twice-told tales- the artist of the beautiful-第2部分

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mechanism　tonight。　Annie…　dearest　Annie…　thou　shouldst　give　firmness

to　my　heart　and　hand；　and　not　shake　them　thus；　for　if　I　strive　to

put　the　very　spirit　of　Beauty　into　form；　and　give　it　motion；　it　is　for

thy　sake　alone。　Oh；　throbbing　heart；　be　quiet！　If　my　labor　be　thus

thwarted；　there　will　come　vague　and　unsatisfied　dreams；　which　will

leave　me　spiritless　tomorrow。〃

　　　As　he　was　endeavoring　to　settle　himself　again　to　his　task；　the

shop…door　opened；　and　gave　admittance　to　no　other　than　the　stalwart

figure　which　Peter　Hovenden　had　paused　to　admire；　as　seen　amid　the

light　and　shadow　of　the　blacksmith's　shop。　Robert　Danforth　had　brought

a　little　anvil　of　his　own　manufacture；　and　peculiarly　constructed；

which　the　young　artist　had　recently　bespoken。　Owen　examined　the

article；　and　pronounced　it　fashioned　according　to　his　wish。

　　　〃Why；　yes；〃　said　Robert　Danforth；　his　strong　voice　filling　the　shop

as　with　the　sound　of　a　bass…viol；　〃I　consider　myself　equal　to　anything

in　the　way　of　my　own　trade；　though　I　should　have　made　but　a　poor

figure　at　yours；　with　such　a　fist　as　this〃…　added　he；　laughing；　as

he　laid　his　vast　hand　beside　the　delicate　one　of　Owen。　〃But　what　then？

I　put　more　main　strength　into　one　blow　of　my　sledge…hammer；　than　all

that　you　have　expended　since　you　were　a　'prentice。　Is　not　that　the

truth？〃

　　　〃Very　probably；〃　answered　the　low　and　slender　voice　of　Owen。

〃Strength　is　an　earthly　monster。　I　make　no　pretensions　to　it。　My

force；　whatever　there　may　be　of　it；　is　altogether　spiritual。〃

　　　〃Well；　but；　Owen；　what　are　you　about？〃　asked　his　old　school…fellow；

still　in　such　a　hearty　volume　of　tone　that　it　made　the　artist

shrink；　especially　as　the　question　related　to　a　subject　so　sacred　as

the　absorbing　dream　of　his　imagination。　〃Folks　do　say；　that　you　are

trying　to　discover　the　Perpetual　Motion。〃

　　　〃The　Perpetual　Motion？　nonsense！〃　replied　Owen　Warland；　with　a

movement　of　disgust；　for　he　was　full　of　little　petulances。　〃It　never

can　be　discovered！　It　is　a　dream　that　may　delude　men　whose　brains

are　mystified　with　matter；　but　not　me。　Besides；　if　such　a　discovery

were　possible；　it　would　not　be　worth　my　while　to　make　it；　only　to　have

the　secret　turned　to　such　purposes　as　are　now　effected　by　steam　and

water…power。　I　am　not　ambitious　to　be　honored　with　the　paternity　of

a　new　kind　of　cotton…machine。〃

　　　〃That　would　be　droll　enough！〃　cried　the　blacksmith；　breaking　out

into　such　an　uproar　of　laughter；　that　Owen　himself；　and　the

bell…glasses　on　his　work…board；　quivered　in　unison。　〃No；　no；　Owen！

No　child　of　yours　will　have　iron　joints　and　sinews。　Well；　I　won't

hinder　you　any　more。　Good　night；　Owen；　and　success；　and　if　you　need

any　assistance；　so　far　as　a　downright　blow　of　hammer　upon　anvil　will

answer　the　purpose；　I'm　your　man！〃

　　　And　with　another　laugh；　the　man　of　main　strength　left　the　shop。

　　　〃How　strange　it　is；〃　whispered　Owen　Warland　to　himself；　leaning　his

head　upon　his　hand；　〃that　all　my　musings；　my　purposes；　my　passion

for　the　Beautiful；　my　consciousness　of　power　to　create　it…　a　finer；

more　ethereal　power；　of　which　this　earthly　giant　can　have　no

conception…　all；　all；　look　so　vain　and　idle；　whenever　my　path　is

crossed　by　Robert　Danforth！　He　would　drive　me　mad；　were　I　to　meet

him　often。　His　hard；　brute　force　darkens　and　confuses　the　spiritual

