the colour of life-第7章

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But　for　the　vigilance　of　Vestries；　grass　would　reconcile　everything。

When　the　first　heat　of　the　summer　was　over；　a　few　nights　of　rain

altered　all　the　colour　of　the　world。　　It　had　been　the　brown　and

russet　of　drought　…　very　beautiful　in　landscape；　but　lifeless；　it

became　a　translucent；　profound；　and　eager　green。　　The　citizen　does

not　spend　attention　on　it。



Why；　then；　is　his　vestry　so　alert；　so　apprehensive；　so　swift；　in

perception　so　instant；　in　execution　so　prompt；　so　silent　in　action；

so　punctual　in　destruction？　　The　vestry　keeps；　as　it　were；　a　tryst

with　the　grass。　　The　〃sunny　spots　of　greenery〃　are　given　just　time

enough　to　grow　and　be　conspicuous；　and　the　barrow　is　there；　true　to

time；　and　the　spade。　　（To　call　that　spade　a　spade　hardly　seems

enough。）



For　the　gracious　grass　of　the　summer　has　not　been　content　within

enclosures。　　It　has　…　or　would　have　…　cheered　up　and　sweetened

everything。　　Over　asphalte　it　could　not　prevail；　and　it　has　prettily

yielded　to　asphalte；　taking　leave　to　live　and　let　live。　　It　has

taken　the　little　strip　of　ground　next　to　the　asphalte；　between　this

and　the　kerb；　and　again　the　refuse　of　ground　between　the　kerb　and

the　roadway。　　The　man　of　business　walking　to　the　station　with　a　bag

could　have　his　asphalte　all　unbroken；　and　the　butcher's　boy　in　his

cart　was　not　annoyed。　　The　grass　seemed　to　respect　everybody's

views；　and　to　take　only　what　nobody　wanted。　　But　these　gay　and　lowly

ways　will　not　escape　a　vestry。



There　is　no　wall　so　impregnable　or　so　vulgar；　but　a　summer's　grass

will　attempt　it。　　It　will　try　to　persuade　the　yellow　brick；　to　win

the　purple　slate；　to　reconcile　stucco。　　Outside　the　authority　of　the

suburbs　it　has　put　a　luminous　touch　everywhere。　　The　thatch　of

cottages　has　given　it　an　opportunity。　　It　has　perched　and　alighted

in　showers　and　flocks。　　It　has　crept　and　crawled；　and　stolen　its

hour。　　It　has　made　haste　between　the　ruts　of　cart　wheels；　so　they

were　not　too　frequent。　　It　has　been　stealthy　in　a　good　cause；　and

bold　out　of　reach。　　It　has　been　the　most　defiant　runaway；　and　the

meekest　lingerer。　　It　has　been　universal；　ready　and　potential　in

every　place；　so　that　the　happy　country　…　village　and　field　alike　…

has　been　all　grass；　with　mere　exceptions。



And　all　this　the　grass　does　in　spite　of　the　ill…treatment　it　suffers

at　the　hands；　and　mowing…machines；　and　vestries　of　man。　　His　ideal

of　grass　is　growth　that　shall　never　be　allowed　to　come　to　its　flower

and　completion。　　He　proves　this　in　his　lawns。　　Not　only　does　he　cut

the　coming　grass…flower　off　by　the　stalk；　but　he　does　not　allow　the

mere　leaf　…　the　blade　…　to　perfect　itself。　　He　will　not　have　it　a

〃blade〃　at　all；　he　cuts　its　top　away　as　never　sword　or　sabre　was

shaped。　　All　the　beauty　of　a　blade　of　grass　is　that　the　organic

shape　has　the　intention　of　ending　in　a　point。　　Surely　no　one　at　all

aware　of　the　beauty　of　lines　ought　to　be　ignorant　of　the

significance　and　grace　of　manifest　intention；　which　rules　a　living

line　from　its　beginning；　even　though　the　intention　be　towards　a

point　while　the　first　spring　of　the　line　is　towards　an　opening

curve。　　But　man　does　not　care　for　intention；　he　mows　it。　　Nor　does

he　care　for　attitude；　he　rolls　it。　　In　a　word；　he　proves　to　the

grass；　as　plainly　as　deeds　can　do　so；　that　it　is　not　to　his　mind。

The　rolling；　especially；　seems　to　be　a　violent　way　of　showing　that

the　universal　grass　interrupted　by　the　life　of　the　Englishman　is　not

as　he　would　have　it。　　Besides；　when　he　wishes　to　deride　a　city；　he

calls　it　grass…grown。



