"MacDONALD, George - The Cruel Painter" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacDonald George)

The Cruel Painter
by George MacDonald

AMONG the young men assembled at the University of Prague, in the year 159-, was
one called Karl von Wolkenlicht. A somewhat careless student, he yet held a fair
position in the estimation of both professors and men, because he could hardly
look at a proposition without understanding it. Where such proposition, however,
had to do with anything relating to the deeper insights of the nature, he was
quite content that, for him, it should remain a proposition; which, however, he
laid up in one of his mental cabinets, and was ready to reproduce at a moment's
notice. This mental agility was more than matched by the corresponding corporeal
excellence, and both aided in producing results in which his remarkable strength
was equally apparent. In all games depending upon the combination of muscle and
skill, he had scarce rivalry enough to keep him in practice. His strength,
however, was embodied in such a softness of muscular outline, such a rare
Greek-like style of beauty, and associated with such a gentleness of manner and
behaviour, that, partly from the truth of the resemblance, partly from the
absurdity of the contrast, he was known throughout the university by the
diminutive of the feminine form of his name, and was always called Lottchen.
"I say, Lottchen," said one of his fellow-students, called Richter, across the
table in a wine-cellar they were in the habit of frequenting, "do you know,
Heinrich HЎllenrachen here says that he saw this morning, with mortal eyes, whom
do you think?-Lilith."
"Adam's first wife?" asked Lottchen, with an attempt at carelessness, while his
face flushed like a maiden's.
"None of your chaff!" said Richter. "Your face is honester than your tongue, and
confesses what you cannot deny, that you would give your chance of salvation-a
small one to be sure, but all you've got-for one peep at Lilith. Wouldn't you
now, Lottchen?"
"Go to the devil!" was all Lottchen's answer to his tormentor; but he turned to
Heinrich, to whom the students had given the surname above mentioned, because of
the enormous width of his jaws, and said with eagerness and envy, disguising
them as well as he could, under the appearance of curiosity-
"You don't mean it, Heinrich? You've been taking the beggar in! Confess now."
"Not I. I saw her with my two eyes."
"Notwithstanding the different planes of their orbits," suggested Richter.
"Yes, notwithstanding the fact that I can get a parallax to any of the fixed
stars in a moment, with only the breadth of my nose for the base," answered
Heinrich, responding at once to the fun, and careless of the personal defect
insinuated. "She was near enough for even me to see her perfectly."
"When? Where? How?" asked Lottchen.
"Two hours ago. In the churchyard of St. Stephen's. By a lucky chance. Any more
little questions, my child?" answered HЎllenrachen.
"What could have taken her there, who is seen nowhere?" said Richter.
"She was seated on a grave. After she left, I went to the place; but it was a
new-made grave. There was no stone up. I asked the sexton about her. He said he
supposed she was the daughter of the woman buried there last Thursday week. I
knew it was Lilith."
"Her mother dead!" said Lottchen, musingly. Then he thought with himself-"She