Мхи старой усадьбы
The Artist of the Beautiful
OwenWarlandhadgonemad!Howuniversallyefficacious—howsatisfactory,too,andsoothingtotheinjuredsensibilityofnarrownessanddulness—isthiseasymethodofaccountingforwhateverliesbeyondtheworld’smostordinaryscope!FromSt.Paul’sdaysdowntoourpoorlittleArtistoftheBeautiful,thesametalismanhadbeenappliedtotheelucidationofallmysteriesinthewordsordeedsofmenwhospokeoractedtoowiselyortoowell.InOwenWarland’scasethejudgmentofhistowns-peoplemayhavebeencorrect.Perhapshewasmad.Thelackofsympathy—thatcontrastbetweenhimselfandhisneighborswhichtookawaytherestraintofexample—wasenoughtomakehimso.Orpossiblyhehadcaughtjustsomuchofetherealradianceasservedtobewilderhim,inanearthlysense,byitsintermixturewiththecommondaylight.
Oneevening,whentheartisthadreturnedfromacustomaryrambleandhadjustthrownthelustreofhislamponthedelicatepieceofworksoofteninterrupted,butstilltakenupagain,asifhisfatewereembodiedinitsmechanism,hewassurprisedbytheentranceofoldPeterHovenden.Owennevermetthismanwithoutashrinkingoftheheart.Ofalltheworldhewasmostterrible,byreasonofakeenunderstandingwhichsawsodistinctlywhatitdidsee,anddisbelievedsouncompromisinglyinwhatitcouldnotsee.Onthisoccasiontheoldwatchmakerhadmerelyagraciouswordortwotosay.
"Owen,mylad,"saidhe,"wemustseeyouatmyhouseto-morrownight."
Theartistbegantomuttersomeexcuse.
