the colour of life-第14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！



throw　it　further　back　…　it　is　already　so　far。　　That　is；　it　looks　as

remote　to　the　memory　of　a　man　of　thirty　as　to　that　of　a　man　of

seventy。　　What　are　a　mere　forty　years　of　added　later　life　in　the

contemplation　of　such　a　distance？　　Pshaw！







EYES







There　is　nothing　described　with　so　little　attention；　with　such

slovenliness；　or　so　without　verification　…　albeit　with　so　much

confidence　and　word…painting　…　as　the　eyes　of　the　men　and　women

whose　faces　have　been　made　memorable　by　their　works。　　The　describer

generally　takes　the　first　colour　that　seems　to　him　probable。　　The

grey　eyes　of　Coleridge　are　recorded　in　a　proverbial　line；　and

Procter　repeats　the　word；　in　describing　from　the　life。　　Then

Carlyle；　who　shows　more　signs　of　actual　attention；　and　who　caught　a

trick　of　Coleridge's　pronunciation　instantly；　proving　that　with　his

hearing　at　least　he　was　not　slovenly；　says　that　Coleridge's　eyes

were　brown　…　〃strange；　brown；　timid；　yet　earnest…looking　eyes。〃　　A

Coleridge　with　brown　eyes　is　one　man；　and　a　Coleridge　with　grey　eyes

another　…　and；　as　it　were；　more　responsible。　　As　to　Rossetti's　eyes；

the　various　inattention　of　his　friends　has　assigned　to　them；　in　all

the　ready…made　phrases；　nearly　all　the　colours。



So　with　Charlotte　Bronte。　　Matthew　Arnold　seems　to　have　thought　the

most　probable　thing　to　be　said　of　her　eyes　was　that　they　were　grey

and　expressive。　　Thus；　after　seeing　them；　does　he　describe　them　in

one　of　his　letters。　　Whereas　Mrs　Gaskell；　who　shows　signs　of

attention；　says　that　Charlotte's　eyes　were　a　reddish　hazel；　made　up

of　〃a　great　variety　of　tints；〃　to　be　discovered　by　close　looking。

Almost　all　eves　that　are　not　brown　are；　in　fact；　of　some　such　mixed

colour；　generally　spotted　in；　and　the　effect　is　vivacious。　　All　the

more　if　the　speckled　iris　has　a　dark　ring　to　enclose　it。



Nevertheless；　the　eye　of　mixed　colour　has　always　a　definite

character；　and　the　mingling　that　looks　green　is　quite　unlike　the

mingling　that　looks　grey；　and　among　the　greys　there　is　endless

difference。　　Brown　eyes　alone　are　apart；　unlike　all　others；　but

having　no　variety　except　in　the　degrees　of　their　darkness。



The　colour　of　eyes　seems　to　be　significant　of　temperament；　but　as

regards　beauty　there　is　little　or　nothing　to　choose　among　colours。

It　is　not　the　eye；　but　the　eyelid；　that　is　important；　beautiful；

eloquent；　full　of　secrets。　　The　eye　has　nothing　but　its　colour；　and

all　colours　are　fine　within　fine　eyelids。　　The　eyelid　has　all　the

form；　all　the　drawing；　all　the　breadth　and　length；　the　square　of

great　eyes　irregularly　wide；　the　long　corners　of　narrow　eyes；　the

pathetic　outward　droop；　the　delicate　contrary　suggestion　of　an

upward　turn　at　the　outer　corner；　which　Sir　Joshua　loved。



It　is　the　blood　that　is　eloquent；　and　there　is　no　sign　of　blood　in

the　eye；　but　in　the　eyelid　the　blood　hides　itself　and　shows　its

signs。　　All　along　its　edges　are　the　little　muscles；　living；　that

speak　not　only　the　obvious　and　emphatic　things；　but　what

reluctances；　what　perceptions；　what　ambiguities；　what　half…

apprehensions；　what　doubts；　what　interceptions！　　The　eyelids

confess；　and　reject；　and　refuse　to　reject。　　They　have　expressed　all

things　ever　since　man　was　man。



And　they　express　so　much　by　seeming　to　hide　or　to　reveal　that　which

indeed　expresses　nothing。　　For　there　is　no　message　from　the　eye。　　It

has　direction；　it　moves；　in　the　service　of　the　sense　of　sight；　it

receives　the　messages　of　the　world。　　But　expression　is　outward；　and

the　eye　has　it　not。　　There　are　no　windows　of　the　soul；　there　are

only　curtains；　and　these　show　all　things　by　seeming　to　hide　a　little

more；　a　little　less。　　They　hide　nothing　but　their　own　secrets。



But；　some　may　say；　the　eyes　have　emotion　inasmuch　as　they　betray　it

by　the　waxing　and　contracting　of　the　pupils。　　It　is；　however；　the

rarest　thing；　this　opening　and　narrowing　under　any　influences　except

those　of　darkness　and　light。　　It　does　take　place　exceptionally；　but

