-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Натаниэль Хоторн
-
- Мхи старой усадьбы
-
- Стр. 94/106
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
But
we
must
return
to
Owen
Warland
’
s
shop
,
and
spend
more
meditation
upon
his
history
and
character
than
either
Peter
Hovenden
,
or
probably
his
daughter
Annie
,
or
Owen
’
s
old
school
-
fellow
,
Robert
Danforth
,
would
have
thought
due
to
so
slight
a
subject
.
From
the
time
that
his
little
fingers
could
grasp
a
penknife
,
Owen
had
been
remarkable
for
a
delicate
ingenuity
,
which
sometimes
produced
pretty
shapes
in
wood
,
principally
figures
of
flowers
and
birds
,
and
sometimes
seemed
to
aim
at
the
hidden
mysteries
of
mechanism
.
But
it
was
always
for
purposes
of
grace
,
and
never
with
any
mockery
of
the
useful
.
He
did
not
,
like
the
crowd
of
school
-
boy
artisans
,
construct
little
windmills
on
the
angle
of
a
barn
or
watermills
across
the
neighboring
brook
.
Those
who
discovered
such
peculiarity
in
the
boy
as
to
think
it
worth
their
while
to
observe
him
closely
,
sometimes
saw
reason
to
suppose
that
he
was
attempting
to
imitate
the
beautiful
movements
of
Nature
as
exemplified
in
the
flight
of
birds
or
the
activity
of
little
animals
.
It
seemed
,
in
fact
,
a
new
development
of
the
love
of
the
beautiful
,
such
as
might
have
made
him
a
poet
,
a
painter
,
or
a
sculptor
,
and
which
was
as
completely
refined
from
all
utilitarian
coarseness
as
it
could
have
been
in
either
of
the
fine
arts
.
He
looked
with
singular
distaste
at
the
stiff
and
regular
processes
of
ordinary
machinery
.
Being
once
carried
to
see
a
steam
-
engine
,
in
the
expectation
that
his
intuitive
comprehension
of
mechanical
principles
would
be
gratified
,
he
turned
pale
and
grew
sick
,
as
if
something
monstrous
and
unnatural
had
been
presented
to
him
.
This
horror
was
partly
owing
to
the
size
and
terrible
energy
of
the
iron
laborer
;
for
the
character
of
Owen
’
s
mind
was
microscopic
,
and
tended
naturally
to
the
minute
,
in
accordance
with
his
diminutive
frame
and
the
marvellous
smallness
and
delicate
power
of
his
fingers
.
Not
that
his
sense
of
beauty
was
thereby
diminished
into
a
sense
of
prettiness
.
The
beautiful
idea
has
no
relation
to
size
,
and
may
be
as
perfectly
developed
in
a
space
too
minute
for
any
but
microscopic
investigation
as
within
the
ample
verge
that
is
measured
by
the
arc
of
the
rainbow
.
But
,
at
all
events
,
this
characteristic
minuteness
in
his
objects
and
accomplishments
made
the
world
even
more
incapable
than
it
might
otherwise
have
been
of
appreciating
Owen
Warland
’
s
genius
.
The
boy
’
s
relatives
saw
nothing
better
to
be
done
—
as
perhaps
there
was
not
—
than
to
bind
him
apprentice
to
a
watchmaker
,
hoping
that
his
strange
ingenuity
might
thus
be
regulated
and
put
to
utilitarian
purposes
.
Peter
Hovenden
’
s
opinion
of
his
apprentice
has
already
been
expressed
.
He
could
make
nothing
of
the
lad
.
Owen
’
s
apprehension
of
the
professional
mysteries
,
it
is
true
,
was
inconceivably
quick
;
but
he
altogether
forgot
or
despised
the
grand
object
of
a
watchmaker
’
s
business
,
and
cared
no
more
for
the
measurement
of
time
than
if
it
had
been
merged
into
eternity
.
So
long
,
however
,
as
he
remained
under
his
old
master
’
s
care
,
Owen
’
s
lack
of
sturdiness
made
it
possible
,
by
strict
injunctions
and
sharp
oversight
,
to
restrain
his
creative
eccentricity
within
bounds
;
but
when
his
apprenticeship
was
served
out
,
and
he
had
taken
the
little
shop
which
Peter
Hovenden
’
s
failing
eyesight
compelled
him
to
relinquish
,
then
did
people
recognize
how
unfit
a
person
was
Owen
Warland
to
lead
old
blind
Father
Time
along
his
daily
course
.
One
of
his
most
rational
projects
was
to
connect
a
musical
operation
with
the
machinery
of
his
watches
,
so
that
all
the
harsh
dissonances
of
life
might
be
rendered
tuneful
,
and
each
flitting
moment
fall
into
the
abyss
of
the
past
in
golden
drops
of
harmony
.
If
a
family
clock
was
intrusted
to
him
for
repair
,
—
one
of
those
tall
,
ancient
clocks
that
have
grown
nearly
allied
to
human
nature
by
measuring
out
the
lifetime
of
many
generations
,
—
he
would
take
upon
himself
to
arrange
a
dance
or
funeral
procession
of
figures
across
its
venerable
face
,
representing
twelve
mirthful
or
melancholy
hours
.
Several
freaks
of
this
kind
quite
destroyed
the
young
watchmaker
’
s
credit
with
that
steady
and
matter
-
of
-
fact
class
of
people
who
hold
the
opinion
that
time
is
not
to
be
trifled
with
,
whether
considered
as
the
medium
of
advancement
and
prosperity
in
this
world
or
preparation
for
the
next
.
His
custom
rapidly
diminished
—
a
misfortune
,
however
,
that
was
probably
reckoned
among
his
better
accidents
by
Owen
Warland
,
who
was
becoming
more
and
more
absorbed
in
a
secret
occupation
which
drew
all
his
science
and
manual
dexterity
into
itself
,
and
likewise
gave
full
employment
to
the
characteristic
tendencies
of
his
genius
.
This
pursuit
had
already
consumed
many
months
.
After
the
old
watchmaker
and
his
pretty
daughter
had
gazed
at
him
out
of
the
obscurity
of
the
street
,
Owen
Warland
was
seized
with
a
fluttering
of
the
nerves
,
which
made
his
hand
tremble
too
violently
to
proceed
with
such
delicate
labor
as
he
was
now
engaged
upon
.
"
It
was
Annie
herself
!
"
murmured
he
.
"
I
should
have
known
it
,
by
this
throbbing
of
my
heart
,
before
I
heard
her
father
’
s
voice
.
Ah
,
how
it
throbs
!
I
shall
scarcely
be
able
to
work
again
on
this
exquisite
mechanism
to
-
night
.
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
.
O
throbbing
heart
,
be
quiet
!
If
my
labor
be
thus
thwarted
,
there
will
come
vague
and
unsatisfied
dreams
which
will
leave
me
spiritless
to
-
morrow
.
"
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
?
"
