the rhythm of life-第2部分

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they　shall　be　also　well　derived。　　We　have　a　voice　in　decreeing　our

inheritance；　and　not　our　inheritance　only；　but　our　heredity。　　Our

minds　may　trace　upwards　and　follow　their　ways　to　the　best　well…heads

of　the　arts。　　The　very　habit　of　our　thoughts　may　be　persuaded　one

way　unawares　by　their　antenatal　history。　　Their　companions　must　be

lovely；　but　need　be　no　lovelier　than　their　ancestors；　and　being　so

fathered　and　so　husbanded；　our　thoughts　may　be　intrusted　to　keep　the

counsels　of　literature。



Such　is　our　confidence　in　a　descent　we　know。　　But；　of　a　sequel　which

of　us　is　sure？　　Which　of　us　is　secured　against　the　dangers　of

subsequent　depreciation？　　And；　moreover；　which　of　us　shall　trace　the

contemporary　tendencies；　the　one　towards　honour；　the　other　towards

dishonour？　　Or　who　shall　discover　why　derivation　becomes

degeneration；　and　where　and　when　and　how　the　bastardy　befalls？　　The

decivilised　have　every　grace　as　the　antecedent　of　their　vulgarities；

every　distinction　as　the　precedent　of　their　mediocrities。　　No

ballad…concert　song；　feign　it　sigh；　frolic；　or　laugh；　but　has　the

excuse　that　the　feint　was　suggested；　was　made　easy；　by　some　living

sweetness　once。　　Nor　are　the　decivilised　to　blame　as　having　in　their

own　persons　possessed　civilisation　and　marred　it。　　They　did　not

possess　it；　they　were　born　into　some　tendency　to　derogation；　into　an

inclination　for　things　mentally　inexpensive。　　And　the　tendency　can

hardly　do　other　than　continue。　　Nothing　can　look　duller　than　the

future　of　this　second…hand　and　multiplying　world。　　Men　need　not　be

common　merely　because　they　are　many；　but　the　infection　of　commonness

once　begun　in　the　many；　what　dulness　in　their　future！　　To　the　eye

that　has　reluctantly　discovered　this　truththat　the　vulgarised　are

not　UNcivilised；　and　that　there　is　no　growth　for　themit　does　not

look　like　a　future　at　all。　　More　ballad…concerts；　more　quaint

English；　more　robustious　barytone　songs；　more　piecemeal　pictures；

more　anxious　decoration；　more　colonial　poetry；　more　young　nations

with　withered　traditions。　　Yet　it　is　before　this　prospect　that　the

provincial　overseas　lifts　up　his　voice　in　a　boast　or　a　promise

common　enough　among　the　incapable　young；　but　pardonable　only　in

senility。　　He　promises　the　world　a　literature；　an　art；　that　shall　be

new　because　his　forest　is　untracked　and　his　town　just　built。　　But

what　the　newness　is　to　be　he　cannot　tell。　　Certain　words　were

dreadful　once　in　the　mouth　of　desperate　old　age。　　Dreadful　and

pitiable　as　the　threat　of　an　impotent　king；　what　shall　we　name　them

when　they　are　the　promise　of　an　impotent　people？　　'I　will　do　such

things：　　what　they　are　yet　I　know　not。'







A　REMEMBRANCE







When　the　memories　of　two　or　three　persons　now　upon　earth　shall　be

rolled　up　and　sealed　with　their　records　within　them；　there　will　be

no　remembrance　left　open；　except　this；　of　a　man　whose　silence　seems

better　worth　interpreting　than　the　speech　of　many　another。　　Of

himself　he　has　left　no　vestiges。　　It　was　a　common　reproach　against

him　that　he　never　acknowledged　the　obligation　to　any　kind　of

restlessness。　　The　kingdom　of　heaven　suffereth　violence；　but　as　he

did　none　there　was　nothing　for　it　but　that　the　kingdom　of　heaven

should　yield　to　his　leisure。　　The　delicate；　the　abstinent；　the

reticent　graces　were　his　in　the　heroic　degree。　　Where　shall　I　find　a

pen　fastidious　enough　to　define　and　limit　and　enforce　so　many

significant　negatives？　　Words　seem　to　offend　by　too　much　assertion；

and　to　check　the　suggestions　of　his　reserve。　　That　reserve　was　life…

long。　　Loving　literature；　he　never　lifted　a　pen　except　to　write　a

letter。　　He　was　not　inarticulate；　he　was　only　silent。　　He　had　an

exquisite　style　from　which　to　refrain。　　The　things　he　abstained　from

were　all　exquisite。　　They　were　brought　from　far　to　undergo　his

judgment；　if　haply　he　might　have　selected　them。　　Things　ignoble

never　approached　near　enough　for　his　refusal；　they　had　not　with　him

so　much　as　that　negative　connexion。　　If　I　had　to　equip　an　author　I

should　ask　no　better　than　to　arm　him　and　invest　him　with　precisely

the　riches　that　were　renounced　by　the　man　whose　intellect；　by

integrity；　had　become　a　presence…chamber。



It　was　by　holding　session　among　so　many　implicit　safeguards　that　he

taught；　rather　than　by　precepts。　　Few　were　these　in　his　speech；　but

his　personality　made　laws　for　me。　　It　was　a　subtle　education；　for　it

persuaded　insensibly　to　a　conception　of　my　own。　　How；　if　he　would

not　define；　could　I　know　what　things　were　and　what　were　not　worthy

of　his　gentle　and　implacable　judgment？　　I　must　needs　judge　them　for

myself；　yet　he　constrained　me　in　the　judging。　　Within　that

constraint　and　under　that　stimulus；　which　seemed　to　touch　the

ultimate　springs　of　thoughts　before　they　sprang；　I　began　to　discern

all　things　in　literature　and　in　lifein　the　chastity　of　letters　and

in　the　honour　of　lifethat　I　was　bound　to　love。　　Not　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　authorto　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　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。'







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　are　not　members　one　of　another。　　If　the