the artist of the beautiful-第5部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！



But　rather　such　incomplete　designs　of　this　life　will　be　perfected

nowhere。　This　so　frequent　abortion　of　man's　dearest　projects　must

be　taken　as　a　proof　that　the　deeds　of　earth；　however　etherealized

by　piety　or　genius；　are　without　value；　except　as　exercises　and

manifestations　of　the　spirit。　In　heaven；　all　ordinary　thought　is

higher　and　more　melodious　than　Milton's　song。　Then；　would　he　add

another　verse　to　any　strain　that　he　had　left　unfinished　here？



But　to　return　to　Owen　Warland。　It　was　his　fortune；　good　or　ill；

to　achieve　the　purpose　of　his　life。　Pass　we　over　a　long　space　of

intense　thought；　yearning　effort；　minute　toil；　and　wasting

anxiety；　succeeded　by　an　instant　of　solitary　triumph：　let　all

this　be　imagined；　and　then　behold　the　artist；　on　a　winter

evening；　seeking　admittance　to　Robert　Danforth's　fireside　circle。

There　he　found　the　man　of　iron；　with　his　massive　substance

thoroughly　warmed　and　attempered　by　domestic　influences。　And

there　was　Annie；　too；　now　transformed　into　a　matron；　with　much　of

her　husband's　plain　and　sturdy　nature；　but　imbued；　as　Owen

Warland　still　believed；　with　a　finer　grace；　that　might　enable　her

to　be　the　interpreter　between　strength　and　beauty。　It　happened；

likewise；　that　old　Peter　Hovenden　was　a　guest　this　evening　at　his

daughter's　fireside；　and　it　was　his　well…remembered　expression　of

keen；　cold　criticism　that　first　encountered　the　artist's　glance。



〃My　old　friend　Owen！〃　cried　Robert　Danforth；　starting　up；　and

compressing　the　artist's　delicate　fingers　within　a　hand　that　was

accustomed　to　gripe　bars　of　iron。　〃This　is　kind　and　neighborly　to

come　to　us　at　last。　I　was　afraid　your　perpetual　motion　had

bewitched　you　out　of　the　remembrance　of　old　times。〃



〃We　are　glad　to　see　you；〃　said　Annie；　while　a　blush　reddened　her

matronly　cheek。　〃It　was　not　like　a　friend　to　stay　from　us　so

long。〃



〃Well；　Owen；〃　inquired　the　old　watchmaker；　as　his　first　greeting；

〃how　comes　on　the　beautiful？　Have　you　created　it　at　last？〃



The　artist　did　not　immediately　reply；　being　startled　by　the

apparition　of　a　young　child　of　strength　that　was　tumbling　about

on　the　carpet；a　little　personage　who　had　come　mysteriously　out

of　the　infinite；　but　with　something　so　sturdy　and　real　in　his

composition　that　he　seemed　moulded　out　of　the　densest　substance

which　earth　could　supply。　This　hopeful　infant　crawled　towards　the

new…comer；　and　setting　himself　on　end；　as　Robert　Danforth

expressed　the　posture；　stared　at　Owen　with　a　look　of　such

sagacious　observation　that　the　mother　could　not　help　exchanging　a

proud　glance　with　her　husband。　But　the　artist　was　disturbed　by

the　child's　look；　as　imagining　a　resemblance　between　it　and　Peter

Hovenden's　habitual　expression。　He　could　have　fancied　that　the

old　watchmaker　was　compressed　into　this　baby　shape；　and　looking

out　of　those　baby　eyes；　and　repeating；　as　he　now　did；　the

malicious　question：　〃The　beautiful；　Owen！　How　comes　on　the

beautiful？　Have　you　succeeded　in　creating　the　beautiful？〃



〃I　have　succeeded；〃　replied　the　artist；　with　a　momentary　light　of

triumph　in　his　eyes　and　a　smile　of　sunshine；　yet　steeped　in　such

depth　of　thought　that　it　was　almost　sadness。　〃Yes；　my　friends；　it

is　the　truth。　I　have　succeeded。〃



