the rhythm of life and other essays(生命的旋律)-第3节
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chastity of letters and in the honour of lifethat I was bound to love。 Not
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the things of one character only； but excellent things of every character。
There was no tyranny in such a method。 His idleness justified itself by
the liberality it permitted to his taste。 Never having made his love of
letters further a secondary purpose； never having bound the literary
geniusthat delicate Arielto any kind of servitude； never having so much
as permitted himself a prejudice whereby some of his delights should be
stinted while others were indulged beyond the sanctions of modest reason；
he barely tolerated his own preferences； which lay somewhat on the hither
side of full effectiveness of style。 These the range of his reading
confessed by certain exclusions。 Nevertheless it was not of deficiencies
that he was patient： he did but respect the power of pause； and he
disliked violence chiefly because violence is apt to confess its own limits。
Perhaps； indeed； his own fine negatives made him only the more sensible
of any lack of those literary qualities that are bound in their full
complement to hold themselves at the disposal of the consummate author
to stand and wait； if they may do no more。
Men said that he led a DILETTANTE life。 They reproached him
with the selflessness that made him somewhat languid。 Others； they
seemed to aver； were amateurs at this art or that； he was an amateur at
living。 So it was； in the sense that he never grasped at happiness； and
that many of the things he had held slipped from his disinterested hands。
So it was； too； in this unintended sense； he loved life。 How should he not
have loved a life that his living made honourable？ How should he not
have loved all arts； in which his choice was delicate； liberal； instructed；
studious； docile； austere？ An amateur man he might have been called；
too； because he was not discomposed by his own experiences； or shaken
by the discovery which life brings to us…that the negative quality of which
Buddhism seems to accuse all good is partaken by our happiness。 He had
always prayed temperate prayers and harboured probable wishes。 His
sensibility was extreme； but his thought was generalised。 When he had
joy he tempered it not in the common way by meditation upon the general
sorrow but by a recollection of the general pleasure。 It was his finest
distinction to desire no differences； no remembrance； but loss among the
innumerable forgotten。 And when he suffered； it was with so quick a
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nerve and yet so wide an apprehension that the race seemed to suffer in
him。 He pitied not himself so tenderly as mankind； of whose capacity for
pain he was then feelingly persuaded。 His darkening eyes said in the
extreme hour： 'I have compassion on the multitude。'
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THE SUN
Nowhere else does the greater light so rule the day； so measure； so
divide； so reign； make so imperial laws； so visibly kindle； so immediately
quicken； so suddenly efface； so banish； so restore； as in a plain like this of
Suffolk with its enormous sky。 The curious have an insufficient motive
for going to the mountains if they do it to see the sunrise。 The sun that
leaps from a mountain peak is a sun past the dew of his birth； he has
walked some way towards the common fires of noon。 But on the flat
country the uprising is early and fresh； the arc is wide； the career is long。
The most distant clouds； converging in the beautiful and little…studied
order of cloud…perspective （for most painters treat clouds as though they
formed perpendicular and not horizontal scenery）； are those that gather at
the central point of sunrise。 On the plain； and there only； can the
constructionbut that is too little vital a word； I should rather say the
organismthe unity； the design； of a sky be understood。 The light wind
that has been moving all night is seen to have not worked at random。 It
has shepherded some small flocks of cloud afield and folded others。
There's husbandry in Heaven。 And the order has； or seems to have； the sun
for its midst。 Not a line； not a curve； but confesses its membership in a
design declared from horizon to horizon。
To see the system of a sky in fragments is to miss what I learn to look
for in all achieved works of Nature and art： the organism that is unity
and life。 It is the unity and life of painting。 The Early Victorian picture…
…（the school is still in full career； but essentially it belongs to that
triumphal period）is but a dull sum of things put together； in concourse；
not in relation； but the true picture is ONE； however multitudinous it may
be； for it is composed of relations gathered together in the unity of
perception； of intention； and of light。 It is organic。 Moreover； how truly
relation is the condition of life may be understood from the extinct state of
the English stage； which resembles nothing so much as a Royal Academy
picture。 Even though the actors may be added together with something
like vivacity （though that is rare）； they have no vitality in common。 They
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are not members one of another。 If the Church and Stage Guild be still in
existence； it would do much for the art by teaching that Scriptural maxim。
I think； furthermore； that the life of our bodies has never been defined so
suggestively as by one who named it a living relation of lifeless atoms。
Could the value of relation be more curiously set forth？ And one might
penetrate some way towards a consideration of the vascular organism of a
true literary style in which there is a vital relation of otherwise lifeless
word with word。 And wherein lies the progress of architecture from the
stupidity of the pyramid and the dead weight of the Cyclopean wall to the
spring and the flight of the ogival arch； but in a quasi…organic relation？
But the way of such thoughts might be intricate； and the sun rules me to
simplicity。
He reigns as centrally in the blue sky as in the clouds。 One October
of late had days absolutely cloudless。 I should not have certainly known
it had there been a hill in sight。 The gradations of the blue are
incalculable； infinite； and they deepen from the central fire。 As to the
earthly scenery； there are but two 'views' on the plain； for the aspect of the
light is the whole landscape。 To look with the sun or against the sunthis
is the alternative splendour。 To look with the sun is to face a golden
country； shadowless； serene； noble and strong in light； with a certain lack
of relief that suggeststo those who dream of landscapethe country of a
dream。 The serried pines； and the lighted fields； and the golden ricks of
the farms are dyed with the sun as one might paint with a colour。 Bright
as it is； the glow is rather the dye of sunlight than its luminosity。 For by a
kind of paradox the luminous landscape is that which is full of shadows
the landscape before you when you turn and face the sun。 Not only every
reed and rush of the salt marshes； every uncertain aspen…leaf of the few
trees； but every particle of the October air shows a shadow and makes a
mystery of the light。 There is nothing but shadow and sun；
