The Marble Faun: Or, The Romance of Monte Beni, Том 1

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Houghton, Mifflin and compnay, 1888
 

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Сторінка 44 - ... in this peculiarity of needlework, distinguishing women from men. Our own sex is incapable of any such byplay aside from the main business of life ; but women — be they of what earthly rank they may, however gifted with intellect or genius, or endowed with awful beauty — have always some little handiwork ready to fill the tiny gap of every vacant moment.
Сторінка 509 - Hilda was coming down from her old tower, to be herself enshrined and worshipped as a household saint, in the light of her husband's fireside.
Сторінка 137 - Every young sculptor seems to think that he must give the world some specimen of indecorous womanhood, and call it Eve, Venus, a Nymph, or any name that may apologize for a lack of decent clothing. I am weary, even more than I am ashamed, of seeing such things. Now-a-days, people are as good as born in their clothes, and there is practically not a nude human being in existence. An artist, therefore,— as you must candidly confess,— cannot sculpture nudity with a pure heart, if only because he...
Сторінка 11 - Faun is the marble imago of a young man, leaning his right arm on the trunk or stump of a tree ; one hand hangs carelessly by his side; in the other he holds the fragment of a pipe, or some such sylvan instrument of music.
Сторінка 193 - They threw one other glance at the heap of death below, to assure themselves that it was there ; so like a dream was the whole thing. Then they turned from that fatal precipice, and came out of the courtyard, arm in arm, heart in heart. Instinctively, they were heedful not to sever themselves so much as a pace or two from one another, for fear of the terror and deadly chill that would thenceforth wait for them in solitude. Their deed — the crime which Donatello wrought, and Miriam accepted on the...
Сторінка 504 - They went in, accordingly, and stood in the free space of that great circle, around which are ranged the arched recesses and stately altars, formerly dedicated to heathen gods, but Christianized through twelve centuries gone by. The world has nothing else like the Pantheon. So grand it is, that the pasteboard statues over the lofty cornice do not disturb the effect, any more than the tin crowns and hearts, the dusty arti facial flowers, and all manner of trumpery gewgaws, hanging at the saintly shrines.
Сторінка 3 - No author, without a trial, can conceive of the difficulty of writing a romance about a country where there is no shadow, no antiquity, no mystery, no picturesque and gloomy wrong, nor anything but a commonplace prosperity, in broad and simple daylight, as is happily the case with my dear native land.
Сторінка 81 - ... of any human being. For if you come hither in summer, and stray through these glades in the golden sunset, fever walks arm in arm with you, and death awaits you at the end of the dim vista. Thus the scene is like Eden in its loveliness; like Eden, too, in the fatal spell that removes it beyond the scope of man's actual possessions^ But Donatello felt nothing of this- dream-like melancholy that haunts the spot.
Сторінка 178 - ... may have stepped on yonder stone, or how Horace was wont to stroll near by, making his footsteps chime with the measure of the ode that was ringing in his mind. The very ghosts of that massive and stately epoch have so much density that the actual people of to-day seem the thinner of the two, and stand more ghostlike by the arches and columns, letting the rich sculpture be discerned through their ill-compacted substance.

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