the children-第9部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


feelings　where　all　are　more　or　less　fair；　what　must　be　the
miscarriage　of　justice　in　countries　where　a　BLOND　angel　makes　his
infrequent　visit　within　the　family　circle？

In　England　he　is　the　rule；　and　supreme　as　a　matter　of　course。　　He　is
〃English；〃　and　best；　as　is　the　early　asparagus　and　the　young　potato；
according　to　the　happy　conviction　of　the　shops。　　To　say　〃child〃　in
England　is　to　say　〃fair…haired　child；〃　even　as　in　Tuscany　to　say
〃young　man〃　is　to　say　〃tenor。〃　　〃I　have　a　little　party　to…night；
eight　or　ten　tenors；　from　neighbouring　palazzi；　to　meet　my　English
friends。〃

But　France　is　a　greater　enthusiast　than　our　now　country。　　The
fairness　and　the　golden　hair　are　here　so　much　a　matter　of　orthodoxy；
that　they　are　not　always　mentioned；　they　are　frequently　taken　for
granted。　　Not　so　in　France；　the　French　go　out　of　their　way　to　make
the　exceptional　fairness　of　their　children　the　rule　of　their
literature。　　No　French　child　dare　show　his　face　in　a　bookprose　or
poetrywithout　blue　eyes　and　fair　hair。　　It　is　a　thing　about　which
the　French　child　of　real　life　can　hardly　escape　a　certain
sensitiveness。　　What；　he　may　ask；　is　the　use　of　being　a　dark…haired
child　of　fact；　when　all　the　emotion；　all　the　innocence；　all　the
romance；　are　absorbed　by　the　flaxen…haired　child　of　fiction？　　How
deplorable　that　our　mothers；　the　French　infants　may　say；　should　have
their　unattained　ideals　in　the　nurseries　of　the　imagination；　how
dismal　that　they　should　be　perpetually　disillusioned　in　the
nurseries　of　fact！　　Is　there　then　no　sentiment　for　us？　they　may　ask。
Will　not　convention；　which　has　been　forced　to　restore　the　advantage
to　truth　on　so　many　other　points；　be　compelled　to　yield　on　this
point　also；　and　reconcile　our　aunts　to　the　family　colouring？

All　the　schools　of　literature　are　in　a　tale。　　The　classic　masters；
needless　to　say；　do　not　stoop　to　the　colouring　of　boys　and　girls；
but　as　soon　as　the　Romantiques　arise；　the　cradle　is　there；　and　no
soft　hair　ever　in　it　that　is　not　of　some　tone　of　gold；　no　eyes　that
are　not　blue；　and　no　cheek　that　is　not　white　and　pink　as　milk　and
roses。　　Victor　Hugo；　who　discovered　the　child　of　modern　poetry；
never　omits　the　touch　of　description；　the　word　BLOND　is　as
inevitable　as　any　epithet　marshalled　to　attend　its　noun　in　a　last…
century　poet's　dictionary。　　One　would　not　have　it　away；　one　can　hear
the　caress　with　which　the　master　pronounces　it；　〃making　his　mouth；〃
as　Swift　did　for　his　〃little　language。〃　　Nor　does　the　customary
adjective　fail　in　later　literature。　　It　was　dear　to　the　Realist；　and
it　is　dear　to　the　Symbolist。　　The　only　difference　is　that　in　the
French　of　the　Symbolist　it　precedes　the　noun。

And　yet　it　is　time　that　the　sweetness　of　the　dark　child　should　have
its　day。　　He　is　really　no　less　childlike　than　the　other。　　There　is　a
pretty　antithesis　between　the　strong　effect　of　his　colouring　and　the
softness　of　his　years　and　of　his　months。　　The　blond　human　being
man；　woman　or　childhas　the　beauty　of　harmony；　the　hair　plays　off
from　the　tones　of　the　flesh；　only　a　few　degrees　brighter　or　a　few
degrees　darker。　　Contrast　of　colour　there　is；　in　the　blue　of　the
eyes；　and　in　the　red　of　cheek　and　lip；　but　there　is　no　contrast　of
tone。　　The　whole　effect　is　that　of　much　various　colour　and　of　equal
tone。　　In　the　dark　face　there　is　hardly　any　colour　and　an　almost
complete　opposition　of　tone。　　The　complete　opposition；　of　course；
would　be　black　and　white；　and　a　beautiful　dark　child　comes　near　to
this；　but　for　the　lovely　modifications；　the　warmth　of　his　white；　and
of　his　black　alike；　so　that　the　one　tone；　as　well　as　the　other；　is
softened　towards　brown。　　It　is　the　beauty　of　contrast；　with　a
suggestion　of　harmonyas　it　were　a　beginning　of　harmonywhich　is
infinitely　lovely。

