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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
into her children again； then incalculable； intricate； universal；
and eternal are the unions that seemand only seemso to transcend
the usual experience。 The love of such a mother passes unchanged
out of her own sight。 It drops down ages； but why should it alter？
What in her daughter should she make so much her own as that
daughter's love for her daughter in turn？ There are no lapses。
Marceline Valmore； married to an actor who seems to have 〃created
the classic genre〃 in vain； found the sons and daughters of other
women in want。 Some of her rich friends； she avers； seem to think
that the sadness of her poems is a habita matter of metre and
rhyme； or； at most； that it is 〃temperament。〃 But others take up
the cause of those whose woes； as she says； turned her long hair
white too soon。 Sainte…Beuve gave her his time and influence；
succoured twenty political offenders at her instance； and gave
perpetually to her poor。 〃He never has any socks；〃 said his mother；
〃he gives them all away； like Beranger。〃 〃He gives them with a
different accent；〃 added the literary Marceline。
Even when the stroller's life took her to towns she did not hate；
but lovedher own Douai； where the names of the streets made her
heart leap； and where her statue stands； and Bordeaux； which was； in
her eyes； 〃rosy with the reflected colour of its animating wine〃
she was taken away from the country of her verse。 The field and the
village had been dear to her； and her poems no longer trail and
droop； but take wing； when they come among winds； birds； bells； and
waves。 They fly with the whole volley of a summer morning。 She
loved the sun and her liberty； and the liberty of others。 It was
apparently a horror of prisons that chiefly inspired her public
efforts after certain riots at Lyons had been reduced to peace。 The
dead were free； but for the prisoners she worked； wrote； and
petitioned。 She looked at the sentinels at the gates of the Lyons
gaols with such eyes as might have provoked a shot； she thinks。
During her lifetime she very modestly took correction from her
contemporaries； for her study had hardly been enough for the whole
art of French verse。 But Sainte…Beuve； Baudelaire； and Verlaine
have praised her as one of the poets of France。 The later critics
from Verlaine onwardswill hold that she needs no pardon for
certain slight irregularities in the grouping of masculine and
feminine rhymes； for upon this liberty they themselves have largely
improved。 The old rules in their completeness seemed too much like
a prison to her。 She was set about with importunate conditionsa
caesura； a rhyme； narrow lodgings in strange towns； bankruptcies；
salaries astrayand she took only a little gentle liberty。
THE HOURS OF SLEEP
There are hours claimed by Sleep； but refused to him。 None the less
are they his by some state within the mind； which answers
rhythmically and punctually to that claim。 Awake and at work；
without drowsiness； without languor； and without gloom； the night
mind of man is yet not his day mind； he has night…powers of feeling
which are at their highest in dreams； but are night's as well as
sleep's。 The powers of the mind in dreams； which are inexplicable；
are not altogether baffled because the mind is awake； it is the hour
of their return as it is the hour of a tide's； and they do return。
In sleep they have their free way。 Night then has nothing to hamper
her influence； and she draws the emotion； the senses； and the nerves
of the sleeper。 She urges him upon those extremities of anger and
love； contempt and terror to which not only can no event of the real
day persuade him； but for which； awake； he has perhaps not even the
capacity。 This increase of capacity； which is the dream's； is
punctual to the night； even though sleep and the dream be kept at
arm's length。
The child； not asleep； but passing through the hours of sleep and
their dominions； knows that the mood of night will have its hour； he
puts off his troubled heart； and will answer it another time； in the
other state； by day。 〃I shall be able to bear this when I am grown
up〃 is not oftener in a young child's mind than 〃I shall endure to
think of it in the day…time。〃 By this he confesses the double habit
and double experience； not to be interchanged； and communicating
together only by memory and hope。
Perhaps it will be found that to work all by day or all by night is
to miss something of the powers of a complex mind。 One might
imagine the rhythmic experience of a poet； subject； like a child； to
the time； and tempering the extremities of either state by messages
of remembrance and expectancy。
Never to have had a brilliant dream； and never to have had any
delirium； would be to live too much in the day； and hardly less
would be the loss of him who had not exercised his waking thought
under the influence of the hours claimed by dreams。 And as to
choosing between day and night； or guessing whether the state of day
or dark is the truer and the more natural； he would be rash who
should make too sure。
In order to live the life of night； a watcher must not wake too
much。 That is； he should not alter so greatly the character of
night as to lose the solitude； the visible darkness； or the
quietude。 The hours of sleep are too much altered when they are
filled by lights and crowds； and Nature is cheated so； and evaded；
and her rhythm broken； as when the larks caged in populous streets
make ineffectual springs and sing daybreak songs when the London gas
is lighted。 Nature is easily deceived； and the muse； like the lark；
may be set all astray as to the hour。 You may spend the peculiar
hours of sleep amid so much noise and among so many people that you
shall not be aware of them； you may thus merely force and prolong
the day。 But to do so is not to live well both lives； it is not to
yield to the daily and nightly rise and fall and to be cradled in
the swing of change。
There surely never was a poet but was now and then rocked in such a
cradle of alternate hours。 〃It cannot be；〃 says Herbert； 〃that I am
he on whom Thy tempests fell all night。〃
It is in the hours of sleep that the mind； by some divine paradox；
has the extremest sense of light。 Almost the most shining lines in
English poetrylines that cast sunrise shadowsare those of Blake；
written confessedly from the side of night； the side of sorrow and
dreams； and those dreams the dreams of little chimney…sweepers； all
is as dark as he can make it with the 〃bags of soot〃； but the boy's
dream of the green plain and the river is too bright for day。 So；
indeed； is another brightness of Blake's； which is also； in his
poem； a child's dream； and was certainly conceived by him in the
hours of sleep； in which he woke to write the Songs of Innocence：…
O what land is the land of dreams？
What are its mountains； and what are its streams？
O father； I saw my mothe