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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 177/416
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On
every
hand
one
heard
the
scraping
of
violins
,
the
tinkling
of
mandolins
,
the
suave
accents
of
“
art
talks
,
”
the
incoherencies
of
poets
,
the
declamation
of
elocutionists
,
the
inarticulate
wanderings
of
the
Japanese
,
the
confused
mutterings
of
the
Cherokee
,
the
guttural
bellowing
of
the
German
university
professor
,
all
in
the
name
of
the
Million
-
Dollar
Fair
.
Money
to
the
extent
of
hundreds
of
thousands
was
set
in
motion
.
Mrs
.
Cedarquist
was
busy
from
morning
until
night
.
One
after
another
,
she
was
introduced
to
newly
arrived
fakirs
.
To
each
poet
,
to
each
litterateur
,
to
each
professor
she
addressed
the
same
question
:
“
How
long
have
you
known
you
had
this
power
?
”
She
spent
her
days
in
one
quiver
of
excitement
and
jubilation
.
She
was
“
in
the
movement
.
”
The
people
of
the
city
were
awakening
to
a
Realisation
of
the
Beautiful
,
to
a
sense
of
the
higher
needs
of
life
.
This
was
Art
,
this
was
Literature
,
this
was
Culture
and
Refinement
.
The
Renaissance
had
appeared
in
the
West
.
She
was
a
short
,
rather
stout
,
red
-
faced
,
very
much
over
-
dressed
little
woman
of
some
fifty
years
.
She
was
rich
in
her
own
name
,
even
before
her
marriage
,
being
a
relative
of
Shelgrim
himself
and
on
familiar
terms
with
the
great
financier
and
his
family
.
Her
husband
,
while
deploring
the
policy
of
the
railroad
,
saw
no
good
reason
for
quarrelling
with
Shelgrim
,
and
on
more
than
one
occasion
had
dined
at
his
house
.
On
this
occasion
,
delighted
that
she
had
come
upon
a
“
minor
poet
,
”
she
insisted
upon
presenting
him
to
Hartrath
.
“
You
two
should
have
so
much
in
common
,
”
she
explained
.
Presley
shook
the
flaccid
hand
of
the
artist
,
murmuring
conventionalities
,
while
Mrs
.
Cedarquist
hastened
to
say
:
“
I
am
sure
you
know
Mr
.
Presley
’
s
verse
,
Mr
.
Hartrath
.
You
should
,
believe
me
.
You
two
have
much
in
common
.
I
can
see
so
much
that
is
alike
in
your
modes
of
interpreting
nature
.
In
Mr
.
Presley
’
s
sonnet
,
’
The
Better
Part
,
’
there
is
the
same
note
as
in
your
picture
,
the
same
sincerity
of
tone
,
the
same
subtlety
of
touch
,
the
same
nuances
,
—
ah
.
”
“
Oh
,
my
dear
Madame
,
”
murmured
the
artist
,
interrupting
Presley
’
s
impatient
retort
;
“
I
am
a
mere
bungler
.
You
don
’
t
mean
quite
that
,
I
am
sure
.
I
am
too
sensitive
.
It
is
my
cross
.
Beauty
,
”
he
closed
his
sore
eyes
with
a
little
expression
of
pain
,
“
beauty
unmans
me
.
”
But
Mrs
.
Cedarquist
was
not
listening
.
Her
eyes
were
fixed
on
the
artist
’
s
luxuriant
hair
,
a
thick
and
glossy
mane
,
that
all
but
covered
his
coat
collar
.
