the spirit of place and other essays-第13章

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choosing　between　day　and　night；　or　guessing　whether　the　state　of　day

or　dark　is　the　truer　and　the　more　natural；　he　would　be　rash　who

should　make　too　sure。



In　order　to　live　the　life　of　night；　a　watcher　must　not　wake　too

much。　　That　is；　he　should　not　alter　so　greatly　the　character　of

night　as　to　lose　the　solitude；　the　visible　darkness；　or　the

quietude。　　The　hours　of　sleep　are　too　much　altered　when　they　are

filled　by　lights　and　crowds；　and　Nature　is　cheated　so；　and　evaded；

and　her　rhythm　broken；　as　when　the　larks　caged　in　populous　streets

make　ineffectual　springs　and　sing　daybreak　songs　when　the　London　gas

is　lighted。　　Nature　is　easily　deceived；　and　the　muse；　like　the　lark；

may　be　set　all　astray　as　to　the　hour。　　You　may　spend　the　peculiar

hours　of　sleep　amid　so　much　noise　and　among　so　many　people　that　you

shall　not　be　aware　of　them；　you　may　thus　merely　force　and　prolong

the　day。　　But　to　do　so　is　not　to　live　well　both　lives；　it　is　not　to

yield　to　the　daily　and　nightly　rise　and　fall　and　to　be　cradled　in

the　swing　of　change。



There　surely　never　was　a　poet　but　was　now　and　then　rocked　in　such　a

cradle　of　alternate　hours。　　〃It　cannot　be；〃　says　Herbert；　〃that　I　am

he　on　whom　Thy　tempests　fell　all　night。〃



It　is　in　the　hours　of　sleep　that　the　mind；　by　some　divine　paradox；

has　the　extremest　sense　of　light。　　Almost　the　most　shining　lines　in

English　poetrylines　that　cast　sunrise　shadowsare　those　of　Blake；

written　confessedly　from　the　side　of　night；　the　side　of　sorrow　and

dreams；　and　those　dreams　the　dreams　of　little　chimney…sweepers；　all

is　as　dark　as　he　can　make　it　with　the　〃bags　of　soot〃；　but　the　boy's

dream　of　the　green　plain　and　the　river　is　too　bright　for　day。　　So；

indeed；　is　another　brightness　of　Blake's；　which　is　also；　in　his

poem；　a　child's　dream；　and　was　certainly　conceived　by　him　in　the

hours　of　sleep；　in　which　he　woke　to　write　the　Songs　of　Innocence：…





O　what　land　is　the　land　of　dreams？

What　are　its　mountains；　and　what　are　its　streams？

O　father；　I　saw　my　mother　there；

Among　the　lilies　by　waters　fair。

Among　the　lambs　clothed　in　white；

She　walk'd　with　her　Thomas　in　sweet　delight。





To　none　but　the　hours　claimed　and　inspired　by　sleep；　held　awake　by

sufferance　of　sleep；　belongs　such　a　vision。



Corot　also　took　the　brilliant　opportunity　of　the　hours　of　sleep。　　In

some　landscapes　of　his　early　manner　he　has　the　very　light　of　dreams；

and　it　was　surely　because　he　went　abroad　at　the　time　when　sleep　and

dreams　claimed　his　eyes　that　he　was　able　to　see　so　spiritual　an

illumination。　　Summer　is　precious　for　a　painter；　chiefly　because　in

summer　so　many　of　the　hours　of　sleep　are　also　hours　of　light。　　He

carries　the　mood　of　man's　night　out　into　the　sunshineCorot　did　so…

…and　lives　the　life　of　night；　in　all　its　genius；　in　the　presence　of

a　risen　sun。　　In　the　only　time　when　the　heart　can　dream　of　light；　in

the　night　of　visions；　with　the　rhythmic　power　of　night　at　its　dark

noon　in　his　mind；　his　eyes　see　the　soaring　of　the　actual　sun。



He　himself　has　not　yet　passed　at　that　hour　into　the　life　of　day。　　To

that　life　belongs　many　another　kind　of　work；　and　a　sense　of　other

kinds　of　beauty；　but　the　summer　daybreak　was　seen　by　Corot　with　the

extreme　perception　of　the　life　of　night。　　Here；　at　last；　is　the

explanation　of　all　the　memories　of　dreams　recalled　by　these

visionary　paintings；　done　in　earlier　years　than　were　those；　better

known；　that　are　the　Corots　of　all　the　world。　　Every　man　who　knows

what　it　is　to　dream　of　landscape　meets　with　one　of　these　works　of

Corot's　first　manner　with　a　cry；　not　of　welcome　only；　but　of

recognition。　　Here　is　morning　perceived　by　the　spirit　of　the　hours

of　sleep。







THE　HORIZON







To　mount　a　hill　is　to　lift　with　you　something　lighter　and　brighter

than　yourself　or　than　any　meaner　burden。　　You　lift　the　world；　you

raise　the　horizon；　you　give　a　signal　for　the　distance　to　stand　up。

