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！
or at least that moves with 〃no pace perceived。〃 The vibrating
wings are folded； and Corot's wind； that flew through so many
springs； summers； and Septembers for him （he was seldom a painter of
very late autumn）； that was mingled with so many aspen…leaves； that
strewed his forests with wood for the gatherer； and blew the broken
lights into the glades； is charmed into stillness； and the sky into
another kind of immortality。 Nor are the trees in this antique
landscape the trees so long intimate with Corot's south…west wind；
so often entangled with his uncertain twilights。 They are as quiet
as the cloud； and such as the long and wild breezes of Romance have
never shaken or enlaced。
Upon all our islands this south…west wind is the sea wind。 But
elsewhere there are sea winds that are not from the south…west。
They； too； none the less； are conquerors。 They； too； are always
strong； compelling winds that take possession of the light； the
shadow； the sun； moon； and stars； and constrain them all alike to
feel the sea。 Not a field； not a hillside； on a sea…wind day； but
shines with some soft sea…lights。 The moon's little boat tosses on
a sea…wind night。
The south…west wind takes the high Italian coasts。 He gathers the
ilex woods together and throngs them close； as a sheep…dog gathers
the sheep。 They crowd for shelter； and a great wall； leaning inland
also； with its strong base to the sea； receives them。 It is blank
and sunny； and the trees within are sunny and dark； serried； and
their tops swept and flattened by months of sea…storms。 On the
farther side there are gardens … gardens that have in their midst
those quietest things in all the world and most windless； box…hedges
and ponds。 The gardens take shelter behind the scared and hurried
ilex woods； and the sea…wind spares them and breaks upon the
mountain。 But the garden also is his； and his wild warm days have
filled it with orange…trees and roses； and have given all the
abundant charm to its gay neglect； to its grass…grown terraces； and
to all its lapsed； forsaken； and forgotten dainties。
Nothing of the nature in this seaward Italy would be so beautiful
without the touch of man and of the sea gales。
When the south…west wind brings his rain he brings it with the
majestic onset announced by his breath。 And when the light follows；
it comes from his own doorway in the verge。 His are the opened
evenings after a day shut down with cloud。 He fills the air with
innumerable particles of moisture that scatter and bestow the sun。
There are no other days like his； of so universal a harmony； so
generous。
The north wind has his own landscape； too； but the east wind never。
The aspect which he gives to the day is not all his own。 The
sunshine is sweet in spite of him。 The clouds go under his whip；
but they have kinder greys than should be the colours of his cold。
Not on an east…wind day are these races in heaven； for the clouds
are all far off。 His rain is angry； and it flies against the
sunset。 The world is not one in his reign； but rather there is a
perpetual revolt or difference。 The lights and shadows are not all
his。 The waxing and waning hours are disaffected。 He has not a
great style； and does not convince the day。
All the four winds are brave； and not the less brave because； on
their way through town； they are betrayed for a moment into taking
part in any paltriness that may be there。 On their way from the
Steppes to the Atlantic they play havoc with the nerves of very
insignificant people。 A part； as it were； of every gale that starts
in the far north…east finds its goal in the breath of a reluctant
citizen。
You will meet a wind of the world nimble and eager in a sorry
street。 But these are only accidents of the way … the winds go free
again。 Those that do not go free； but close their course； are those
that are breathed by the nostrils of living creatures。 A great
flock of those wild birds come to a final pause in London； and fan
the fires of life with those wings in the act of folding。 In the
blood and breath of a child close the influences of continent and
sea。
THE HONOURS OF MORTALITY
The brilliant talent which has quite lately and quite suddenly
arisen； to devote itself to the use of the day or of the week； in
illustrated papers … the enormous production of art in black and
white … is assuredly a confession that the Honours of Mortality are
worth working for。 Fifty years ago； men worked for the honours of
immortality； these were the commonplace of their ambition； they
declined to attend to the beauty of things of use that were destined
to be broken and worn out； and they looked forward to surviving
themselves by painting bad pictures； so that what to do with their
bad pictures in addition to our own has become the problem of the
nation and of the householder alike。 To…day men have began to learn
that their sons will be grateful to them for few bequests。 Art
consents at last to work upon the tissue and the china that are
doomed to the natural and necessary end … destruction； and art shows
a most dignified alacrity to do her best； daily； for the 〃process；〃
and for oblivion。
Doubtless this abandonment of hopes so large at once and so cheap
costs the artist something； nay； it implies an acceptance of the
inevitable that is not less than heroic。 And the reward has been in
the singular and manifest increase of vitality in this work which is
done for so short a life。 Fittingly indeed does life reward the
acceptance of death； inasmuch as to die is to have been alive。
There is a real circulation of blood…quick use； brief beauty；
abolition； recreation。 The honour of the day is for ever the honour
of that day。 It goes into the treasury of things that are honestly
and … completely ended and done with。 And when can so happy a thing
be said of a lifeless oil…painting？ Who of the wise would hesitate？
To be honourable for one day … one named and dated day； separate
from all other days of the ages … or to be for an unlimited time
tedious？
AT MONASTERY GATES
No woman has ever crossed the inner threshold； or shall ever cross
it； unless a queen； English or foreign； should claim her privilege。
Therefore； if a woman records here the slighter things visible of
the monastic life； it is only because she was not admitted to see
more than beautiful courtesy and friendliness were able to show her
in guest…house and garden。
The Monastery is of fresh…looking Gothic； by Pugin … the first of
the dynasty： it is reached by the white roads of a limestone
country； and backed by a young plantation； and it gathers its group
of buildings in a cleft high up among the hills of Wales。 The brown
habit is this； and these are the sandals； that come and go by hills
of finer； sharper； and loftier line； edging the dusk and dawn of an
Umbrian sky。 Just such a Via Crucis climbs the height above Orta；
and from the foot of its final crucifix you can see the sunrise
touch the top of Monte Rosa； while the encircled lake below is cool
with the last of the night。 The same order of friars keep that sub…
Alpine Monte Sacro； and the same have set the Kreuzberg beyond Bonn
with the same steep path by the same fourteen chapels； facing the
Seven Mountains and the Rhine。
Here； in North Wales； remote as the country is； with the wheat green
over the blunt hill…tops； and the sky vibrating with larks； a long
wing of smoke lies round the horizon。 The country； rather thinly
and languidly cultivated above； has a valuable sub…soil； and is
burrowed with mines； the breath of pit and factory； out of sight；
thickens the lower sky； and lies heavily over the sands of Dee。 It
leaves the upper blue clear and the head of Orion； but dims the
flicker of Sirius and shortens the steady ray of the evening star。
The people scattered about are not mining people； but half…hearted
agriculturists； and very poor。 Their cottages are rather cabins；
not a tiled roof is in the country； but the slates have taken some
beauty with time； having dips and dimples； and grass upon their
edges。 The walls are all thickly whitewashed； which is a pleasure
to see。 How willingly would one swish the harmless whitewash over
more than half the colour … over all the chocolate and all the blue
… with which the buildings of the world are stained！ You could not
wish for a better； simpler； or fresher harmony than whitewash makes
with the slight sunshine and the bright grey of an English sky。
The grey…stone； grey…roofed monastery looks young in one sense … it
is modern； and the friars look young in another … they are like
their brothers of an earlier time。 No one； except the journalists
of yesterday； would spend upon them those tedious words； 〃quaint；〃
or 〃old world。〃 No such weary adjectives are spoken here； unless it
be by the excursionists。
With large