I　am　doubtful　whether　those　who　talk　of　it　have　ever　really　been

attentive　enough　to　perceive　it。　　A　nervous　woman；　brown…eyed　and

young；　who　stood　to　tell　the　news　of　her　own　betrothal；　and　kept　her

manners　exceedingly　composed　as　she　spoke；　had　this　waxing　and

closing　of　the　pupils；　it　went　on　all　the　time　like　a　slow；　slow

pulse。　　But　such　a　thing　is　not　to　be　seen　once　a　year。



Moreover；　it　is　…　though　so　significant　…　hardly　to　be　called

expression。　　It　is　not　articulate。　　It　implies　emotion；　but　does　not

define；　or　describe；　or　divide　it。　　It　is　touching；　insomuch　as　we

have　knowledge　of　the　perturbed　tide　of　the　spirit　that　must　cause

it；　but　it　is　not　otherwise　eloquent。　　It　does　not　tell　us　the

quality　of　the　thought；　it　does　not　inform　and　surprise　as　with

intricacies。　　It　speaks　no　more　explicit　or　delicate　things　than

does　the　pulse　in　its　quickening。　　It　speaks　with　less　division　of

meanings　than　does　the　taking　of　the　breath；　which　has　impulses　and

degrees。



No；　the　eyes　do　their　work；　but　do　it　blankly；　without

communication。　　Openings　into　the　being　they　may　be；　but　the　closed

cheek　is　more　communicative。　　From　them　the　blood　of　Perdita　never

did　look　out。　　It　ebbed　and　flowed　in　her　face；　her　dance；　her　talk。

It　was　hiding　in　her　paleness；　and　cloistered　in　her　reserve；　but

visible　in　prison。　　It　leapt　and　looked；　at　a　word。　　It　was

conscious　in　the　fingers　that　reached　out　flowers。　　It　ran　with　her。

It　was　silenced　when　she　hushed　her　answers　to　the　king。　　Everywhere

it　was　close　behind　the　doors　…　everywhere　but　in　her　eyes。



How　near　at　hand　was　it；　then；　in　the　living　eyelids　that　expressed

her　in　their　minute　and　instant　and　candid　manner！　　All　her

withdrawals；　every　hesitation；　fluttered　there。　　A　flock　of　meanings

and　intelligences　alighted　on　those　mobile　edges。



Think；　then；　of　all　the　famous　eyes　in　the　world；　that　said　so　much；

and　said　it　in　no　other　way　but　only　by　the　little　exquisite　muscles

of　their　lids。　　How　were　these　ever　strong　enough　to　bear　the　burden

of　those　eyes　of　Heathcliff's　in　〃Wuthering　Heights〃？　　〃The　clouded

windows　of　Hell　flashed　a　moment　towards　me；　the　fiend　which　usually

looked　out；　however；　was　so　dimmed　and　drowned　…　〃　　That　mourning

fiend；　who　had　wept　all　night；　had　no　expression；　no　proof　or　sign

of　himself；　except　in　the　edges　of　the　eyelids　of　the　man。



And　the　eyes　of　Garrick？　　Eyelids；　again。　　And　the　eyes　of　Charles

Dickens；　that　were　said　to　contain　the　life　of　fifty　men？　　On　the

mechanism　of　the　eyelids　hung　that　fifty…fold　vitality。　　〃Bacon　had

a　delicate；　lively；　hazel　eye；〃　says　Aubrey　in　his　〃Lives　of　Eminent

Persons。〃　　But　nothing　of　this　belongs　to　the　eye　except　the　colour。

Mere　brightness　the　eyeball　has　or　has　not；　but　so　have　many　glass

beads：　the　liveliness　is　the　eyelid's。　　〃Dr　Harvey　told　me　it　was

like　the　eie　of　a　viper。〃　　So　intent　and　narrowed　must　have　been　the

attitude　of　Bacon's　eyelids。



〃I　never　saw　such　another　eye　in　a　human；　head；〃　says　Scott　in

describing　Burns；　〃though　I　have　seen　the　most　distinguished　men　in

my　time。　　It　was　large；　and　of　a　dark　cast；　and　glowed　（I　say

literally　glowed）　when　he　spoke　with　feeling　or　interest。　　The　eye

alone；　I　think；　indicated　the　poetical　character　and　temperament。〃

No　eye　literally　glows；　but　some　eyes　are　polished　a　little　more；

and　reflect。　　And　this　is　the　utmost　that　can　possibly　have　been

true　as　to　the　eyes　of　Burns。　　But　set　within　the　meanings　of

impetuous　eyelids　the　lucidity　of　the　dark　eyes　seemed　broken；

moved；　directed　into　fiery　shafts。



See；　too；　the　reproach　of　little；　sharp；　grey　eyes　addressed　to

Hazlitt。　　There　are　neither　large　nor　small　eyes；　say　physiologists；

or　the　difference　is　so　small　as　to　be　negligeable。　　But　in　the

eyelids　the　difference　is　great　between　large　and　small；　and　also

between　the　varieties　of　largeness。　　Some　have　large　openings；　and

some　are　in　themselves　broad　and　long；　serenely　covering　eyes　called