But　his　suburbs　shall　not；　if　he　can　help　it；　be　grass…grown。　　They

shall　not　be　like　a　mere　Pisa。　　Highgate　shall　not　so；　nor　Peckham。







A　WOMAN　IN　GREY







The　mothers　of　Professors　were　indulged　in　the　practice　of　jumping

at　conclusions；　and　were　praised　for　their　impatience　of　the　slow

process　of　reason。



Professors　have　written　of　the　mental　habits　of　women　as　though　they

accumulated　generation　by　generation　upon　women；　and　passed　over

their　sons。　　Professors　take　it　for　granted；　obviously　by　some

process　other　than　the　slow　process　of　reason；　that　women　derive

from　their　mothers　and　grandmothers；　and　men　from　their　fathers　and

grandfathers。　　This；　for　instance；　was　written　lately：　〃This　power

＇it　matters　not　what＇　would　be　about　equal　in　the　two　sexes　but　for

the　influence　of　heredity；　which　turns　the　scale　in　favour　of　the

woman；　as　for　long　generations　the　surroundings　and　conditions　of

life　of　the　female　sex　have　developed　in　her　a　greater　degree　of　the

power　in　question　than　circumstances　have　required　from　men。〃　　〃Long

generations〃　of　subjection　are；　strangely　enough；　held　to　excuse　the

timorousness　and　the　shifts　of　women　to…day。　　But　the　world；

unknowing；　tampers　with　the　courage　of　its　sons　by　such　a　slovenly

indulgence。　　It　tampers　with　their　intelligence　by　fostering　the

ignorance　of　women。



And　yet　Shakespeare　confessed　the　participation　of　man　and　woman　in

their　common　heritage。　　It　is　Cassius　who　speaks：





〃Have　you　not　love　enough　to　bear　with　me

When　that　rash　humour　which　my　mother　gave　me

Makes　me　forgetful？〃





And　Brutus　who　replies：





〃Yes；　Cassius；　and　from　henceforth

When　you　are　over…earnest　with　your　Brutus

He'll　think　your　mother　chides；　and　leave　you　so。〃





Dryden　confessed　it　also　in　his　praises　of　Anne　Killigrew：





〃If　by　traduction　came　thy　mind；

Our　wonder　is　the　less　to　find

A　soul　so　charming　from　a　stock　so　good。

Thy　father　was　transfused　into　thy　blood。〃





The　winning　of　Waterloo　upon　the　Eton　playgrounds　is　very　well；　but

there　have　been　some　other；　and　happily　minor；　fields　that　were　not

won　…　that　were　more　or　less　lost。　　Where　did　this　loss　take　place；

if　the　gains　were　secured　at　football？　　This　inquiry　is　not　quite　so

cheerful　as　the　other。　　But　while　the　victories　were　once　going

forward　in　the　playground；　the　defeats　or　disasters　were　once　going

forward　in　some　other　place；　presumably。　　And　this　was　surely　the

place　that　was　not　a　playground；　the　place　where　the　future　wives　of

the　football　players　were　sitting　still　while　their　future　husbands

were　playing　football。



This　is　the　train　of　thought　that　followed　the　grey　figure　of　a

woman　on　a　bicycle　in　Oxford　Street。　　She　had　an　enormous　and　top…

heavy　omnibus　at　her　back。　　All　the　things　on　the　near　side　of　the

street　…　the　things　going　her　way　…　were　going　at　different　paces；

in　two　streams；　overtaking　and　being　overtaken。　　The　tributary

streets　shot　omnibuses　and　carriages；　cabs　and　carts　…　some　to　go

her　own　way；　some　with　an　impetus　that　carried　them　curving　into　the

other　current；　and　other　some　making　a　straight　line　right　across

Oxford　Street　into　the　street　opposite。　　Besides　all　the　unequal

movement；　there　were　the　stoppings。　　It　was　a　delicate　tangle　to

keep　from　knotting。　　The　nerves　of　the　mouths　of　horses　bore　the

whole　charge　and　answered　it；　as　they　do　every　day。



The　woman　in　grey；　quite　alone；　was　immediately　dependent　on　no

nerves　but　her　own；　which　almost　made　her　machine　sensitive。　　But

this　alertness　was　joined　to　such　perfect　composure　as　no　flutter　of

a　moment　disturbed。　　There　was　the　steadiness　of　sleep；　and　a

