the colour of life(生命之色)-第5章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
The vibrating wings are folded； and Corot's wind； that flew through so
many springs； summers； and Septembers for him （he was seldom a painter
of very late autumn）； that was mingled with so many aspen…leaves； that
strewed his forests with wood for the gatherer； and blew the broken lights
into the glades； is charmed into stillness； and the sky into another kind of
immortality。 Nor are the trees in this antique landscape the trees so long
intimate with Corot's south…west wind； so often entangled with his
uncertain twilights。 They are as quiet as the cloud； and such as the long
and wild breezes of Romance have never shaken or enlaced。
Upon all our islands this south…west wind is the sea wind。 But
elsewhere there are sea winds that are not from the south…west。 They； too；
none the less； are conquerors。 They； too； are always strong； compelling
winds that take possession of the light； the shadow； the sun； moon； and
stars； and constrain them all alike to feel the sea。 Not a field； not a
hillside； on a sea…wind day； but shines with some soft sea…lights。 The
moon's little boat tosses on a sea…wind night。
The south…west wind takes the high Italian coasts。 He gathers the ilex
woods together and throngs them close； as a sheep…dog gathers the sheep。
They crowd for shelter； and a great wall； leaning inland also； with its
strong base to the sea； receives them。 It is blank and sunny； and the trees
within are sunny and dark； serried； and their tops swept and flattened by
months of sea…storms。 On the farther side there are gardens … gardens
that have in their midst those quietest things in all the world and most
windless； box…hedges and ponds。 The gardens take shelter behind the
14
… Page 15…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
scared and hurried ilex woods； and the sea…wind spares them and breaks
upon the mountain。 But the garden also is his； and his wild warm days
have filled it with orange…trees and roses； and have given all the abundant
charm to its gay neglect； to its grass…grown terraces； and to all its lapsed；
forsaken； and forgotten dainties。
Nothing of the nature in this seaward Italy would be so beautiful
without the touch of man and of the sea gales。
When the south…west wind brings his rain he brings it with the
majestic onset announced by his breath。 And when the light follows； it
comes from his own doorway in the verge。 His are the opened evenings
after a day shut down with cloud。 He fills the air with innumerable
particles of moisture that scatter and bestow the sun。 There are no other
days like his； of so universal a harmony； so generous。
The north wind has his own landscape； too； but the east wind never。
The aspect which he gives to the day is not all his own。 The sunshine is
sweet in spite of him。 The clouds go under his whip； but they have
kinder greys than should be the colours of his cold。 Not on an east…wind
day are these races in heaven； for the clouds are all far off。 His rain is
angry； and it flies against the sunset。 The world is not one in his reign；
but rather there is a perpetual revolt or difference。 The lights and
shadows are not all his。 The waxing and waning hours are disaffected。
He has not a great style； and does not convince the day。
All the four winds are brave； and not the less brave because； on their
way through town； they are betrayed for a moment into taking part in any
paltriness that may be there。 On their way from the Steppes to the
Atlantic they play havoc with the nerves of very insignificant people。 A
part； as it were； of every gale that starts in the far north…east finds its goal
in the breath of a reluctant citizen。
You will meet a wind of the world nimble and eager in a sorry street。
But these are only accidents of the way … the winds go free again。 Those
that do not go free； but close their course； are those that are breathed by
the nostrils of living creatures。 A great flock of those wild birds come to
a final pause in London； and fan the fires of life with those wings in the
act of folding。 In the blood and breath of a child close the influences of
15
… Page 16…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
continent and sea。
16
… Page 17…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
THE HONOURS OF
MORTALITY
The brilliant talent which has quite lately and quite suddenly arisen； to
devote itself to the use of the day or of the week； in illustrated papers … the
enormous production of art in black and white … is assuredly a confession
that the Honours of Mortality are worth working for。 Fifty years ago；
men worked for the honours of immortality； these were the commonplace
of their ambition； they declined to attend to the beauty of things of use that
were destined to be broken and worn out； and they looked forward to
surviving themselves by painting bad pictures； so that what to do with
their bad pictures in addition to our own has become the problem of the
nation and of the householder alike。 To…day men have began to learn that
their sons will be grateful to them for few bequests。 Art consents at last
to work upon the tissue and the china that are doomed to the natural and
necessary end … destruction； and art shows a most dignified alacrity to do
her best； daily； for the 〃process；〃 and for oblivion。
Doubtless this abandonment of hopes so large at once and so cheap
costs the artist something； nay； it implies an acceptance of the inevitable
that is not less than heroic。 And the reward has been in the singular and
manifest increase of vitality in this work which is done for so short a life。
Fittingly indeed does life reward the acceptance of death； inasmuch as to
die is to have been alive。 There is a real circulation of blood…quick use；
brief beauty； abolition； recreation。 The honour of the day is for ever the
honour of that day。 It goes into the treasury of things that are honestly
and … completely ended and done with。 And when can so happy a thing
be said of a lifeless oil…painting？ Who of the wise would hesitate？ To be
honourable for one day … one named and dated day； separate from all other
days of the ages … or to be for an unlimited time tedious？
17
… Page 18…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
AT MONASTERY GATES
No woman has ever crossed the inner threshold； or shall ever cross it；
unless a queen； English or foreign； should claim her privilege。 Therefore；
if a woman records here the slighter things visible of the monastic life； it is
only because she was not admitted to see more than beautiful courtesy and
friendliness were able to show her in guest…house and garden。
The Monastery is of fresh…looking Gothic； by Pugin … the first of the
dynasty： it is reached by the white roads of a limes
