the children-第3章
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with a child。 That would touch her too nearly。 There would be the
human texture and the life like hers； but immeasurably more lovely。
No colour； no surface； no eyes of woman have ever been comparable
with the colour； the surface； and the eyes of childhood。 And no
poet has ever run the risk of such a defeat。 Why； it is defeat
enough for a woman to have her face； however well…favoured； close to
a child's； even if there is no one by who should be rash enough to
approach them still nearer by a comparison。
This； needless to say； is true of no other kind of beauty than that
beauty of light； colour； and surface to which the Elizabethans
referred； and which suggested their flatteries in disfavour of the
lily。 There are； indeed； other adult beauties； but those are such
as make no allusions to the garden。 What is here affirmed is that
the beautiful woman who is widely and wisely likened to the flowers；
which are inaccessibly more beautiful； must not； for her own sake；
be likened to the always accessible child。
Besides light and colour； children have a beauty of finish which is
much beyond that of more finished years。 This gratuitous addition；
this completeness； is one of their unexpected advantages。 Their
beauty of finish is the peculiarity of their first childhood； and
loses； as years are added； that little extra character and that
surprise of perfection。 A bloom disappears； for instance。 In some
little children the whole face； and especially all the space between
the growth of the eyebrows and the growth of the hair； is covered
with hardly perceptible down as soft as bloom。 Look then at the
eyebrows themselves。 Their line is as definite as in later life；
but there is in the child the flush given by the exceeding fineness
of the delicate hairs。 Moreover； what becomes； afterwards； of the
length and the curl of the eyelash？ What is there in growing up
that is destructive of a finish so charming as this？
Queen Elizabeth forbade any light to visit her face 〃from the right
or from the left〃 when her portrait was a…painting。 She was an
observant woman； and liked to be lighted from the front。 It is a
light from the right or from the left that marks an elderly face
with minute shadows。 And you must place a child in such a light； in
order to see the finishing and parting caress that infancy has given
to his face。 The down will then be found even on the thinnest and
clearest skin of the middle red of his cheek。 His hair； too； is
imponderably fine； and his nails are not much harder than petals。
To return to the child in January。 It is his month for the laying
up of dreams。 No one can tell whether it is so with all children；
or even with a majority； but with some children； of passionate
fancy； there occurs now and then a children's dance； or a party of
any kind； which has a charm and glory mingled with uncertain dreams。
Never forgotten； and yet never certainly remembered as a fact of
this life； is such an evening。 When many and many a later pleasure；
about the reality of which there never was any kind of doubt； has
been long forgotten； that eveningas to which all is doubtis
impossible to forget。 In a few years it has become so remote that
the history of Greece derives antiquity from it。 In later years it
is still doubtful； still a legend。
The child never asked how much was fact。 It was always so
immeasurably long ago that the sweet party happenedif indeed it
happened。 It had so long taken its place in that past wherein lurks
all the antiquity of the world。 No one would know； no one could
tell him； precisely what occurred。 And who can know whetherif it
be indeed a dreamhe has dreamt it often； or has dreamt once that
he had dreamt it often？ That dubious night is entangled in repeated
visions during the lonely life a child lives in sleep； it is
intricate with illusions。 It becomes the most mysterious and the
least worldly of all memories； a spiritual past。 The word pleasure
is too trivial for such a remembrance。 A midwinter long gone by
contained the suggestion of such dreams； and the midwinter of this
year must doubtless be preparing for the heart of many an ardent
young child a like legend and a like antiquity。 For the old it is a
mere present。
THAT PRETTY PERSON
During the many years in which 〃evolution〃 was the favourite word；
one significant lessonso it seemswas learnt； which has outlived
controversy； and has remained longer than the questions at issuean
interesting and unnoticed thing cast up by the storm of thoughts。
This is a disposition； a general consent； to find the use and the
value of process； and even to understand a kind of repose in the
very wayfaring of progress。 With this is a resignation to change；
and something more than resignationa delight in those qualities
that could not be but for their transitoriness。
What； then； is this but the admiration； at last confessed by the
world； for childhood？ Time was when childhood was but borne with；
and that for the sake of its mere promise of manhood。 We do not now
hold； perhaps； that promise so high。 Even； nevertheless； if we held
it high； we should acknowledge the approach to be a state adorned
with its own conditions。
But it was not so once。 As the primitive lullaby is nothing but a
patient prophecy （the mother's）； so was education； some two hundred
years ago； nothing but an impatient prophecy （the father's） of the
full stature of body and mind。 The Indian woman sings of the future
hunting。 If her song is not restless； it is because she has a sense
of the results of time； and has submitted her heart to experience。
Childhood is a time of danger； 〃Would it were done。〃 But；
meanwhile； the right thing is to put it to sleep and guard its
slumbers。 It will pass。 She sings prophecies to the child of his
hunting； as she sings a song about the robe while she spins； and a
song about bread as she grinds corn。 She bids good speed。
John Evelyn was equally eager； and not so submissive。 His child
〃that pretty person〃 in Jeremy Taylor's letter of condolencewas
chiefly precious to him inasmuch as he was； too soon； a likeness of
the man he never lived to be。 The father； writing with tears when
the boy was dead； says of him： 〃At two and a half years of age he
pronounced English； Latin； and French exactly； and could perfectly
read in these three languages。〃 As he lived precisely five years；
all he did was done at that little age； and it comprised this： 〃He
got by heart almost the entire vocabulary of Latin and French
primitives and words； could make congruous syntax； turn English into
Latin； and vice versa； construe and prove what he read； and did the
government and use of relatives； verbs； substantives； ellipses； and
many figures and tropes； and made a considerable progress in
Comenius's 'Janua；' and had a strong passion for Greek。〃
Grant that this may be a little abated； because a very serious man
is not to be too much believed when he is describing what he
admires； it is the very fact of his admiration that is so curious a
sign of those hasty times。 All being favorable； the child of
Evelyn's studious home would have done all these things in the
course of nature within a few years。 It was the fact that he did
them out of the course of nature that was； to Evelyn； so exquisite。
The course of nature had not any beauty in his eyes。 It might be
borne with for the sake of the end； but it was not admired for the
majesty of its unhasting process。 Jeremy Taylor mourns with him
〃the strangely hopeful child；〃 whowithout Comenius's 〃Janua〃 and
without congruous syntaxwas fulfilling； had they known it； an
appropriate hope； answering a distinctive prophecy； and crowning and
closing a separate expectation every day of his five years。
Ah！ the word 〃hopeful〃 seems； to us； in this day； a word too
flattering to the estate of man。 They thought their little boy
strangely hopeful because he was so quick on his way to be something
else。 They lost the timely perfection the while they were so intent
upon their hopes。 And yet it is our own modern age that is charged
with haste！
It would seem rather as though the world； whatever
