the colour of life(生命之色)-第7章
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
when the latest light is passing。 It is the prayer for the dead： 〃Out of the
depths have I cried unto Thee； O Lord。〃
The little flocks of novices； on paschal evenings； are folded to the
sound of that evening prayer。 The care of them is the central work of the
monastery； which is placed in so remote a country because it is principally
a place of studies。 So much elect intellect and strength of heart
withdrawn from the traffic of the world！ True； the friars are not doing
the task which Carlyle set mankind as a refuge from despair。 These
〃bearded counsellors of God〃 keep their cells； read； study； suffer； sing；
hold silence； whereas they might be 〃operating〃 … beautiful word！ … upon
the Stock Exchange； or painting Academy pictures； or making speeches； or
reluctantly jostling other men for places。 They might be among the
involuntary busybodies who are living by futile tasks the need whereof is a
discouraged fiction。 There is absolutely no limit to the superfluous
activities； to the art； to the literature； implicitly renounced by the dwellers
within such walls as these。 The output … again a beautiful word … of the
age is lessened by this abstention。 None the less hopes the stranger and
pilgrim to pause and knock once again upon those monastery gates。
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
RUSHES AND REEDS
Taller than the grass and lower than the trees； there is another growth
that feels the implicit spring。 It had been more abandoned to winter than
even the short grass shuddering under a wave of east wind； more than the
dumb trees。 For the multitudes of sedges； rushes； canes； and reeds were
the appropriate lyre of the cold。 On them the nimble winds played their
dry music。 They were part of the winter。 It looked through them and
spoke through them。 They were spears and javelins in array to the sound
of the drums of the north。
The winter takes fuller possession of these things than of those that
stand solid。 The sedges whistle his tune。 They let the colour of his light
look through … low…flying arrows and bright bayonets of winter day。
The multitudes of all reeds and rushes grow out of bounds。 They
belong to the margins of lands； the space between the farms and the river；
beyond the pastures； and where the marsh in flower becomes perilous
footing for the cattle。 They are the fringe of the low lands； the sign of
streams。 They grow tall between you and the near horizon of flat lands。
They etch their sharp lines upon the sky； and near them grow flowers of
stature； including the lofty yellow lily。
Our green country is the better for the grey； soft； cloudy darkness of
the sedge； and our full landscape is the better for the distinction of its
points； its needles； and its resolute right lines。
Ours is a summer full of voices； and therefore it does not so need the
sound of rushes； but they are most sensitive to the stealthy breezes； and
betray the passing of a wind that even the tree…tops knew not of。
Sometimes it is a breeze unfelt； but the stiff sedges whisper it along a mile
of marsh。 To the strong wind they bend； showing the silver of their
sombre little tassels as fish show the silver of their sides turning in the
pathless sea。 They are unanimous。 A field of tall flowers tosses many
ways in one warm gale； like the many lovers of a poet who have a
thousand reasons for their love； but the rushes； more strongly tethered； are
swept into a single attitude； again and again； at every renewal of the storm。
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
Between the pasture and the wave； the many miles of rushes and reeds
in England seem to escape that insistent ownership which has so changed
（except for a few forests and downs） the aspect of England； and has in fact
made the landscape。 Cultivation makes the landscape elsewhere； rather
than ownership； for the boundaries in the south are not conspicuous； but
here it is ownership。 But the rushes are a gipsy people； amongst us； yet
out of reach。 The landowner； if he is rather a gross man； believes these
races of reeds are his。 But if he is a man of sensibility； depend upon it he
has his interior doubts。 His property； he says； goes right down to the
centre of the earth； in the shape of a wedge； how high up it goes into the
air it would be difficult to say； and obviously the shape of the wedge must
be continued in the direction of increase。 We may therefore proclaim his
right to the clouds and their cargo。 It is true that as his ground game is
apt to go upon his neighbour's land to be shot； so the clouds may now and
then spend his showers elsewhere。 But the great thing is the view。 A
well…appointed country…house sees nothing out of the windows that is not
its own。 But he who tells you so； and proves it to you by his own view； is
certainly disturbed by an unspoken doubt； if his otherwise contented eyes
should happen to be caught by a region of rushes。 The water is his … he
had the pond made； or the river； for a space； and the fish； for a time。 But
the bulrushes； the reeds！ One wonders whether a very thorough
landowner； but a sensitive one； ever resolved that he would endure this
sort of thing no longer； and went out armed and had a long acre of sedges
scythed to death。
They are probably outlaws。 They are dwellers upon thresholds and
upon margins； as the gipsies make a home upon the green edges of a road。
No wild flowers； however wild； are rebels。 The copses and their
primroses are good subjects； the oaks are loyal。 Now and then； though；
one has a kind of suspicion of some of the other kinds of trees … the Corot
trees。 Standing at a distance from the more ornamental trees； from those
of fuller foliage； and from all the indeciduous shrubs and the conifers
（manifest property； every one）； two or three translucent aspens； with which
the very sun and the breath of earth are entangled； have sometimes seemed
to wear a certain look … an extra…territorial look； let us call it。 They are
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
suspect。 One is inclined to shake a doubtful head at them。
And the landowner feels it。 He knows quite well； though he may not
say so； that the Corot trees； though they do not dwell upon margins； are in
spirit almost as extraterritorial as the rushes。 In proof of this he very
often cuts them down； out of the view； once for all。 The view is better； as a
view； without them。 Though their roots are in his ground right enough；
there is a something about their heads … 。 But the reason he gives for
wishing them away is merely that they are 〃thin。〃 A man does not
always say everything。
