twice-told tales- the artist of the beautiful-第6部分

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that　the　toil　of　years　had　here　been　worthily　bestowed。　Owen　Warland

might　have　told　them；　that　this　butterfly；　this　plaything；　this

bridal…gift　of　a　poor　watchmaker　to　a　blacksmith's　wife；　was；　in

truth；　a　gem　of　art　that　a　monarch　would　have　purchased　with　honors

and　abundant　wealth；　and　have　treasured　it　among　the　jewels　of　his

kingdom；　as　the　most　unique　and　wondrous　of　them　all！　But　the　artist

smiled　and　kept　the　secret　to　himself。

　　　〃Father；〃　said　Annie；　thinking　that　a　word　of　praise　from　the　old

watchmaker　might　gratify　his　former　apprentice；　〃do　come　and　admire

this　pretty　butterfly！〃

　　　〃Let　us　see；〃　said　Peter　Hovenden；　rising　from　his　chair；　with　a

sneer　upon　his　face　that　always　made　people　doubt；　as　he　himself

did；　in　everything　but　a　material　existence。　〃Here　is　my　finger　for　it

to　alight　upon。　I　shall　understand　it　better　when　once　I　have

touched　it。〃

　　　But；　to　the　increased　astonishment　of　Annie；　when　the　tip　of　her

father's　finger　was　pressed　against　that　of　her　husband；　on　which

the　butterfly　still　rested；　the　insect　drooped　its　wings；　and　seemed

on　the　point　of　falling　to　the　floor。　Even　the　bright　spots　of　gold

upon　its　wings　and　body；　unless　her　eyes　deceived　her；　grew　dim；　and

the　glowing　purple　took　a　dusky　hue；　and　the　starry　lustre　that

gleamed　around　the　blacksmith's　hand　became　faint；　and　vanished。

　　　〃It　is　dying！　it　is　dying！〃　cried　Annie；　in　alarm。

　　　〃It　has　been　delicately　wrought；〃　said　the　artist；　calmly。　〃As　I

told　you；　it　has　imbibed　a　spiritual　essence…　call　it　magnetism；　or

what　you　will。　In　an　atmosphere　of　doubt　and　mockery；　its　exquisite

susceptibility　suffers　torture；　as　does　the　soul　of　him　who

instilled　his　own　life　into　it。　It　has　already　lost　its　beauty；　in　a

few　moments　more；　its　mechanism　would　be　irreparably　injured。〃

　　　〃Take　away　your　hand；　father！〃　entreated　Annie；　turning　pale。　〃Here

is　my　child；　let　it　rest　on　his　innocent　hand。　There；　perhaps；　its

life　will　revive；　and　its　colors　grow　brighter　than　ever。〃

　　　Her　father；　with　an　acrid　smile；　withdrew　his　finger。　The　butterfly

then　appeared　to　recover　the　power　of　voluntary　motion；　while　its　hues

assumed　much　of　their　original　lustre；　and　the　gleam　of　starlight；

which　was　its　most　ethereal　attribute；　again　formed　a　halo　round　about

it。　At　first；　when　transferred　from　Robert　Danforth's　hand　to　the

small　finger　of　the　child；　this　radiance　grew　so　powerful　that　it

positively　threw　the　little　fellow's　shadow　back　against　the　wall。　He；

meanwhile；　extended　his　plump　hand　as　he　had　seen　his　father　and

mother　do；　and　watched　the　waving　of　the　insect's　wings　with　infantine

delight。　Nevertheless；　there　was　a　certain　odd　expression　of　sagacity；

that　made　Owen　Warland　feel　as　if　here　were　old　Peter　Hovenden；

partially；　and　but　partially；　redeemed　from　his　hard　scepticism　into

childish　faith。

　　　〃How　wise　the　little　monkey　looks！〃　whispered　Robert　Danforth　to

his　wife。

　　　〃I　never　saw　such　a　look　on　a　child's　face；〃　answered　Annie；

admiring　her　own　infant；　and　with　good　reason；　far　more　than　the

artistic　butterfly。　〃The　darling　knows　more　of　the　mystery　than　we

do。〃

　　　As　if　the　butterfly；　like　the　artist；　were　conscious　of　something

not　entirely　congenial　in　the　child's　nature；　it　alternately

sparkled　and　grew　dim。　At　length；　it　arose　from　the　small　hand　of

the　infant　with　an　airy　motion；　that　seemed　to　bear　it　upward

without　an　effort；　as　if　the　ethereal　instincts；　with　which　its

master's　spirit　had　endowed　it；　impelled　this　fair　vision

involuntarily　to　a　higher　sphere。　Had　there　been　no　obstruction；　it

might　have　soared　into　the　sky；　and　grown　immortal。　But　its　lustre

gleamed　upon　the　ceiling；　the　exquisite　texture　of　its　wings　brushed

against　that　earthly　medium；　and　a　sparkle　or　two；　as　if　stardust；

floated　downward　and　lay　glimmering　on　the　carpet。　Then　the

butterfly　came　fluttering　down；　and；　instead　of　returning　to　the

infant；　was　apparently　attracted　towards　the　artist's　hand。

　　　〃Not　so；　not　so！〃　murmured　Owen　Warland；　as　if　his　handiwork

could　have　understood　him。　〃Thou　hast　gone　forth　out　of　thy　master's

heart。　There　is　no　return　for　thee！〃

　　　With　a　wavering　movement；　and　emitting　a　tremulous　radiance；　the

butterfly　struggled；　as　it　were；　towards　the　infant；　and　was　about

to　alight　upon　his　finger。　But；　while　it　still　hovered　in　the　air；　the

little　Child　of　Strength；　with　his　grandsire's　sharp　and　shrewd

expression　in　his　face；　made　a　snatch　at　the　marvellous　insect；　and

compressed　it　in　his　hand。　Annie　screamed！　Old　Peter　Hovenden　burst

into　a　cold　and　scornful　laugh。　The　blacksmith；　by　main　force；

unclosed　the　infant's　hand；　and　found　within　the　palm　a　small　heap

of　glittering　fragments；　whence　the　Mystery　of　Beauty　had　fled　for

ever。　And　as　for　Owen　Warland；　he　looked　placidly　at　what　seemed　the

ruin　of　his　life's　labor；　and　which　yet　was　no　ruin。　He　had　caught　a

far　other　butterfly　than　this。　When　the　artist　rose　high　enough　to

achieve　the　Beautiful；　the　symbol　by　which　he　made　it　perceptible　to

mortal　senses　became　of　little　value　in　his　eyes；　while　his　spirit

possessed　itself　in　the　enjoyment　of　the　reality。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　END

。