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The Colour of Life-Part2_Alice Meynell(1847-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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background. Or when anger had but threatened, the cloud reveals



him, gentle beyond hope. It makes peace, constantly, just before

sunset.



It is in the confidence of the winds, and wears their colours.

There is a heavenly game, on south-west wind days, when the clouds



are bowled by a breeze from behind the evening. They are round and

brilliant, and come leaping up from the horizon for hours. This is



a frolic and haphazard sky.

All unlike this is the sky that has a centre, and stands composed



about it. As the clouds marshalled the earthly mountains, so the

clouds in turn are now ranged. The tops of all the celestial Andes



aloft are swept at once by a single ray, warmed with a single

colour. Promontory after league-long promontory of a stiller



Mediterranean in the sky is called out of mist and grey by the same

finger. The cloudland is very great, but a sunbeam makes all its



nations and continents sudden with light.

All this is for the untravelled. All the winds bring him this



scenery. It is only in London, for part of the autumn and part of

the winter, that the unnatural smoke-fog comes between. And for



many and many a day no London eye can see the horizon, or the first

threat of the cloud like a man's hand. There never was a great



painter who had not exquisitehorizons, and if Corot and Crome were

right, the Londoner loses a great thing.



He loses the coming of the cloud, and when it is high in air he

loses its shape. A cloud-lover is not content to see a snowy and



rosy head piling into the top of the heavens; he wants to see the

base and the altitude. The perspective of a cloud is a great part



of its design - whether it lies so that you can look along the

immense horizontal distances of its floor, or whether it rears so



upright a pillar that you look up its mountain steeps in the sky as

you look at the rising heights of a mountain that stands, with you,



on the earth.

The cloud has a name suggesting darkness; nevertheless, it is not



merely the guardian of the sun's rays and their director. It is the

sun's treasurer; it holds the light that the world has lost. We



talk of sunshine and moonshine, but not of cloud-shine, which is yet

one of the illuminations of our skies. A shining cloud is one of



the most majestic of all secondary lights. If the reflecting moon

is the bride, this is the friend of the bridegroom.



Needless to say, the cloud of a thunderous summer is the most

beautiful of all. It has spaces of a grey for which there is no



name, and no other cloud looks over at a vanishing sun from such

heights of blue air. The shower-cloud, too, with its thin edges,



comes across the sky with so influential a flight that no ship going

out to sea can be better worth watching. The dullest thing perhaps



in the London streets is that people take their rain there without

knowing anything of the cloud that drops it. It is merely rain, and



means wetness. The shower-cloud there has limits of time, but no

limits of form, and no history whatever. It has not come from the



clear edge of the plain to the south, and will not shoulder anon the

hill to the north. The rain, for this city, hardly comes or goes;



it does but begin and stop. No one looks after it on the path of

its retreat.



WINDS OF THE WORLD

Every wind is, or ought to be, a poet; but one is classic and



converts everything in his day co-unity; another is a modern man,

whose words clothe his thoughts, as the modern critics used to say



prettily in the early sixties, and therefore are separable. This

wind, again, has a style, and that wind a mere manner. Nay, there



are breezes from the east-south-east, for example, that have hardly

even a manner. You can hardly name them unless you look at the



weather vane. So they do not convince you by voice or colour of

breath; you place their origin and assign them a history according



as the hesitating arrow points on the top of yonder ill-designed

London spire.



The most certain and most conquering of all is the south-west wind.

You do not look to the weather-vane to decide what shall be the



style of your greeting to his morning. There is no arbitrary rule




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