the children-第3节

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or　from　the　left〃　when　her　portrait　was　a…painting。　　She　was　an
observant　woman；　and　liked　to　be　lighted　from　the　front。　　It　is　a
light　from　the　right　or　from　the　left　that　marks　an　elderly　face
with　minute　shadows。　　And　you　must　place　a　child　in　such　a　light；　in
order　to　see　the　finishing　and　parting　caress　that　infancy　has　given
to　his　face。　　The　down　will　then　be　found　even　on　the　thinnest　and
clearest　skin　of　the　middle　red　of　his　cheek。　　His　hair；　too；　is
imponderably　fine；　and　his　nails　are　not　much　harder　than　petals。

To　return　to　the　child　in　January。　　It　is　his　month　for　the　laying
up　of　dreams。　　No　one　can　tell　whether　it　is　so　with　all　children；
or　even　with　a　majority；　but　with　some　children；　of　passionate
fancy；　there　occurs　now　and　then　a　children's　dance；　or　a　party　of
any　kind；　which　has　a　charm　and　glory　mingled　with　uncertain　dreams。
Never　forgotten；　and　yet　never　certainly　remembered　as　a　fact　of
this　life；　is　such　an　evening。　　When　many　and　many　a　later　pleasure；
about　the　reality　of　which　there　never　was　any　kind　of　doubt；　has
been　long　forgotten；　that　eveningas　to　which　all　is　doubtis
impossible　to　forget。　　In　a　few　years　it　has　become　so　remote　that
the　history　of　Greece　derives　antiquity　from　it。　　In　later　years　it
is　still　doubtful；　still　a　legend。

The　child　never　asked　how　much　was　fact。　　It　was　always　so
immeasurably　long　ago　that　the　sweet　party　happenedif　indeed　it
happened。　　It　had　so　long　taken　its　place　in　that　past　wherein　lurks
all　the　antiquity　of　the　world。　　No　one　would　know；　no　one　could
tell　him；　precisely　what　occurred。　　And　who　can　know　whetherif　it
be　indeed　a　dreamhe　has　dreamt　it　often；　or　has　dreamt　once　that
he　had　dreamt　it　often？　　That　dubious　night　is　entangled　in　repeated
visions　during　the　lonely　life　a　child　lives　in　sleep；　it　is
intricate　with　illusions。　　It　becomes　the　most　mysterious　and　the
least　worldly　of　all　memories；　a　spiritual　past。　　The　word　pleasure
is　too　trivial　for　such　a　remembrance。　　A　midwinter　long　gone　by
contained　the　suggestion　of　such　dreams；　and　the　midwinter　of　this
year　must　doubtless　be　preparing　for　the　heart　of　many　an　ardent
young　child　a　like　legend　and　a　like　antiquity。　　For　the　old　it　is　a
mere　present。



THAT　PRETTY　PERSON



During　the　many　years　in　which　〃evolution〃　was　the　favourite　word；
one　significant　lessonso　it　seemswas　learnt；　which　has　outlived
controversy；　and　has　remained　longer　than　the　questions　at　issuean
interesting　and　unnoticed　thing　cast　up　by　the　storm　of　thoughts。
This　is　a　disposition；　a　general　consent；　to　find　the　use　and　the
value　of　process；　and　even　to　understand　a　kind　of　repose　in　the
very　wayfaring　of　progress。　　With　this　is　a　resignation　to　change；
and　something　more　than　resignationa　delight　in　those　qualities
that　could　not　be　but　for　their　transitoriness。

What；　then；　is　this　but　the　admiration；　at　last　confessed　by　the
world；　for　childhood？　　Time　was　when　childhood　was　but　borne　with；
and　that　for　the　sake　of　its　mere　promise　of　manhood。　　We　do　not　now
hold；　perhaps；　that　promise　so　high。　　Even；　nevertheless；　if　we　held
it　high；　we　should　acknowledge　the　approach　to　be　a　state　adorned
with　its　own　conditions。

But　it　was　not　so　once。　　As　the　primitive　lullaby　is　nothing　but　a
patient　prophecy　（the　mother's）；　so　was　education；　some　two　hundred
years　ago；　nothing　but　an　impatient　prophecy　（the　father's）　of　the
full　stature　of　body　and　mind。　　The　Indian　woman　sings　of　the　future
hunting。　　If　her　song　is　not　restless；　it　is　because　she　has　a　sense
of　the　results　of　time；　and　has　submitted　her　heart　to　experience。
Childhood　is　a　time　of　danger；　〃Would　it　were　done。〃　　But；
meanwhile；　the　right　thing　is　to　put　it　to　sleep　and　guard　its
slumbers。　　It　will　pass。　　She　sings　prophecies　to　the　child　of　his
hunting；　as　she　sings　a　song　about　the　robe　while　she　spins；　and　a
song　about　bread　as　she　grinds　corn。　　She　bids　good　speed。

John　Evelyn　was　equally　eager；　and　not　so　submissive。　　His　child
〃that　pretty　person〃　in　Jeremy　Taylor's　letter　of　condolencewas
chiefly　precious　to　him　inasmuch　as　he　was；　too　soon；　a　likeness　of
the　man　he　never　lived　to　be。　　The　father；　writing　with　tears　when
the　boy　was　dead；　says　of　him：　　〃At　two　and　a　half　years　of　age　he
pronounced　English；　Latin；　and　French　exactly；　and　could　perfectly
read　in　these　three　languages。〃　　As　he　lived　precisely　five　years；
all　he　did　was　done　at　that　little　age；　and　it　comprised　this：　　〃He
got　by　heart　almost　the　entire　vocabulary　of　Latin　and　French
primitives　and　words；　could　make　congruous　syntax；　turn　English　into
Latin；　and　vice　versa；　construe　and　prove　what　he　read；　and　did　the
government　and　use　of　relatives；　verbs；　substantives；　ellipses；　and
many　figures　and　tropes；　and　made　a　considerable　progress　in
Comenius's　'Janua；'　and　had　a　strong　passion　for　Greek。〃

