the colour of life(生命之色)-第3章
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who loved the dead closely； this is； for a time； impossible。 To them death
becomes； for a year； disproportionate。 Their dreams are fixed upon it
night by night。 They have； in those dreams； to find the dead in some
labyrinth； they have to mourn his dying and to welcome his recovery in
such a mingling of distress and of always incredulous happiness as is not
known even to dreams save in that first year of separation。 But they are
not biographers。
If death is the privacy of the woods； it is the more conspicuously secret
because it is their only privacy。 You may watch or may surprise
everything else。 The nest is retired； not hidden。 The chase goes on
everywhere。 It is wonderful how the perpetual chase seems to cause no
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perpetual fear。 The songs are all audible。 Life is undefended； careless；
nimble and noisy。
It is a happy thing that minor artists have ceased； or almost ceased； to
paint dead birds。 Time was when they did it continually in that British
School of water…colour art； stippled； of which surrounding nations； it was
agreed； were envious。 They must have killed their bird to paint him； for
he is not to be caught dead。 A bird is more easily caught alive than dead。
A poet； on the contrary； is easily … too easily … caught dead。 Minor
artists now seldom stipple the bird on its back； but a good sculptor and a
University together modelled their Shelley on his back； unessentially
drowned； and everybody may read about the sick mind of Dante Rossetti。
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CLOUD
During a part of the year London does not see the clouds。 Not to see
the clear sky might seem her chief loss； but that is shared by the rest of
England； and is； besides； but a slight privation。 Not to see the clear sky is；
elsewhere； to see the cloud。 But not so in London。 You may go for a
week or two at a time； even though you hold your head up as you walk；
and even though you have windows that really open； and yet you shall see
no cloud； or but a single edge； the fragment of a form。
Guillotine windows never wholly open； but are filled with a doubled
glass towards the sky when you open them towards the street。 They are；
therefore； a sure sign that for all the years when no other windows were
used in London； nobody there cared much for the sky； or even knew so
much as whether there were a sky。
But the privation of cloud is indeed a graver loss than the world knows。
Terrestrial scenery is much； but it is not all。 Men go in search of it； but
the celestial scenery journeys to them。 It goes its way round the world。
It has no nation； it costs no weariness； it knows no bonds。 The terrestrial
scenery … the tourist's … is a prisoner compared with this。 The tourist's
scenery moves indeed； but only like Wordsworth's maiden； with earth's
diurnal course； it is made as fast as its own graves。 And for its changes it
depends upon the mobility of the skies。 The mere green flushing of its
own sap makes only the least of its varieties； for the greater it must wait
upon the visits of the light。 Spring and autumn are inconsiderable events
in a landscape compared with the shadows of a cloud。
The cloud controls the light； and the mountains on earth appear or fade
according to its passage； they wear so simply； from head to foot； the
luminous grey or the emphatic purple； as the cloud permits； that their own
local colour and their own local season are lost and cease； effaced before
the all…important mood of the cloud。
The sea has no mood except that of the sky and of its winds。 It is the
cloud that； holding the sun's rays in a sheaf as a giant holds a handful of
spears； strikes the horizon； touches the extreme edge with a delicate
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revelation of light； or suddenly puts it out and makes the foreground shine。
Every one knows the manifest work of the cloud when it descends and
partakes in the landscape obviously； lies half…way across the mountain
slope； stoops to rain heavily upon the lake； and blots out part of the view
by the rough method of standing in front of it。 But its greatest things are
done from its own place； aloft。 Thence does it distribute the sun。
Thence does it lock away between the hills and valleys more mysteries
than a poet conceals； but； like him； not by interception。 Thence it writes
out and cancels all the tracery of Monte Rosa； or lets the pencils of the sun
renew them。 Thence； hiding nothing； and yet making dark； it sheds deep
colour upon the forest land of Sussex； so that； seen from the hills； all the
country is divided between grave blue and graver sunlight。
And all this is but its influence； its secondary work upon the world。
Its own beauty is unaltered when it has no earthly beauty to improve。 It
is always great： above the street； above the suburbs； above the gas…works
and the stucco； above the faces of painted white houses … the painted
surfaces that have been devised as the only things able to vulgarise light；
as they catch it and reflect it grotesquely from their importunate gloss。
This is to be well seen on a sunny evening in Regent Street。
Even here the cloud is not so victorious as when it towers above some
little landscape of rather paltry interest … a conventional river heavy with
water； gardens with their little evergreens； walks； and shrubberies； and
thick trees impervious to the light； touched； as the novelists always have it；
with 〃autumn tints。〃 High over these rises； in the enormous scale of the
scenery of clouds； what no man expected … an heroic sky。 Few of the
things that were ever done upon earth are great enough to be done under
such a heaven。 It was surely designed for other days。 It is for an epic
world。 Your eyes sweep a thousand miles of cloud。 What are the
distances of earth to these； and what are the distances of the clear and
cloudless sky？ The very horizons of the landscape are near； for the round
world dips so soon； and the distances of the mere clear sky are
unmeasured … you rest upon nothing until you come to a star； and the star
itself is immeasurable。
But in the sky of 〃sunny Alps〃 of clouds the sight goes farther； with
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conscious flight； than it could ever have journeyed otherwise。 Man would
not have known distance veritably without the clouds。 There are
mountains indeed； precipices and deeps； to which those of the earth are
pigmy。 Yet the sky…heights； being so far off； are not overpowering by
disproportion； like some futile building fatuously made too big for the
human measure。 The cloud in its majestic place composes with a little
Perugino
