Not on an east…wind day are these races in heaven； for the clouds
are all far off。 His rain is angry； and it flies against the
sunset。 The world is not one in his reign； but rather there is a
perpetual revolt or difference。 The lights and shadows are not all
his。 The waxing and waning hours are disaffected。 He has not a
great style； and does not convince the day。
All the four winds are brave； and not the less brave because； on
their way through town； they are betrayed for a moment into taking
part in any paltriness that may be there。 On their way from the
Steppes to the Atlantic they play havoc with the nerves of very
insignificant people。 A part； as it were； of every gale that starts
in the far north…east finds its goal in the breath of a reluctant
citizen。
You will meet a wind of the world nimble and eager in a sorry
street。 But these are only accidents of the way … the winds go free
again。 Those that do not go free； but close their course； are those
that are breathed by the nostrils of living creatures。 A great
flock of those wild birds come to a final pause in London； and fan
the fires of life with those wings in the act of folding。 In the
blood and breath of a child close the influences of continent and
sea。
THE HONOURS OF MORTALITY
The brilliant talent which has quite lately and quite suddenly
arisen； to devote itself to the use of the day or of the week； in
illustrated papers … the enormous production of art in black and
white … is assuredly a confession that the Honours of Mortality are
worth working for。 Fifty years ago； men worked for the honours of
immortality； these were the commonplace of their ambition； they
declined to attend to the beauty of things of use that were destined
to be broken and worn out； and they looked forward to surviving
themselves by painting bad pictures； so that what to do with their
bad pictures in addition to our own has become the problem of the
nation and of the householder alike。 To…day men have began to learn
that their sons will be grateful to them for few bequests。 Art
consents at last to work upon the tissue and the china that are
doomed to the natural and necessary end … destruction； and art shows
a most dignified alacrity to do her best； daily； for the 〃process；〃
and for oblivion。
Doubtless this abandonment of hopes so large at once and so cheap
costs the artist something； nay； it implies an acceptance of the
inevitable that is not less than heroic。 And the reward has been in
the singular and manifest increase of vitality in this work which is
done for so short a life。 Fittingly indeed does life reward the
acceptance of death； inasmuch as to die is to have been alive。
There is a real circulation of blood…quick use； brief beauty；
abolition； recreation。 The honour of the day is for ever the honour
of that day。 It goes into the treasury of things that are honestly
and … completely ended and done with。 And when can so happy a thing
be said of a lifeless oil…painting？ Who of the wise would hesitate？
To be honourable for one day … one named and dated day； separate
from all other days of the ages … or to be for an unlimited time
tedious？
AT MONASTERY GATES
No woman has ever crossed the inner threshold； or shall ever cross
it； unless a queen； English or foreign； should claim her privilege。
Therefore； if a woman records here the slighter things visible of
the monastic life； it is only because she was not admitted to see
more than beautiful courtesy and friendliness were able to show her
in guest…house and garden。
The Monastery is of fresh…looking Gothic； by Pugin … the first of
the dynasty： it is reached by the white roads of a limestone
country； and backed by a young plantation； and it gathers its group
of buildings in a cleft high up among the hills of Wales。 The brown
habit is this； and these are the sandals； that come and go by hills
of finer； sharper； and loftier line； edging the dusk and dawn of an
Umbrian sky。 Just such a Via Crucis climbs the height above Orta；
and from the foot of its final crucifix you can see the sunrise
touch the top of Monte Rosa； while the encircled lake below is cool
with the last of the night。 The same order of friars keep that sub…
Alpine Monte Sacro； and the same have set the Kreuzberg beyond Bonn
with the same steep path by the same fourteen chapels； facing the
Seven Mountains and the Rhine。
Here； in North Wales； remote as the country is； with the wheat green
over the blunt hill…tops； and the sky vibrating with larks； a long
wing of smoke lies round the horizon。 The country； rather thinly
and languidly cultivated above； has a valuable sub…soil； and is
burrowed with mines； the breath of pit and factory； out of sight；
thickens the lower sky； and lies heavily over the sands of Dee。 It
leaves the upper blue clear and the head of Orion； but dims the
flicker of Sirius and shortens the steady ray of the evening star。
