Fairyland did not fade exactly, but it dipped a
little below the horizon. Like hell and heaven, it was a state of
mind, open potentially to all, but not to be enjoyed merely for the
asking. Like other desirable things, it was to be 'attained.' Its
remoteness and difficulty of access lent to it a haunting charm; for
though its glory dimmed a little, there was a soft afterglow that shed
its radiance even down Piccadilly and St. James's Street. He was
always conscious of this land beyond the sunset; the stars shone
brightly, though clouds or sunlight interfered to blur their message.
London life, however, by the sheer weight of its grinding daily
machinery, worked its slow effect upon him. He became less sensitive
to impressions. These duller periods were interrupted sometimes by
states of brilliant receptiveness, as at Bourcelles; but there was a
fence between the two--a rather prickly frontier, and the secret of
combining them lay just beyond his reach. For his London mind, guided
by reason, acted in a logical plane of two dimensions, while
imagination, captained by childhood's fairy longings, cantered loose
in all directions at once--impossibly. The first was the world; the
second was the universe. As yet, he was unable to co-ordinate them.
Minks, he was certain, could--and did, sailing therefore upon an even
keel.
Pages:
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508