the spirit of place and other essays-第13节

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those　glances。　　They　must　die　of　dismay。



Tolstoi　sees　everything　that　is　within　sight。　　That　he　sees　this

multitude　of　things　with　invincible　simplicity　is　what　proves　him　an

artist；　nevertheless；　for　such　perception　as　his　there　is　no　peace。

For　when　it　is　not　the　trivialities　of　other　men's　habits　but　the

actualities　of　his　own　mind　that　he　follows　without　rest；　for　him

there　is　no　possible　peace　but　sleep。　　To　him；　more　than　to　all

others；　it　has　been　said；　〃Watch！〃　　There　is　no　relapse；　there　is　no

respite　but　sleep　or　death。



To　such　a　mind　every　night　must　come　with　an　overwhelming　change；　a

release　too　great　for　gratitude。　　What　a　falling　to　sleep！　　What　a

manumission；　what　an　absolution！　　Consciousness　and　conscience　set

free　from　the　exacted　instant　replies　of　the　unrelapsing　day。　　And

at　the　awakening　all　is　ready　yet　once　more；　and　apprehension　begins

again：　　a　perpetual　presence　of　mind。



Dr。　Johnson　was　〃absent。〃　　No　man　of　〃absent〃　mind　is　without　some

hourly　deliverance。　　It　is　on　the　present　mind　that　presses　the

burden　of　the　present　world。







SHADOWS







Another　good　reason　that　we　ought　to　leave　blank；　unvexed；　and

unencumbered　with　paper　patterns　the　ceiling　and　walls　of　a　simple

house　is　that　the　plain　surface　may　be　visited　by　the　unique　designs

of　shadows。　　The　opportunity　is　so　fine　a　thing　that　it　ought

oftener　to　be　offered　to　the　light　and　to　yonder　handful　of　long

sedges　and　rushes　in　a　vase。　　Their　slender　grey　design　of　shadows

upon　white　walls　is　better　than　a　tedious；　trivial；　or　anxious

device　from　the　shop。



The　shadow　has　all　intricacies　of　perspective　simply　translated　into

line　and　intersecting　curve；　and　pictorially　presented　to　the　eyes；

not　to　the　mind。　　The　shadow　knows　nothing　except　its　flat　designs。

It　is　single；　it　draws　a　decoration　that　was　never　seen　before；　and

will　never　be　seen　again；　and　that；　untouched；　varies　with　the

journey　of　the　sun；　shifts　the　interrelation　of　a　score　of　delicate

lines　at　the　mere　passing　of　time；　though　all　the　room　be

motionless。　　Why　will　design　insist　upon　its　importunate

immortality？　　Wiser　is　the　drama；　and　wiser　the　dance；　that　do　not

pause　upon　an　attitude。　　But　these　walk　with　passion　or　pleasure；

while　the　shadow　walks　with　the　earth。　　It　alters　as　the　hours

wheel。



Moreover；　while　the　habit　of　your　sunward　thoughts　is　still　flowing

southward；　after　the　winter　and　the　spring；　it　surprises　you　in　the

sudden　gleam　of　a　north…westering　sun。　　It　decks　a　new　wall；　it　is

shed　by　a　late　sunset　through　a　window　unvisited　for　a　year　past；　it

betrays　the　flitting　of　the　sun　into　unwonted　skiesa　sun　that

takes　the　midsummer　world　in　the　rear；　and　shows　his　head　at　a

sally…porte；　and　is　about　to　alight　on　an　unused　horizon。　　So　does

the　grey　drawing；　with　which　you　have　allowed　the　sun　and　your　pot

of　rushes　to　adorn　your　room；　play　the　stealthy　game　of　the　year。



You　need　not　stint　yourself　of　shadows；　for　an　occasion。　　It　needs

but　four　candles　to　make　a　hanging　Oriental　bell　play　the　most

buoyant　jugglery　overhead。　　Two　lamps　make　of　one　palm…branch　a

symmetrical　countercharge　of　shadows；　and　here　two　palm…branches

close　with　one　another　in　shadow；　their　arches　flowing　together；　and

their　paler　greys　darkening。　　It　is　hard　to　believe　that　there　are

many　to　prefer　a　〃repeating　pattern。〃



It　must　be　granted　to　them　that　a　grey　day　robs　of　their　decoration

the　walls　that　should　be　sprinkled　with　shadows。　　Let；　then；　a

plaque　or　a　picture　be　kept　for　hanging　on　shadowless　clays。　　To

dress　a　room　once　for　all；　and　to　give　it　no　more　heed；　is　to

neglect　the　units　of　the　days。



Shadows　within　doors　are　yet　only　messages　from　that　world　of