〃Indeed！〃　cried　Annie；　a　look　of　maiden　mirthfulness　peeping　out

of　her　face　again。　〃And　is　it　lawful；　now；　to　inquire　what　the

secret　is？〃



〃Surely；　it　is　to　disclose　it　that　I　have　come；〃　answered　Owen

Warland。　〃You　shall　know；　and　see；　and　touch；　and　possess　the

secret！　For；　Annie；if　by　that　name　I　may　still　address　the

friend　of　my　boyish　years；Annie；　it　is　for　your　bridal　gift

that　I　have　wrought　this　spiritualized　mechanism；　this　harmony　of

motion；　this　mystery　of　beauty。　It　comes　late；　indeed；　but　it　is

as　we　go　onward　in　life；　when　objects　begin　to　lose　their

freshness　of　hue　and　our　souls　their　delicacy　of　perception；　that

the　spirit　of　beauty　is　most　needed。　If；forgive　me；　Annie；if

you　know　howto　value　this　gift；　it　can　never　come　too　late。〃



He　produced；　as　he　spoke；　what　seemed　a　jewel　box。　It　was　carved

richly　out　of　ebony　by　his　own　hand；　and　inlaid　with　a　fanciful

tracery　of　pearl；　representing　a　boy　in　pursuit　of　a　butterfly；

which；　elsewhere；　had　become　a　winged　spirit；　and　was　flying

heavenward；　while　the　boy；　or　youth；　had　found　such　efficacy　in

his　strong　desire　that　he　ascended　from　earth　to　cloud；　and　from

cloud　to　celestial　atmosphere；　to　win　the　beautiful。　This　case　of

ebony　the　artist　opened；　and　bade　Annie　place　her　fingers　on　its

edge。　She　did　so；　but　almost　screamed　as　a　butterfly　fluttered

forth；　and；　alighting　on　her　finger's　tip；　sat　waving　the　ample

magnificence　of　its　purple　and　gold…speckled　wings；　as　if　in

prelude　to　a　flight。　It　is　impossible　to　express　by　words　the

glory；　the　splendor；　the　delicate　gorgeousness　which　were

softened　into　the　beauty　of　this　object。　Nature's　ideal　butterfly

was　here　realized　in　all　its　perfection；　not　in　the　pattern　of

such　faded　insects　as　flit　among　earthly　flowers；　but　of　those

which　hover　across　the　meads　of　paradise　for　child…angels　and　the

spirits　of　departed　infants　to　disport　themselves　with。　The　rich

down　was　visible　upon　its　wings；　the　lustre　of　its　eyes　seemed

instinct　with　spirit。　The　firelight　glimmered　around　this

wonderthe　candles　gleamed　upon　it；　but　it　glistened　apparently

by　its　own　radiance；　and　illuminated　the　finger　and　outstretched

hand　on　which　it　rested　with　a　white　gleam　like　that　of　precious

stones。　In　its　perfect　beauty；　the　consideration　of　size　was

entirely　lost。　Had　its　wings　overreached　the　firmament；　the　mind

could　not　have　been　more　filled　or　satisfied。



〃Beautiful！　beautiful！〃　exclaimed　Annie。　〃Is　it　alive？　Is　it

alive？〃



〃Alive？　To　be　sure　it　is；〃　answered　her　husband。　〃Do　you　suppose

any　mortal　has　skill　enough　to　make　a　butterfly；　or　would　put

himself　to　the　trouble　of　making　one；　when　any　child　may　catch　a

score　of　them　in　a　summer's　afternoon？　Alive？　Certainly！　But　this

pretty　box　is　undoubtedly　of　our　friend　Owen's　manufacture；　and

really　it　does　him　credit。〃



At　this　moment　the　butterfly　waved　its　wings　anew；　with　a　motion

so　absolutely　lifelike　that　Annie　was　startled；　and　even

awestricken；　for；　in　spite　of　her　husband's　opinion；　she　could

not　satisfy　herself　whether　it　was　indeed　a　living　creature　or　a

piece　of　wondrous　mechanism。



〃Is　it　alive？〃　she　repeated；　more　earnestly　than　before。



〃Judge　for　yourself；〃　said　Owen　Warland；　who　stood　gazing　in　her

face　with　fixed　attention。



The　butterfly　now　flung　itself　upon　the　air；　fluttered　round

