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！
known even to dreams save in that first year of separation。 But
they are not biographers。
If death is the privacy of the woods； it is the more conspicuously
secret because it is their only privacy。 You may watch or may
surprise everything else。 The nest is retired； not hidden。 The
chase goes on everywhere。 It is wonderful how the perpetual chase
seems to cause no perpetual fear。 The songs are all audible。 Life
is undefended； careless； nimble and noisy。
It is a happy thing that minor artists have ceased； or almost
ceased； to paint dead birds。 Time was when they did it continually
in that British School of water…colour art； stippled； of which
surrounding nations； it was agreed； were envious。 They must have
killed their bird to paint him； for he is not to be caught dead。 A
bird is more easily caught alive than dead。
A poet； on the contrary； is easily … too easily … caught dead。
Minor artists now seldom stipple the bird on its back； but a good
sculptor and a University together modelled their Shelley on his
back； unessentially drowned； and everybody may read about the sick
mind of Dante Rossetti。
CLOUD
During a part of the year London does not see the clouds。 Not to
see the clear sky might seem her chief loss； but that is shared by
the rest of England； and is； besides； but a slight privation。 Not
to see the clear sky is； elsewhere； to see the cloud。 But not so in
London。 You may go for a week or two at a time； even though you
hold your head up as you walk； and even though you have windows that
really open； and yet you shall see no cloud； or but a single edge；
the fragment of a form。
Guillotine windows never wholly open； but are filled with a doubled
glass towards the sky when you open them towards the street。 They
are； therefore； a sure sign that for all the years when no other
windows were used in London； nobody there cared much for the sky； or
even knew so much as whether there were a sky。
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