the colour of life(生命之色)-第6节
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
least； the friar would assuredly have attempted to include her in any
spiritual honours ascribed to him。 Or one might have asked of her the
condescension of forbearance。 〃Only fancy；〃 said the Salvation Army
girl； watching the friar out of sight； 〃only fancy making such a fool of
one's self！〃
The great hood of the friars； which is drawn over the head in
Zurbaran's ecstatic picture； is turned to use when the friars are busy。 As a
pocket it relieves the over…burdened hands。 A bottle of the local white
wine made by the brotherhood at Genoa； and sent to this house by the
West； is carried in the cowl as a present to the stranger at the gates。 The
friars tell how a brother resolved； at Shrovetide； to make pancakes； and not
only to make； but also to toss them。 Those who chanced to be in the
room stood prudently aside； and the brother tossed boldly。 But that was
the last that was seen of his handiwork。 Victor Hugo sings in La Legende
des Siecles of disappearance as the thing which no creature is able to
achieve： here the impossibility seemed to be accomplished by quite an
ordinary and a simple pancake。 It was clean gone； and there was an end
of it。 Nor could any explanation of this ceasing of a pancake from the
midst of the visible world be so much as divined by the spectators。 It
was only when the brother； in church； knelt down to meditate and drew his
cowl about his head that the accident was explained。
Every midnight the sweet contralto bells call the community； who get
up gaily to this difficult service。 Of all duties this one never grows easy
or familiar； and therefore never habitual。 It is something to have found
but one act aloof from habit。 It is not merely that the friars overcome the
habit of sleep。 The subtler point is that they can never acquire the habit
of sacrificing sleep。 What art； what literature； or what life but would gain a
secret security by such a point of perpetual freshness and perpetual
initiative？ It is not possible to get up at midnight without a will that is
new night by night。 So should the writer's work be done； and； with an
intention perpetually unique； the poet's。
The contralto bells have taught these Western hills the 〃Angelus〃 of
the French fields； and the hour of night … l'ora di notte … which rings with
so melancholy a note from the village belfries on the Adriatic littoral；
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
when the latest light is passing。 It is the prayer for the dead： 〃Out of the
depths have I cried unto Thee； O Lord。〃
The little flocks of novices； on paschal evenings； are folded to the
sound of that evening prayer。 The care of them is the central work of the
monastery； which is placed in so remote a country because it is principally
a place of studies。 So much elect intellect and strength of heart
withdrawn from the traffic of the world！ True； the friars are not doing
the task which Carlyle set mankind as a refuge from despair。 These
〃bearded counsellors of God〃 keep their cells； read； study； suffer； sing；
hold silence； whereas they might be 〃operating〃 … beautiful word！ … upon
the Stock Exchange； or painting Academy pictures； or making speeches； or
reluctantly jostling other men for places。 They might be among the
involuntary busybodies who are living by futile tasks the need whereof is a
discouraged fiction。 There is absolutely no limit to the superfluous
activities； to the art； to the literature； implicitly renounced by the dwellers
within such walls as these。 The output … again a beautiful word … of the
age is lessened by this abstention。 None the less hopes the stranger and
pilgrim to pause and knock once again upon those monastery gates。
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
RUSHES AND REEDS
Taller than the grass and lower than the trees； there is another growth
that feels the implicit spring。 It had been more abandoned to winter than
even the short grass shuddering under a wave of east wind； more than the
dumb trees。 For the multitudes of sedges； rushes； canes； and reeds were
the appropriate lyre of the cold。 On them the nimble winds played their
dry music。 They were part of the winter。 It looked through them and
spoke through them。 They were spears and javelins in array to the sound
of the drums of the north。
The winter takes fuller possession of these things than of those that
stand solid。 The sedges whistle his tune。 They let the colour of his light
look through … low…flying arrows and bright bayonets of winter day。
The multitudes of all reeds and rushes grow out of bounds。 They
belong to the margins of lands； the space between the farms and the river；
beyond the pastures； and where the marsh in flower becomes perilous
footing for the cattle。 They are the fringe of the low lands； the sign of
streams。 They grow tall between you and the near horizon of flat lands。
They etch their sharp lines upon the sky； and near them grow flowers of
stature； including the lofty yellow lily。
Our green country is the better for the grey； soft； cloudy darkness of
the sedge； and our full landscape is the better for the distinction of its
points； its needles； and its resolute right lines。
Ours is a summer full of voices； and therefore it does not so need the
sound of rushes； but they are most sensitive to the stealthy breezes； and
betray the passing of a wind that even the tree…tops knew not of。
Sometimes it is a breeze unfelt； but the stiff sedges whisper it along a mile
of marsh。 To the strong wind they bend； showing the silver of their
sombre little tassels as fish show the silver of their sides turning in the
pathless sea。 They are unanimous。 A field of tall flowers tosses many
ways in one warm gale； like the many lovers of a poet who have a
thousand reasons for their love； but the rushes； more strongly tethered； are
swept into a single attitude； again and again； at every renewal of the storm。
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THE COLOUR OF LIFE
Between the pasture and the wave； the many miles of rushes and reeds
in England seem to escape that insistent ownership which has so changed
（except for a few forests and downs） the aspect of England； and has in fact
made the landscape。 Cultivation makes the landscape elsewhere； rather
than ownership； for the boundaries in the south are not conspicuous； but
here it is ownership。 But the rushes are a gipsy people； amongst us； yet
out of reach。 The landowner； if he is rather a gross man； believes these
races of reeds are his。 But if he is a man of sensibility； depend upon it he
has his interior doubts。 His property； he says； goes right down to the
centre of the earth； in the shape of a wedge； how high up it goes into the
air it would be difficult to say； and obviously the shape of the wedge must
be continued in the direction of increase。 We may therefore proclaim his
right to the clouds and their cargo。 It is true that as his ground game is
apt to go upon his neighbour's land to be shot； so the clouds may now and
then spend his showers elsewhere。 But the great thing is the view。 A
well…appointed country…house sees nothing out of the windows that is not
its own。 But he who tells you so； and proves it to you by his own view； is
certainly disturbed by an unspoken doubt； if his otherwise contented eyes
should happen to be caught by a region of rushes。 The water is his … he
had the pond made； or the river； for a space； and the fish； for
