the colour of life(生命之色)-第14节
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then that he conceived Antiquity。 But now！ Is it to a decade of ten such
little years as these now in his hand … ten of his mature years … that men
give the dignity of a century？ They call it an age； but what if life shows
now so small that the word age has lost its gravity？
In fact； when a child begins to know that there is a past； he has a most
noble rod to measure it by … he has his own ten years。 He attributes an
overwhelming majesty to all recorded time。 He confers distance。 He；
and he alone； bestows mystery。 Remoteness is his。 He creates more than
mortal centuries。 He sends armies fighting into the extremities of the
past。 He assigns the Parthenon to a hill of ages； and the temples of Upper
Egypt to sidereal time。
If there were no child； there would be nothing old。 He； having
conceived old time； communicates a remembrance at least of the mystery
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to the mind of the man。 The man perceives at last all the illusion； but he
cannot forget what was his conviction when he was a child。 He had once
a persuasion of Antiquity。 And this is not for nothing。 The enormous
undeception that comes upon him still leaves spaces in his mind。
But the undeception is rude work。 The man receives successive
shocks。 It is as though one strained level eyes towards the horizon； and
then were bidden to shorten his sight and to close his search within a poor
half acre before his face。 Now； it is that he suddenly perceives the
hitherto remote； remote youth of his own parents to have been something
familiarly near； so measured by his new standard； again； it is the coming
of Attila that is displaced。 Those ten last years of his have corrected the
world。 There needs no other rod than that ten years' rod to chastise all
the imaginations of the spirit of man。 It makes history skip。
To have lived through any appreciable part of any century is to hold
thenceforth a mere century cheap enough。 But； it may be said； the
mystery of change remains。 Nay； it does not。 Change that trudges
through our own world … our contemporary world … is not very mysterious。
We perceive its pace； it is a jog…trot。 Even so； we now consider； jolted
the changes of the past； with the same hurry。
The man； therefore； who has intelligently ceased to be a child scans
through a shortened avenue the reaches of the past。 He marvels that he
was so deceived。 For it was a very deception。 If the Argonauts； for
instance； had been children； it would have been well enough for the child
to measure their remoteness and their acts with his own magnificent
measure。 But they were only men and demi…gods。 Thus they belong to
him as he is now … a man； and not to him as he was once … a child。 It was
quite wrong to lay the child's enormous ten years' rule along the path from
our time to theirs； that path must be skipped by the nimble yard in the
man's present possession。 Decidedly the Argonauts are no subject for the
boy。
What； then？ Is the record of the race nothing but a bundle of such
little times？ Nay； it seems that childhood； which created the illusion of
ages； does actually prove it true。 Childhood is itself Antiquity … to every
man his only Antiquity。 The recollection of childhood cannot make
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Abraham old again in the mind of a man of thirty…five； but the beginning
of every life is older than Abraham。 THERE is the abyss of time。 Let a
man turn to his own childhood … no further … if he would renew his sense
of remoteness； and of the mystery of change。
For in childhood change does not go at that mere hasty amble； it
rushes； but it has enormous space for its flight。 The child has an
apprehension not only of things far off； but of things far apart； an illusive
apprehension when he is learning 〃ancient〃 history … a real apprehension
when he is conning his own immeasurable infancy。 If there is no
historical Antiquity worth speaking of； this is the renewed and
unnumbered Antiquity for all mankind。
And it is of this … merely of this … that 〃ancient〃 history seems to
partake。 Rome was founded when we began Roman history； and that is
why it seems long ago。 Suppose the man of thirty…five heard； at that
present age； for the first time of Romulus。 Why； Romulus would be
nowhere。 But he built his wall； as a matter of fact； when every one was
seven years old。 It is by good fortune that 〃ancient〃 history is taught in
the only ancient days。 So； for a time； the world is magical。
Modern history does well enough for learning later。 But by learning
something of antiquity in the first ten years； the child enlarges the sense of
time for all mankind。 For even after the great illusion is over and history
is re…measured； and all fancy and flight caught back and chastised； the
enlarged sense remains enlarged。 The man remains capable of great
spaces of time。 He will not find them in Egypt； it is true； but he finds
them within； he contains them； he is aware of them。 History has fallen
together； but childhood surrounds and encompasses history； stretches
beyond and passes on the road to eternity。
He has not passed in vain through the long ten years； the ten years that
are the treasury of preceptions … the first。 The great disillusion shall
never shorten those years； nor set nearer together the days that made them。
〃Far apart；〃 I have said； and that 〃far apart〃 is wonderful。 The past of
childhood is not single； is not motionless； nor fixed in one point； it has
summits a world away one from the other。 Year from year differs as the
antiquity of Mexico from the antiquity of Chaldea。 And the man of
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thirty…five knows for ever afterwards what is flight； even though he finds
no great historic distances to prove his wings by。
There is a long and mysterious moment in long and mysterious
childhood； which is the extremest distance known to any human fancy。
Many other moments； many other hours； are long in the first ten years。
Hours of weariness are long … not with a mysterious length； but with a
mere length of protraction； so that the things called minutes and half…hours
by the elderly may be something else to their apparent contemporaries； the
children。 The ancient moment is not merely one of these … it is a space
not of long； but of immeasurable； time。 It is the moment of going to
sleep。 The man knows that borderland； and has a contempt for it： he has
long ceased to find antiquity there。 It has become a common enough
margin of dreams to him； and he does not attend to its phantasies。 He
knows that he has a frolic spirit in his head which has its way at those
hours； but he is not interested in it。 It is the inexperienced child who
passes with simplicity through the marginal country； and the thing he
meets there is principally the yet further conception of illimitable time。
His nurse's lullaby is translated into the mysteries of time。 She sings
absolutely immemorial words。 It matters little what they may mean to
waking ears； to the ears of a child going to sleep they tell of the beginning
of the world。 He has fallen asleep to the sound of them all his life； and
〃all his life〃 means more than older speech can well express。
Ancient custom is formed in a single spacious year。 A child is beset
with long tradi