It　is　like　the　scene　in　the　Vatican　when　a　Cardinal；　with　his

dramatic　Italian　hands；　bids　the　kneeling　groups　to　arise。　　He　does

more　than　bid　them。　　He　lifts　them；　he　gathers　them　up；　far　and

near；　with　the　upward　gesture　of　both　arms；　he　takes　them　to　their

feet　with　the　compulsion　of　his　expressive　force。　　Or　it　is　as　when

a　conductor　takes　his　players　to　successive　heights　of　music。　　You

summon　the　sea；　you　bring　the　mountains；　the　distances　unfold

unlooked…for　wings　and　take　an　even　flight。　　You　are　but　a　man

lifting　his　weight　upon　the　upward　road；　but　as　you　climb　the　circle

of　the　world　goes　up　to　face　you。



Not　here　or　there；　but　with　a　definite　continuity；　the　unseen

unfolds。　　This　distant　hill　outsoars　that　less　distant；　but　all　are

on　the　wing；　and　the　plain　raises　its　verge。　　All　things　follow　and

wait　upon　your　eyes。　　You　lift　these　up；　not　by　the　raising　of　your

eyelids；　but　by　the　pilgrimage　of　your　body。　　〃Lift　thine　eyes　to

the　mountains。〃　　It　is　then　that　other　mountains　lift　themselves　to

your　human　eyes。



It　is　the　law　whereby　the　eye　and　the　horizon　answer　one　another

that　makes　the　way　up　a　hill　so　full　of　universal　movement。　　All　the

landscape　is　on　pilgrimage。　　The　town　gathers　itself　closer；　and　its

inner　harbours　literally　come　to　light；　the　headlands　repeat

themselves；　little　cups　within　the　treeless　hills　open　and　show

their　farms。　　In　the　sea　are　many　regions。　　A　breeze　is　at　play　for

a　mile　or　two；　and　the　surface　is　turned。　　There　are　roads　and

curves　in　the　blue　and　in　the　white。　　Not　a　step　of　your　journey　up

the　height　that　has　not　its　replies　in　the　steady　motion　of　land　and

sea。　　Things　rise　together　like　a　flock　of　many…feathered　birds。



But　it　is　the　horizon；　more　than　all　else；　you　have　come　in　search

of。　　That　is　your　chief　companion　on　your　way。　　It　is　to　uplift　the

horizon　to　the　equality　of　your　sight　that　you　go　high。　　You　give　it

a　distance　worthy　of　the　skies。　　There　is　no　distance；　except　the

distance　in　the　sky；　to　be　seen　from　the　level　earth；　but　from　the

height　is　to　be　seen　the　distance　of　this　world。　　The　line　is　sent

back　into　the　remoteness　of　light；　the　verge　is　removed　beyond

verge；　into　a　distance　that　is　enormous　and　minute。



So　delicate　and　so　slender　is　the　distant　horizon　that　nothing　less

near　than　Queen　Mab　and　her　chariot　can　equal　its　fineness。　　Here　on

the　edges　of　the　eyelids；　or　there　on　the　edges　of　the　worldwe

know　no　other　place　for　things　so　exquisitely　made；　so　thin；　so

small　and　tender。　　The　touches　of　her　passing；　as　close　as　dreams；

or　the　utmost　vanishing　of　the　forest　or　the　ocean　in　the　white

light　between　the　earth　and　the　air；　nothing　else　is　quite　so

intimate　and　fine。　　The　extremities　of　a　mountain　view　have　just

such　tiny　touches　as　the　closeness　of　closed　eyes　shuts　in。



On　the　horizon　is　the　sweetest　light。　　Elsewhere　colour　mars　the

simplicity　of　light；　but　there　colour　is　effaced；　not　as　men　efface

it；　by　a　blur　or　darkness；　but　by　mere　light。　　The　bluest　sky

disappears　on　that　shining　edge；　there　is　not　substance　enough　for

colour。　　The　rim　of　the　hill；　of　the　woodland；　of　the　meadow…land；

of　the　sealet　it　only　be　far　enoughhas　the　same　absorption　of

colour；　and　even　the　dark　things　drawn　upon　the　bright　edges　of　the

sky　are　lucid；　the　light　is　among　them；　and　they　are　mingled　with

it。　　The　horizon　has　its　own　way　of　making　bright　the　pencilled

figures　of　forests；　which　are　black　but　luminous。



On　the　horizon；　moreover；　closes　the　long　perspective　of　the　sky。

There　you　perceive　that　an　ordinary　sky　of　cloudsnot　a　thunder

skyis　not　a　wall　but　the　underside　of　a　floor。　　You　see　the　clouds

that　repeat　each　other　grow　smaller　by　distance；　and　you　find　a　new

unity　in　the　sky　and　earth　that　gather　alike　the　great　lines　of

their　designs　to　the　same　distant　close。　　There　is　no　longer　an

alien　sky；　tossed　up　in　unintelligible　heights　above　a　world　that　is

subject　to　intelligible　perspective。



Of　all　the　things　that　London　has　foregone；　the　mos