DOI Artikel:
Egerton, George: A lost masterpiece: a city mood, Aug. '93
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.20196#0197
By George Egerton 191
because all the while my inner eyes saw undercurrents of beauty
and pathos, quaint contrasts, whimsical details that ticlcled my
sense of humour deliciously. The elf that lurks in some inner
cell was very busy, now throwing out tender mimosa-like threads
of creative fancy, now recording fleeting impressions withdelicate
sure brushwork for futureuse ; touching a hundred vagrant things
with the magic of imagination, making a running comment on
the scenes we passed.
The warehouses told a tale of an up-to-date Soll und Haben, one
of my very own, one that would thrust old Freytag out of the
book-mart. The tall chimneys ceased to be giraffic throats
belching soot and smoke over the blackening city. They were
obelisks rearing granite heads heavenwards ! Joints in the bricks,
weather-stains ? You are mistaken ; they were hieroglyphics,
setting down for posterity a tragic epic of man the conqueror, and
fire his slave ; and how they Strangled beauty in the grip of gain.
A theme for a Whitman !
And so it talks and I listen with my inner ear—and yet nothing
outward escapes me—the slackening of the boat—the stepping on
and ofFof folk—the lowering of the funnel—the name " Stanley "
on the little tug, with its self-sufficient puff-puff, fussing by with
a line of grimy barges in tow; freight-laden, for the water
washes over them—and on the last a woman sits suckling her
baby, and a terrier with badly cropped ears yaps at us as we
pass.....
And as this English river scene flashes by, lines of association
form angles in my brain ; and the point of each is a dot of light
that expands into a background for forgotten canal scenes, with
green-grey water, and leaning balconies, and stränge crafts—Cana-
letti and Guadi seen long ago in picture galleries.....
A delicate featured youth with gold-laced cap, scrapes a prelude on
a thin-
because all the while my inner eyes saw undercurrents of beauty
and pathos, quaint contrasts, whimsical details that ticlcled my
sense of humour deliciously. The elf that lurks in some inner
cell was very busy, now throwing out tender mimosa-like threads
of creative fancy, now recording fleeting impressions withdelicate
sure brushwork for futureuse ; touching a hundred vagrant things
with the magic of imagination, making a running comment on
the scenes we passed.
The warehouses told a tale of an up-to-date Soll und Haben, one
of my very own, one that would thrust old Freytag out of the
book-mart. The tall chimneys ceased to be giraffic throats
belching soot and smoke over the blackening city. They were
obelisks rearing granite heads heavenwards ! Joints in the bricks,
weather-stains ? You are mistaken ; they were hieroglyphics,
setting down for posterity a tragic epic of man the conqueror, and
fire his slave ; and how they Strangled beauty in the grip of gain.
A theme for a Whitman !
And so it talks and I listen with my inner ear—and yet nothing
outward escapes me—the slackening of the boat—the stepping on
and ofFof folk—the lowering of the funnel—the name " Stanley "
on the little tug, with its self-sufficient puff-puff, fussing by with
a line of grimy barges in tow; freight-laden, for the water
washes over them—and on the last a woman sits suckling her
baby, and a terrier with badly cropped ears yaps at us as we
pass.....
And as this English river scene flashes by, lines of association
form angles in my brain ; and the point of each is a dot of light
that expands into a background for forgotten canal scenes, with
green-grey water, and leaning balconies, and stränge crafts—Cana-
letti and Guadi seen long ago in picture galleries.....
A delicate featured youth with gold-laced cap, scrapes a prelude on
a thin-