the colour of life-第3章

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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　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　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　tree。　　For　you　stand　or　stray　in　the

futile　building；　while　the　cloud　is　no　mansion　for　man；　and　out　of

reach　of　his　limitations。



The　cloud；　moreover；　controls　the　sun；　not　merely　by　keeping　the

custody　of　his　rays；　but　by　becoming　the　counsellor　of　his　temper。

The　cloud　veils　an　angry　sun；　or；　more　terribly；　lets　fly　an　angry

ray；　suddenly　bright　upon　tree　and　tower；　with　iron…grey　storm　for　a

background。　　Or　when　anger　had　but　threatened；　the　cloud　reveals

him；　gentle　beyond　hope。　　It　makes　peace；　constantly；　just　before

sunset。



It　is　in　the　confidence　of　the　winds；　and　wears　their　colours。

There　is　a　heavenly　game；　on　south…west　wind　days；　when　the　clouds

are　bowled　by　a　breeze　from　behind　the　evening。　　They　are　round　and

brilliant；　and　come　leaping　up　from　the　horizon　for　hours。　　This　is

a　frolic　and　haphazard　sky。



All　unlike　this　is　the　sky　that　has　a　centre；　and　stands　composed

about　it。　　As　the　clouds　marshalled　the　earthly　mountains；　so　the

clouds　in　turn　are　now　ranged。　　The　tops　of　all　the　celestial　Andes

aloft　are　swept　at　once　by　a　single　ray；　warmed　with　a　single

colour。　　Promontory　after　league…long　promontory　of　a　stiller

Mediterranean　in　the　sky　is　called　out　of　mist　and　grey　by　the　same

finger。　　The　cloudland　is　very　great；　but　a　sunbeam　makes　all　its

nations　and　continents　sudden　with　light。



All　this　is　for　the　untravelled。　　All　the　winds　bring　him　this

scenery。　　It　is　only　in　London；　for　part　of　the　autumn　and　part　of

the　winter；　that　the　unnatural　smoke…fog　comes　between。　　And　for

many　and　many　a　day　no　London　eye　can　see　the　horizon；　or　the　first

threat　of　the　cloud　like　a　man's　hand。　　There　never　was　a　great

painter　who　had　not　exquisite　horizons；　and　if　Corot　and　Crome　were

right；　the　Londoner　loses　a　great　thing。



He　loses　the　coming　of　the　cloud；　and　when　it　is　high　in　air　he

loses　its　shape。　　A　cloud…lover　is　not　content　to　see　a　snowy　and

rosy　head　piling　into　the　top　of　the　heavens；　he　wants　to　see　the

base　and　the　altitude。　　The　perspective　of　a　cloud　is　a　great　part

of　its　design　…　whether　it　lies　so　that　you　can　look　along　the

immense　horizontal　distances　of　its　floor；　or　whether　it　rears　so

upright　a　pillar　that　you　look　up　its　mountain　steeps　in　the　sky　as

you　look　at　the　rising　heights　of　a　mountain　that　stands；　with　you；

on　the　earth。



The　cloud　has　a　name　suggesting　darkness；　nevertheless；　it　is　not

merely　the　guardian　of　the　sun's　rays　and　their　director。　　It　is　the

sun's　treasurer；　it　holds　the　light　that　the　world　has　lost。　　We

talk　of　sunshine　and　moonshine；　but　not　of　cloud…shine；　which　is　yet

one　of　the　illuminations　of　our　skies。　　A　shining　cloud　is　one　of

the　most　majestic　of　all　secondary　lights。　　If　the　reflecting　moon

is　the　bride；　this　is　the　friend　of　the　bridegroom。



Needless　to　say；　the　cloud　of　a　thunderous　summer　is　the　most

beautiful　of　all。　　It　has　spaces　of　a　grey　for　which　there　is　no

name；　and　no　other　cloud　looks　over　at　a　vanishing　sun　from　such

heights　of　blue　air。　　The　shower…cloud；　too；　with　its　thin　edges；

comes　across　the　sky　with　so　influential　a　flight　that　no　ship　going

out　to　sea　can　be　better　worth　watching。　　The　dullest　thing　perhaps

in　the　London　streets　is　that　people　take　their　rain　there　without

knowing　anything　of　the　cloud　that　drops　it。　　It　is　merely　rain；　and

means　wetness。　　The　shower…cloud　there　has　limits　of　time；　but　no

limits　of　form；　and　no　history　whatever。　　It　has　not　come　from　the

clear　edge　of　the　plain　to　the　south；　and　will　not　shoulder　anon　the

hill　to　the　north。　　The　rain；　for　this　city；　hardly　comes　or　goes；

it　does　but　begin　and　stop。　　No　one　looks　after　it　on　the　path　of

its　retreat。







WINDS　OF　THE　WORL