to faint and wither away like a cut flower. And
on those days the thought of the wind and the thought
of human life came very near together in my mind.
Our noisy years did indeed seem moments in the being
of the eternal silence; and the wind, in the face
of that great field of stationary blue, was as the
wind of a butterfly’s wing. The placidity
of the sea was a thing likewise to be remembered.
Shelley speaks of the sea as ’hungering for
calm,’ and in this place one learned to understand
the phrase. Looking down into these green waters
from the broken edge of the rock, or swimming leisurely
in the sunshine, it seemed to me that they were enjoying
their own tranquillity; and when now and again it
was disturbed by a wind ripple on the surface, or the
quick black passage of a fish far below, they settled
back again (one could fancy) with relief.
On shore too, in the little nook of shelter, everything
was so subdued and still that the least particular
struck in me a pleasurable surprise. The desultory
crackling of the whin-pods in the afternoon sun usurped
the ear. The hot, sweet breath of the bank,
that had been saturated all day long with sunshine,
and now exhaled it into my face, was like the breath
of a fellow-creature. I remember that I was haunted
by two lines of French verse; in some dumb way they
seemed to fit my surroundings and give expression to
the contentment that was in me, and I kept repeating
to myself —
’Mon coeur est un luth suspendu,
Sitot qu’on le touche, il resonne.’
I can give no reason why these lines came to me at
this time; and for that very cause I repeat them here.
For all I know, they may serve to complete the impression
in the mind of the reader, as they were certainly
a part of it for me.
And this happened to me in the place of all others
where I liked least to stay. When I think of
it I grow ashamed of my own ingratitude. ‘Out
of the strong came forth sweetness.’ There,
in the bleak and gusty North, I received, perhaps,
my strongest impression of peace. I saw the
sea to be great and calm; and the earth, in that little
corner, was all alive and friendly to me. So,
wherever a man is, he will find something to please
and pacify him: in the town he will meet pleasant
faces of men and women, and see beautiful flowers
at a window, or hear a cage-bird singing at the corner
of the gloomiest street; and for the country, there
is no country without some amenity—let
him only look for it in the right spirit, and he will
surely find.
{1} The Second Part here referred to is entitled
’across the plains,’ and
is printed in the volume so entitled, together with
other Memories and Essays.
{2} I had nearly finished the transcription of the
following pages when I saw on a friend’s table
the number containing the piece from which this sentence
is extracted, and, struck with a similarity of title,
took it home with me and read it with indescribable
satisfaction. I do not know whether I more envy
M. Theuriet the pleasure of having written this delightful
article, or the reader the pleasure, which I hope
he has still before him, of reading it once and again,
and lingering over the passages that please him most.