Grant　that　this　may　be　a　little　abated；　because　a　very　serious　man
is　not　to　be　too　much　believed　when　he　is　describing　what　he
admires；　it　is　the　very　fact　of　his　admiration　that　is　so　curious　a
sign　of　those　hasty　times。　　All　being　favorable；　the　child　of
Evelyn's　studious　home　would　have　done　all　these　things　in　the
course　of　nature　within　a　few　years。　　It　was　the　fact　that　he　did
them　out　of　the　course　of　nature　that　was；　to　Evelyn；　so　exquisite。
The　course　of　nature　had　not　any　beauty　in　his　eyes。　　It　might　be
borne　with　for　the　sake　of　the　end；　but　it　was　not　admired　for　the
majesty　of　its　unhasting　process。　　Jeremy　Taylor　mourns　with　him
〃the　strangely　hopeful　child；〃　whowithout　Comenius's　〃Janua〃　and
without　congruous　syntaxwas　fulfilling；　had　they　known　it；　an
appropriate　hope；　answering　a　distinctive　prophecy；　and　crowning　and
closing　a　separate　expectation　every　day　of　his　five　years。

Ah！　the　word　〃hopeful〃　seems；　to　us；　in　this　day；　a　word　too
flattering　to　the　estate　of　man。　　They　thought　their　little　boy
strangely　hopeful　because　he　was　so　quick　on　his　way　to　be　something
else。　　They　lost　the　timely　perfection　the　while　they　were　so　intent
upon　their　hopes。　　And　yet　it　is　our　own　modern　age　that　is　charged
with　haste！

It　would　seem　rather　as　though　the　world；　whatever　it　shall　unlearn；
must　rightly　learn　to　confess　the　passing　and　irrevocable　hour；　not
slighting　it；　or　bidding　it　hasten　its　work；　nor　yet　hailing　it；
with　Faust；　〃Stay；　thou　art　so　fair！〃　　Childhood　is　but　change　made
gay　and　visible；　and　the　world　has　lately　been　converted　to　change。

Our　fathers　valued　change　for　the　sake　of　its　results；　we　value　it
in　the　act。　　To　us　the　change　is　revealed　as　perpetual；　every
passage　is　a　goal；　and　every　goal　a　passage。　　The　hours　are　equal；
but　some　of　them　wear　apparent　wings。

Tout　passe。　　Is　the　fruit　for　the　flower；　or　the　flower　for　the
fruit；　or　the　fruit　for　the　seeds　which　it　is　formed　to　shelter　and
contain？　　It　seems　as　though　our　forefathers　had　answered　this
question　most　arbitrarily　as　to　the　life　of　man。

All　their　literature　dealing　with　children　is　bent　upon　this　haste；
this　suppression　of　the　approach　to　what　seemed　then　the　only　time
of　fulfilment。　　The　way　was　without　rest　to　them。　　And　this　because
they　had　the　illusion　of　a　rest　to　be　gained　at　some　later　point　of
this　unpausing　life。

Evelyn　and　his　contemporaries　dropped　the　very　word　child　as　soon　as
might　be；　if　not　sooner。　　When　a　poor　little　boy　came　to　be　eight
years　old　they　called　him　a　youth。　　The　diarist　himself　had　no　cause
to　be　proud　of　his　own　early　years；　for　he　was　so　far　indulged　in
idleness　by　an　〃honoured　grandmother〃　that　he　was　〃not　initiated
into　any　rudiments〃　till　he　was　four　years　of　age。　　He　seems　even　to
have　been　a　youth　of　eight　before　Latin　was　seriously　begun；　but
this　fact　he　is　evidently；　in　after　years；　with　a　total　lack　of　a
sense　of　humour；　rather　ashamed　of；　and　hardly　acknowledges。　　It　is
difficult　to　imagine　what　childhood　must　have　been　when　nobody；
looking　on；　saw　any　fun　in　it；　when　everything　that　was　proper　to
five　years　old　was　defect。　　A　strange　good　conceit　of　themselves　and
of　their　own　ages　had　those　fathers。

They　took　their　children　seriously；　without　relief。　　Evelyn　has
nothing　to　say　about　his　little　ones　that　has　a　sign　of　a　smile　in
it。　　Twice　are　children；　not　his　own；　mentioned　in　his　diary。　　Once
he　goes　to　the　wedding　of　a　maid　of　five　years　olda　curious　thing；
but　not；　evidently；　an　occasion　of　sensibility。　　Another　time　he
stands　by；　in　a　French　hospital；　while　a　youth　of　less　than　nine
years　of　age　undergoes　a　frightful　surgical　operation　〃with
extraordinary　patience。〃　　〃The　use　I　made　of　it　was　to　give　Almighty
God　hearty　thanks　that　I　had　not　been　subject　to　this　deplorable
infirmitie。〃　　This　is　what　he　says。

See；　moreover；　how　the　fashion　of　hurrying　childhood　prevailed　in
literature；　and　how　it　abolished　little　girls。　　It　may　be　that　there
were　in　all　ageseven　thosecertain　few　boys　who　insisted　upon
being　children；　whereas　the　girls　were　docile　to　the　adult　ideal。
Art；　for　example；　had　no　little　girls。　　There　was　always　Cupid；　and
there　were　the　prosperous　urchin…angels　of　the　painters；　the　one　who
is　hauling　up　his　little　brother　by　the　hand　in　the　〃Last　Communion
of　St。　Jerome〃　might