Мідлмарч

Chapter 22

           Iamangryandnaughty—notlikeCelia:Ihaveagreatoutburst,andthenallseemsgloriousagain.Icannothelpbelievingingloriousthingsinablindsortofway.Ishouldbequitewillingtoenjoythearthere,butthereissomuchthatIdon’tknowthereasonof—somuchthatseemstomeaconsecrationofuglinessratherthanbeauty.Thepaintingandsculpturemaybewonderful,butthefeelingisoftenlowandbrutal,andsometimesevenridiculous.HereandthereIseewhattakesmeatonceasnoble—somethingthatImightcomparewiththeAlbanMountainsorthesunsetfromthePincianHill;butthatmakesitthegreaterpitythatthereissolittleofthebestkindamongallthatmassofthingsoverwhichmenhavetoiledso."

           "Ofcoursethereisalwaysagreatdealofpoorwork:therarerthingswantthatsoiltogrowin."

           "Ohdear,"saidDorothea,takingupthatthoughtintothechiefcurrentofheranxiety;"Iseeitmustbeverydifficulttodoanythinggood.IhaveoftenfeltsinceIhavebeeninRomethatmostofourliveswouldlookmuchuglierandmorebunglingthanthepictures,iftheycouldbeputonthewall."

           Dorotheapartedherlipsagainasifsheweregoingtosaymore,butchangedhermindandpaused.

           "Youaretooyoung—itisananachronismforyoutohavesuchthoughts,"saidWill,energetically,withaquickshakeoftheheadhabitualtohim."Youtalkasifyouhadneverknownanyyouth.

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