vigilance　more　than　that　of　an　ordinary　waking。



At　the　same　time；　the　woman　was　doing　what　nothing　in　her　youth

could　well　have　prepared　her　for。　　She　must　have　passed　a　childhood

unlike　the　ordinary　girl's　childhood；　if　her　steadiness　or　her

alertness　had　ever　been　educated；　if　she　had　been　rebuked　for

cowardice；　for　the　egoistic　distrust　of　general　rules；　or　for　claims

of　exceptional　chances。　　Yet　here　she　was；　trusting　not　only　herself

but　a　multitude　of　other　people；　taking　her　equal　risk；　giving　a

watchful　confidence　to　averages　…　that　last；　perhaps；　her　strangest

and　greatest　success。



No　exceptions　were　hers；　no　appeals；　and　no　forewarnings。　　She

evidently　had　not　in　her　mind　a　single　phrase；　familiar　to　women；

made　to　express　no　confidence　except　in　accidents；　and　to　proclaim　a

prudent　foresight　of　the　less　probable　event。　　No　woman　could　ride　a

bicycle　along　Oxford　Street　with　any　such　baggage　as　that　about　her。



The　woman　in　grey　had　a　watchful　confidence　not　only　in　a　multitude

of　men　but　in　a　multitude　of　things。　　And　it　is　very　hard　for　any

untrained　human　being　to　practise　confidence　in　things　in　motion　…

things　full　of　force；　and；　what　is　worse；　of　forces。　　Moreover；

there　is　a　supreme　difficulty　for　a　mind　accustomed　to　search

timorously　for　some　little　place　of　insignificant　rest　on　any

accessible　point　of　stable　equilibrium；　and　that　is　the　difficulty

of　holding　itself　nimbly　secure　in　an　equilibrium　that　is　unstable。

Who　can　deny　that　women　are　generally　used　to　look　about　for　the

little　stationary　repose　just　described？　　Whether　in　intellectual　or

in　spiritual　things；　they　do　not　often　live　without　it。



She；　none　the　less；　fled　upon　unstable　equilibrium；　escaped　upon　it；

depended　upon　it；　trusted　it；　was　‘ware　of　it；　was　on　guard　against

it；　as　she　sped　amid　her　crowd　her　own　unstable　equilibrium；　her

machine's；　that　of　the　judgment；　the　temper；　the　skill；　the

perception；　the　strength　of　men　and　horses。



She　had　learnt　the　difficult　peace　of　suspense。　　She　had　learnt　also

the　lowly　and　self…denying　faith　in　common　chances。　　She　had　learnt

to　be　content　with　her　share　…　no　more　…　in　common　security；　and　to

be　pleased　with　her　part　in　common　hope。　　For　all　this；　it　may　be

repeated；　she　could　have　had　but　small　preparation。　　Yet　no　anxiety

was　hers；　no　uneasy　distrust　and　disbelief　of　that　human　thing　…　an

average　of　life　and　death。



To　this　courage　the　woman　in　grey　had　attained　with　a　spring；　and

she　had　seated　herself　suddenly　upon　a　place　of　detachment　between

earth　and　air；　freed　from　the　principal　detentions；　weights；　and

embarrassments　of　the　usual　life　of　fear。　　She　had　made　herself；　as

it　were；　light；　so　as　not　to　dwell　either　in　security　or　danger；　but

to　pass　between　them。　　She　confessed　difficulty　and　peril　by　her

delicate　evasions；　and　consented　to　rest　in　neither。　　She　would　not

owe　safety　to　the　mere　motionlessness　of　a　seat　on　the　solid　earth；

but　she　used　gravitation　to　balance　the　slight　burdens　of　her

wariness　and　her　confidence。　　She　put　aside　all　the　pride　and　vanity

of　terror；　and　leapt　into　an　unsure　condition　of　liberty　and

content。



She　leapt；　too；　into　a　life　of　moments。　　No　pause　was　possible　to

her　as　she　went；　except　the　vibrating　pause　of　a　perpetual　change

and　of　an　unflagging　flight。　　A　woman；　long　educated　to　sit　still；

does　not　suddenly　learn　to　live　a　momentary　life　without　strong

momentary　resolution。　　She　has　no　light　achievement　in　limiting　not

only　her　foresight；　which　must　become　brief；　but　her　memory；　which

must　do　more；　for　it　must　rather　cease　than　become　brief。　　Idle

memory　wastes　time　and　other