Nor　is　the　dark　child　lacking　in　variety。　　His　radiant　eyes　range
from　a　brown　so　bright　that　it　looks　golden　in　the　light；　to　a　brown
so　dark　that　it　barely　defines　the　pupil。　　So　is　his　hair　various；
answering　the　sun　with　unsuspected　touches；　not　of　gold　but　of
bronze。　　And　his　cheek　is　not　invariably　pale。　　A　dusky　rose
sometimes　lurks　there　with　such　an　effect　of　vitality　as　you　will
hardly　get　from　the　shallower　pink　of　the　flaxened　haired。　　And　the
suggestion　is　that　of　late　summer；　the　colour　of　wheat　almost　ready
for　the　harvest；　and　darker；　redder　flowerspoppies　and　others
than　come　in　Spring。

The　dark　eyes；　besides；　are　generally　brighterthey　shelter　a　more
liquid　light　than　the　blue　or　grey。　　Southern　eyes　have　generally
most　beautiful　whites。　　And　as　to　the　charm　of　the　childish　figure；
there　is　usually　an　infantine　slenderness　in　the　little　Southener
that　is　at　least　as　young　and　sweet　as　the　round　form　of　the　blond
child。　　And　yet　the　painters　of　Italy　would　have　none　of　it。　　They
rejected　the　dusky　brilliant　pale　little　Italians　all　about　them；
they　would　have　none　but　flaxen…haired　children；　and　they　would　have
nothing　that　was　slim；　nothing　that　was　thin；　nothing　that　was
shadowy。　　They　rejoiced　in　much　fair　flesh；　and　in　all　possible
freshness。　　So　it　was　in　fair　Flanders　as　well　as　in　dark　Italy。
But　so　it　was　not　in　Spain。　　The　Pyrenees　seemed　to　interrupt　the
tradition。　　And　as　Murillo　saw　the　charm　of　dark　heads；　and　the
innocence　of　dark　eyes；　so　did　one　English　painter。　　Reynolds
painted　young　dark　hair　as　tenderly　as　the　youngest　gold。



REAL　CHILDHOOD



The　world　is　old　because　its　history　is　made　up　of　successive
childhoods　and　of　their　impressions。　　Your　hours　when　you　were　six
were　the　enormous　hours　of　the　mind　that　has　little　experience　and
constant　and　quick　forgetfulness。　　Therefore　when　your　mother's
visitor　held　you　so　long　at　his　knee；　while　he　talked　to　her　the
excited　gibberish　of　the　grown…up；　he　little　thought　what　he　forced
upon　you；　what　the　things　he　called　minutes　really　were；　measured　by
a　mind　unused；　what　passive　and　then　what　desperate　weariness　he
held　you　to　by　his　slightly　gesticulating　hands　that　pressed　some
absent…minded　caress；　rated　by　you　at　its　right　value；　in　the　pauses
of　his　anecdotes。　　You；　meanwhile；　were　infinitely　tired　of　watching
the　play　of　his　conversing　moustache。

Indeed；　the　contrast　of　the　length　of　contemporary　time　（this
pleonasm　is　inevitable）　is　no　small　mystery；　and　the　world　has　never
had　the　wit　fully　to　confess　it。

You　remembered　poignantly　the　special　and　singular　duration　of　some
such　space　as　your　elders；　perhaps；　called　half…an…hourso
poignantly　that　you　spoke　of　it　to　your　sister；　not　exactly　with
emotion；　but　still　as　a　dreadful　fact　of　life。　　You　had　better
instinct　than　to　complain　of　it　to　the　talkative；　easy…living；
occupied　people；　who　had　the　management　of　the　world　in　their　hands…
…your　seniors。　　You　remembered　the　duration　of　some　such　separate
half…hour　so　well　that　you　have　in　fact　remembered　it　until　now；　and
so　now；　of　course；　will　never　forget　it。

