
¦è´µ¥Å±Ð°ó¡]Sistine
Chapel¡^¤Ñªá¾Àµe
¡@¡@¦è´µ¥Å±Ð°ó¡]Sistine Chapel¡^¤Ñªá¾Àµe¡A¬O¤@¤¹s¤K¦~¨ì¤@¤¤@¤G¦~¶¡¡A¦Ì¶}®Ô°òù(Michelangelo,
di Lodovico Buonarroti-simoni, 1475-1564) À³±Ð¬Ó¦¶¤Oªü´µ¤G¥@¡]Pope Julius
II¡^¤§½Ð¨ì±Ð§Ê§¹¦¨ªº§@«~¡C¦è´µ¥Å±Ð°ó¦ì©ó±ë¸¦©£¡A«Ø©ó1473-81¦~¡A¬O·í®É±Ð¬Ó©Ò¦bªº±Ð°ó¡C
¡@ |
¡@¡@¦Ì¶}®Ô°òù¬O·N¤j§QÀJ¶ì®a¡Aµe®a¡A«Ø¿v®v©M¸Ö¤H¡C¥L¦b¦è´µ¥Å±Ð°óªº¤Ñªá¾Àµe¤¤¡A§e²{¤FµL»PÛ¤ñ¤§¤~µØ¡C
¡@¡»¤E´T
³Ð¥@°O¹Ï
¡@¡»¥|´T¦b¨¤¸¨¤UÄa³¡¤À¹Ï
¡@¡»¥|´T¦b¤UÄa³¡¤À¤WºÝªº¤@¹ï»É»r¹³¹Ï
¡@¡»¤K´T»É»r¹³¹Ï
¡@¡»¤C´T¥ýª¾¹Ï
¡@¡»¤´T¤k¥ýª¾Sibyl¹Ï
¡@¡»¤G¤Q´T ignudi ¹Ï
¡@¡»¤Q´T¤j¶ê¸Ë¹¢³¹¹Ï
¡@¡@º¥ý¡A¦Ì¶}®Ô°òùø¥X¤W«Ò³Ð³y¤Ñ¦aªº¥þ¯à¡A«ÂÄY»P¹ï¤HÃþ¯S§Oªº·R¡C³Ð³y¨È·í¹Ï(Æ[¬Ý)¤¤¡A¤W«Ò»P¨È·íªº¤âYIJYÂ÷¡A¨Ï§Ú̬ݨì¤W«Òªº¤â«ü¡A¦V¨È·í¶Ç¥X¤@ªÑ¥Í©Rªº¯à¶q¡C¸t¸g°O¸ü¡A¤W«Ò¦V¨È·íªº»ó¤Õ§j¤@¤f®ð¡A¨Ï¥L¦¨¬°¦³ÆFªº¬¡¤H¡C
¡@¡@·í¨È·í®L«½³Q³v¥X¥ì¨l¶é®É¡A¥L̤Q¤À²ÛºF¡A¸oª¹¨Ï¥Ḻ¦V¤Ñ¨Ï®É¡A¤]¤Q¤ÀÄߩȡC¤£¹L¡A¨Ã«D¨S¦³¬ß±æ¡C(Æ[¬Ý)
¡@¡@µe¤j¬x¤ô®É(Æ[¬Ý)¡A¦Ì¶}®Ô°òù´yø¨ì¨º¨Ç¨S¦³¶i¤J¤è¦àªº¤H¡A±¹ï¬x¤ô®É¬O¦óµ¥ªº·[´qÄߩȡC¥u¦³®¿¨È¤@®a¤K¤f¡AÅ¥±q¤W«Òªº¸Ü¡A«Ø³y¨Ã¶i¤J¤è¦à¡A¤~§K©ó·À¤`¡C¸t¸g»¡¡G¡§®¿¨È¦]µÛ«H¡A¬J»X¯««ü¥Ü¥L¥¼¨£ªº¨Æ¡A°Ê¤F·q¬Èªº¤ß¡A¹w³Æ¤F¤@°¦¤è¦à¡A¨Ï¥L¥þ®a±o±Ï¡C¦]¦¹´N©w¤F¨º¥@¥Nªº¸o¡A¦Û¤v¤]©Ó¨ü¤F¨º±q«H¦Ó¨Óªº¸q¡C¡¨
¡@¡@Âǵ۫H¡A®¿¨È¦b¬x¤ô¤¤±o¥H¦s¬¡¡C¦Ì¶}®Ô°òù¤]´¿Âǵۤ@º¸Ö¡A®i¥Ü¥L¹ï¤W«Òªº«H¾a¡G
¡@¡@¡@¡@°ß¿WÂÇ«H By
Faith Alone¡@¡@Michelangelo
|
¥þ¦a¤Wªºª«¦A¨S¦³¤ñ§Ú§ó¨¸´c¨õ½â
¦pªG¨S¦³§A¡A§Úªº¤H¥Í¥u¦³´dºG¡C
²{¦b¡A§ÚªºÆF³´¦b½Ñ¦hªº¿ù¥¢¸Ì±¡A
³n®z¡A¯h¡A¤£°í¡AÀµ¨D§Aªº³j§K¡C
¦Ü°ªªº¥D°Ú¡T¦V§Ú¦ù®i¨º¬I®¦ªºÁå¡A
¨ºÁå¡A»P¦U¼Ë¯«¸tªº®¦½ç¬Û³s¡R
§Ú¥H«H¤ßªº·¥¶É¶DÆF»îªº²`Ä@¡A
°kÁצ׼¤¡A¥¦ªº¸ô¤Þ¦V¦º¤`³±¶¡¡C
¦³¤Fµ}¦³®¦½ç¤¤³Ì¤jªº®¦½ç¡A¤´µM
Ä@¨D§ó¥[Âײ±¡QÁÙ¦An¨D§ó¥[²K¡A
¦]¬°¥@¬É¤£¯à°÷µ¹¯u¹êªºº¡¨¬¥¦w¡A
°ß¿WÂǵ۫H¡A¨Ï§Úªº¤º¤ß¦¨¬°
´é¬y¥X´dW²´²\ªº¬u·½¡A¯u¹ê®¬¸o¡R
¦¹¥~¦A¨S¦³§OªºÆ_°Í¯à¶}±Ò¤Ñ°óªù¡C |
No
earthly object is more base and vile
Than I, without Thee, miserable am.
My spirit now, midst errors multiform,
Weak, wearied, and infirm, pardon implores.
O Lord most high! extend to me that chain
Which with itself links every gift divine:
Chiefest to my faith I bid my soul aspire,
Flying from sense, whose path conducts to death.
The rarer be this gift of gifts, the more
May it to be abound; and still the more,
Since the world yields not true content and peace
By faith alone the font of bitter tears
Can spring within my heart, made penitent:
No other key unlocks the gates of heaven. |
¡@¡@¦Ì¶}®Ô°òù¦b³o´T¤Ñªá¾ÀµeùØ¡A§i¶D¤F§Ṳ́£¤Ö¬G¨Æ¡C¥J²Ó¤ÀªR³B³B¡A§A¥i·|¦³§ó¦hªºµo²{¡]«ö¤U¹Ï¤£¦Pªº¦a¤è¡A¥i¥HÂsÄý¸Ó§½¤§©ñ¤j¹Ï©M¸Ô²Ó¸ê®Æ¡^¡C
¡»«ö¤U¹Ï¤§¤£¦P°ÏÄý§½³¡©ñ¤j¤Î¸Ô²Ó¸ê®Æ
¡»«ö¤U¹Ïªº Äý©ñ¤j¥þ¹Ï
|