Annie's　head；　and　soared　into　a　distant　region　of　the　parlor；

still　making　itself　perceptible　to　sight　by　the　starry　gleam　in

which　the　motion　of　its　wings　enveloped　it。　The　infant　on　the

floor　followed　its　course　with　his　sagacious　little　eyes。　After

flying　about　the　room；　it　returned　in　a　spiral　curve　and　settled

again　on　Annie's　finger。



〃But　is　it　alive？〃　exclaimed　she　again；　and　the　finger　on　which

the　gorgeous　mystery　had　alighted　was　so　tremulous　that　the

butterfly　was　forced　to　balance　himself　with　his　wings。　〃Tell　me

if　it　be　alive；　or　whether　you　created　it。〃



〃Wherefore　ask　who　created　it；　so　it　be　beautiful？〃　replied　Owen

Warland。　〃Alive？　　Yes；　Annie；　it　may　well　be　said　to　possess

life；　for　it　has　absorbed　my　own　being　into　itself；　and　in　the

secret　of　that　butterfly；　and　in　its　beauty；which　is　not　merely

outward；　but　deep　as　its　whole　system；is　represented　the

intellect；　the　imagination；　the　sensibility；　the　soul　of　an

Artist　of　the　Beautiful！　Yes；　I　created　it。　But〃and　here　his

countenance　somewhat　changed〃this　butterfly　is　not　now　to　me

what　it　was　when　I　beheld　it　afar　off　in　the　daydreams　of　my

youth。〃



〃Be　it　what　it　may；　it　is　a　pretty　plaything；〃　said　the

blacksmith；　grinning　with　childlike　delight。　〃I　wonder　whether　it

would　condescend　to　alight　on　such　a　great　clumsy　finger　as　mine？

Hold　it　hither；　Annie。〃



By　the　artist's　direction；　Annie　touched　her　finger's　tip　to　that

of　her　husband；　and；　after　a　momentary　delay；　the　butterfly

fluttered　from　one　to　the　other。　It　preluded　a　second　flight　by　a

similar；　yet　not　precisely　the　same；　waving　of　wings　as　in　the

first　experiment；　then；　ascending　from　the　blacksmith's　stalwart

finger；　it　rose　in　a　gradually　enlarging　curve　to　the　ceiling；

made　one　wide　sweep　around　the　room；　and　returned　with　an

undulating　movement　to　the　point　whence　it　had　started。



〃Well；　that　does　beat　all　nature！〃　cried　Robert　Danforth；

bestowing　the　heartiest　praise　that　he　could　find　expression　for；

and；　indeed；　had　he　paused　there；　a　man　of　finer　words　and　nicer

perception　could　not　easily　have　said　more。　〃That　goes　beyond　me；

I　confess。　But　what　then？　There　is　more　real　use　in　one　downright

blow　of　my　sledge　hammer　than　in　the　whole　five　years'　labor　that

our　friend　Owen　has　wasted　on　this　butterfly。〃



Here　the　child　clapped　his　hands　and　made　a　great　babble　of

indistinct　utterance；　apparently　demanding　that　the　butterfly

should　be　given　him　for　a　plaything。



Owen　Warland；　meanwhile；　glanced　sidelong　at　Annie；　to　discover

whether　she　sympathized　in　her　husband's　estimate　of　the

comparative　value　of　the　beautiful　and　the　practical。　There　was；

amid　all　her　kindness　towards　himself；　amid　all　the　wonder　and

admiration　with　which　she　contemplated　the　marvellous　work　of　his

hands　and　incarnation　of　his　idea；　a　secret　scorntoo　secret；

perhaps；　for　her　own　consciousness；　and　perceptible　only　to　such

intuitive　discernment　as　that　of　the　artist。　But　Owen；　in　the

latter　stages　of　his　pursuit；　had　risen　out　of　the　region　in

which　such　a　discovery　might　have　been　torture。　He　knew　that　the

world；　and　Annie　as　the　representative　of　the　world；　whatever

praise　might　be　bestowed；　could　never　say　the　fitting　word　nor

feel　the　fitting　sentiment　which　should　be　the　perfect　recompense

of　an　artist　who；　sy