking
are all flowers and romance, like the picture in the Tate Gallery.
'Spring in the Austrian Tyrol' is to our minds a vision of pristine
loveliness. It contains also this Christ of the heavy body defiled by
torture and death, the strong, virile life overcome by physical
violence, the eyes still looking back bloodshot in consummate hate
and misery.
The shrine was well kept and evidently much used. It was hung with
ex-voto limbs and with many gifts. It was a centre of worship, of a sort
of almost obscene worship. Afterwards the black pine-trees and the river
of that valley seemed unclean, as if an unclean spirit lived there. The
very flowers seemed unnatural, and the white gleam on the mountain-tops
was a glisten of supreme, cynical horror.
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