the colour of life-第13节

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those　of　darkness　and　light。　　It　does　take　place　exceptionally；　but

I　am　doubtful　whether　those　who　talk　of　it　have　ever　really　been

attentive　enough　to　perceive　it。　　A　nervous　woman；　brown…eyed　and

young；　who　stood　to　tell　the　news　of　her　own　betrothal；　and　kept　her

manners　exceedingly　composed　as　she　spoke；　had　this　waxing　and

closing　of　the　pupils；　it　went　on　all　the　time　like　a　slow；　slow

pulse。　　But　such　a　thing　is　not　to　be　seen　once　a　year。



Moreover；　it　is　…　though　so　significant　…　hardly　to　be　called

expression。　　It　is　not　articulate。　　It　implies　emotion；　but　does　not

define；　or　describe；　or　divide　it。　　It　is　touching；　insomuch　as　we

have　knowledge　of　the　perturbed　tide　of　the　spirit　that　must　cause

it；　but　it　is　not　otherwise　eloquent。　　It　does　not　tell　us　the

quality　of　the　thought；　it　does　not　inform　and　surprise　as　with

intricacies。　　It　speaks　no　more　explicit　or　delicate　things　than

does　the　pulse　in　its　quickening。　　It　speaks　with　less　division　of

meanings　than　does　the　taking　of　the　breath；　which　has　impulses　and

degrees。



No；　the　eyes　do　their　work；　but　do　it　blankly；　without

communication。　　Openings　into　the　being　they　may　be；　but　the　closed

cheek　is　more　communicative。　　From　them　the　blood　of　Perdita　never

did　look　out。　　It　ebbed　and　flowed　in　her　face；　her　dance；　her　talk。

It　was　hiding　in　her　paleness；　and　cloistered　in　her　reserve；　but

visible　in　prison。　　It　leapt　and　looked；　at　a　word。　　It　was

conscious　in　the　fingers　that　reached　out　flowers。　　It　ran　with　her。

It　was　silenced　when　she　hushed　her　answers　to　the　king。　　Everywhere

it　was　close　behind　the　doors　…　everywhere　but　in　her　eyes。



How　near　at　hand　was　it；　then；　in　the　living　eyelids　that　expressed

her　in　their　minute　and　instant　and　candid　manner！　　All　her

withdrawals；　every　hesitation；　fluttered　there。　　A　flock　of　meanings

and　intelligences　alighted　on　those　mobile　edges。



Think；　then；　of　all　the　famous　eyes　in　the　world；　that　said　so　much；

and　said　it　in　no　other　way　but　only　by　the　little　exquisite　muscles

of　their　lids。　　How　were　these　ever　strong　enough　to　bear　the　burden

of　those　eyes　of　Heathcliff's　in　〃Wuthering　Heights〃？　　〃The　clouded

windows　of　Hell　flashed　a　moment　towards　me；　the　fiend　which　usually

looked　out；　however；　was　so　dimmed　and　drowned　…　〃　　That　mourning

fiend；　who　had　wept　all　night；　had　no　expression；　no　proof　or　sign

of　himself；　except　in　the　edges　of　the　eyelids　of　the　man。



And　the　eyes　of　Garrick？　　Eyelids；　again。　　And　the　eyes　of　Charles

Dickens；　that　were　said　to　contain　the　life　of　fifty　men？　　On　the

mechanism　of　the　eyelids　hung　that　fifty…fold　vitality。　　〃Bacon　had

a　delicate；　lively；　hazel　eye；〃　says　Aubrey　in　his　〃Lives　of　Eminent

Persons。〃　　But　nothing　of　this　belongs　to　the　eye　except　the　colour。

Mere　brightness　the　eyeball　has　or　has　not；　but　so　have　many　glass

beads：　the　liveliness　is　the　eyelid's。　　〃Dr　Harvey　told　me　it　was

like　the　eie　of　a　viper。〃　　So　intent　and　narrowed　must　have　been　the

attitude　of　Bacon's　eyelids。



〃I　never　saw　such　another　eye　in　a　human；　head；〃　says　Scott　in

describing　Burns；　〃though　I　have　seen　the　most　distinguished　men　in

my　time。　　It　was　large；　and　of　a　dark　cast；　and　glowed　（I　say

literally　glowed）　when　he　spoke　with　feeling　or　interest。　　The　eye

alone；　I　think；　indicated　the　poetical　character　and　temperament。〃

No　eye　literally　glows；　but　some　eyes　are　polished　a　little　more；

and　reflect。　　And　this　is　the　utmost　that　can　possibly　have　been

true　as　to　the　eyes　of　Burns。　　But　set　within　the　meanings　of

impetuous　eyelids　the　lucidity　of　the　dark　eyes　seemed　broken；

moved；　directed　into　fiery　shafts。



See；　too；　the　reproach　of　little；　sharp；　grey　eyes　addressed　to

Hazlitt。　　There　are　neither　large　nor　small　eyes；　say　physiologists；

or　the　difference　is　so　small　as　to　be　negligeable。　　But　in　the

eyelids　the　difference　is　great　between　large　and　small；　and　also

between　the　varieties　of　largeness。　　Some　have　large　openings；　and

some　are　in　themselves　broad　and　long；　serenely　covering　eyes　called

small。　　Some　have　far　more　drawing　than　others；　and　interesting

foreshortenings　and　sweeping　curves。



Where　else　is　spirit　so　evident？　　And　where　else　is　it　so　spoilt？

There　is　no　vulgarity　like　the　vulgarity　of　vulgar　eyelids。　　They

have　a　slang　all　their　own；　of　an　intolerable　kind。　　And　eyelids

have　looked　all　the　cruel　looks　that　have　ever　made　wounds　in

innocent　souls　meeting　them　surprised。



But　all　love　and　all　genius　have　winged　their　flight　from　those

slight　and　unmeasurable　movements；　have　flickered　on　the　margins　of

lovely　eyelids　quick　with　thought。　　Life；　spirit；　sweetness　are

there　in　a　small　place；　using　the　finest　and　the　slenderest

machinery；　expressing　meanings　a　whole　world　apart；　by　a　difference

of　material　action　so　fine　that　the　sight　which　appreciates　it

cannot　detect　it；　expressing　intricacies　of　intellect；　so　incarnate

in　slender　and　sensitive　flesh　that　nowhere　else　in　the　body　of　man

is　flesh　so　spiritual。











End