the colour of life(生命之色)-第1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 COLOUR OF LIFE
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
1
… Page 2…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
Red has been praised for its nobility as the colour of life。 But the true
colour of life is not red。 Red is the colour of violence； or of life broken
open； edited； and published。 Or if red is indeed the colour of life； it is so
only on condition that it is not seen。 Once fully visible； red is the colour of
life violated； and in the act of betrayal and of waste。 Red is the secret of
life； and not the manifestation thereof。 It is one of the things the value of
which is secrecy； one of the talents that are to be hidden in a napkin。 The
true colour of life is the colour of the body； the colour of the covered red；
the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses。 It is
the modest colour of the unpublished blood。
So bright； so light； so soft； so mingled； the gentle colour of life is
outdone by all the colours of the world。 Its very beauty is that it is white；
but less white than milk； brown； but less brown than earth； red； but less
red than sunset or dawn。 It is lucid； but less lucid than the colour of lilies。
It has the hint of gold that is in all fine colour； but in our latitudes the hint
is almost elusive。 Under Sicilian skies； indeed； it is deeper than old ivory；
but under the misty blue of the English zenith； and the warm grey of the
London horizon； it is as delicately flushed as the paler wild roses； out to
their utmost； flat as stars； in the hedges of the end of June。
For months together London does not see the colour of life in any
mass。 The human face does not give much of it； what with features； and
beards； and the shadow of the top…hat and chapeau melon of man； and of
the veils of woman。 Besides； the colour of the face is subject to a
thousand injuries and accidents。 The popular face of the Londoner has
soon lost its gold； its white； and the delicacy of its red and brown。 We
miss little beauty by the fact that it is never seen freely in great numbers
out…of…doors。 You get it in some quantity when all the heads of a great
indoor meeting are turned at once upon a speaker； but it is only in the open
air； needless to say； that the colour of life is in perfection； in the open air；
〃clothed with the sun；〃 whether the sunshine be golden and direct； or
dazzlingly diffused in grey。
2
… Page 3…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
The little figure of the London boy it is that has restored to the
landscape the human colour of life。 He is allowed to come out of all his
ignominies； and to take the late colour of the midsummer north…west
evening； on the borders of the Serpentine。 At the stroke of eight he sheds
the slough of nameless colours … all allied to the hues of dust； soot； and fog；
which are the colours the world has chosen for its boys … and he makes； in
his hundreds； a bright and delicate flush between the grey…blue water and
the grey…blue sky。 Clothed now with the sun； he is crowned by…and…by
with twelve stars as he goes to bathe； and the reflection of an early moon
is under his feet。
So little stands between a gamin and all the dignities of Nature。 They
are so quickly restored。 There seems to be nothing to do； but only a little
thing to undo。 It is like the art of Eleonora Duse。 The last and most
finished action of her intellect； passion； and knowledge is； as it were； the
flicking away of some insignificant thing mistaken for art by other actors；
some little obstacle to the way and liberty of Nature。
All the squalor is gone in a moment； kicked off with the second boot；
and the child goes shouting to complete the landscape with the lacking
colour of life。 You are inclined to wonder that； even undressed； he still
shouts with a Cockney accent。 You half expect pure vowels and elastic
syllables from his restoration； his spring； his slenderness； his brightness；
and his glow。 Old ivory and wild rose in the deepening midsummer sun；
he gives his colours to his world again。
It is easy to replace man； and it will take no great time； where Nature
has lapsed； to replace Nature。 It is always to do； by the happily easy way
of doing nothing。 The grass is always ready to grow in the streets … and
no streets could ask for a more charming finish than your green grass。
The gasometer even must fall to pieces unless it is renewed； but the grass
renews itself。 There is nothing so remediable as the work of modern man
… 〃a thought which is also；〃 as Mr Pecksniff said； 〃very soothing。〃 And
by remediable I mean； of course； destructible。 As the bathing child
shuffles off his garments … they are few； and one brace suffices him … so the
land might always； in reasonable time； shuffle off its yellow brick and
purple slate； and all the things that collect about railway stations。 A
3
… Page 4…
THE COLOUR OF LIFE
single night almost clears the air of London。
But if the colour of life looks so well in the rather sham scenery of
Hyde Park； it looks brilliant and grave indeed on a real sea… coast。 To
have once seen it there should be enough to make a colourist。 O
memorable little picture！ The sun was gaining colour as it neared setting；
and it set not over the sea； but over the land。 The sea had the dark and
rather stern； but not cold； blue of that aspect … the dark and not the opal
tints。 The sky was also deep。 Everything was very definite； without
mystery； and exceedingly simple。 The most luminous thing was the
shining white of an edge of foam； which did not cease to be white because
it was a little golden and a little rosy in the sunshine。 It was still the
whitest thing imaginable。 And the next most luminous thing was the
little child； also invested with the sun and the colour of life。
In the case of women； it is of the living and unpublished blood that the
violent world has professed to be delicate and ashamed。 See the curious
history of the political rights of woman under the Revolution。 On the
scaffold she enjoyed an ungrudged share in the fortunes of party。
Political life might be denied her； but that seems a trifle when you
consider how generously she was permitted political death。 She was to
spin and cook for her citizen in the obscurity of her living hours； but to the
hour of her death was granted a part in the largest interests； social； national；
international。 The blood wherewith she should； according to Robespierre；
have blushed to be seen or heard in the tribune； was exposed in the public
sight unsheltered by her veins。
Against this there was no modesty。 Of all privacies； the last and the
innermost … the privacy of death … was never allowed to put obstacles in
the way of public action for a public cause。 Women might be； and wer
