Reading Check-In + Day Fifteen + Appreciation of Fine Foreign Prose + Reading Notes
Is this, after all, a dream or a fairyland? We have come once more to Seville, the city of smiles. She is graceful and gentle, like a woman wrapped in a shawl. The people here always carry goodwill, and within that goodwill there is tenderness and joy. At the risk of being accused of crude workmanship, the author uses that most common of words, "smile," to describe this city. It is clear that the author was deeply moved by its smiles. The streets here are white, as though freshly whitewashed every day. People seem to stroll among flowers. To walk through them is like passing through a garden in paradise. Whether shops or churches, everything is suffused with a kind of stillness. Walking there, one feels as if one has entered the happiest and most tranquil life.
Dusk arrives, accompanied by the sound of a fairy flute. I am moved to tears by its beauty. I give myself over to her, grow drunk with her, and bathe with her in the wondrous shadows between heaven and earth. Perhaps even the most beautiful words cannot describe such grandeur. Then the author returns to life, speaking of the cigarettes here. Even the cigarette factory is like a palace. In such a scene, the worldly and the unworldly, or the boundary between them, gradually dissolve. We all want to feel this peace quietly, yet no one would be willing to reproach you. People cherish the beauty of life, and also show tolerance toward its flaws. Wandering through her city, each step is like a breath taken while lying in her arms.
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