element　within　me。　But　I；　too；　will　be　strong　in　my　own　way。　I　will

not　yield　to　him！〃

　　　He　took　from　beneath　a　glass；　a　piece　of　minute　machinery；　which　he

set　in　the　condensed　light　of　his　lamp；　and；　looking　intently　at　it

through　a　magnifying　glass；　proceeded　to　operate　with　a　delicate

instrument　of　steel。　In　an　instant；　however；　he　fell　back　in　his

chair；　and　clasped　his　hands；　with　a　look　of　horror　on　his　face；

that　made　its　small　features　as　impressive　as　those　of　a　giant　would

have　been。

　　　〃Heaven！　What　have　I　done！〃　exclaimed　he。　〃The　vapor！　the　influence

of　that　brute　force！　it　has　bewildered　me；　and　obscured　my　perception。

I　have　made　the　very　stroke…　the　fatal　stroke…　that　I　have　dreaded

from　the　first！　It　is　all　over…　the　toil　of　months…　the　object　of　my

life！　I　am　ruined！〃

　　　And　there　he　sat；　in　strange　despair；　until　his　lamp　flickered　in

the　socket；　and　left　the　Artist　of　the　Beautiful　in　darkness。

　　　Thus　it　is；　that　ideas　which　grow　up　within　the　imagination；　and

appear　so　lovely　to　it；　and　of　a　value　beyond　whatever　men　call

valuable；　are　exposed　to　be　shattered　and　annihilated　by　contact

with　the　Practical。　It　is　requisite　for　the　ideal　artist　to　possess

a　force　of　character　that　seems　hardly　compatible　with　its　delicacy；

he　must　keep　his　faith　in　himself；　while　the　incredulous　world　assails

him　with　its　utter　disbelief；　he　must　stand　up　against　mankind　and

be　his　own　sole　disciple；　both　as　respects　his　genius；　and　the　objects

to　which　it　is　directed。

　　　For　a　time；　Owen　Warland　succumbed　to　this　severe；　but　inevitable

test。　He　spent　a　few　sluggish　weeks；　with　his　head　so　continually

resting　in　his　hands；　that　the　townspeople　had　scarcely　an　opportunity

to　see　his　countenance。　When；　at　last；　it　was　again　uplifted　to　the

light　of　day；　a　cold；　dull；　nameless　change　was　perceptible　upon　it。

In　the　opinion　of　Peter　Hovenden；　however；　and　that　order　of　sagacious

understandings　who　think　that　life　should　be　regulated；　like

clock…work；　with　leaden　weights；　the　alteration　was　entirely　for　the

better。　Owen　now；　indeed；　applied　himself　to　business　with　dogged

industry。　It　was　marvellous　to　witness　the　obtuse　gravity　with　which

he　would　inspect　the　wheels　of　a　great；　old　silver　watch；　thereby

delighting　the　owner；　in　whose　fob　it　had　been　worn　till　he　deemed

it　a　portion　of　his　own　life；　and　was　accordingly　jealous　of　its

treatment。　In　consequence　of　the　good　report　thus　acquired；　Owen

Warland　was　invited　by　the　proper　authorities　to　regulate　the　clock　in

the　church…steeple。　He　succeeded　so　admirably　in　this　matter　of　public

interest；　that　the　merchants　gruffly　acknowledged　his　merits　on

'Change；　the　nurse　whispered　his　praises；　as　she　gave　the　potion　in

the　sick…chamber；　the　lover　blessed　him　at　the　hour　of　appointed

interview；　and　the　town　in　general　thanked　Owen　for　the　punctuality　of

dinner…time。　In　a　word；　the　heavy　weight　upon　his　spirits　kept

everything　in　order；　not　merely　within　his　own　system；　but　wheresoever

the　iron　accents　of　the　church…clock　were　audible。　It　was　a

circumstance；　though　minute；　yet　characteristic　of　his　present

state；　that；　when　employed　to　engrave　names　or　initials　on　silver

spoons；　he　now　wrote　the　requisite　letters　in　the　plainest　possible

style；　omitting　a　variety　of　fanciful　flourishes；　that　had

heretofore　distinguished　his　work　in　this　kind。

