But they, I feel, mistake craftsmanship and
accomplishment and technique for the inner spirit of art; they have
never felt the awful rapture, the overwhelming impulse. And thus, as I
say, I return with a sense of weary gratitude to my lonely house with
its austere rooms; to my old piano, my old books; to my wide fields and
leafless trees, as of one returning home to worship at a quiet shrine,
after being compelled to play a part in a pageant which is not
concerned with the things of the soul.
XLIII
It must have been just about a year ago to-day that I received one
morning a letter from an old acquaintance of mine, Henry Gregory by
name, telling me that he was staying in my neighbourhood--might he
come over to see me? I asked him to come to luncheon.
I do not remember how I first came to know Gregory, but I was
instrumental in once getting him a little legal work to do, since when
he has shown a dangerous disposition to require similar services of me,
and even to confide in me. I am quite incapable--not on principle, but
from a sort of feeble courtesy--of rejecting such overtures. It does
more harm than good, because I am unable to help him in any way; and
the result of our talks is only to send him away disappointed and
annoyed, and to leave me both bored and compassionate, with that wholly
ineffectual compassion which is a mere morbid sentiment.
Pages:
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279