shadows　which　is　the　landscape　of　sunshine。　　Facing　a　May　sun　you

see　little　except　an　infinite　number　of　shadows。　　Atoms　of　shadow

be　the　day　bright　enoughcompose　the　very　air　through　which　you　see

the　light。　　The　trees　show　you　a　shadow　for　every　leaf；　and　the

poplars　are　sprinkled　upon　the　shining　sky　with　little　shadows　that

look　translucent。　　The　liveliness　of　every　shadow　is　that　some　light

is　reflected　into　it；　shade　and　shine　have　been　entangled　as　though

by　some　wild　wind　through　their　million　molecules。



The　coolness　and　the　dark　of　night　are　interlocked　with　the

unclouded　sun。　　Turn　sunward　from　the　north；　and　shadows　come　to

life；　and　are　themselves　the　life；　the　action；　and　the　transparence

of　their　day。



To　eyes　tired　and　retired　all　day　within　lowered　blinds；　the　light

looks　still　and　changeless。　　So　many　squares　of　sunshine　abide　for

so　many　hours；　and　when　the　sun　has　circled　away　they　pass　and　are

extinguished。　　Him　who　lies　alone　there　the　outer　world　touches　less

by　this　long　sunshine　than　by　the　haste　and　passage　of　a　shadow。

Although　there　may　be　no　tree　to　stand　between　his　window　and　the

south；　and　although　no　noonday　wind　may　blow　a　branch　of　roses

across　the　blind；　shadows　and　their　life　will　be　carried　across　by　a

brilliant　bird。



To　the　sick　man　a　cloud…shadow　is　nothing　but　an　eclipse；　he　cannot

see　its　shape；　its　color；　its　approach；　or　its　flight。　　It　does　but

darken　his　window　as　it　darkens　the　day；　and　is　gone　again；　he　does

not　see　it　pluck　and　snatch　the　sun。　　But　the　flying　bird　shows　him

wings。　　What　flash　of　light　could　be　more　bright　for　him　than　such　a

flash　of　darkness？



It　is　the　pulse　of　life；　where　all　change　had　seemed　to　be　charmed。

If　he　had　seen　the　bird　itself　he　would　have　seen　lessthe　bird's

shadow　was　a　message　from　the　sun。



There　are　two　separated　flights　for　the　fancy　to　follow；　the　flight

of　the　bird　in　the　air；　and　the　flight　of　its　shadow　on　earth。　　This

goes　across　the　window　blind；　across　the　wood；　where　it　is　astray

for　a　while　in　the　shades；　it　dips　into　the　valley；　growing　vaguer

and　larger；　runs；　quicker　than　the　wind；　uphill；　smaller　and　darker

on　the　soft　and　dry　grass；　and　rushes　to　meet　its　bird　when　the　bird

swoops　to　a　branch　and　clings。



In　the　great　bird　country　of　the　north…eastern　littoral　of　England；

about　Holy　Island　and　the　basaltic　rocks；　the　shadows　of　the　high

birds　are　the　movement　and　the　pulse　of　the　solitude。　　Where　there

are　no　woods　to　make　a　shade；　the　sun　suffers　the　brilliant　eclipse

of　flocks　of　pearl…white　sea　birds；　or　of　the　solitary　creature

driving　on　the　wind。　　Theirs　is　always　a　surprise　of　flight。　　The

clouds　go　one　way；　but　the　birds　go　all　ways：　　in　from　the　sea　or

out；　across　the　sands；　inland　to　high　northern　fields；　where　the

crops　are　late　by　a　month。　　They　fly　so　high　that　though　they　have

the　shadow　of　the　sun　under　their　wings；　they　have　the　light　of　the

earth　there　also。　　The　waves　and　the　coast　shine　up　to　them；　and

they　fly　between　lights。



Black　flocks　and　white　they　gather　their　delicate　shadows　up；　〃swift

as　dreams；〃　at　the　end　of　their　flight　into　the　clefts；　platforms；

and　ledges　of　harbourless　rocks　dominating　the　North　Sea。　　They

subside　by　degrees；　with　lessening　and　shortening　volleys　of　wings

and　cries　until　there　comes　the　general　shadow　of　night　wherewith

the　little　shadows　close；　complete。



The　evening　is　the　shadow　of　another　flight。　　All　the　birds　have

traced　wild　and　innumerable　paths　across　the　mid…May　earth；　their

shadows　have　fled　all　day　faster　than　her　streams；　and　have

overtaken　all　the　movement　of　her　wingless　creatures。　　But　now　it　is

the　flight　of　the　very　earth　that　carries　her　clasped　shadow　from

the　sun。







Footnotes：



｛1｝　　I　found　it　afterwards：　　it　was　Rebecca。









End