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Therefore, if we are to
reach the hearts of the people, we must make art the handmaid of
religion." He stopped for breath. Gerald interposed:--
"But, dear prince, you say 'art.' What art--painting, sculpture,
architecture, music, poetry, drama--?"
"One art," harshly cried the now excited man, as he pounded the table
with his hard fist. "One art, _my_ art, the fusion of all the arts. I,
Prince Igorovitch Karospina, tell you that I have discovered the secret
of the arts never dreamed of by Wagner and his futile, painted music on
a painted stage; I have gone, not to art, but to nature--colour, fire,
the elements. The eye is keener than the ear, vision is easier
comprehended than tone. Ah! I have you interested at last."
He began walking as if to overtake a missing idea. His niece watched him
cynically.
"I fear you are boring Mr. Shannon," she said in her most birdlike
accents. Her uncle turned on her.
"I don't care if I am. Go to bed! I am nearing the climax of a lifetime,
and I feel that I must talk to a sympathetic ear. You are not bored,
dear friend.


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