　　　One　day；　during　the　era　of　this　happy　transformation；　old　Peter

Hovenden　came　to　visit　his　former　apprentice。

　　　〃Well；　Owen；〃　said　he；　I　am　glad　to　hear　such　good　accounts　of

you　from　all　quarters；　and　especially　from　the　town…clock　yonder；

which　speaks　in　your　commendation　every　hour　of　the　twenty…four。

Only　get　rid　altogether　of　your　nonsensical　trash　about　the　Beautiful…

which　I；　nor　nobody　else；　nor　yourself　to　boot；　could　ever　understand…

only　free　yourself　of　that；　and　your　success　in　life　is　as　sure　as

daylight。　Why；　if　you　go　on　in　this　way；　I　should　even　venture　to

let　you　doctor　this　precious　old　watch　of　mine；　though；　except　my

daughter　Annie；　I　have　nothing　else　so　valuable　in　the　world。〃

　　　〃I　should　hardly　dare　touch　it；　sir；〃　replied　Owen　in　a　depressed

tone；　for　he　was　weighed　down　by　his　old　master's　presence。

　　　〃In　time；　said　the　latter；　〃in　time；　you　will　be　capable　of　it。〃

　　　The　old　watchmaker；　with　the　freedom　naturally　consequent　on　his

former　authority；　went　on　inspecting　the　work　which　Owen　had　in　hand

at　the　moment；　together　with　other　matters　that　were　in　progress。

The　artist；　meanwhile；　could　scarcely　lift　his　head。　There　was　nothing

so　antipodal　to　his　nature　as　this　man's　cold；　unimaginative　sagacity；

by　contact　with　which　everything　was　converted　into　a　dream；　except

the　densest　matter　of　the　physical　world。　Owen　groaned　in　spirit；

and　prayed　fervently　to　be　delivered　from　him。

　　　〃But　what　is　this？〃　cried　Peter　Hovenden　abruptly；　taking　up　a

dusty　bell…glass；　beneath　which　appeared　a　mechanical　something；　as

delicate　and　minute　as　the　system　of　a　butterfly's　anatomy。　〃What　have

we　here！　Owen；　Owen！　there　is　witchcraft　in　these　little　chains；　and

wheels；　and　paddles！　See！　with　one　pinch　of　my　finger　and　thumb；　I

am　going　to　deliver　you　from　all　future　peril。〃

　　　〃For　Heaven's　sake；〃　screamed　Owen　Warland；　springing　up　with

wonderful　energy；　〃as　you　would　not　drive　me　mad…　do　not　touch　it！　The

slightest　pressure　of　your　finger　would　ruin　me　for　ever。

　　　〃Aha；　young　man！　And　is　it　so？〃　said　the　old　watchmaker；　looking　at

him　with　just　enough　of　penetration　to　torture　Owen's　soul　with　the

bitterness　of　worldly　criticism。　〃Well；　take　your　own　course。　But　I

warn　you　again；　that　in　this　small　piece　of　mechanism　lives　your

evil　spirit。　Shall　I　exorcise　him？〃

　　　〃You　are　my　Evil　Spirit；〃　answered　Owen；　much　excited…　〃you；　and

the　hard；　coarse　world！　The　leaden　thoughts　and　the　despondency　that

you　fling　upon　me　are　my　clogs。　Else；　I　should　long　ago　have

achieved　the　task　that　I　was　created　for。〃

　　　Peter　Hovenden　shook　his　head；　with　the　mixture　of　contempt　and

indignation　which　mankind；　of　whom　he　was　partly　a　representative；

deem　themselves　entitled　to　feel　towards　all　simpletons　who　seek　other

prizes　than　the　dusty　one　along　the　highway。　He　then　took　his　leave

with　an　uplifted　finger；　and　a　sneer　upon　his　face；　that　haunted　the

artist's　dreams　for　many　a　night　afterwards。　At　the　time　of　his　old

master's　visit；　Owen　was　probably　on　the　point　of　taking　up　the

relinquished　task；　but；　by　this　sinister　event；　he　was　thrown　back

into　the　state　whence　he　had　been　slowly　emerging。

　　　But　the　innate　tendency　of　his　soul　had　only　been　accumulating

fresh　vigor；　during　its　apparent　sluggishness。　As　the　summer　advanced；

he　almost　totally　relinquished　his　business；　and　permitted　Father

Time；　so　far　as