the colour of life(生命之色)-第4节
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merely the guardian of the sun's rays and their director。 It is the sun's
treasurer； it holds the light that the world has lost。 We talk of sunshine
and moonshine； but not of cloud…shine； which is yet one of the
illuminations of our skies。 A shining cloud is one of the most majestic of
all secondary lights。 If the reflecting moon is the bride； this is the friend
of the bridegroom。
Needless to say； the cloud of a thunderous summer is the most
beautiful of all。 It has spaces of a grey for which there is no name； and
no other cloud looks over at a vanishing sun from such heights of blue air。
The shower…cloud； too； with its thin edges； comes across the sky with so
influential a flight that no ship going out to sea can be better worth
watching。 The dullest thing perhaps in the London streets is that people
take their rain there without knowing anything of the cloud that drops it。
It is merely rain； and means wetness。 The shower…cloud there has limits
of time； but no limits of form； and no history whatever。 It has not come
from the clear edge of the plain to the south； and will not shoulder anon
the hill to the north。 The rain； for this city； hardly comes or goes； it does
but begin and stop。 No one looks after it on the path of its retreat。
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WINDS OF THE WORLD
Every wind is； or ought to be； a poet； but one is classic and converts
everything in his day co…unity； another is a modern man； whose words
clothe his thoughts； as the modern critics used to say prettily in the early
sixties； and therefore are separable。 This wind； again； has a style； and
that wind a mere manner。 Nay； there are breezes from the east…south…east；
for example； that have hardly even a manner。 You can hardly name them
unless you look at the weather vane。 So they do not convince you by
voice or colour of breath； you place their origin and assign them a history
according as the hesitating arrow points on the top of yonder ill…designed
London spire。
The most certain and most conquering of all is the south…west wind。
You do not look to the weather…vane to decide what shall be the style of
your greeting to his morning。 There is no arbitrary rule of courtesy
between you and him； and you need no arrow to point to his distinctions；
and to indicate to you the right manner of treating such a visitant。
He prepares the dawn。 While it is still dark the air is warned of his
presence； and before the window was opened he was already in the room。
His sun … for the sun is his … rises in a south…west mood； with a bloom on
the blue； the grey； or the gold。 When the south… west is cold； the cold is
his own cold … round； blunt； full； and gradual in its very strength。 It is a
fresh cold； that comes with an approach； and does not challenge you in the
manner of an unauthorised stranger； but instantly gets your leave； and even
a welcome to your house of life。 He follows your breath in at your throat；
and your eyes are open to let him in； even when he is cold。 Your blood
cools； but does not hide from him。
He has a splendid way with his sky。 In his flight； which is that； not of
a bird； but of a flock of birds； he flies high and low at once： high with his
higher clouds； that keep long in the sight of man； seeming to move slowly；
and low with the coloured clouds that breast the hills and are near to the
tree…tops。 These the south… west wind tosses up from his soft horizon；
round and successive。 They are tinted somewhat like ripe clover…fields； or
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like hay…fields just before the cutting； when all the grass is in flower； and
they are； oftener than all other clouds； in shadow。 These low…lying flocks
are swift and brief； the wind casts them before him； from the western
verge to the eastern。
Corot has painted so many south…west winds that one might question
whether he ever painted； in his later manner at least； any others。 His skies
are thus in the act of flight； with lower clouds outrunning the higher； the
farther vapours moving like a fleet out at sea； and the nearer like dolphins。
In his 〃Classical Landscape： Italy；〃 the master has indeed for once a sky
that seems at anchor； 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
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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