The people scattered about are not mining people； but half…hearted
agriculturists； and very poor。 Their cottages are rather cabins；
not a tiled roof is in the country； but the slates have taken some
beauty with time； having dips and dimples； and grass upon their
edges。 The walls are all thickly whitewashed； which is a pleasure
to see。 How willingly would one swish the harmless whitewash over
more than half the colour … over all the chocolate and all the blue
… with which the buildings of the world are stained！ You could not
wish for a better； simpler； or fresher harmony than whitewash makes
with the slight sunshine and the bright grey of an English sky。
The grey…stone； grey…roofed monastery looks young in one sense … it
is modern； and the friars look young in another … they are like
their brothers of an earlier time。 No one； except the journalists
of yesterday； would spend upon them those tedious words； 〃quaint；〃
or 〃old world。〃 No such weary adjectives are spoken here； unless it
be by the excursionists。
With large aprons tied over their brown habits； the Lay Brothers
work upon their land； planting parsnips in rows； or tending a
prosperous bee…farm。 A young friar； who sang the High Mass
yesterday； is gaily hanging the washed linen in the sun。 A printing
press； and a machine which slices turnips； are at work in an
outhouse； and the yard thereby is guarded by a St Bernard； whose
single evil deed was that under one of the obscure impulses of a
dog's heart …atoned for by long and self…conscious remorse … he bit
the poet； and tried； says one of the friars； to make doggerel of
him。 The poet； too； lives at the monastery gates； and on monastery
ground； in a seclusion which the tidings of the sequence of his
editions hardly reaches。 There is no disturbing renown to be got
among the cabins of the Flintshire hills。 Homeward； over the verge；
from other valleys； his light figure flits at nightfall； like a
moth。
To the coming and going of the friars； too； the village people have
become well used； and the infrequent excursionists； for lack of
intelligence and of any knowledge that would refer to history； look
at them without obtrusive curiosity。 It was only from a Salvation
Army girl that you heard the brutal word of contempt。 She had come
to the place with some companions； and with them was trespassing； as
she was welcome to do； within the monastery grounds。 She stood； a
figure for Bournemouth pier； in her grotesque bonnet； and watched
the son of the Umbrian saint … the friar who walks among the Giotto
frescoes at Assisi and between the cypresses of Bello Sguardo； and
has paced the centuries continually since the coming of the friars。
One might have asked of her the kindness of a fellow…feeling。 She
and he alike were so habited as to show the world that their life
was aloof from its 〃idle business。〃 By some such phrase； at least；
the friar would assuredly have attempted to include her in any
spiritual honours ascribed to him。 Or one might have asked of her
the condescension of forbearance。 〃Only fancy；〃 said the Salvation
Army girl； watching the friar out of sight； 〃only fancy making such
a fool of one's self！〃
The great hood of the friars； which is drawn over the head in
Zurbaran's ecstatic picture； is turned to use when the friars are
busy。 As a pocket it relieves the over…burdened hands。 A bottle of
the local white wine made by the brotherhood at Genoa； and sent to
this house by the West； is carried in the cowl as a present to the
stranger at the gates。 The friars tell how a brother resolved； at
Shrovetide； to make pancakes； and not only to make； but also to toss
them。 Those who chanced to be in the room stood prudently aside；
and the brother tossed boldly。 But that was the last that was seen
of his handiwork。 Victor Hugo sings in La Legende des Siecles of
disappearance as the thing which no creature is able to achieve：
here the impossibility seemed to be accomplished by quite an
ordinary and a simple pancake。 It was clean gone； and there was an
end of it。 Nor could any explanation of this ceasing of a pancake
from the midst of the visible world be so much as divined by the
spectators。 It was only when the brother； in church； knelt down to
meditate and drew his cowl about his head that the accident was
explained。
Every midnight the sweet contralto bells call the community； who get
up gaily to this difficult service。 Of all duties this one never
grows easy or familiar； and therefore never habitual。 It is
something to have found but one act aloof from habit。 It is not
merely that the friars overcome the habit of sleep。 The subtler
point is that they can never acquire the habit of sacrificing sleep。
What art； what literature； or what life but would gain a secret
security by such a point of perpetual freshness and perpetual
initiative？ It is not possible to get up at midnight wi