the colour of life-第4章

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be　said　of　a　lifeless　oil…painting？　　Who　of　the　wise　would　hesitate？

To　be　honourable　for　one　day　…　one　named　and　dated　day；　separate

from　all　other　days　of　the　ages　…　or　to　be　for　an　unlimited　time

tedious？







AT　MONASTERY　GATES







No　woman　has　ever　crossed　the　inner　threshold；　or　shall　ever　cross

it；　unless　a　queen；　English　or　foreign；　should　claim　her　privilege。

Therefore；　if　a　woman　records　here　the　slighter　things　visible　of

the　monastic　life；　it　is　only　because　she　was　not　admitted　to　see

more　than　beautiful　courtesy　and　friendliness　were　able　to　show　her

in　guest…house　and　garden。



The　Monastery　is　of　fresh…looking　Gothic；　by　Pugin　…　the　first　of

the　dynasty：　it　is　reached　by　the　white　roads　of　a　limestone

country；　and　backed　by　a　young　plantation；　and　it　gathers　its　group

of　buildings　in　a　cleft　high　up　among　the　hills　of　Wales。　　The　brown

habit　is　this；　and　these　are　the　sandals；　that　come　and　go　by　hills

of　finer；　sharper；　and　loftier　line；　edging　the　dusk　and　dawn　of　an

Umbrian　sky。　　Just　such　a　Via　Crucis　climbs　the　height　above　Orta；

and　from　the　foot　of　its　final　crucifix　you　can　see　the　sunrise

touch　the　top　of　Monte　Rosa；　while　the　encircled　lake　below　is　cool

with　the　last　of　the　night。　　The　same　order　of　friars　keep　that　sub…

Alpine　Monte　Sacro；　and　the　same　have　set　the　Kreuzberg　beyond　Bonn

with　the　same　steep　path　by　the　same　fourteen　chapels；　facing　the

Seven　Mountains　and　the　Rhine。



Here；　in　North　Wales；　remote　as　the　country　is；　with　the　wheat　green

over　the　blunt　hill…tops；　and　the　sky　vibrating　with　larks；　a　long

wing　of　smoke　lies　round　the　horizon。　　The　country；　rather　thinly

and　languidly　cultivated　above；　has　a　valuable　sub…soil；　and　is

burrowed　with　mines；　the　breath　of　pit　and　factory；　out　of　sight；

thickens　the　lower　sky；　and　lies　heavily　over　the　sands　of　Dee。　　It

leaves　the　upper　blue　clear　and　the　head　of　Orion；　but　dims　the

flicker　of　Sirius　and　shortens　the　steady　ray　of　the　evening　star。

The　people　scattered　about　are　not　mining　people；　but　half…hearted

agriculturists；　and　very　poor。　　Their　cottages　are　rather　cabins；

not　a　tiled　roof　is　in　the　country；　but　the　slates　have　taken　some

beauty　with　time；　having　dips　and　dimples；　and　grass　upon　their

edges。　　The　walls　are　all　thickly　whitewashed；　which　is　a　pleasure

to　see。　　How　willingly　would　one　swish　the　harmless　whitewash　over

more　than　half　the　colour　…　over　all　the　chocolate　and　all　the　blue

…　with　which　the　buildings　of　the　world　are　stained！　　You　could　not

wish　for　a　better；　simpler；　or　fresher　harmony　than　whitewash　makes

with　the　slight　sunshine　and　the　bright　grey　of　an　English　sky。



The　grey…stone；　grey…roofed　monastery　looks　young　in　one　sense　…　it

is　modern；　and　the　friars　look　young　in　another　…　they　are　like

their　brothers　of　an　earlier　time。　　No　one；　except　the　journalists

of　yesterday；　would　spend　upon　them　those　tedious　words；　〃quaint；〃

or　〃old　world。〃　　No　such　weary　adjectives　are　spoken　here；　unless　it

be　by　the　excursionists。



With　large　aprons　tied　over　their　brown　habits；　the　Lay　Brothers

work　upon　their　land；　planting　parsnips　in　rows；　or　tending　a

prosperous　bee…farm。　　A　young　friar；　who　sang　the　High　Mass

yesterday；　is　gaily　hanging　the　washed　linen　in　the　sun。　　A　printing

press；　and　a　machine　which　slices　turnips；　are　at　work　in　an

outhouse；　and　the　yard　thereby　is　guarded　by　a　St　Bernard；　whose

single　evil　deed　was　that　under　one　of　the　obscure　impulses　of　a

dog's　heart　…atoned　for　by　long　and　self…conscious　remorse　…　he　bit

the　poet；　and　tried；　says　one　of　the　friars；　to　make　doggerel　of

him。　　The　poet；　too；　lives　at　the　monastery　gates；　and　on　monastery

ground；　in　a　seclusion　which　the　tidings　of　the　sequence　of　his

editions　hardly　reaches。　　There　is　no　disturbing　renown　to　be　got

among　the　cabins　of　the　Flintshire　hills。　　Homeward；　over　the　verge；

from　other　valleys；　his　light　figure　flits　at　nightfall；　like　a

moth。



To　the　coming　and　going　of　the　friars；　too；　the　village　people　have

become　well　used；　and　the　infrequent　excursionists；　for　lack　of

intelligence　and　of　any　knowledge　that　would　refer　to　history；　look

at　them　without　obtrusive　curiosity。　　It　was　only　from　a　Salvation

Army　girl　that　you　heard　the　brutal　word　of　contempt。　　She　had　come

to　the　place　with　some　companions；　and　with　them　was　trespassing；　as

she　was　welcome　to　do；　within　the　monastery　grounds。　　She　stood；　a

figure　for　Bournemouth　pier；　in　her　grotesque　bonnet；　and　watched

the　son　of　the　Umbrian　saint　…　the　friar　who　walks　among　the　Giotto

frescoes　at　Assisi　and　between　the　cypresses　of　Bello　Sguardo；　and

has　paced　the　centuries　continually　since　the　coming　of　the　friars。

One　might　have　asked　of　her　the　kindness　of　a　fellow…feeling。　　She

and　he　alike　were　so　habited　as　to　show　the　world　that　their　life

was　aloof　from　its　〃idle　business。〃　　By　some　such　phrase；　at　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；　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。







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。



Between　the　pasture　and　the　wave；　the　many　miles　of　rushes　and　reeds

in　England　seem　to　escape　that　insistent　owne