As　to　the　length　of　Beethoven；　experienced　by　you　on　duty　in　the
drawing　room；　it　would　be　curious　to　know　whether　it　was　really
something　greater　than　Beethoven　had　any　idea　of。　　You　sat　and
listened；　and　tried　to　fix　a　passage　in　your　mind　as　a　kind　of　half…
way　mark；　with　the　deliberate　provident　intention　of　helping
yourself　through　the　time　during　a　future　hearing；　for　you　knew　too
well　that　you　would　have　to　bear　it　all　again。　　You　could　not　do　the
same　with　sermons；　because；　though　even　more　fatiguing；　they　were
more　or　less　different　each　time。

While　your　elders　passed　over　some　particularly　tedious　piece　of
roadand　a　very　tedious　piece　of　road　existed　within　short　distance
of　every　house　you　lived　in　or　stayed　inin　their　usual　state　of
partial　absence　of　mind；　you；　on　the　contrary；　perceived　every　inch
of　it。　　As　to　the　length　of　a　bad　night；　or　of　a　mere　time　of
wakefulness　at　night；　adult　words　do　not　measure　it；　they　hardly
measure　the　time　of　merely　waiting　for　sleep　in　childhood。
Moreover；　you　were　tired　of　other　things；　apart　from　the　duration　of
timethe　names　of　streets；　the　names　of　tradesmen；　especially　the
fournisseurs　of　the　household；　who　lived　in　them。

You　were　bored　by　people。　　It　did　not　occur　to　you　to　be　tired　of
those　of　your　own　immediate　family；　for　you　loved　them　immemorially。
Nor　were　you　bored　by　the　newer　personality　of　casual　visitors；
unless　they　held　you；　as　aforesaid；　and　made　you　so　listen　to　their
unintelligible　voices　and　so　look　at　their　mannered　faces　that　they
released　you　an　older　child　than　they　took　you　prisoner。　　Butit　is
a　reluctant　confessionyou　were　tired　of　your　relations；　you　were
weary　of　their　bonnets。　　Measured　by　adult　time；　those　bonnets　were；
it　is　to　be　presumed；　of　no　more　than　reasonable　duration；　they　had
no　more　than　the　average　or　common　life。　　You　have　no　reason；
looking　back；　to　believe　that　your　great…aunts　wore　bonnets　for
great　and　indefinite　spaces　of　time。　　But；　to　your　sense　as　a　child；
long　and　changing　and　developing　days　saw　the　same　harassing
artificial　flowers　hoisted　up　with　the　same　black　lace。　　You　would
have　had　a　scruple　of　conscience　as　to　really　disliking　the　face；
but　you　deliberately　let　yourself　go　in　detesting　the　bonnet。　　So
with　dresses；　especially　such　as　had　any　little　misfit　about　them。
For　you　it　had　always　existed；　and　there　was　no　promise　of　its
ceasing。　　You　seemed　to　have　been　aware　of　it　for　years。　　By　the
way；　there　would　be　less　cheap　reproving　of　little　girls　for
desiring　new　clothes　if　the　censors　knew　how　immensely　old　their　old
clothes　are　to　them。

The　fact　is　that　children　have　a　simple　sense　of　the　unnecessary
ugliness　of　things；　and　thatapart　from　the　effects　of　ennuithey
reject　that　ugliness　actively。　　You　have　stood　and　listened　to　your
mother's　compliments　on　her　friend's　hat；　and　have　made　your　mental
protest　in　very　definite　words。　　You　thought　it　hideous；　and　hideous
things　offended　you　then　more　than　they　have　ever　offended　you
since。　　At　nine　years　old　you　made　people；　alas！　responsible　for
their　faces；　as　you　do　still　in　a　measure；　though　you　think　you　do
not。　　You　severely　made　them　answer　for　their　clothes；　in　a　manner
which　you　have　seen　good　reason；　in　later　life；　to　mitigate。　　Upon
curls；　or　too　much　youthfulness　in　the　aged；　you　had