Мхи старої садиби
The Artist of the Beautiful
"
"Thatwouldbedrollenough!"criedtheblacksmith,breakingoutintosuchanuproaroflaughterthatOwenhimselfandthebellglassesonhiswork-boardquiveredinunison."No,no,Owen!Nochildofyourswillhaveironjointsandsinews.Well,Iwon’thinderyouanymore.Goodnight,Owen,andsuccess,andifyouneedanyassistance,sofarasadownrightblowofhammeruponanvilwillanswerthepurpose,I’myourman."
Andwithanotherlaughthemanofmainstrengthlefttheshop.
"Howstrangeitis,"whisperedOwenWarlandtohimself,leaninghisheaduponhishand,"thatallmymusings,mypurposes,mypassionforthebeautiful,myconsciousnessofpowertocreateit,—afiner,moreetherealpower,ofwhichthisearthlygiantcanhavenoconception,—all,all,looksovainandidlewhenevermypathiscrossedbyRobertDanforth!HewoulddrivememadwereItomeethimoften.Hishard,bruteforcedarkensandconfusesthespiritualelementwithinme;butI,too,willbestronginmyownway.Iwillnotyieldtohim."
Hetookfrombeneathaglassapieceofminutemachinery,whichhesetinthecondensedlightofhislamp,and,lookingintentlyatitthroughamagnifyingglass,proceededtooperatewithadelicateinstrumentofsteel.Inaninstant,however,hefellbackinhischairandclaspedhishands,withalookofhorroronhisfacethatmadeitssmallfeaturesasimpressiveasthoseofagiantwouldhavebeen.
"Heaven!WhathaveIdone?"exclaimedhe."Thevapor,theinfluenceofthatbruteforce,—ithasbewilderedmeandobscuredmyperception.
