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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
small。 Some have far more drawing than others； and interesting
foreshortenings and sweeping curves。
Where else is spirit so evident？ And where else is it so spoilt？
There is no vulgarity like the vulgarity of vulgar eyelids。 They
have a slang all their own； of an intolerable kind。 And eyelids
have looked all the cruel looks that have ever made wounds in
innocent souls meeting them surprised。
But all love and all genius have winged their flight from those
slight and unmeasurable movements； have flickered on the margins of
lovely eyelids quick with thought。 Life； spirit； sweetness are
there in a small place； using the finest and the slenderest
machinery； expressing meanings a whole world apart； by a difference
of material action so fine that the sight which appreciates it
cannot detect it； expressing intricacies of intellect； so incarnate
in slender and sensitive flesh that nowhere else in the body of man
is flesh so spiritual。
End