The following passage is adapted from the story “The Artist of the Beautiful” by Nathaniel Hawthorne (published in 1844 by Nathaniel Hawthorne).
- An elderly man, with his pretty
- daughter on his arm, was passing
- along the street, and emerged
- from the gloom of the cloudy
- evening into the light that fell
- across the pavement from the
- window of a small shop. It was a
- projecting window; and on the
- inside were suspended a variety
- of watches, pinchbeck, silver, and
- one or two of gold, all with their
- faces turned from the streets,
- as if churlishly disinclined to
- inform the wayfarers what
- o’clock it was.
- Seated within the shop, sidelong
- to the window with his pale face
- bent earnestly over some delicate
- piece of mechanism on which was
- thrown the concentrated lustre
- of a shade lamp, appeared a
- young man.
- “What can Owen Warland
- be about?” muttered old Peter
- Hovenden, himself a retired
- watchmaker, and the former
- master of this same young man
- whose occupation he was now
- wondering at. “What can the
- fellow be about? These six
- months past I have never come
- by his shop without seeing him
- just as steadily at work as now.
- It would be a flight beyond his
- usual foolery to seek for the
- perpetual motion; and yet I know
- enough of my old business to be
- certain that what he is now so
- busy with is no part of the
- machinery of a watch.”
- “Perhaps, father,” said Annie,
- without showing much interest in
- the question, “Owen is inventing
- a new kind of timekeeper. I am
- sure he has ingenuity enough.”
- “Poh, child! He has not the sort of
- ingenuity to invent anything
- better than a Dutch toy,”
- answered her father, who had
- formerly been put to much
- vexation by Owen Warland’s
- irregular genius. “A plague on
- such ingenuity! All the effect that
- ever I knew of it was to spoil the
- accuracy of some of the best
- watches in my shop. He would
- turn the sun out of its orbit
- and derange the whole course
- of time, if, as I said before,
- his ingenuity could grasp anything
- bigger than a child’s toy!”
- “Hush, father! He hears you!”
- whispered Annie, pressing the
- old man’s arm. “His ears are as
- delicate as his feelings; and you
- know how easily disturbed they
- are. Do let us move on.”
- So Peter Hovenden and his
- daughter Annie plodded on
- without further conversation,
- until in a by-street of the town
- they found themselves passing
- the open door of a blacksmith’s
- shop. Within was seen the forge,
- now blazing up and illuminating
- the high and dusky roof, and now
- confining its luster to a narrow
- precinct of the coal-strewn floor.
- In the intervals of brightness
- it was easy to distinguish objects
- in remote corners of the shop and
- the horseshoes that hung upon
- the wall; in the momentary gloom
- the fire seemed to be glimmering
- amidst the vagueness of
- unenclosed space. Moving about
- in this red glare and alternate
- dusk was the figure of the
- blacksmith, well worthy to be
- viewed in so picturesque an
- aspect of light and shade, where
- the bright blaze struggled with
- the black night, as if each would
- have snatched his comely strength
- from the other. Anon he drew a
- white-hot bar of iron from the
- coals, laid it on the anvil, uplifted
- his arm of might, and was soon
- enveloped in the myriads of sparks.
- “Now, that is a pleasant sight,”
- said the old watchmaker.
- “I know what it is to work in
- gold; but give me the worker
- in iron after all is said and done.
- He spends his labor upon a reality.
- What say you, daughter Annie?”
- “Pray don’t speak so loud, father,”
- whispered Annie, “Robert
- Danforth will hear you.”
- “And what if he should hear me?”
- said Peter Hovenden. “I say again,
- it is a good and a wholesome
- thing to depend upon main
- strength and reality, and to earn
- one’s bread with the bare and
- brawny arm of a blacksmith.
- Did you ever hear of a blacksmith
- being such a fool as
- Owen Warland yonder?”